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steponmeinejghafa · 7 months

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First Bench Pt. 2

Summary: When your brother gets violently ill, you and your family take care of him in shifts. This, however, stresses you out, and your grades slip. This leads the teacher to assign you a student who can tutor you…

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“The answer is thirty three point five six cubic centimetres of volume,” you had raised your hand and delivered the answer to a challenging mathematics sum before Zoya for the fifth time that hour.

Obviously.

Zoya practically growled in frustration and resisted the urge to ball up her sheet of work and throw it at you. Again? You couldn’t possibly be that smart! It had only been two weeks of your admission in this school and you had missed the entire week which they spent learning that chapter!

“Well done, Miss Brekker,” smiled the teacher.

“Yeah, nice one, Y/n,” came the voice of Malyen Oretsev, the boy you had punched in the face when he’d tried making a move on Nina. A hum of agreement went through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly to yourself.

Saints, you had a cute smile.

Zoya caught her thoughts a second too late as she replaced it with a disgusted expression, moving on to the next sum.

“Catch up, Nazyalensky,” you giggled softly, poking her with your pencil gently.

“Watch me, Brekker,” she replied, her own pencil moving fast across the paper.

However, just as she opened her mouth to give the next answer, you had already announced it.

“Eighteen ball bearings will be required and the volume displaced is fifteen point seven cubic centimetres,” a smug smile took over your features as you spun the pencil deftly in your hand, looking at her. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it next time, Nazyalensky.”

From behind you, the voice of Nikolai Lantsov piped in, “I need a movie or a novel of these two!”

You crumpled up a paper into a ball and threw it at him, laughing good-naturedly. Quiet and mildly threatening as you were, everyone had to admit, you were very friendly. Well, with everyone but her.

Hearing you laugh, Zoya caught another thought a second too late again.

Saints, your laugh was adorable.

Why was she thinking this way?! You were her enemy! You were competition! She can’t call competition cute and adorable!

“Next sum, everyone,” said the teacher. “Exercise seven question three.”

Just as you began solving, the school secretary appeared at the door.

“Is Y/n Brekker in this class?” She asked softly. You frowned and raised your hand, confused.

“Please come with me, dear,” she said.

You apologised to the teacher before running out of the door. Zoya stared after you, slightly happy that she was back to being the only first bencher, however temporary.

You reached the nurse’s office where the secretary had sent you, to see your brother vomiting in a bucket, his body quivering weakly. You ran up to him and put an arm carefully across his shoulders in concern.

“Hey, Kazzle, what’s wrong?” You whispered, “When did it happen?”

“In Physics class,” he groaned. “I think I caught that blockhead Matthias’ stomach bug.” He leaned forward and vomited again, making your stomach lurch in disgust.

“We’ve called your guardians from the contact in your admission forms, and they’re coming to get him home. I’m afraid he can’t come to school for the next two weeks,” replied the nurse.

“What?!” You exclaimed, rubbing your brother’s back gently. “It’s exam season in two weeks! How will he study!?”

“I’m sick and you’re thinking about exam season?” Your brother groaned, kicking you weakly in the shin.

The door then burst open to reveal Nina, Matthias, Jesper, Wylan, and Inej, all with concerned expressions on their faces.

“Do you think we can get dismissed early, too?” You asked, raising a brow in question.

The secretary shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

You grumbled in frustration and pressed a kiss to Kaz’s hair. “I know you hate affection, but I’m worried, so bear with me.”

He rolled his eyes with a small smile and said hoarsely, “I’ll see you guys at home.”

—Time Skip—

Zoya noticed how you’d been anxious the whole day. Seeing you distracted in class was a very concerning thing for everyone, and several people asked if you were alright. Obviously wanting to keep a certain level of privacy, you shook your head and said all was fine.

“Take care of yourself, Brekker,” Zoya curtly said as she approached you at the end of the day. “Although, it’s nice to one-up you in class.”

You rolled your eyes, “Shut up, Nazyalensky. Just wait till exam season comes around. Let’s see you try one-upping me then.”

You turned on your heel and stormed away, ending the conversation with the real threat hanging in the air.

At home, Kaz lay on his bed, a bucket beside him and a quilted blanket atop him. You felt his forehead and shrank back at how warm it was. The landlady, Mrs Romanov, entered with a bowl of soup.

“Please, I can’t,” groaned your brother, grimacing at the thought of eating.

“Kaz, you have to,” Nina tried persuading him, but he was adamant that he would not eat the soup.

Mr Romanov entered behind his wife and announced, “Listen up now, children. While you are at school, my wife and I have work at the shop. I’m afraid one of you must be looking after him at all times. So if Five out of six of you has a shift with us, the last one won’t be out gallivanting, you will be at home with Kaz, understood?”

“Yes, Mr Romanov,” you all nodded in unison.

This was going to be a long few weeks.

—Time Skip—

The others had returned far too late the previous night and you had to stay awake till almost four a.m while they enjoyed delivering medicines and other supplies to people in need.

“Fuck you for mothering me,” Kaz had mumbled so many times that you finally slapped him on the face gently in irritation.

“Fuck you for falling sick, you idiot!” You had scoffed, dabbing the cold water soaked towel on his feverish head again.

You nearly dozed off for the fifth time in class, making the teacher gently rap your table with her ruler, before she sternly said, “Please see me after class, Y/n.”

“Don’t fall too far behind, Brekker,” sneered Zoya. But you were too tired to snap back at her.

“You too, Zoya,” added the teacher with a raised brow.

After class, you and Zoya stood in front of the teacher, who was looking through your latest assignments.

“Y/n, for the last week and a half, I have seen a sudden drop in your grades. I am quite concerned as you are one of my top students. This sudden slip is common amongst all your subjects, which is rather alarming,” she displayed your last three math revision tests, one English essay assignment, and a badly failed geography test.

Your ears and cheeks burned red with shame, as Zoya suppressed a snigger.

“What do you suggest, Miss Reznik?” Zoya asked with a cutting edge to her tone.

The teacher sighed and put your papers away before saying, “I suggest that you, Zoya, tutor Y/n for the rest of the semester. After all, we cannot risk this situation again.”

Your eyes went wide as you exclaimed, “The rest of the semester?! My grades slipped for a week!”

“And I see there’s a certain amount of…hostility between the pair of you, so I suggest you both take this as a learning exercise to maybe foster that hostility into friendliness,” replied the teacher. “When Y/n’s grades come up, you both may decide who tutors the other on which days. Preferably alternate days alternate person.”

“Ma’am, are you sure there’s no one else for this task?!” You asked, jaw slack with shock.

“Aw, I guess you have to admit I’m smarter than you, Brekker,” Zoya cooed at you snidely.

“Shut up, Nazyalensky,” you scowled, kicking her in the shin.

“Dismissed,” sighed the teacher.

You stormed out of the classroom while Zoya continued to taunt you, saying things like “Catch up, Brekker,” or “Looks like it’s obvious who’s smarter.”

Finally having had enough, you caught her by the collar and slammed her against the lockers nearby. The sound of her body colliding with the metal echoed through the deserted corridor, and her shocked expression made your anger cease a little. But not entirely.

“You better keep your gloating to yourself, Nazyalensky,” you seethed, your nod winches from hers. “Or Saints help me, I will make you sorry.”

Saints, some part of her wanted to kiss you desperately.

“Tomorrow evening six p.m, the local library,” she smirked, her hand moving up to grab your chin. “Don’t you dare be late.”

An extremely foreign feeling crept over your skin at her touch, at her gaze, making your cheeks tint pink. She took your distraction to her advantage and spun you around so that she wasn’t against the lockers anymore; you were.

She pinned your hands above your head by your wrists as she leaned forward to whisper in your ear, “Never do that again, Brekker. Two can play that game.”

Another violent blush coated your cheeks as you glared at her, making her smirk more as she moved back and walked down the hallway to the exit.

“Fuck you, Nazyalensky!” You shouted out to her.

“In your dreams, Brekker!” She laughed evilly and shut the doors behind her with a bang.

You walked back home with your head in a whirl and disbelief in your body at how she made you blush.

Your mind went back to how her gaze locked on yours so strongly, you couldn’t look away. How gorgeous she looked as she pinned you to the lockers.

How much you liked it when she did that…

“Saints alive,” you breathed as you rang the doorbell of your house. “What the hell is happening?”

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Hi! I hope you enjoyed it, please feel free to request <33

#fluff #six of crows #x fem!reader #zoya nazylensky #shadow and bone #zoya nazyalensky x reader #first bench miniseries #academic rivals to lovers #enemies to lovers #Nina Zenik #Inej Ghafa #Kaz Brekker #Wylan Van Eck #Matthias Helvar #Jesper Fahey #wlw #lesbian

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carriagelamp · 2 years

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One of my favourite cosy little autumn indulgences is the child horror genre. I love old Halloween TV specials and made-for-TV Halloween movies, and I adore all types of Halloween books made for kids especially the ones that are Genuine Horror rather than just trick or treating stories.

Since there's so many limitations to what can reasonably be put in a kids book, it takes away some of the tropes that are staples in adult horror and, in my experience, really forces the author to be creative in their presentation if they want the story to actually be scary. Delicious. So, like every other Halloween, I had to go out of my way to try reading at least a few of those!

Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

I saw this book in a library a while back and the title was just so eyecatching that I haven’t been able to forget it. I finally gave it a go and it was very worth it — I thought it would be a rather mediocre middle grade adventure but it was actually something rather special!

It creates a very quirky world where the world that we’re used to is “Librarian Controlled” (the Hushlands), and the knowledge we’re fed is very carefully curated to keep us under control. The rest of the world is aware of how much bigger things are, and are able to use all sorts of strange technologies and magics. One significant magic is that of “oculators”, people who can use special sands to create magical lenses that give them all sorts of unique powers.

The main character, an orphan shunted through the foster system due to his tendency to destroy anything he touches, finds out that he was left a very unusual inheritance by his parents: a sack of plain looking sand. At least it seems plain until his bizarre grandfather — who has the “talent” of always being five minutes late to things — appears out of nowhere and informs him that he’s from a family of oculators and that they must, simply must retrieve that precious sand…

The one downside is that it does have the frustratingly common misogyny that you expect in a "boy's adventure" novel, so that sucked. But otherwise, the narrator’s voice is very funny and snide, with a lot of Snicket-style meta-narration. If you want a light adventures, this is worth trying — scratches a similar itch to Harry Potter in my opinion. I’m looking forward to reading the sequel.

Dead Voices

I had read the first book of this series, Small Spaces, a couple Halloweens ago, and figured that this would be a nice book to pick up this Halloween. “Child horror” is a genre that I really love — it has a very specific vibe that really is unmatched in any other genre or style. It’s one of my favourite, cosiest memories about autumn! So I love an excuse to read a well-written youth horror.

This series by Katherine Arden absolutely hits that nostalgic autumnal child terror, and she actually does it well enough to give an adult some chills, ha! In this book, Ollie, Coco, and Brian, who have bonded since defeating the Smiling Man the previous fall, have arranged to all go on a skiing trip up in the mountains with Ollie’s dad and Coco’s mom. However things take a bad turn when a snowstorm strands them in the nearly-deserted ski resort, and the voices of the dead start whispering their dark secrets and lies to them… The resort has a much darker past than they could have guessed, and some of those ancient cruelties haven't let go yet.

The Fifth Elephant

Continuing to reread Terry Pratchett novels to self-sooth. The Fifth Elephants is one of my all-time favourites and it’s been a while since I last picked it up. In this book, Sam Vimes finds himself roped into playing diplomat when Lord Vetinari sends him, his wife, and a small entourage up into the largely-uncharted and mysterious Uberworld. In a land where Ankh-Morpork’s law and Vimes’ badge carry little weight, he finds himself forced to investigate a theft that could throw everything into turmoil, and which puts him directly in the middle of the violent machinations of the dwarves, werewolves, and vampires who are vying for control of the region…

Goosebumps: Trapped In Bat Wing Hall

I loved Goosebumps as a kid. I still love Goosebumps, let’s be honest. Trapped In Bat Wing Hall was one of my favourites — it was one of the only choose your own adventure books that I owned, and me, my brother, and my friend would sit in my bed during the fall and read it together, trying to find the best ending and getting ourselves spooked (and killed) along the way.

In this specific book, You end up joining a new friend when he goes to participate in The Horror Club -- a strange group of kids that meet in the abandoned mansion and the end of the dead end street. Only, they're not sitting around and telling scary stories tonight like they usually do. Tonight is games night, and you're forced to choose a team to join in on this deadly game.

Guardian Herd: Starfire

Hoo boy. This series. All I wanted was a chill talking animal book to listen to on a long drive. Well, it was a cute animal adventure story along a similar bend to Warriors, so I'll give it that. The premise is that once every hundred years a black pegasus foal is born and on its first birthday it will either become a “destroyer” or a “healer” who will “unite the five herds”. Most of the black foals over the past several hundred years have been killed rather than risk the danger they pose. Star is the latest black foal, and with his long, dragging wings he’s one who can’t even fly. Feared and scorned, all Star wants to do is reach his first birthday, but with war pressing in from neighbouring herds and mistrust within his own, that seems increasingly unlikely.

Sadly, it was a very mediocre book with lax lustre world building. Kind of expected it, since it mostly just seems like a knock off trying to capitalize on this particular genre. Still, I liked how it explored the actual physical problems a pegasus would have with oversized wings and the health ramifications. That was interesting. It had a few intriguing points and I had an enjoyable enough time reading it, enough so to try the sequel…

Guardian Herd: Stormbound

But the sequel. Oh the sequel. Okay, the first one definitely had a christian lean that was hard to ignore, but the second book ramped that up beyond the point I could ignore. The bits I found the most interesting in book one were over by this point, and now we’re just left with… this. The Brave Chosen One Trying To Be a Pacifist Leader And Do What’s Right. It was as dull as it sounded.

I don’t know the bible well enough to tell if this is an actual full-on intentional allegory, but at the very least it’s so baked in cultural christianity that all I can do is roll my eyes. I gave up when it started trying to explain why Christ— sorry, why Star couldn’t use his healing magic to, yknow, heal the pegasi. Or use any of his powers to actually help people. Because basic universal health care would like, decrease the quality of their lives or something? I don’t know man, it was so american. We had pony!Jesus, pony!Judas, pony!Mary, the whole fucking kit and kaboodle. Couldn’t finish, it was rough.

The Lost Rainforest: Mez’s Magic

A talking animal book that was significantly more fun that the Jesus Pegasus books. It dragged a bit towards the end, but over all it was an enjoyable adventure, fast-paced, and you could tell the author really cared about animals and knew his shit. It’s what led to me looking into his other stuff, actually. The characters managed to walk that very precarious balance between feeling like they could be authentic animals, while still being fun, interesting characters with their own personalities and voices.

In this rainforest, the animals of night and day are very distinct. Animals that walk by night will, without fail, fall asleep as soon as dawn arrives and be unable to rise until dusk, and vice versa. Never shall the two mix. Except for a few, strange, unnatural animals that were born during the eclipse. Unable to sleep when they’re supposed to, and brimming with strange, unknown magic, they become known as "shadow walkers" and are feared. However an ancient evil, one heralded by the ants and which walks in those between times, is beginning to awaken, and these shadow walkers are slowly recruited one by one to try to save the rainforest.

Night Lunch

This is a beautifully made picture book that I read because I honestly just love everything made by Eric Fan. Barnabus Project and It Fell From The Sky are two that stand out as very strange, almost eerie picture books that have the most stunning art. I would recommend checking them out, they all hit differently than most of the standard picture books on the market right now.

Queer Ducks (and Other Animals): the Natural World of Animal Sexuality

A book I found because I was looking into Eliot Schrefer’s other works! This is a pop-sci work written for a teen and up audience that looks into how fascinating and diverse sexuality and gender is within the natural world. It breaks down the idea that queerness in humans could ever be unnatural, but it is, literally and factually, incorrect. Animals have always lived in a way that extends far beyond humans' very binary views of sex and gender.

Though the language is very accessible and Schrefer has a very engaging way of writing, the facts are presenting in very solid way and include further works to look into for more detailed information; I certainly look a lot from it! I absolutely devoured it and I don’t usually enjoy nonfiction that much, so for anyone that wants to look at sexuality through a scientific lens it is very worth reading and feels super validating.

Raising Steam

This is actually my first time reading Raising Steam all the way through. I had bought it when it first came out, but found I was too emotional about Sir Terry’s declining health to be able to settle into it.

Over all, I had mixed feelings about it. It certainly wasn’t one of my favourites, and I dislike it as a Lipwig book. I really passionately love Going Postal and Making Money so this one felt very… out of sync. The length of time it covered and really just sort of... summarized was odd, especially for a Lipwig book which are usually more high energy and deal with very immediate and active problems. And then Moist himself felt like he had become as a different character that just didn’t hit right for me. I think I would have enjoyed it more if Lipwig had been entirely removed from the plot and it had been left as a standalone that focused on Harry King and Dick Simnel.

That being said, you can really see how it was meant to be a final, relentless, furious cry to the heavens to treat people like people. To look at the evils and the isolation and the lies and the pettiness of the world and to fight back. To not let the narrow minded, cruel people who want to drag the world backwards win, to force a better world, one step at a time, one railway tie at a time. And I can really respect that.

The Ribbajack // A Wolf at the Door

I’m going to talk about both of these at the same time because I had a similar experience with both. They’re both collections of “horror” short stories that I had been saving for Halloween, and I’m sad to say that neither really did it for me. The Ribbajack was a collection of short stories by Brian Jacques which I bought specifically because it’s ~*Brian Jacques*~, and A Wolf at the Door has an assortment of stories by various authors that all retell fairytales in some ways.

A Wolf at the Door had a few stories that were very enjoyable and that I was glad to have read, but predominantly I thought a lot of the retellings/modernizations were rather… trite. I’ve seen tumblr come up with more interesting revisionings.

The Ribbajack I think I was even more disappointed in. I love the Redwall series and I figured Brian Jacques could do no wrong but… oof. It’s not even that they’re bad, I just found the writing style overwhelming boring. I couldn’t get through the titular story which I heard is supposed to be the best of the lot, and when I skimmed through some of the others to see if they got better none of the others managed to grab me. So I didn’t finish that one. A shame, but c’est la vie.

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swampofiniquity · 4 years

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Gasoline (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Part Three of Point / Counterpoint

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 2829

Summary: It took several years and almost being killed on the job, but you and Leon finally reach the breaking point.

Warnings: Explicit sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, fighting

Part One / Part Two

You could feel the judgmental gazes of the rest of the team, could hear their frustrated muttering as they filed in behind you. Someone even dared to joke, quiet laughter breaking out until a sharp warning glare from Leon sent people scattering like cockroaches after the light switched on.

So much for all the hard work you had put in to earn their respect.

Your fists were clenched so tightly that your fingers ached and your palms stung from your nails digging into the tender flesh. Your tongue was bleeding from being held so tightly between your teeth for the hours it took for the mission party to return to HQ. It was all you could do to keep your frustration from exploding all over the place like a fifth grade science fair volcano.

You were beyond furious. Rage, white and hot coursed through your blood, searing your veins as Leon shoved you bodily into the elevator, his own anger rolling off him in sickening waves. Never before had either of you been so upset with one another.

The indignity of being thrown over his shoulder and removed from the mission like a petulant child. The utter disregard for your expertise or competency as an agent. The fucking audacity to stand between you and your target, to yell at you in front of the whole team. As the elevator climbed, you could concentrate on nothing else, not the vice-like grip he still had on your arm or the acrid, lingering scent of gunpowder on your clothes. Not even the nagging worry in the back of your head that this had done irreparable damage to your friendship.

After what seemed like forever, the elevator finally stopped at the top floor and Leon shoved you out, dragging you to his office and locking the door. He turned to you with a kindred fury burning in his blue eyes.

The room echoed with two warring shouts of “What the hell is wrong with you?” and “You nearly got yourself killed!”

“Goddamnit Leon, he was right there! Another second and I could have had him if you hadn’t -” you cut yourself off, fuming. Your hands shook as you slid off the ridiculous stiletto heels that were part of your disguise. It took every ounce of what little remained of your restraint to not hurl the uncomfortable shoes at his office window.

While you primarily served as medical support out in the field, being the youngest woman on the team you also did a fair amount of what was jokingly referred to as ‘honey pot’ missions, where your job was to dress a certain way, go in and extract information from or otherwise distract targets that had a known weakness for women. It was a bit demeaning having to show up to work in a thong and push-up bra, but you had been instrumental in putting some pretty big players in the B.O.W. market out of commission. You were damn good at your job, even in a dress and heels.

And you had never failed at it, until tonight.

“We had a plan!” he roared, stalking towards you until you were forced to take a step back. “You were not to engage until backup was ready. His security made you, you realize that right? Another second and you would have been dead!”

You shook your head, bristling under his glare, his anger feeding into your own. “You of all people should have trusted me!”

Leon growled, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you hard into the wall. A twisted, pained sort of scowl marred his face. Still furious, even beyond the shock of his actions, you bared your teeth at him in a cruel smile. You weren’t some spineless rookie agent he couldn't intimidate, and you were going to just let him manhandle you into submission.

After a tense moment, he finally took a step back and let you go. Leon rolled his neck and turned to walk to his desk, to put some distance between the two of you. But somehow, the sight of his back made you even more livid.

“Coward,” you hissed.

He was back in a second, pushing you roughly into the wall with his bulk and grabbing you by the throat. For a fleeting, terrifying second you thought he meant to squeeze, but then he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours so forcefully you were sure your lips would bruise.

It was less kissing than combat, the resulting embrace. It was remarkable how easy it was to go from hate to need. Or perhaps more aptly, for the two to blur together so seamlessly. As soon as you felt his hard body up against you and his lips pull viciously at your own, the boiling blood under your skin took on a different purpose.

It didn't matter that he was your friend or your superior or that he had just humiliated you on the job. Years of tension came to head spectacularly, leaving the two of you powerless to do anything but give in.

Your frantic hands clawed at his jacket as he gripped your waist and hauled you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. The ragged fabric of your once elegant gown, now torn and dirty from the harrowing failure of a mission, rucked up past your hips.

“Oh fuck,” you panted against his mouth, instinctively grinding into him. Leon groaned into the kiss and your head spun as you felt him harden through his pants.

"Jesus, gorgeous." Hit bit down on your lips as he pressed his growing erection further into you.

You were flushed. The room and your blood too hot. Your skin too sensitive. Your clothes felt like they were suffocating you. Desperately, you tried to reach the zipper of your dress with one shaking hand, the other anchoring tightly around his neck. But you couldn’t quite grasp it. A frustrated whine caught in your throat.

“Get me outta this,” you demanded, tearing your mouth from his. Leon nipped at your lips before reluctantly returning your bare feet to the floor.

Instead of bothering with the zipper, he used both hands to rip the satin fabric of your dress, the rasping sound of it tearing making you wince. What remained of the dress fell off you and pooled at your feet. His darkened eyes tracked its movement down your body and your feverish skin erupted in goosebumps under his gaze.

“Fuck,” he grunted and you weren’t sure what felt more intoxicating, finally being free of the restricting clothes or his reaction to your bared body.

You answered by throwing yourself back into his arms with enough force to make him stumble. He found his balance while you found the pulse point on the side of his neck and bit down. Leon gasped then sucked in air between his teeth as you used your tongue to soothe the mark.

“Desk,” you muttered against his skin, knowing that your legs were unlikely to hold you upright for much longer. It was the only word your brain could manage, most of its power now being focused on the feeling of his kiss, the strength of his arms, the musky spicy scent of his skin.

“No,” he bit out and his voice sounded ruined. “Here” With that he had you shoved up against the wall again, pinning you with his hips.

Your stomach swooped, like during a free-fall. He was impatient, near frantic, running his hands over every inch of you he could reach. The feeling of familiar hands in such unfamiliar territory, mixed with the adrenaline and anger from your fight left you shivering despite the fire you could feel building up to a steady roar beneath your skin.

You took a second to lament the fact that you couldn’t possibly undress him with even half as much flair or drama as he did you. Not needing to seduce anyone like you did, Leon had been running the mission from the shadows, and the usual jacket and jeans combo he was wearing was still pretty sturdy even after surviving the disastrous end of the job. You settled for slipping your hands under the jacket and sliding it down his broad shoulders. He grumbled, upset to have to take his hands off you to get the damn thing off, and flung it away carelessly. Any further attempt you made to divest him was foiled by Leon gripping both your wrists in one large hand and pinning them to the wall above your head.

“Later,” he breathed like a promise into your ear. He bent to suck and kiss down the taut muscles of your neck as his free hand grabbed one of your knees to drag up and hook around his waist. Unconsciously, you tilted your hips so your wet heat pressed firmly against the firm bulge at the front of his jeans. Your whole body shook as your clit caught and dragged deliciously on the rough denim.

All pretense, or what little was left of it, melted away at that point. Leon shuddered against you, then moved quickly to unfasten his fly and push his pants and shorts far enough down his hips to release his hard cock. You could feel the velvet heat of it brush against the inside of your thigh as it came free and a surge of liquid warmth swooshed past your belly and down to your cunt.

Without ceremony, he pulled your thong to the side and guided himself into you, bottoming out with a sharp snap of his hips. You cried out. It was almost too much, the sudden stretch and fullness. The intensity. Fuck, your best friend was inside you. You struggled, trying to pull your hands free, but his grip only tightened.

“Holy shit, Leon,” you moaned, his name leaving your lips in almost a wail as he started thrusting in earnest.

"God, you’re so fucking tight, so good,” he grit out through clenched teeth, his nails digging into the soft flesh of your thigh as he fucked you.

You tried to keep up and give as much as you took, but he set a rough, near punishing pace. And you were only human. It didn’t take long for the spreading warmth and tingles he elicited in you to expand, then violently contract.

Your climax hit you hard and fast, like a tidal wave. You thrashed, throwing your head back against the wall and crying out nonsense oaths, either uncaring or oblivious to the other offices on the floor that could surely hear you from behind the thin walls. Leon fucked you through it, not stopping or slowing, not even when the resulting contractions in your pussy made him shout out loud.

When the wave finally began to ebb and your energy started to bleed away, you sagged, boneless, in his grip. But Leon didn’t miss a beat, dropping your wrists in favor of seizing your hips with both hands. This forced you higher up on the wall, and change of angle made his thrusts hit home deeper, the blunt head of his cock hitting your cervix.

You gasped, fingers and nails clawing into his shoulders as you held on tight. It felt like he was trying to break you in two and the new, dull pain mixed exquisitely with the pleasure every movement still sent through you.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, burying his face into the side of your neck.

His arms were shaking now and you could tell he was close. You brought your other leg up to wrap around his waist and used what little strength you had left to match his pace with your hips.

That seemed to send him over the edge. A jagged moan ripped from his throat and his fingers tightened painfully into your flesh. With a few more deep thrusts and a gush of wet warmth, he came inside you, your name leaving his lips like some kind of sinful prayer.

“Fuck.”

You ran your hands through his mussed, sweaty hair as he came down and finally pulled out. Leon slumped forward, nuzzling the flushed skin of your chest. His five o’clock shadow tickled and you squirmed, clearly overstimulated. It was enough to take you out of the post-climax haze.

“Leon,” you whispered, fear and uncertainty starting to fill in the space in your chest that your previous rage and indignation had left behind. With some space and time to cool off, you had been reasonably sure your friendship could have bounced back from the earlier clusterfuck. But this… You knew a line had been crossed here that the pair of you had religiously toed for a reason .

You were now scared you had just ruined everything.

“I came so close to having to watch you die today.” It was so quiet that you wouldn’t have caught it if his face wasn’t still so close to yours. Leon took a shaky breath before finally meeting your eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you.”

The honesty hit you like a sock to the gut. “ Leon -”

“No, just let me say something first.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I know I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did and I know that you’re a good agent, but damn it Y/N, you can be so fucking stubborn sometimes. I don’t know where you got it stuck in your head that you have to do everything yourself, but you don’t. You said I should have trusted you, but you gotta trust me too, sweetheart. Or else none of this shit works.”

Your heart sank, knotting with your stomach in guilt, as you finally realized what all the anger and yelling and fighting had been hiding. He wasn’t just upset that you had gone against his plan. He had been scared.

“I don’t - I didn’t,” you tried, but the words wouldn’t come.

Leon shook his head. “ I don’t ever want to feel like that again. I don’t care what I have to do, what we have to do, but I… I can’t lose you, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, your heart clenching in affection for the man in front of you.

“Okay.” Leon pressed a kiss to your temple and sighed heavily, the tension finally starting to bleed from his body. Suddenly, he straightened, wrapped his arms snugly around your back, and started to carry you away from the wall.

You flailed for a moment as your center of gravity shifted, but Leon never dropped you. Even though your behavior from earlier would have warranted it. You felt awful about the whole shit show of a day. With some hindsight, you could admit that maybe you had been a little too hotheaded, a little too eager to prove your worth.

Though whether or not you were ready to admit that to Leon was another story.

“Where are we going?” you asked, stifling a laugh as his open pants slid down to his ankles, forcing him to waddle like an overgrown penguin.

“Couch. I’m exhausted and you’re getting heavy.”

You scoffed in fake indignation as he finally reached his goal and deposited you on the plush cushion of his office’s modest couch. Before he could pull away, you leaned in and caught his lips in a soft, tender kiss. His hands went to the back of your head, blunt nails massaging your scalp in a way that made you melt. When you pulled away, you didn’t bother to hide your smile.

Leon frowned down at you, forehead wrinkled in suspicion. “What was that for?”

You shrugged and pecked his lips again. “Just felt right, I guess. Hey - “ he started to straighten again, but you pulled him back down until he was practically straddling you on the couch. “You know I couldn’t bear losing you either, right? I - you’re important to me.”

The L-word had been on the tip of your tongue, but you forced it back down. You had said it to each other before, but only under strictly platonic circumstances and usually with the help of more than a few drinks. Not naked and vulnerable and thoroughly fucked. After the emotional whirlwind you had just been through, you weren’t sure you could survive opening that can of worms.

“Yeah, you’re important to me too, gorgeous.”

There were sure to be consequences, both numerous and harsh, from everything that occurred. The failed mission. Going against orders. Yelling at a senior agent in front of the entire team. And it would be nothing short of a miracle if no one found out about what had just happened between you and that same agent. You’d be lucky to walk away with a suspension.

But as Leon settled down next to you and tucked you gently into his side, you found it hard to focus on anything other than how good it felt to be in his arms.

#leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #resident evil #leon kennedy smut

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batarella · 4 years

Text

I Don’t Hate You - Part 5 (Jason Todd x Reader)

will i ever find true love? with standards like this? will i ever find someone who’ll quench my thirst like jaybaby does?

nah.

(If you haven’t already noticed, since the reader is inspired by Jade West, ALL the songs in her singing scenes come from the covers by the iconic Liz Gillies! This one’s scene is inspired by Liz’s live story right here)

WORD: 6908 WARNINGS: EVEN MORE FLUFF BWAHAHAHAHA

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

Jason: ‘don’t do it.’

Jerry the science teacher was starting to catch on to him with Jason’s eyes darting to his crotch for no reason and his hand under the desk, but Jason managed to fool him by pulling out his notebook right where his phone was and pretended to take notes with his free hand. It was getting harder to hide it though, especially when he’d crack into a wide grin in the middle of a boring discussion all of a sudden. He looked like an idiot.

Y/N: ‘I’ll fucking do it.’

Jason: ‘she’ss a teaacher.’

Y/N: ‘that hasn’t stopped me before.’

Jason was writing scribbles onto his notebook at that point, lingering his eyes on the teacher for as long as he could while his other hand blindly texted barely readable typos. How were you able to text so well?

You sent another text before he could respond. ‘I’m totally doing it.’

Jason: ‘I’m sure she wasd looookin behind yuu’

Y/N: ‘no. she was definitely looking at me. Who else would she look at when she’s talking about baby murderers.’

Jason: ‘oh.’

Jason really wanted to laugh now. He double texted.

Jason: ‘I get it now.’

Y/N: ‘im not a fucking serial killer.’

Three dots floating in a bubble followed after.

Y/N: ‘yet.’

Jason kept his eyes on the board. Thankfully, this was chemistry. Bruce taught him more about that subject than Jerry ever will. He didn’t need to listen.

Y/N: ‘it’s just her divorce.’

Jason: ‘you have got to stop asking facultyyyt memberd how their divorce is going.’

Y/N: ‘why not’

Jerry definitely caught him by now. His glances at him included unbothered shakings of his head and flattened lips. But he didn’t say anything and went on with the discussion. He probably didn’t bother. Jason would end up with the highest test score no matter what he was doing in his desk. And the man had large bags under his eyes that screamed ‘I really don’t give a fuck about any of you’ to his students.

Jason: ‘you’re worse than a serial killer.’

You: ‘Im no Amelia Dyer.’

Jason: ‘remind me to look her up.’

You: ‘she killed 400 babies and had a infant farm for 20 years before she got caught.’

Jason: ‘sounds like something you’d do’

Y/N: ‘I don’t kill babies. I just scare them.’

Jason: ‘that’s the first step right there.’

You sent a middle finger and it made him silently cackle. Somehow, your sense of humor through came off a lot less dark, maybe because you didn’t sound like you were serious, when in actuality, you probably were. It didn’t matter though. He was smiling like a crazy person in the middle of a discussion about balancing equations.

Jason placed his phone back into his pocket and waited for the bell to ring so he could go meet you at the library for the fifth week since you started. You were halfway through your sentence. He never thought he’d get there. Somehow, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the end of it as he thought he would.

Just yesterday, he told himself it was wrong to enjoy watching you scream at the stoners hiding behind the encyclopedia sections knowing no one would go in there at all. You were, quite literally, kicking them out of the library while Ms. Peterson backed you up like a shrieking duo. One of them cried while you charged at him, looking like you were about to tear his hair out and you threatening to stick his blunt up his earhole.

It went from something so obnoxious to something so amusing to watch. Perhaps the wrong was in him.

Jason listened to the teacher for the last ten minutes of the class, then the bell rung and everyone started for the exit. He picked up his bag, then took out his phone to tell you he was on his way.

“Texting in class now, Todd?”

He wanted to throw his bag, or anything he had on his hands really, to that source of that voice. Brandon. Fucking Brandon. With his still throbbing new nose and football varsity jacket over his shoulders that made him look even more loathsome than he already does. He came up to Jason and stood him off.

“Every single day for the past week, you text in class.” Brandon brought his leg up to rest on a chair beside Jason. “What? You think you’re so much smarter than everyone now?”

“I’m smarter than you, that’s for sure. But that’s not really much to brag about.”

“I can tell on you, you know. How’d your GPA like that?”

“Didn’t know you were a dirty snitch, Brandon.”

“Who you texting?” he raised his arms up to intimidate him. “That psycho bitch you hang out with all the time?”

Bruce told him to keep his rage in check even more so in class than he barely does in patrols, but at that moment, in a dizzying blur, Jason skillfully pushed Brandon against the wall and pulled his fist behind him without much care for the onlooking crowd.

“Want a new nose again, jackass?”

“Fuck you-“

“ALRIGHT, ENOUGH. STEP AWAY FROM HIS NOSE.”

Jerry. Poor Jerry. The tired teacher grabbed onto Jason’s shoulder and pulled him away from the linebacker. Jason backed down, lowering his arm, then kept his glare on him while he puffed up his jacket.

“Both of you. Get out of here. Todd, you don’t want me to send you to the VP’s office again before I call your father. Everyone walk away. Yes, everyone. Walk on. Get on with your business.”

He kept his head craned down while Jerry screamed at anyone sparing him a look. Jason shoved his bag over his back and stormed out of the room. Slamming the door, he walked to the library and found an empty table waiting for him with a cart full of books at the side. Ms. Peterson had her hand on her hip, snarling at him when he took the seat. “Get to these by today, boy.”

He ignored her and sat down, leaning forward to take yet another nap with his arms folded under his head.

All it takes is one triggering moment. One thug to taunt him. One word from the Joker. One lecture from Bruce. One threat to his humanity. And now his head’s all boiled up and all he wanted to do was block out the rest of the world and take a nap. And even then, he knew he wouldn’t wake up feeling any better.

“Jason,” Bruce told him a five weeks ago, the first day of his library sentence. “Anything going on in school you should tell me about?”

“Nothing. What makes you think that?”

“You caused trouble,” he said. “You picked a fight.”

“I’m fine. I’m not letting it affect my grades.”

“This isn’t about your grades. You can't let your business from the field affect you and hurt innocent people.”

“I’m not-“

“The next time the principal calls me with you starting another fight-“

“You’ll what? Take away my phone privileges?”

“I’m taking away your suit.”

He stormed out of that room before he could say anything more. Bruce never brought it up again, but Jason knew he was going to keep his word no matter what.

Jason didn’t even notice when you took the seat across of him with that prolonged, annoyed grunt that most often came with an eye roll. You placed your bag to your side and poked at his arm.

“Ey. You gotta help me with this.”

He didn’t look up when you pulled out your notes and your textbook. “WAKE UP.”

You repeatedly patted his shoulder until he let out a large enough grunt to make him crane his head up, eye squinting at you and his black hair covering his eyes. He really needed a haircut.

“What do you want now?”

“You weren’t this grumpy this morning.” You smirked. “I have to make a lit paper.”

“Why can't you do it yourself?”

“’Cuz you're the expert here. And I need that A.”

He buried his face back into his arms. “I’m not in the mood, Y/N.”

“Come on,” you said. Your voice prolonged the last syllable and you started to sound more annoying. “Don’t be a baby.”

“Just do it and ask me questions or some shit.”

“But I need your help-“

“And by the end of this, we’re at each other’s throats. I really don’t have the time for that now.”

You backed up, scoffing. “’Cuz you have something so much better to do?”

“Yeah,” he snarled. “Like taking a nap.”

He didn’t even glance at you taken aback and ignored you cursing under your breath. “Fine. Eat a dick, asshole.”

You took your stuff and drowned them into your bag, shuffling out of the table. A girl came up to you with a voice lower than a whistle. “Uhm, excuse me-“

“NO!” you screeched, then headed for the next table before she could ask anything more. The poor girl was trembling on her knees by the time you found an empty seat and pour out everything in your bag. His head was a mess, and the silence was the first step to actually making him clear his grime-covered mind. Jason kept shutting his eyes closed and focused on the blunt colors that appeared before his eyes in the shape of spirals.

For half an hour, he kept at his nap, falling asleep for a good ten minutes before he awoke to the sound of your screaming at a guy too stupid to ask you if the seat next to you was free while you were fumbling with your assignment. Jason groaned into his arm, feeling his head swell and ache and already knowing Bruce was waiting for him at home with yet another long, agonizing lecture on picking fights he never wanted in the first place. His eyes started to hurt from the force he used to shut them close, and everything in his mind was as hot as fire.

Leaning back against the chair, he knew this was going to bite him in the ass, sooner or later.

And one of the very very very few reasons he got to smile or even laugh all day was now violently taking notes while reading a book with the most fed up, furious expression on her face. He pulled out his bag, taking a water bottle and finishing its contents down his throat before he shot up and pushed his chair back.

Jason stood in front of your desk, his hand on the back of the chair across of you and waited for you to take notice of him. Your glare was terrifying. And it actually made him want to step back for once. But he stood his ground and sighed. “Can I help?”

“Get out of here.”

“I can help you.”

“I don’t need an asswipe telling me off.”

He took the chair despite you and you stared at your notebook, still with your eyebrows arched way up.

“Sorry.”

You ignored him and kept with your notes. He peered over, his elbows on the table, and you practically hissed at him when he got too close. Raising his hands up to surrender, he snarled at him before you continued your work.

“How many of reports have you done so far?”

You didn’t look like you were going to respond, and you kept writing like he wasn’t there in front of you at all. Jason couldn’t help but smile seeing you so angry and focused, knowing you were trying your best to block him out and failing miserably when he could see your eyebrow twitch and your eyes darting at him every few seconds.

Squirming his hand to you, his finger tugged on your gray sweater and scratched you like you had an itch. You pursed your lips and pulled your fist out so you looked like you were about to punch him, but he playfully held your hand and backed off. That was when he was fully smiling by now. He could block out all other thoughts easily when it was so fun to bug you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you finally looked up to his eyes. “Come on. Let me help.”

You licked the outside of your teeth and let out a long sigh that came with your usual grunt. Knowing you’d hate and love it at the same time, he ruffled your hair and you charged at him, almost stabbing him with your pen.

You finally managed to smile, then you gave in and handed him your notebook.

“The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe,” you said. “What do you think?”

He leaned over the table, glancing at you, then taking the time to read your notes on what you understood from the passage. “This is good.”

“I’ve read the whole book like ten times by now.”

That made his chest feel just a bit warmer. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you took out the collection book he gave you. “Ms. Peterson has no idea. I’m supposed to have four weeks-worth of penalties because of this.”

Knowing he gave you something, and you happened to like it so much that you wanted it to be your report for literature class, and with you writing a decent paper about it, with you reading it over and over, it instantly became one of the things he won't easily forget.

He never grinned so much in a while, probably since a week ago in the gym. Jason watched you take back your notebook, continuing to write as he gazed too long at your parted lips. Feeling his flesh burn, he looked away.

“I won't bite you if you change anything, you know.” you said, your eyes keeping on your notes. “Go nuts.”

You tore off the page and handed it over to Jason, then you gave him a pen. Smiling at you, he took it, then started to circling words he thought you should change and other ideas he had of his own. A moment of silence, you didn’t scream anything at him when you he gave you the corrections. You graciously nodded, then started rewriting them onto a separate page. Your hair was falling to your cheeks, and it touched your skin so delicately and soft. Pretty.

So pretty.

He was gawking. He was so gawking. You’ll never let him hear the end of it. He shook his head and pretended he wasn’t just resting his chin on his hand like a teenage girl.

The thought of you reading Poe’s works still hadn’t left his mind. It wasn’t even a complete collection. There were so many more stories out there, most just on the internet. Maybe tonight, he could send some to you and you might enjoy them, too.

Or, maybe not. Patrol. Bruce has been telling him not to text so much while he was out supposedly beating criminals. But he couldn’t help it.

There was just something about making you happy, or even just smile or let out a bit of a laugh that made him feel a whip of a breezy rush. You were often sad when you were alone, and whatever you felt at school, it was so much worse at home. Everyday, you told him bits more of how it was like with your parents.

He saw so much of himself in you. You were eerily similar. Too similar. The hidden rage, the angst kept within. Maybe that was why he liked making you laugh so much.

“So what story did you like most?”

You grinned. “I’m not entirely sure. The Black Cat’s definitely up there. I don’t know. I really like all of them.”

“I’ve read that. The Black Cat,” he said, leaning back. “What makes you like it so much?”

“I like the idea of a cat being the whole reason his life goes downhill, kills his wife, and eventually gets caught. Like his whole life was being dictated by his pet.”

“That’s dark.”

“I know,” you smirked. “That’s why I like it so much.”

He had his arms crossed over on the table to cover his chest. “You becoming a serial killer seems more possible now.”

“Fuck you,” you said, sticking your tongue out.

It was almost 4:30. He didn’t even notice the clock. You and Jason had the most civil conversation, not an insult or a mean comment on anything other than a playful back and forth. You closed your notes, then your book, then you stretched out your arms.

“Ms. Peterson’s gonna be pissed. We haven’t done any work today at all.”

“Just put the cart behind that shelf over there. We’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

He laughed, and you went with him as he stood up and did exactly so. “I can take you home today. But we have to leave now. Bruce wants me to go with him on this… thing.”

“Nah.” You pulled on your sweater as you headed out the door. “I’ll stay behind. Dad’s usually awake at this time. He won't be asleep until like, an hour from now.”

Jason respectfully understood, and you watched him as he walked out through the halls, turning at the corner.

He pulled out his phone. There was a text from Bruce.

‘You coming tonight?’

He didn’t bother to respond when he was already on his way home. Yesterday, Penguin and Two Face both had their own bank robberies at opposite ends of town. He repeatedly told Bruce he could handle Cobblepot on his own, but he refused and demanded he go with him while they take them out one by one.

Jason was reluctant of course, and it wasn’t like he had a choice. But he did a great job at finishing off Two Face’s crew that it didn’t take long for them to go all the way to the other bank and catch Penguin before they even got to half the bank’s vaults. Bruce told him he had the option to go with him to patrol tonight or not, but if he were, he had to come home early and not laze around in school like he often did.

Tonight, he chose to go to patrol. He thought he needed an outlet and imagine Brandon’s face on the heads of drug dealers. The thought alone made him grin.

Jason walked out the exit and reached for his keys.

Except he totally forgot he wasn’t even wearing his bag until he’d walked to his motorcycle. Groaning as he walked back into the school’s entrance, he sprinted for the library, catching the door open just as Ms. Peterson was about to walk out with a deathly glare on her face at him. Jason ran for his bag, took it, then gave Ms. P a fun little hug before walking back out.

He took out his phone, expecting a text from you, but there was nothing. So he asked you where you were before heading back out.

Out into the now empty halls, Jason walked pass the lockers, the dark classrooms, the one bright light at the center, he kept his hands in his pockets and sighed.

Piano keys.

Piano keys?

Playing. Simple chords played out but had a familiar tune he couldn’t get out from the back of his mind.

And singing.

A voice he’s only heard so often, yet he could pick out from a million others.

The music room was one he didn’t go in too often, but the sound came from there. The door wasn’t closed, and slowly, he peered it open.

A beam so little from the window, yet he could see how your back was so straight up, how your lean fingers rested gracefully onto the keys, playing the chords in perfectly strewn out notes that he could just tell you’ve been at this for quite some time. From an angle slightly to the left, you couldn’t see him, but he could see a bit of your face, the side of it, how your eyelids looked closed looking down at your own fingers.

Then you sang.

I've seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, in Bel-Air now

Hot summer nights, mid July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you'd play with me like a child

Will you still love me

When I'm no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I've got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

You…

Yeah.

You were beautiful.

So beautiful…

Will you still love me

When I'm no longer young and beautiful?

You just… kept going.

And there was nothing, not ever, in the entire length of his existence, of his years at the streets, of his few years as Robin, of his time at either a ratty apartment or a manor, of all the people he’s met, of any song that he’s heard.

Nothing. Nothing compared to your voice. Nothing compared to you.

Hot summer days, rock and roll

The way you play for me at your show

And all the ways, I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

Breathy, low, and everything he’s kept to remember. His chest never felt so light, yet his heart was beating out of his ribcage. His bag was almost dropped down his shoulder, his mouth was parted, his face deeply flushed. Even when you played the wrong note, cursed, then went on just as perfectly as you ever could, he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you.

His eyes were so relaxed on you, and nothing, not even his trembling shoulders could make him look away.

You reached the higher notes with a perfect falsetto, then your voice echoed out even with the room as small as a stuffy classroom. His eyebrows were up to his forehead and he didn’t know if he was still breathing, when he was standing so still, frozen like a block of ice.

You had so much deepness and soul, and you were often whispering the words, but then your voice would go up in a perfect blend.

Perfect. That was all he could think of. Perfect.

His bag was on the floor now, the only thing keeping it up was a single finger.

Lana Del Ray. You sung it better than her. In his most humble, honest, totally not biased opinion. Shit, he even felt like he wanted to cry. His chest was heaving and his face never burned up so much, at almost the end of the song, he finally had it in him to move from his place and throw himself back against a wall.

Breathe. Fucking breathe.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I'm not young and beautiful?

That last note, you breathed it out so nicely, it went straight into his soul, biting his lip, then closing his eyes.

He smiled like the biggest fucking idiot for the nth time that very day.

Jason looked like a fourteen year old girl cooing over a boyband. He laid his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling, hearing you sing vocal runs and pressing randomly at the piano. And he couldn’t stop showing his teeth, his face was hurting like a bitch, but fuck.

FUCK.

He’s never felt anything like this. Like his head was lighter than the air around him, lighter than the softness of your falsetto. He was still catching his breath and grinning above him, then at the ground, then back at the wall. It wasn’t on what he stared at. Your voice ringing in his ears, like angels were flying around playing their little harps over his head, like the sun was shining so brightly against him that he couldn’t see even a smidge of darkness anywhere in the world. How your face scrunched up, how your eyebrows raised, how you’d close your eyes and feel the song as it flew out your lips.

He rubbed on his chin and mouth to ease his aching muscles. Jason kept with his breathing, the fluttering in his chest. Everything. Everything.

Jason needed to wash his face with ice cold water at this point, gathering enough courage, he looked back into the room.

You were staring back at him.

-----

You didn’t look mad.

Though you definitely, most probably should.

You didn’t even notice he was there until the end of the song when he hit the wall with his back. Idiot must’ve thought you wouldn’t hear him.

But you weren’t mad. Not at all. Not from the way he was looking at you. Not when he was staring at you in a way no one ever had in your whole life. Not when you could see how his lips were parted and how his chest was visibly rising and how cute his face was all embarrassed and shit.

You could only smile.

Standing from the piano and grabbing your bag, you walked over to him. Jason gulped down and backed up against the wall with you standing right in front of him.

And after five weeks of knowing him,

Jason Todd finally looked like he was scared shitless of you.

But you didn’t want him to be scared of you. Not anymore. It just doesn’t seem like something you wanted anymore.

“You heard all that, huh?”

Jason was an absolute mess. He cleared his throat three times and hesitantly nodded, keeping his head to the ground.

“I-I’m uh,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be.”

He didn’t look like he had another answer. Jason scratched the back of his head. “Uhm-“

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You walked first, but looked back to see if he followed. Jason rushed to your side, making sure his blush wasn’t so evident even though it clearly was. You were better at hiding your own embarrassment, so you nudged his shoulder.

Jason laughed out loud and looked at you the same way he looked at the stars. You looked back at him the same way.

“You gonna take me home?”

He managed to form a sentence. “I thought you wanted to stay longer.”

You shrugged. “I guess I can take it.”

When you stepped out the gate, Jason walked you over to his bike and handed you his second helmet. Playfully, you hit the side of his and chuckled when you sat behind him, clutching onto his waist. You felt him tense, but he eventually relaxed and you leaned in to him.

You leaned your head on his back this time. You never did that before. Your clutch was tighter, your eyes closed. If it were anyone, it could pass for simply wanting to be more secure. But that day you just wanted to hold someone you actually didn’t mind being with before you’d get home and all this would end in an abrupt stop.

After a long while, you still couldn’t smell smoke emissions from cars or even hear the horns or bells or shouts from all the city folk near your apartment. Looking up then around you with the sun still shining brightly even at this time of day, you were in the countryside. Away from the city.

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?”

“YOU’LL SEE.”

You could smell cow dung, and the earthy scent of grass you should be more used to than you actually are. The road ahead of you was wide and long, and the air was so much lighter than it was at home. You closed your eyes, this time feeling the wind against your skin.

Jason was smiling through his helmet. Further down the road, you held onto him. “I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOMEWHERE TO GO TONIGHT.”

“I TEXTED BRUCE. I’M NOT GOING WITH HIM. JUST HOLD ON.”

You smiled and looked on when he made a turn into a forest with tall trees getting taller as you rode further down. There were no people around you. Not even houses. You leaned into his shoulder and rested your chin on top.

Jason started to slow down when you reached deeper into the trees, finally stopping his bike by the curb. The air was cold, and you wrapped your sweater tighter around your body after you’ve removed your helmet. “Where are we?”

“Come on.”

Jason walked towards the trees, where there was a little cement pathway now covered in weeds and grass growing out of its cracks. You had trouble making your way through, especially when your boots had a bit of a heel in them, then you walked to Jason’s side as it became clearer what you were there for.

An old, abandoned house. Something out of the dozens of horror movies you’ve saved in your laptop.

“Dude…”

“You like?”

It was small, but its picket fence and flaking white wooden walls just screamed fifties to you, with a triangular roof, two windows on the second level, a half-circle glass wall on the right side of the first floor, and a door so rickety and old, colored in an earthly brown that had mixed in with the debris and rot. Vines were all over its porch, and there was even a rocking chair sitting right outside by the entryway, also covered in vines. Outside of the house was an old pickup truck that had rusted beyond use, sinking into the ground like it was pulled by the earth.

“How’d you know I always wanted to go urban exploring?”

“I just figured.” Jason smiled. “Come on. We can go inside.”

“Are you sure?” you eagerly started for the door. “It won't break?”

“I’ve been here once. The stairs are broken so we can't go to the second floor. Just be careful.”

Pulling the unlocked door open, and Jason right behind you, you flashed him a smile before stepping inside.

It was seriously from the horror movies you’ve watched over and over. The first thing that greeted you was a nice little foyer, with a table in the middle and a vase that used to house flowers for sure. Then behind it was the broken staircase Jason mentioned. It was made entirely out of wood, and it had fallen in so bad that it was basically a wall by now. So much of the wood was on the ground, and there were lots of papers, books, clothes, and several others cluttering all around the floor. You had to walk all over them.

There were two entry ways at the sides of the foyer. One leading to the living room, and one to the dining room and kitchen. Everything further down had been blocked out by wooden planks and even more clutter. The living room was beautiful with the glass walls that formed a half circle and a petite grand piano standing in the middle. Its cover was up, and its keys had completely gone. There was still a bit of light coming in to the windows, which shone on the room so nicely, it was perfect.

The couches were completely ruined, and you wouldn’t dare sit on it. At the center of the room, though, which caught your eye the most, was a beautiful, broken chandelier that had fallen to the ground, which was why there was so much broken glass around the floor.

At the other side, the dining room was a bit more modest. A table seating six was still intact, but the chairs were either toppled over to the ground or broken in half. Even more clutter was on the table. Nearby was the kitchen, with an island in the middle, an old-fashioned fridge you probably wouldn’t want to go near to, and other kitchen supplies scattered around.

You both took out your phones and took pictures of the place. It was too good to witness.

“Jason…”

“I know,” he raised his arms up, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Amazing.”

You covered your mouth, then walked on over to the piano. You ran your hands over it, ignoring the mountains of dust that formed over your fingers. “I dare you to play it.”

“There’s barely any keys left.”

You watched him laugh, then you both walked around the chandelier. “Getting a bit of the Phantom of the Opera vibes in here.”

“Don’t touch it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” You eyed it carefully, then you looked up at the empty ceiling. It looked almost like it was going to fall in. Hopefully it wouldn’t.

“The family that used to live here, they left around fifty years ago. A mom, dad, and two twin girls. They both had tuberculosis and died in this very house. The parents just left it after they died. Never took anything along with them.”

“That’s terrifying. You think they’ve got a listing on this place?”

Jason chuckled. “The twins used to be theater stars. That’s why they’ve got a piano. To practice. And they built the whole place around it so the sounds would echo nicely.”

You finally got it. Shaking your head with a knowing smile, you turned to Jason. He had his hands stuck to his hoodie pockets, his head craned down, his hair falling to his eyes, and his smile all over the bottom half of his face.

“Is that why you took me here?”

“You have…” he gulped, never looking away from your eyes. “The most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my life…”

You had to look away. For your own sake. You were turning red so much, it was embarrassing. “Stop.”

“I’m serious. You never told me you sang.”

“It’s not exactly something I hid. I’ve sung in school a couple of times. Like in middle school graduation.”

“So I’m basically the only one in school who hasn’t heard you sing?” He placed his hand on his chest. Then pretended to scoff.

“Why don’t you sing. Right here.”

“Todd. No.”

“Come on. We have the place for it.”

You looked up at the ceiling, which was high for a house so small. It probably went all the way up to the roof. “No way.”

Jason kept nudging you, but you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t help your smile though. You and Jason walked over to the kitchen and just looked at all the things the family left behind. Even the toaster was untouched, and you’ve never seen an oven so old fashioned before, it still had that pastel green color on the parts that hadn’t been taken over by rust.

It was starting to get dark. But you never wanted to leave. “Thank you.”

You said it without looking directly at him, but he got it. Going back outside before everything would completely dim out, Jason walked over to the pickup truck and jumped on its back.

You didn’t have the agility to just jump on top of it without possibly pulling a muscle, so you just watched Jason sit on the edge of it and swung his legs in the air. Standing beside him and leaning your back against the truck, you both watched the house as the sun started to set behind it. You could see the beams scatter just at the center of the roof where it angled down. The sky had grown from a brightly lit yellow to a dark orange.

-----

You and Jason were a recipe for trouble.

Was it because you were too similar? Harbored the same anger? The same hatred for a number of people you didn’t even know? Was it because you both stirred trouble when it wasn’t asked for?

It was a recipe for trouble because, according to the young adult romance novels and movies, Jason was supposed to be with a nice, sweet, innocent girl who’d bring out the good in him and was kind to everyone, have just enough of that spice in her that would draw attention but still be a sweetheart, and she’d be made of happiness and rainbows and would be what brightens up Jason’s darkness.

You were not that girl. You were the opposite. You had that same darkness as he did. You had so much anger, and instilled so much fear onto anyone you didn’t like. Maybe you were even darker. And if it were up to those same novels and movies, you were supposed to end up with basically the same type of person, someone who was bright and yellow and happy. Not Jay.

But with you both being so similar, so full of angst and dread and hate, in a world were opposites were supposed to belong together,

why does he bring so much light and hope?

How does someone just as unhappy as you are come along and make you laugh like the world was about to end?

How does someone just as full of pent up rage as you are come along, and make it all go away for a sweet, short moment?

How was it all possible? How could two people, two very similar people, fit into a puzzle that called for them to fill it what you didn’t have?

How could someone supposed to fuel the fire already inside you end up being the sun?

Jason never thought of that either. In fact, he thought he might end up with someone in his line of work. Another vigilante. Not a mean girl from school who terrorizes students with a pair of fucking scissors.

But, somehow, it all just made everything he was turn into what he was supposed to be. You could say the same.

With you in your little room and Jason in his significantly larger one in the manor, you both sank to the ground, backs against the wall, and you pulled out your phones.

You had left a message first.

Y/N: ‘Urban exploring should be more of a thing.’

Jason smiled.

Jason: ‘Nah. People would crowd those places and vandalize them.’

Y/N: ‘True. I’d want them all to myself anyway.’

Jason: ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

You felt your heart jump. God, this had to stop.

Y/N: ‘I did. Thank you.’

Jason: ‘Should I get used to you being nice to me now?’

Y/N: ‘Probably not.’

He laughed and shuffled his knees.

Y/N: ‘Send me the pictures you took.’

Scrolling through his albums, he selected everything he took that day and sent it all to you. Leaning on his back, looking up at the ceiling as he waiting, Jason imagined the look on your face when you first saw the house. Your eyes never shone so brightly.

You looked through the pictures and found several, about eight of them, centered on nothing else but you smiling at the ceiling, at the piano, at the chandelier, at the tables.

Y/N: ‘Dude. Why this angle of me?’

Confused, Jason looked through the pictures.

And he cursed out loud, over and over, burying his head in his hands when he saw he’d accidentally sent eight pictures he’d secretly taken of you. Fuck it all. This is how he dies. This is the death of Jason Todd.

You were smiling out of your face, and instead of saying anything mean or the thousands of jokes that instantly came up to the front of your mind, you did the same and sent him pictures you took.

And Jason’s heart rose up from where it sank to the floor when he saw you’d taken just as many pictures of him, doing the same things as you did and some with him holding his phone up. One was just his face.

He was a fucking grinning mess by then.

Jason: ‘Don’t I look good.’

Yeah, you cooed. You certainly do. But you didn’t say that to him. You just went along with him and he changed the subject.

Jason: ‘Huge favor.’

Y/N: ‘Shoot.’

Jason: ‘Send me a voice message of you singing.’

Y/N: ‘Absolutely not.’

Jason: ‘Please.’

Y/N: ‘No.’

Jason: ‘I’ll do your library work for three days.’

Y/N: ‘not even if you beg, Todd.’

Jason: ‘I keep my promises, just so you know.’

Y/N: ‘Still no.’

Jason: ‘Sing in the library tomorrow then.’

Y/N: ‘Ms. P will throw me out the fucking window.’

Jason: ‘Yeah, she probably will.’

Y/N: ‘Do my shelving work for three weeks. Then I’ll send you a five second audio message of me humming.’

Jason: ‘Make it a minute of a song of MY choice. Then I’ll do it for a week.’

Y/N: ‘not a chance.’

Jason: ‘what do I have to do then.’

Nothing. You gripped your phone to your chest. I’d sing for you if it makes you smile any day.

Y/N: ’Two weeks. I get to ride on the cart while you shelf my books.’

Jason: ‘Deal.’

You threw your head back, then you made a two second audio message of you screaming “NICE TRY, TODD.”

Jason: ‘Mother fucker.’

Y/N: ‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.’

4 am. You slept at 4 am that night. And only because your eyes couldn’t take it and Jason was drooling on his bed after doing exercises to stay up and talk to you.

He had it bad.

Really bad.

And, not surprisingly, so did you.

----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive @lucy-roo roseangel013bf @ loxbbg reclusive-chicken-nuggethttp-cherries shadowsndaisies river9noble

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader fluff #jason todd fluff #red hood #robin x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #dc comics #dc fanfiction #batarella #batarella fluff #batarella angst #i don't hate you series #i don't hate you #jason todd x reader series #jason todd reader insert #batarella series

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largedenominationsplease · 3 years

Note

104 👀

“That’s a fact, Jack.”

Kiara is pretty sure fifth grade was invented by the devil himself. You know, if he exists. She’s not entirely sold on that particular entity’s reality, but if the devil does exist he definitely invented fifth grade. Or to be more specific, he invented going to school in fifth grade after being homeschooled all her life.

Scanning the room, Kiara resigns herself to the fact that she doesn’t actually know many of the kids there and would probably never make a single friend. She might as well be invisible. Sure, she’s seen many of their faces from The Wreck, or being around town, but she doesn’t actually know them. And they don’t know her. Take the weird blond kid she had been assigned to sit next to (because the teacher had decided to seat them alphabetically by first name; Kiara may be new to the whole going-to-school-thing, but even she knew that was a little odd). She had seen him around town a few times. He likes to play with the Heyward kid, who is sitting somewhere behind her. But she doesn’t know his name. She wishes she did, though, so she could use it to properly tell him off for distracting her on her first day.

He’s rather wild, constantly tapping on the desk with his pencil, bouncing his legs, boots clunking against the floor, humming extremely off key. He leans to the kids around him, especially the brown haired boy on his other side, and whispers to them about whatever runs through his mind. He has told a few funny jokes, but they’re working on multiplication tables now, and Kiara has always been bad at math, and the teacher is talking really fast because apparently it’s supposed to be review, so she tries to ignore him.

“Hey,” the blond boy whispers to her for probably the fiftieth time that day. “Hey, new girl.”

“My name is Kiara,” she hisses back. “Shh! I’m trying to pay attention.”

“If you miss anything, just ask Pope. He always gets the right answers.”

“Is that really what you wanted to tell me?”

“No. Do you like to surf?”

“Sh! Math!” She tries to turn her attention back to the teacher, but now the blond boy is leaning over and picking up one of her extra pencils and inspecting the little animal eraser she had attached to the end of it. “Hey, give that back?”

“Or what, Kiara?” He drags her name out with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. He’s teasing her. In the middle of math class. Kiara has never considered herself a violent person, but in this moment she wants nothing more than to punch his silly smirking face.

“Or I’ll punch your face,” she says, trying to maintain some sort of discreteness while lunging for her pencil. It wouldn’t be a good look to get detention on her first day in real school.

“Girls can’t punch!” The boy laughs, maybe a little too loudly because the teacher turns around and glares at the classroom. All of the children freeze in their seats. This is a new year and a new teacher, who could be incredibly strict or very laid back. Only time would tell. Even crazy blond boy seems to quiet down and be on his best behavior for exactly three milliseconds before the teacher turns back to the board to continue writing out the complex problem she was trying to explain.

“This girl can punch,” Kiara whispers harshly. “And that’s a fact, Jack.” She’s heard her dad use that phrase before, and it sounded impressive when he said it. She hopes it will make the boy shut up for good, but he leans back, a funny look crossing his face.

“How’d you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name.”

She bites back a little laugh of disbelief. “It’s just a thing my dad says. Wait, your name’s really Jack?”

He nods, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, but everyone calls me JJ. Can you really punch?”

“Yes, and I can prove it if you don’t shut up.”

“Can you show me at recess?”

Kiara sighs. He seems really excited, and honestly, kind of nice, even if he is distracting. “Sure, but you gotta let me pay attention to Ms. Jones.”

JJ mimes sealing his lips and locking them tight, and Kiara giggles a little. She lets him keep the pencil he took for a while because he seems to like it. He keeps quiet for the rest of math class, thankfully, and at recess, Kiara shows him how to throw a punch. He gets pretty good at it, too.

#drabble challenge #thanks anon #blurb #liv writes

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sleepyimpala · 4 years

Text

tutoring

FANDOM: IT (2017). PARING: Stanley Uris x Reader. REQUESTS FOR STANLEY ARE CLOSED.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

You walked home, your feet treading into the concrete pathway.

You’d tried so hard on your maths test and yet your grade was still there, in it’s big red ink, etched out into the paper.

You knew your mum would be so mad when you told her that your grades still hadn’t changed.

She’d blame it on the boys you were hanging out with - the only group of friends you’d ever had since you were all five.

“A proper girl associates herself with other girls who show a good example, not a group of boys who are rash and violent,” that’s what she’s said, many, many times.

“So bitches like Gretta are the kinds of people you want me to hang around with?”

You’d answer, always upset she referred to your friends as ‘violent’, ‘rude’ and ‘barbaric’.

The only other person in your school who you got along with was Beverly Marsh - and you only hung out with her on weekends because she was your partner in Drama class.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Your mum only liked Eddie and Bill - Eddie because he wasn’t so 'boyish’, he was polite, and Bill because she said his stutter was cute.

You didn’t understand why she didn’t like Stanley, of all people.

What? Just because he was Jewish?

Richie was Jewish! No one cared that he was Jewish!

Well, your mum didn’t, but of course, she still disliked him, but only because he was rude and swore, like, a lot.

You thought your mum would like Stanley - with his ironed clothes and curly hair and polite attitude, but she just chose to focus on one thing.

You sigh, going in through the back door.

The first thing you did after chucking your school bag to the floor was sneak into the living room and call Stanley - your mum wasn’t back from work yet.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

“Hey!” Stanley picked up the phone as soon as you called him. “Stanley Uris, Who is it?“

Your boyfriend had a phone in his room so he didn’t have to worry about his parents answering for him.

“My mom’s gonna kill me,” you groan loudly. He laughs.

“What? Why?"

At least he took it seriously, unlike Richie, who you learnt the hard way not to call when you had a problem because he’d just blurt it to everyone else.

"I got another F on my maths test,” you throw your head up in annoyance.

There’s silence coming from his side, and you knew he was doing that thing where he closes his mouth halfway between a thought.

“Well, I can help you?” He offers.

“I mean, my dad’s not here and we have another one in like, two weeks, and our next one is in like, two weeks, and like - ” he starts.

”Two weeks?“ You almost yell. "Fuck it. Okay. Can I come over?” He chuckles softly again.

“You’re cute. And, yeah, I don’t see why not.” You could tell he was grinning. “Just tell your mum you’re at Bill’s, or something,” he sighs softly.

“I will. See you in a few?”

“Mhm. I’m free the night, too. And tomorrow,” he was probably leaning against the wall now, propping himself up with his arm.

“Same. Bye,”

“Love you,” you smile softly, murmuring in response.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

You remember to write something on a sticky note before you leave, scribbling 'Gone to Bill’s for a sleepover’, forcing yourself to bring the test with you, grudgingly shoving it into your bag.

You’d gotten bored the first two minutes Stanley started talking about the Pythagoras Theorem and explained the properties of triangles.

“Do we have to do this?” You groan in frustration, your pencil snapping for the fifth time already. “Can’t we just make out, or something?”

“As appealing as that sounds right now, I think it’s vital that you learn maths to at least the average level,” he was just poking fun at you, you knew that, but it did sting, kinda, coming from your boyfriend.

“But triangles aren’t gonna help me to publish a story or become a famous actor with Beverly!” He gave you a judging look.

“You hang out with Beverly? Whatever. Just a few more minutes, I promise. Then we can go get ice cream or hang out with Richie, I don’t know,” he shrugs and you sigh, Stanley was pretty good at maths, and he did keep his promises.

“You know, Beverly’s actually really nice,” he gives you a look and you laugh. “Right. Sorry. Continue,”

“So you basically just have to square a and then b, add those two together and…” needless to say, Stan Uris was the only person alive who could explain maths to you.

“Oh, so you don’t subtract them from each other, you add them!” You exclaim. He laughs.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to tell you that,” he rolls his eyes and you pout at him. “For the last - I think thirty minutes,”

“Oops,” you make a small smile. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay. So, you get it now? Because that was pretty much the entire test. I cannot believe you just subtracted them - didn’t you see what everyone else was doing?” He gives a sly smile.

“No!” you say. “I don’t cheat! I’m not Richie! I’m just stupid,”“You’re not stupid,” he says.

“Come on, let’s go get ice cream?"

"I think you’re the only person who would actually put up with me a whole thirty minutes and bother to explain something to me without wanting to rip my head off every five seconds,” you say thoughtfully.

“Hmm. Our relationship is precious, isn’t it?” You smile, burying your head into his arm.

“In a way,” is all he says, before kissing your forehead.

“I love you,”

“I love you too. Thanks for making triangles less exhausting, Bird Boy,”

MASTERLIST (requests for stan are open).

#stanley uris #stanley uris x reader #stanley uris angst #stanley uris x abused reader #stanley uris x reader angst #stanely uris imagine #stanley uris x reader fluff #stan x y/n #stanley uris x y/n #losers club #wyatt oleff #wyatt oleff x reader #wyatt oleff angst #wyatt

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arckook · 4 years

Text

around and around - seven

pairing: cho seungyoun x reader, kim wooseok x reader

au: idolverse

warnings: more swearing than ususal

wordcount: 7.5k

description: you’ve had a one-sided crush on your close friend seungyoun for who knows how long, but things don’t stay so black and white when he introduces you to his new groupmate kim wooseok.

a/n: please listen to falling by harry styles and different by woodz for maximum emotion

“But doesn’t Y/N seem like the kind of person to have their future wedding all planned out?” Jimin asks, smiling over at the younger girl adoringly. “I feel like she knows exactly what she wants.”

“I wish,” you groan, pushing your hair off of your forehead. It’s sticky with sweat- the three of you are sitting outside, and it’s summer. “I only know a few things.”

“Tell us,” Seungyoun says, thinking to himself that he should have offered you a sip of his drink. You’ve already turned to Jimin and nicked some of hers.

You hum, setting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your lips pull into a pout, and you stare up at the umbrella above you, seemingly in thought. “My mom always told me never to date a musician, so I’ll probably follow that. She said they always end up breaking your heart.”

“Ouch,” Jimin laughs. “So never date one of your friends.”

“I know, right?” you reply with a lighthearted giggle. “And… I think my dad would like someone clean-cut. No tattoos and stuff like that. He’s kinda conservative in that way. Oh, and there’s one thing for sure.”

“Let me guess,” Jimin leans back, pointing knowingly. “Rich.”

You laugh.

Seungyoun always thinks you’re prettiest when you’re laughing.

“Nah, not rich,” you wave your hand, still grinning. “But like… kinda has their shit together, you know? I mean, to a degree, but. You know what I mean.”

“I do, I do,” Jimin nods. She looks to Seungyoun, lifting her chin. “So, Youn, you know anyone like that? This girl has not had a boyfriend since like fifth grade.”

You smack Jimin lightly on the arm. “Stop bullying me.”

“I am not!”

Seungyoun lets a smile pass with his lips pressed tightly together, fingers tapping quickly on the table. “None come to mind.”

“Ah,”

Seungyoun winces as soon as the bright light hits his eyes, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. “Stop,” he whines, muffled.

But nobody answers.

For a moment, he’d forgotten that he’s alone.

Seungyoun shifts, one eye opening to peek at where the light is coming from. He’s squinting and can’t see clearly, but he thinks it’s probably the curtain in front of his bed, slightly pushed to the side. And now it’s late enough that the sun has moved to glare straight through that small piece of the window.

Once the one eye has gotten used to the light, he sits up, rubbing both with his fingers. He winces- the headache that’s already blooming getting worse with the sun striking his face. Seungyoun feels around blindly for his phone on the nightstand, eventually finding it.

One in the afternoon.

A fuck ton of missed calls.

He sighs deeply, setting his phone in his lap and putting his head in his hands. He starts to groan, but that hurts, too.

Eventually he’ll have to get up and find some advil, but for now, that’s a lot to think about.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

Seungyoun really groans this time, picking up his phone again to see who could possibly be calling this early in the-

Not morning.

Right.

And of course, it’s the only person who calls him often nowadays.

“Hello?” Seungyoun grumbles quietly into the phone, cringing at the volume of his own voice.

“Yah!” Sahee shouts, loud enough that he has to pull the phone away.

“Wait, please be quieter,” Seungyoun interrupts, pressing his other hand to his forehead. “Hangover.”

“Do you know what you did last night, Cho Seungyoun?” Sahee snaps violently, ignoring his request. “You made a fucking shitshow out of your friend group. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours so you can figure your shit out!”

“...What?” Seungyoun mutters, a deep frown settling into his face.

“I need to know what you want, Seungyoun,” Sahee says, a desperate tone lacing her voice. “Why can’t you ever give anyone a straight answer?”

Seungyoun hesitates.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, and hangs up.

He sighs again.

Seungyoun runs his thumbs over the phone screen, turned off. He must’ve drank enough to completely forget most of last night- whatever Sahee is talking about, he has no clue. The last thing he remembers is leaving the barbecue place to go pick her and Wooseok up in a taxi.

Ding!

The screen lights up with an instagram notification.

y/n.ing just posted a photo.

Seungyoun hums your name aloud, wondering why it brings a sick feeling to his stomach. He swipes on the notification, opening the instagram app. It takes a moment to load up. He wishes that wouldn’t make him so nervous.

It’s a picture of you from the chest up, lying down on what looks like the floor of a dance practice room, hair splayed out around your face, skin glistening, a bright smile on your face. The kind of smile where your cheeks pull up high, and joy twinkles in your eyes. He can’t see that kind of detail in the photo, but Seungyoun knows that expression. He has it memorized.

One swipe to the left, and there’s a video autoplaying.

“You make me feel special!”

You’re singing and dancing to a song that he knows you loves- extremely dramatically, with your limbs loose and your voice turning the pop song into opera. Your group member Eunmi is visible in the mirror, filming on your phone, and clearly dying laughing. The other two members, Jiseo and Soohyun, are sitting on the couch in the back of the room, smiles evident on their faces.

You tend to do that- light up the room.

Seungyoun scrolls down to read the caption.

‘Team bonding? #Jiseo-unniedon’tkillme #IpromiseI’llpracticemoreseriouslyinthefuture’

He chuckles, scrolling back up to watch the video of you again.

“L/N F/N,” he repeats.

“L/N F/N,” Seungyoun says, finally seeing you after searching the whole surrounding area of the restaurant. “This isn’t the bathroom.”

“...I know,” you say, looking awkward, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. You talk softly, almost like you don’t want him to hear. “I couldn’t find it.”

“Ah,” Seungyoun cringes, grabbing his head. What is he thinking of? Was that… was that last night?

What the hell was Sahee talking about?

He exits out of instagram and opens messages instead, scrolling down to find your name. When he taps on the conversation, his stomach drops.

Y/N

Seungyoun-oppa… please stop calling me and take care of yourself instead. Have Wooseok-oppa take you home and drink lots of water. If you call your mom I’m sure she’ll bring you some soup tomorrow. Goodnight.

Seungyoun reads the message a hundred times over, his eyes catching on every piece of every word.

He remembers.

He kissed you.

And you left.

Seungyoun looks to the side, catching the way Wooseok’s head is dipped close to you, mumbling something quietly that’s making you smile.

“Yah yah yah!” Jimin shouts, thrusting an accusing finger at you and Wooseok, her cheeks flushed red. “These two look a little suspicious!” she slaps a hand on your shoulder. “Whatcha talkin’ about over there?”

Seungyoun’s eyes narrow as you point nervously to yourself. “Who? Me and Wooseok-oppa?”

Even then, you’d referred to Wooseok that way. When did you start doing that? He hadn’t spent too long thinking about it last night, especially with the way the conversation turned, but Seungyoun is sure that you’d never called his friend and groupmate that before. Why would you have started? Sure, the two of you had seen each other a few times at gatherings where Wooseok tagged along with Seungyoun, but you’ve never been one to throw around casual language without knowing someone well.

Why did you have to call him that?

Slowly, Seungyoun sets his phone back down on the nightstand. He lies down in bed again, putting one of his pillow over top of his head to block out the light.

He feels sick, and it’s not just from the alcohol.

Maybe it’s cowardice… maybe it’s shame. But he can’t face anyone now. Not Sahee, not Wooseok, and not you.

He’ll ignore it, for now.

“Just hang in there a little bit longer, okay?”

You hold your phone next to your ear, curled up in your bed, blankets tucked under your chin.

“Give it a week, and we can go.”

“...Okay,” you respond, your voice croaky. You’d made it through today faking that everything was fine, but as soon as you got into your bedroom, it had all come spilling out in painful, long bouts of tears.

“Y/N-ah,” Wooseok’s voice is comforting, as grating as it sounds through the receiver. “You’re a strong person.”

You hold in the whimper that tugs at your throat. “I don’t feel that way right now.”

“That’s okay,” Wooseok says, and you can imagine the way he probably looks as he’s talking. Kind, always reserved, but tender. “It’s true whether you feel it right now or not. You’ll be alright. Just put your heart into the comeback for now.”

“Okay,” you repeat, unable to come up with much more. “Promise me we’ll take a day off in a week.”

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief, pressing your face into your pillow. “Okay. Thank you. Make sure to eat dinner.”

You hear a semblance of laughter, subdued. “You too. Fighting, L/N Y/N.”

A small smile rises on your lips. “Fighting, Kim Wooseok.”

Seungyoun twirls the cup ramen around with his chopsticks repeatedly, zoning out, letting the noodles get bloated and cold. He stares at the clock on the microwave over the stove. It’s 7:23pm now.

He wonders what you’re up to today. If you’re doing alright. If you’re thinking about him kissing you, or if it didn’t faze you at all. He can’t remember exactly how you reacted. All he knows is that you didn’t kiss him back. He remembers that- the feeling of rejection.

Seungyoun wasn’t expecting it. Maybe that’s why it was so painful.

The two of you have been friends for a few years now. At the beginning, you clearly had no interest in him romantically. He was probably just Jimin’s older guy friend to you- just someone who was funny and nice and fit in well with the group of friends you were building up. Seungyoun remembers when you used to openly talk about other idols you thought were really good looking or charming. He remembers when you even (albeit somewhat jokingly) asked Vernon to set you up with his groupmate Mingyu, since he was “just so handsome, and clean-cut, and kind… what kind of human can be like that?”.

And Seungyoun remembers when things started to shift. When it became clear that you weren’t looking for Vernon to give his group member your number anymore. When you started brushing off Jimin’s teasing about getting a boyfriend, since you’ve been historically solo. He remembers when you started looking at him with a more pensive, adoring expression. Like you were memorizing things about him. Like you were taking everything in that you could.

Seungyoun knew the expression well. It’s how he looks at you, when you’re looking the other way.

You’re not subtle. You’ve never been, in all the time that Seungyoun has known you. In virtually every situation, you’re talkative and fun and supportive- you make yourself known and you make your thoughts clear. Sometimes it’s embarrassing, but most of the time, it’s endearing. He thinks that might be why you’re so popular, among your fans and the public and other idols, too.

But you started to become quieter around him. Careful, like you only wanted to show the best parts of you. A little nervous, like you didn’t want his opinion of you to change even a fraction. It was unlike you.

You’re not subtle. Seungyoun noticed your feelings for him not long after they must have developed.

He doesn’t have enough fingers to count on his hands the number of times that he has looked at you- whether it’s across a table, a room, or on the screen of his phone- and thought that he has to tell you soon. It happens often. Whenever you set your chin on the palm of your hand, and look up at him from underneath your eyelashes. Or when you laugh at something he said. Or when he catches the way that someone else looks at you when they’re interested. But he has never said a word.

And he never planned to.

Seungyoun sighs, twisting the ramen up and taking a bite. It’s definitely unpleasant now. Too much time has passed since he poured the boiling water in.

He has always thought, from the first time that you sat down in front of him, that you are like the sun. Vibrant, energetic, full of light. You are someone who loves fully and absolutely. You are someone who dedicates their entire heart to the things you love and enjoy. You are bright, and you shine without anyone else’s influence.

Seungyoun is like the moon. He can only reflect your own light back at you. And there is a cold, dark part of him, that will only ever drag you down.

Seungyoun has always thought, from the first time that understood who exactly you were, that he is not good enough for you.

“Again,”

Haeyoung’s voice strikes out into the dance room. You quickly reset, and when she counts off, repeat the eight bar section cleanly.

“Good job, Y/N,” your dance coach compliments. “Everyone, follow Y/N’s lead on this one. She’s at the center so the rest of you can relax a little, just make sure to hit count five sharply, there’s a beat in the background of the music that it’ll emphasize if it looks perfect.”

The four of chorus back a yes, ssaem, and reset when she directs you to.

You started dancing when you were barely five- your mom signed you up for ballet classes because her friend’s daughter was doing them too. You hated it. Absolutely hated it. It was boring to you, just learning how to take soft steps with pointed toes, one hand on the barre that was placed in the center of the dance room. It felt like that was all you did for ages.

But your mom forced you to stay in it, telling you that since she paid for it, you were learning ballet for the six months she signed you up for. You complained and complained, but when it came time to decide if you were going to continue, for some reason, you asked your mom if you could stay.

As you got older, learning contemporary, hip-hop, jazz, you realized that there was something about being on stage and performing out to an audience that made your heart race. You loved the feeling of immersing yourself in movement, of letting the music carry you and pull your body in every direction.

When you became a trainee, you weren’t the greatest singer. You could hold a pitch, could sing the easier songs at karaoke, could push out a couple of high-ish notes when prompted. Your lack of skill dug a feeling of fear, inadequacy, anxiety into you. You often felt unsatisfactory, and like your position among the trainees was constantly being threatened. You spent your days in high school rushing from class to the company building, late but present to vocal lessons that weren’t required.

On the day that the president of the company made the final decision on the members of the new girl group, you were late, too.

You were nearly in tears by the time you made it into the room with the other trainees. You’d been held up by the bus you took to get to the company breaking down. You couldn’t afford to take a taxi, so you ran.

You were so afraid, then. Terrified of not being chosen. You felt sick to your stomach, standing in the back of the room, brushing sweaty bangs off of your forehead, hearing the president choose the third member, your friend Soohyun.

You were barely listening. You could only hear muffled voices, like you were underwater, and the pounding of your heart.

“The final member is L/N Y/N. Everyone else is dismissed.”

Those words, you will always remember.

Over time, the snotty comments and criticisms from the other trainees that came as soon as everyone began to file out of the room have faded in your memory. Your shock and overwhelming relief shut them out back then too.

The president wanted to speak directly to the four of you. You were still dazed and weren’t really comprehending what he was saying until he said your name.

You can’t remember now, the entirety of what he said to you. You just remember that he went on about something vague, that you were unpolished and unreliable, that you were not the 4th choice for the other board members and coaches.

“You need to prove yourself,” he said.

“To you, sir?” you asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “To everyone else.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror of the dance room, feeling like your eyes are someone else’s. Jiseo, Eunmi, and Soohyun move around you, grabbing water and talking while everyone takes a break.

You look so tired.

It’s more than just the dark circles under your eyes and dull skin. It’s more than the exhausted posture of someone who has been working the whole day. It’s more than the sweat collecting above your brow.

You just look so tired.

Are you proving yourself? Have you done it already? If you haven’t, are you getting close? Will you ever?

Your feet sweep around lightly underneath you, gaze unfocusing as you go through the steps of the choreo again. You do it mindlessly, limbs following the memory that’ll be imprinted in your mind for years. You still remember routines that you learned when you were 12.

“Y/N-ah?”

You stop when you feel Jiseo’s hand on your upper arm, and turn to look at her, bringing your vision into focus like you just put glasses on. Her brows furrow.

“Take a break with the rest of us.”

“Hm?” you tilt your head. You’d realized that was what they were doing. Why didn’t you join? “Okay.”

You follow Jiseo to the couch at the back of the dance room, sitting down and taking a sip out of your water bottle. You stare at yourself through the mirror. You still see the image of yourself dancing.

You need to prove yourself.

To everyone else.

Seungyoun sits on the couch in the dorm. The kids are at school, and it seems like Seungwoo and Wooseok are both out and about. He came here because he was tired of being alone, but he’s just as lonely anyway.

Sahee keeps calling him and he keeps ignoring her.

Seungyoun looks at the recents list on the telephone app, his old friend’s name the first twenty at least. It’s been a few days. She still seems desperate to get in contact with him. Before her numerous calls are a few from his manager, Seungwoo, and Jimin. All of them went unanswered.

He has to scroll down pretty far to see your name.

The last time he called and you answered was when you told him that Sahee was in love with him. He doesn’t know how he never realized. Maybe it’s because he had been so focused on you and your feelings for him- his longtime composer friend having romantic feelings for him hadn’t even seemed plausible or relevant.

You cried that day. He could feel your guilt and anxiety through the call, without ever seeing your face. He knew something had happened when all of you were at Jimin’s house, he had assumed that as soon as Sahee came in from the balcony without you. He just hadn’t expected it would be something that weighed down on you so heavily you would snap at him not once but twice. Seungyoun has the feeling there was more to whatever Sahee said to you than what you relayed to him, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to ask now.

Seungyoun’s thumb hovers over your name. If he calls you now, what would you say to him? He’s desperate to know. It’s been clinging to him ever since he remembered what happened. A part of him doesn’t want to believe that you would really reject him. Even if he did make his move while wasted, that doesn’t mean you would suddenly stop liking him, right?

He groans, his head beginning to hurt with all the thoughts flying around in his head, and presses your name.

Immediately, the call screen pops up, and he presses his phone to his ear as the ringtone blares.

It only takes a few seconds before a robotic female voice rings into his ears. “Line busy. Would you like to leave a message?”

Seungyoun sighs, pressing the red button that will hang up the call. It’s probably better that you didn’t answer anyway. He slumps back against the couch.

“As long as you’re getting through it,”

Seungyoun lifts his head, watching Wooseok come in through the front door, phone to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m okay too. I just got home.”

Wooseok doesn’t seem to notice him, locking the door behind him and slipping off his shoes.

“Yeah, see you soon. Bye.” he chuckles, then adds, “Don’t worry, I will. Bye.”

Seungyoun stares at his groupmate, brows furrowing. Finally, Wooseok realizes that someone is there, and with a slight step back in surprise, lifts his brows.

“Oh, Seungyoun. I didn’t know you came back.”

“Yeah, I did this morning.” Seungyoun can’t keep the apprehensive expression off his face. “Who were you on the phone with?”

“Ah,” Wooseok pauses for a moment. “My mom.”

Seungyoun nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure why, but there’s a cold tension in the air between them.

Wooseok begins pulling off his coat, continuing to talk. “She wanted to make sure I’m eating well, that’s all. And you know she doesn’t like to hang up easily.”

A smile cracks on Seungyoun’s lips. He does know that. Wooseok’s mom is notorious for making him late in the morning before schedules.

“There’s soup in the fridge. I had some earlier.” he says, pointing to the kitchen. “There’s some extra scallions I chopped up next to it too, you should add that.”

Wooseok nods, one corner of his lip barely lifting up. “Thanks. I’m gonna go shower. Text back Seungwoo-hyung, I don’t know if he’s coming back from his parents’ house tonight or not.”

Seungyoun nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Wooseok sets the things in his pockets on the counter and heads down the hall, presumably to the bathroom.

Seungyoun replies to the leader’s questioning text from last night as he hears the water start to run in the bathroom. He quickly goes back to the call list, a frown drawing together on his face. For some reason, he can’t get rid of the strange feeling in his chest. Something just seems off.

He presses your name again, pressing the speaker button so that the call just rings out loud.

It doesn’t cut off this time.

It rings and rings, and you don’t answer.

You don’t have a voicemail message, like most idols. It’s a way to try and prevent sasaengs from being sure that they have the right number when they call. All that comes out of the speaker is that same automated voice, asking Seungyoun if he’d like to leave a message after the beep.

Seungyoun’s eyes drift up to Wooseok’s phone, sitting flat on the counter across the room. He hesitates.

Then he shakes his head, shoving his own phone into his pocket. Seungyoun gets up and walks over to the kitchen, pulling the soup out of the fridge and pouring it into a pot to start heating it up.

“I really appreciate you meeting with me.”

You don’t bother matching the gaze of the girl in front of you, instead choosing to look out over the balcony of the bar you’re at. It’s a penthouse space on a moderately tall building near a few parks. The view isn’t bad, even at night.

“I can only stay for fifteen minutes,” you tell her, tapping your fingers on the table. You don’t explain why.

“Still,” Sahee says, her voice earnest. “I appreciate it.”

“What is it that you want to say to me?” you ask, getting straight to the point. You realize that you might be being excessively harsh in your word choice, but you’re tired after a long day of preparations for the comeback, and you don’t really want to be here. You only agreed to meet her because pretending like nothing ever happened was beginning to weigh on your conscience.

“I just want you to know what happened that night,” she says, becoming quieter. “After you left.”

Your jaw is tight. “I don’t really care to know.”

Sahee’s eyes flare. “Really? You know more than just me and Seungyoun are involved, right? Jimin and Vernon and Hyunggu were there too. Your friends. And Kim Wooseok.”

“I know who was there,” you reply bitterly.

“Then you should realize that it matters, what happened,” she snaps back. Then, after a moment of silence between you, Sahee settles back into her chair and seems to cool off. “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” you mutter.

“Seungyoun came back from looking for you drunk as fuck, crying, and wouldn’t explain what happened. He just kept trying to take shots even though Vernon was trying to stop him.” you cringe subtly at the thought, and Sahee seems to notice, her eyes narrowing. “Out of nowhere, he went off on me and Jimin, saying that it was all our faults, because I love him and because Jimin knew you and Seungyoun both had feelings for each other but never said anything to either one.”

You flinch. Seungyoun having feelings for you. You still don’t think it’s something you really believe.

“Anyway, the boys tried to stand up to him for Jimin and I, but Seungyoun was wasted out of his mind and having none of it. He tried to throw a punch at Vernon and broke like three glasses on the table.” Sahee shakes her head, sighing. “Wooseok grabbed him and I guess that calmed him down enough, but by that point Jimin was yelling at him and the owners were coming by to see what happened. It was a fucking disaster.”

Your eyes drift off to the view to your left again. “...Okay.”

“Okay?” Sahee repeats, sounding borderline astounded. “Don’t you feel any shame at all? He wouldn’t ever done this if you hadn’t-”

“If I hadn’t what?” you round on her, unable to hold in your frustration any longer. “What is wrong with you? You don’t know shit about me! You just keep interfering in my life and in Seungyoun’s life and in my friends’ too. It’s not my problem that you love him and he doesn’t love you, okay? It’s not my fucking problem!”

“I just don’t understand why you would give him up after all that time treating him like he was the love of your fucking life,” Sahee hisses. “You had the audacity to act all innocent when in reality you were just playing around with his feelings.”

“Don’t you think I felt that way too?” you exclaim, palms slamming onto the table. “Don’t you think I felt like he was playing around with my feelings? If it was as obvious as everyone is making it seem that I loved him, and he just let me think that he didn’t know and nobody else did either, while still doing things that made me feel like there was a chance he might love me back- don’t you think I felt like I was getting toyed with? I felt like my heart was breaking every time he said a word about our friendship, I felt like such an idiot because I could never move on. You think I’m the one who had the audacity to act a certain way? Don’t just throw all the blame on me because it’s easy!”

“I’m blaming you because it’s your fault,” Sahee emphasizes, and you let out a laugh of astonishment.

“You’re fucking delusional,” you tell her. “You should be embarrassed of yourself.”

“I don’t care what you think of me,” Sahee says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “I just want you to answer Seungyoun so you can clear up the air about you not caring about him anymore.”

Your jaw drops, and another short laugh escapes your lips. Is she serious? “What, are you thinking he’ll suddenly fall in love with you if I tell him I’m not interested? Where did you get the idea that I don’t care about him anymore?”

Sahee doesn’t answer, seemingly stewing in her anger at you.

You shake your head, grabbing your bag and standing up. “I hope you stay healthy and find happiness, Sahee-ssi. Please never contact me again.”

You don’t stick around to hear if she says anything under her breath about you. You just leave, walking to the elevator and getting in alone, hearing the ding of twelve floors as you go down. You glance at your phone and see the notifications of two missed calls from earlier. Both Seungyoun. You sigh. You shut your phone off, and exit the building.

And you go back to pretending like nothing ever happened.

Wooseok thinks you look the prettiest when the sun strikes your face. He hasn’t been able to see you that way very often, because of the situations that the two of you have to meet up in. Always at night, or in dingy lighting in small restaurants that nobody really frequents. Nonetheless, the few times he has been able to see the way light shines across your skin and sets a fire in your eyes, he always thinks to himself that you look pretty.

Truthfully, he has always thought you were, even before the first time that he met you. Sure, Soohyun was the more active model and brand ambassador in your group, but you still appeared in your fair share of advertisements and TV shows. Wooseok had seen you around for a while before ever being introduced to you.

You’re smiling now, with a childlike innocence lacing your expression. Your fingers sift through the sand, and the breeze lifts your hair, curling it across your cheeks.

Wooseok feels something tug at his heart. He wants to tell you. How pretty you are. But your words from months ago ring in his head whenever he thinks about saying anything.

“Am I wrong for wanting him to say that I look pretty in a photo? I hear it often, but I just want to hear it from him.”

It won’t matter to you, whether he thinks you look one way or another. It’s Seungyoun who you want to hear those words from. He doesn’t want to confuse your heart any further. So he stays quiet.

“Isn’t the beach so nice?” you ask, looking over at him. Wooseok smiles back.

“It is,” he agrees.

You warned him that the two of you won’t be able to see each other for awhile after today. You were able to sneak out for the whole day thanks to your group members’ efforts, but going forward, you’d be far too busy with actual promotions to make time for Wooseok. Or anyone besides the group, for that matter.

Like the two of you had planned, you came back to Busan. Wooseok knows that you need it. He can feel the heaviness in your touch when you grab his hand, in your voice when you talk, and in your features when your expression changes. He thinks something else may have happened yesterday too, since you seemed especially weighed down when he met you at the bottom of your apartment building this morning. But he doesn’t want to bring it up for fear of upsetting you, not when you’re supposed to be relaxing.

“Thank you, Wooseok.” you say out of the blue, shuffling so that you’re lying down completely on the beach towel beneath you. You shut your eyes, a content smile resting on your lips.

“What for?” he asks, looking down at you. You open one eye to peek at him.

“For being there for me.”

Wooseok isn’t sure how to respond. “...You’re welcome.”

Your eye shuts again, and you stretch your arms out in front of you, the smile fading from your face. “I’m not a bother, right? You know you can tell me if I am.”

Wooseok frowns. “You’re not.”

“I’m just not sure I’m good enough for you.” you chuckle, but it sounds somewhat bitter. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Of course you are,” Wooseok replies simply, although his teeth tug at his bottom lip.

“Are you sure?”

He knows you’re somewhat insecure. It seems to permeate so many parts of your life. He just hates to confront it. It reminds him of the person he had been once, too.

“Y/N-ah,” Wooseok says gently. “I’m happy being with you.”

He worries for a moment, that he might have said too much. Not in terms of the number of words, but of what the words he did say reveal.

Your response is croaky. “I’m happy with you, too.”

Wooseok’s heart swells again.

How could he ever have imagined this? The first time you talked to him, he was cringing internally at how awkward and desperate you seemed. You were clinging to his groupmate’s every word and action, and it nearly made Wooseok feel sick.

But there was always something endearing about you. About the way you seemed to try so hard to see the good in others, and to live up to others’ expectations. You tried hard at everything.

Wooseok never thought he would come to care about you this much.

His mind drifts off when you go quiet again, the only sounds around him the soft rhythm of your breath, seagulls cawing, and the crash of waves against the shore.

He wonders, sometimes, if it’s fair for him to even feel this way. If what happened just over a week ago is anything to go off of, Seungyoun actually does love you. Wooseok had just never cared enough to notice, since his friend and group member never explicitly mentioned it. He doesn’t know the details on why Seungyoun kept his feelings to himself when it was so obvious that you felt strongly towards him, but evidently, the feelings are there. If he knew how Wooseok thinks about you, probably in the same way that he does, could they even maintain their friendship?

Wooseok glances down at you again. You look more peaceful now, maybe since he’s reassured you. Despite how obvious you had been about Seungyoun, he can’t tell what kind of feelings you harbor for him. He wants to believe they’re more than platonic, but then again, you never treat him like you’d treated Seungyoun.

He sighs, then lies down next to you, putting one arm under his head as he shuts his own eyes, letting the sun graze over his skin.

The wind is cool. The sun is hot. The ocean spray lightly lands on him, enough to feel good.

Your hand bumps into his. He thinks it’s an accident, until you lace your fingers through his.

“Thank you,” you repeat, sounding sleepy this time. Wooseok opens his eyes to turn his head in your direction. Your chest is rising and falling slowly, with the beat of drifting off to sleep.

He squeezes your hand in response.

It’s late at night when Wooseok finally returns to the dorm. Seungyoun hasn’t looked at the clock for a while- he’s just been on his phone, scrolling through social media.

Wooseok tries to be quiet when he comes in, but still ends up making enough noise to draw Seungyoun’s attention.

“Yah,” he calls quietly. “Where were you? We all had dinner together tonight. Seungwoo-hyung was hoping you’d make it.”

Wooseok takes a while to respond, only doing so once he has made it into the living room. He shakes off his hair, though Seungyoun isn’t sure why. “I just went to see a friend for the day. I’ll apologize to the kids and Seungwoo tomorrow.”

“Oh, who?” Seungyoun asks, trying to make casual conversation. He can’t help but feel that things have been stiff between him and Wooseok since whatever went on that night that he kissed you. He can’t remember how he got home or what happened after you drove away. He gets the feeling it was a lot to deal with for Wooseok.

Wooseok hesitates to answer. “Just… just someone.”

Seungyoun frowns, but doesn’t press it.

“I’m gonna go change,” Wooseok says, and heads down the hall.

“Do it quietly,” Seungyoun calls after him, hearing a Wooseok make noise of understanding following his words.

Seungyoun tries to go back to scrolling on his phone, but now he feels super awake again, and his awkward position on the couch isn’t helping. He turns his phone off and stretches out his limbs with a groan, standing up for the first time in hours. He makes his way over to the kitchen, opening the cupboard to find a glass so he can get some water.

Ding!

Seungyoun frowns, looking down at his phone, but he didn’t get any notifications.

He pulls a glass down from the cupboard and shuts the door, looking across the counter to where Wooseok’s phone is once again sitting face down on the counter.

Ding!

It goes off again, light peeking out from between the screen and the countertop.

Seungyoun shakes his head, knowing it’d be wrong to look at his groupmate’s phone. He walks over to the fridge, setting his glass under the water dispenser and letting it fill up.

Ding!

“What the hell,” Seungyoun grumbles, setting the glass down on the counter and walking over to Wooseok’s phone, flipping it over with the intention of just turning the ringer off.

He freezes as soon as he sees the screen.

Y/N-ah

oppa seriously you’re so lame…

why did you leave money in my jacket, i told you i would pay since i asked you to come >:|

oh well guess i have to see you again to give it back~~~!!!

Seungyoun stares until the screen fades to black, and all he can see is the reflection of his face, dark and blurry.

“Ah,” he says to himself, his voice barely there, just a hollow sound more than anything. “A friend.”

Ding!

The screen lights up again. Seungyoun’s eyes drift down to your name again, although the new notification is unrelated. He feels something tighten around his heart- something like a vine, or a rope, squeezing and tearing into him, clenching and binding in his chest. It starts to suffocate him, a stifling pain deep inside as he reads over your name in Wooseok’s phone again, as he reads the message, and understands exactly what it implies.

His head is spinning. It doesn’t feel real. He doesn’t want it to feel real.

Seungyoun’s fingers clench around the phone, and he finds his way to the unlock screen, typing in the password he’s seen Wooseok use a thousand times.

He lets out a bitter laugh once he sees what the background of his friend and groupmate’s home screen is.

What else could it be?

There you are. It’s a candid image- you’re wearing the pink coat that he remembers you buying about a year ago now. You’re not wearing makeup and he hates that that seems unfamiliar. You always seemed to want to look clean and dressed up whenever you were around him. Are you more comfortable with Wooseok? Your hair doesn’t look done either.

He wonders where exactly the two of you went today. Why Wooseok was gone from the early morning to the late night.

Seungyoun opens the photo gallery, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

Another short, astonished laugh leaves his lips.

“What are you doing?”

Wooseok’s voice rings out clearly, and he sounds a lot less friendly and quiet than before. Seungyoun glances over his shoulder, but can’t bring himself to make eye contact. He doesn’t answer, either, focused on the first image in Wooseok’s photos.

“Cho Seungyoun,” Wooseok says with a warning tone, and punctuates every word. “What are you doing?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Seungyoun says sourly, finally turning around and holding up Wooseok’s phone. “What exactly were you doing with Y/N today? She’s ‘just someone’? She doesn’t look like ‘just someone’, if I had to guess-”

“Are you serious?” Wooseok’s face is cold as he cuts him off. “You’re looking through my phone?”

“That’s what you’re bringing up?” Seungyoun lets out a bemused puff of air.

“Yes,” Wooseok replies, walking forward and snatching the phone out of Seungyoun’s hand. “You should know better. It’s not your business.”

Seungyoun knows that he’s right, and that he can’t argue with whatever is on Wooseok’s phone not being his business. But it feels like his business, because you’re involved. He can’t help the snarl on his lips when he jabs a finger into Wooseok’s chest.

“What are you doing with Y/N? Taking her to the beach, taking couple pictures with her? What are you fucking doing?”

Wooseok laughs then, too. Shortly. “What does it matter to you?”

Seungyoun clenches his fists and talks through grit teeth. He’s never wanted to hit someone so badly. “What do you fucking mean by that?”

“You got too used to having Y/N give you all her love and never giving any back,” Wooseok bites out at him. “How is anyone supposed to believe that you actually care about her? What have you ever done that proves that you do? You just let her cling to you and adore you without being there for her. You let her destroy her own self-worth just because you didn’t have the courage to say that you loved her, even when you knew she felt the same way. So what does it matter to you, if I do all the things you never bothered to?”

After Wooseok finishes talking, there is nothing between them but empty space and empty noise and tension so thick it would take a sharp knife to cut through.

Seungyoun stares at Wooseok, feeling like in this moment, both of them are unrecognizable. He never intended to drag this many people into whatever was going on between the two of you. He never planned for it to become like this, where he and one of his closest friends are butting heads over you, fighting in a dorm where nine other people are sleeping. Nine people who rely on them.

It was always supposed to be just you and Seungyoun, until the moment when you would inevitably fall out of love with him and peacefully move on. Then it would just be Seungyoun.

Instead, it was you and Seungyoun, and Sahee, and Wooseok, and Jimin and Vernon and Hyunggu, and the members of your group, and the members of his, too. All of them had been affected.

“Fuck,” Seungyoun sobs, turning around to set his elbows on the counter so he can put his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his already messy hair. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Seungyoun,” Wooseok says, but Seungyoun just shakes his head.

“Fuck,” he repeats, aching in pain, feeling his throat close up as tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

He feels a hand lightly land on his shoulder, giving him what he thinks is supposed to be a comforting pat. “Try not to stay up too late. I’m going to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Seungyoun doesn’t reply. That only made it worse.

Once he has heard the door to Wooseok’s room shut, he crumples to the floor, trembling and crying, trying to muffle it all so that the younger members won’t wake up and hear him.

All he can think is why. Why did he do this? He did this to himself.

Seungyoun is still in love with you. And now, he will never have you.

#aaa #cho seungyoun x reader #cho seungyoun #seungyoun x reader #kim wooseok x reader #wooseok x reader #kim wooseok #x1 x reader #x1 imagines #x1 scenarios #x1 angst #x1 fluff #x1 au #i love pain and suffering :)

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oldtmer · 4 years

Text

this is in regards to PART II and Joel’s verse within it -- to save people from spoilers, i have tagged this post and have placed the study under a read more.

thank you to all my psychology professors for preparing me for this moment, even if you didn’t know i’d use this knowledge for roleplay but y’know.

let’s go with what we know first.

it’s not a loss on anybody that Joel has suffered through a lot, even in the events of the first game. and though he has recovered well enough, let’s look at the main damage doled out to him in the first game -- namely, his impalement on a metal rod. upper-ish, right hand side abdominal damage. i’ll get into this one in another study, but it’s important to note that he is resilient and he is no stranger to serious injury or pain.

moving on to part ii, and the injuries Joel suffers through at the chalet, let’s start with his leg.

he’s been shot just below the knee of his right leg -- with the force and range of the shot, it’s safe to assume his knee cap has been completely blown to shit. this, of course, results in his having permanent damage to his right leg. even if it does get repaired to the best of the medics’ abilities, Joel suffers a limp the rest of his life, and severe arthritis the older he gets. extensive movement or too much pressure on his right leg causes a flare up of pain in the joints, and much to Joel’s chagrin he is put up the rest of the night with a swollen knee.

now, on to the worst of the injuries.

though we only see some of the blows inflicted by the golf club, we can see that a lot of the damage is done to his face, the left side of his head, and his upper shoulders / neck area. as a general rule, it’s safe to assume a lot of the damage was done to the left side of his head. located here, where i see a lot of the blows landing, is the LEFT TEMPORAL LOBE -- the temporal lobes are generally responsible for:

auditory information and hearing ability

memory acquisition

some visual perceptions and

categorization of objects

the damage to this area results in many affects, but the ones that Joel suffers from is as follows:

DISRUPTION OF AUDITORY SENSATION & PERCEPTION

Joel has lost all hearing in his left ear, and while having a conversation with someone, he tends to tilt or swivel his head to the left so his right ear is facing the speaker -- he does so, so he’s able to hear them. in lieu of this, his perception of sound in the right ear is diminished. he has difficulty determining where a noise is coming from, and from how far away. depending on the pitch of the person’s voice, it can sound muffled

DECREASED VISUAL PERCEPTION

Joel’s peripheral vision is limited now, as well as his vision has a tendency to blur, especially when he’s trying to focus on something or when it’s up close to him. printed letters and numbers appear as though they are moving across the page. he is significantly bothered by bright light and/or glare. he grows irritable and overstimulated when in places with a lot of pattern. his eyes tear up a lot, especially when in bright light. he suffers frequent headaches and does find himself feeling nauseated (motion sick) when looking at something too quickly or trying to focus too intently. he has difficulty judging where things are (his depth perception has gone for a shit). he leans significantly to the left while sitting or standing due to feeling “off balance”.

IMPAIRED LONG-TERM MEMORY & LOSS OF SHORT-TERM MEMORY

though many people pray and wish to forget a lot of things since outbreak day, Joel doesn’t want to forget a lot of things ( ie. his time with Ellie, his new life in Jackson, etc ). he struggles with memories of his life before outbreak day, even forgetting his ex-wife’s name completely and what she looked like. he struggles at times with memories of Sarah, and grows extremely irritable when he does. in terms of short-term memory, things need to be explained to Joel a couple times at least before it sort of clicks, and even then it doesn’t click for very long and he needs to ask again. he refuses to meet new people because of this.

CHANGED PERSONALITY & CHANGED BEHAVIOUR ( increased anger )

as though Joel wasn’t relatively grumpy enough as is, he’s quick to temper now. more-so in his frustrations and irritability with his impairments, but little things are quick to set him off now. he has grown increasingly violent with his outbursts, and though he was quite pushy and opinionated before, it has increased tenfold now. he won’t hesitate to throw a punch at someone who simply looks at him the wrong way; followed by very heated and loud shouting.

CHANGED SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR

Joel has never been a very sexual being to begin with, but his libido and sexual desire is all but non-existent now. this isn’t to say he isn’t capable of arousal, as he is more than capable, but he isn’t bothered one way or another when it comes to flirting, kissing, or even heavy petting. it really takes a lot to get him going these days, but to be honest, he isn’t really out looking for it anyway ( “who could want anyone like me, anyway?” )

now, i also see some damage happening just above this, in the PARIETAL LOBE and the back left side of his FRONTAL LOBE.

the parietal lobe is responsible for:

interpreting sensory information from the rest of the body

combining impressions of form, texture, and weight into general perceptions

influencing mathematical skills and language comprehension

storing spatial memories that enable people to orient themselves in space (know where they are) and to maintain a sense of direction (know where they are going)

processing information that helps people know the position of their body parts

the damage to this area results in many affects, but the ones that Joel suffers from is as follows:

PROBLEMS IN MATHEMATICS / READING / WRITING

though Joel has never been a mathematician by any stretch, he was fairly quick with his maths due to his job prior to the outbreak, and would often times surprise some people with how quick he could answer math questions. now, his math levels are early elementary school at best, and he avoids math as often as possible. his reading ability is at a fifth grade level at best and his writing has gone for a shit as well. not only grammatically, but his writing is poor in general.

RIGHT-LEFT CONFUSION

just as it sounds, Joel has difficulty determining what is right and what is left.

moving on to the frontal lobe damage, it was not as bluntly attacked as say, the temporal lobe or the parietal lobe, but a good couple blows did manage to fuck a little up in that noggin of his. the frontal lobe is generally responsible for:

speech & language production

some motor skills

comparing objects

forming memories

understanding & reacting to the emotions of others

forming personality

reward-seeking behaviour & motivation

managing attention

the damage to this area results in many affects, but the ones that Joel suffers from is as follows:

SPEECH PROBLEMS

Joel has difficulty getting his words out a lot of the time, and this causes a lot of irritability with him as well. he knows the words, he knows what he wants to say, but he ends up stuttering through his sentences or pausing mid-way because he simply can’t form the words. he has never been a very sophisticated or eloquent man in terms of speech, but his impatience with himself and frustration with not being able to get out a simple sentence has his blood boiling.

POOR COORDINATION

his balance has gone for a shit, as stated once before. not only his balance, but his depth perception, and his left-right confusion disorients him a lot some days. his limp throwing him off balance at times doesn’t help him in the slightest, especially when he’s having bad days. he refuses to use any form of help, and says he would prefer to bounce off walls than be caught dead using crutches or a cane. his stubbornness is not a symptom.

SO, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR JOEL?

nothing, really. a lot of his days are spent in his house, keeping to himself. i like to think Tommy and maybe a few others traded for a dog for him. not so much a service animal, but more of a companion since Ellie ran off.

i also like to think that he was perceived as dead, and there was really just no way of knowing whether or not he’d make it out of this alive. by the time he was functional, Ellie had already made it to Seattle. and by the time she’d returned with Dina so they could go start their little family, Joel had all but shut himself away

#🦋 → ɪ'ʟʟ ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴠᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ. ɪ'ʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ; ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴍᴇ. / study.#tlou 2 spoilers #tlou2 spoilers #( wh e w #that was a lot of info and i'm sorry #and i don't expect anyone to read it but like #WILL SMITH POSES )

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sickfic-with-kiko · 4 years

Note

Hi! Could you please write a fic with a stomach bug Tsukki and a panicking Yama? Love your fics so much!

got any tsukki whump?

Tsukishima wakes up feeling awful. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what type of awful it is, and he realises it’s sick person awful. His stomach feels queasy and crampy, and he debates whether to suck it up or stay at home.

It takes ten more seconds for him to realise he has a biology test in fifth period. Risking his grade isn’t an option, seeing as science isn’t a strength of his. With a groan, he pushes himself up and places a hand on his stomach.

“Morning, Tsukki!”

Yamaguchi’s peppy voice greets him, and Tsukishima gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Good morning,” he murmurs, walking to school in the least painful way possible.

“I heard Hinata failed his English test again…” Yamaguchi sighs. At the start of the school year, Yamaguchi would have laughed. But now that he’s formed a bond with Hinata, he’s genuinely concerned. Tsukishima knows how Yamaguchi works.

“It shouldn’t be that hard if he had just studied,” Tsukishima replies, grimacing through the wave of pain.

Yamaguchi shrugs. “But some people just find it hard to study, you know? Some people can’t get high grades even if they try.” He glances at Tsukishima’s hand, floating above his abdomen. “Uh, Tsukki, you okay?”

Tsukishima’s head snaps up. “What? I’m fine. Let’s go to class.” His shoulders heave with an irritated huff, and manages to get Yamaguchi to stop vocalizing his worry.

The discomfort in his stomach only changes for the worse, throughout the day. When two classes are over, he’s fighting back burps that rise to his throat and cramps that wrack his entire abdomen. He’s getting sicker.

He stops to think of a reason why it’s happening. He hadn’t eaten anything weird, or forgotten to wash his hands. A stomach bug seemed to fit the description.

"You're not gonna eat?"

Yamaguchi asks, nibbling his own food. Tsukishima shakes his head. He picks at the rice and pushes it around with his chopsticks, but doesn’t manage to really eat anything. His stomach has decided that every piece of food is revolting to him right now.

It’s only a few more classes. Tsukishima decides he’ll skip practice for today. The team can manage without him, and the third years would send him home if they knew he was sick, anyway.

All he has to endure now, is the biology test.

Tsukishima stares at the key terms in his notebook, cramming the information into his head one last time. His stomach twists even worse when he attempts to focus on the tiny lettering. Reading makes him feel motion sick.

“Okay, everyone. Put your books away.” Nakamura-sensei begins to hand out the sheets, and Tsukishima swallows hard. It’s only for twenty minutes. He can do this. He’s been dealing with the discomfort all day.

As Tsukishima begins to fill the answers into the boxes provided, the roiling cramps evolve into something more sinister. His stomach gives a suspicious lurch, and the room feels awfully hot.

By the time he’s halfway through the test, he’s struggling to hold down the sick-sounding noises from his throat. Despite the lack of food in his system, his stomach feels bloated and stiff. His fist curls and uncurls from the pain.

An unproductive heave catches him off-guard, and he almost panics. The nausea worsens exponentially, breath catching in his throat. He’s going to throw up, sooner or later.

Ten minutes left. Tsukishima rubs at his stomach with a frown, willing the queasiness to go away. A hiccup pushes out of his mouth, and something heavy shifts in his chest.

His eyes start to water, and his mouth is heavy with spit. Just as he contemplates whether to put his hand up and run to the bathroom, the bell rings and ends the class.

Before anyone can talk to him, Tsukishima bolts out of the classroom, hand clamped over his mouth.

A rush of liquid rises up his throat, and Tsukishima holds down a gag as he walks hastily into one of the stalls. With a loud gag, he brings up what little breakfast and lunch he’d consumed. When he heaves for the second time, the dinner he’d eaten the day before splashes beneath him.

Tears of exertion swell in his eyes. Guttural retches escape his throat, and the clench in his stomach hurts so bad he almost keels over. Tsukishima absolutely refuses to let his face or hands go anywhere near the toilet bowl, even as he’s expelling his stomach contents violently.

The food isn’t even digested properly. Its consistency is chunky, and it sticks in his throat until he coughs it out. The sight gets to him before the smell does. He’s not awarded a full inhale, before he gags painfully, scraping his throat.

“Oh shit- oh god, okay, okay. It’s okay. I knew it. You’re sick.”

A hand is on Tsukishima’s back, rubbing gentle circles as he spits out a foul-coloured glob into the toilet bowl. A string of spit hangs from his mouth, dripping past his lips.

Yamaguchi presses some tissues to Tsukishima’s mouth, wiping the refuse off his lips and chin. He removes his glasses carefully, dabbing at his swollen eyes.

“Come on.” Yamaguchi holds him up, flushing the toilet. “Let’s go to the infirmary. Can you stand?”

Tsukishima nods, shaking. Yamaguchi takes off his own jacket and places it onto his shoulders. It has a comforting scent, from his childhood.

Yamaguchi slides the infirmary door open, looking around for the nurse. “Excuse me? My friend’s not feeling well. Can he rest here?”

The nurse comes out from behind one of the curtains, making her way over to them. “What happened? You look really pale.”

Tsukishima slumps down on one of the beds, clutching his aching stomach. “I threw up just now. My stomach hurts and I just feel exhausted.”

“There’s a stomach bug making the rounds lately.” The nurse hands him a bottle of pocari sweat, kept at room temperature. “Since you’ve already vomited once, I need to call your parents. Both of you, stay there for a bit.”

Tsukishima’s day is going absolutely awful. He doesn’t even have the energy to sit up anymore. He slips off his shoes and lies down on the bed, breaths ragged and painful.

“You do really look sick.” Yamaguchi opens the bottle of pocari sweat. “Drink something, Tsukki. You need to replace the water in your body.”

Tsukishima’s mouth tastes awful. He reluctantly takes the bottle and gulps down the sweet-tasting liquid, throat moving up and down with each swallow. He’s under the covers, and he’s still shivering. He can barely talk.

“Today is a shit day,” Tsukishima murmurs, and Yamaguchi pats his head like he’s ten years younger than him. But it’s comforting, so he doesn’t complain.

He closes his eyes, hoping to get some rest while he can. Once he gets home, he can be left alone to suffer on his own. His head sinks into the pillow, and his limbs relax under the blankets.

All of a sudden, his eyes flutter open.

“Is something wrong?” Yamaguchi asks, when Tsukishima lifts his head and shudders. “Are you feeling sick?”

Tsukishima doesn’t even have the energy to open his mouth. The nausea is rising right up to his throat, without any warning. A gag swells up his cheeks, and Yamaguchi notices the signs of imminent disaster.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure we can…” Yamaguchi grabs a plastic bag from nearby, shoving it under Tsukishima’s chin. It’s see-through, but also the only receptacle closely available.

An awful-sounding retch rips out of Tsukishima’s throat, burning with a vengeance. With almost nothing left to be sick with, the heaves are more forceful, coming from deep inside his stomach. His stomach is sensitive and sore, with one movement setting off waves of coiled-up pain.

A small amount of green-tinted liquid pools at the bottom of the bag, weighing it down. The humiliation of being watched as he’s emptying his stomach burns in his cheeks. Yamaguchi surely thinks of him as a disgusting person now.

Three or four more heaves later, Tsukishima’s stomach calms down enough for him to sip on the pocari sweat again. Yamaguchi is the one who holds it to his lips, without doing so much as frowning.

“...Sorry. I know I’m gross right now.” Tsukishima murmurs, coughing into his palm. He feels better after throwing up, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll last before he’s bent over in pain again.

Yamaguchi glares at him softly. “This isn’t anything, Tsukki. We’re friends, it happens sometimes. Don’t apologize.” He snickers. “Besides, you’ve had your worse moments.”

“Have not.” Tsukishima is glad he isn’t the type go blush easily.

“Trust me, you have.”

Tsukishima grunts weakly, sitting up as the nurse comes back. Relief floods him, when he realises he can go home.

“Tsukishima-kun, you can go home now. Your parents are here.”

Yamaguchi holds his hand out to him, to help him stand up on his feet. “Get well soon! I’ll fill you in on studies, so don’t worry!” He gives him a quick hug, knowing he’s not in the position to refuse it.

A smile almost pulls up on his face. Instead, he scrunches up his nose. “I hope I won’t have to put up with this shit any longer than a day.”

#emeto #sickfic #haikyuu!!#tsukkiyama #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi

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writethehousedown · 4 years

Text

storm. (Ninex) -- meggie

A/N: Welcome to the spring fling installment of “Meggie projects far too much of herself onto Nina West.” This is the teachers AU if you remember that one from waaaay back at Christmas. You don’t have to read that one first to understand this one, but if Ninex is your jam, why not give it a go?

Thank you as always to Mia for hand-holding and support and reminding me when I use words too many times. Love you big.

Come keep me company this week as I start distance teaching! I’m @janssports and I love all things Drag Race.

Out of all her coworkers, Nina would not have picked Monet to be the one who was afraid of thunderstorms.

Monet is so cool. So calm and collected all the time. It isn’t like her to be fazed by anything, let alone a little thunder and lightning on a Wednesday afternoon in April.

They’ve been dating since Christmas, officially a couple since Valentine’s Day, and Nina has to stop herself from telling Monet that she loves her at the end of every single one of their phone calls. She knows it; she’s absolutely certain of it, but she can’t be the one to bring it up, won’t be the one to embarrass herself by falling into that ridiculous (and true, who is she kidding) lesbian stereotype about falling too hard too fast.

Nina herself loves storm season almost as much as she loves Monet; she loves the electricity in the air, the way the clouds swirl and melt together into the most interesting shapes. Before she decided to become a teacher, she’d briefly entertained the idea of becoming a meteorologist, but that hadn’t lasted long.

(Mostly because Heather Marshall had teased her relentlessly after their career day presentations in the ninth grade.

“A meteorologist?” she’d scoffed. “With those thighs? Honey, they want their viewers to be able to actually see the radar screen.”

So Nina had ripped up her cue cards and bit her lip until it bled to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. If she’d been thinking straight, she realized later, Nina could have calmly explained that she hadn’t meant TV meteorologist anyway; she’d meant the ones who work in the labs crunching numbers and analyzing data and making predictions. But the damage to her frail self-worth was done, so she tucked away her meteorological dream next to the one where she was starring in her Broadway debut—discarded for the same reason—and told her career pathways teacher that she’d changed her mind because she just wasn’t that great at math.)

But she’d always retained a soft spot for the weather, especially in the spring when it turned volatile and delicious.

When late March and early April roll around, Nina throws open the curtains and hoists up the blinds to give her students (and herself) unfettered sight lines to the sky and whatever may develop from the storms.

The meteorologists have been up in arms about this day for at least the past week, going as far as to issue a Weather Alert Day two days ago and Nina feels the excitement bubbling just under her skin when she hears the first rumble of thunder just after nine.

She’s giving a test, which gives her a reason to wander about her room, watching for the tell-tale signs of cheating, but also allows for glances to the window, where the sky grows darker and darker with each passing class period.

At lunch, she can tell that Monet is on edge. Monet’s knee bounces nervously under the table with each crack of thunder and when the lights flicker, she actually jumps.

Nina’s practically giddy. Not for Monet’s uncomfortable state, but for the unpredictable weather raging outside.

Monet glances at her with a grimace. “Can you just. Like stop being so excited that we might die later?”

Nina places a hand on her chest. “Okay, first of all—dramatic; you’re not going to die. Secondly, have you always been this afraid of storms?”

“I’m not afraid, okay. And it’s not the storms.” Monet scoffs. “I can handle storms. It’s when there are predicted tornados; that worries me.”

Nina clicks her tongue and reaches across the table to take her girlfriend’s hand.

A few chairs down, Katya licks her finger and sticks it up by her head, like she’s testing the nonexistent wind.

“I wouldn’t worry, Monet,” Katya says breezily. “Doesn’t feel very stormy to me.”

The lights flicker again with the next clap of thunder.

Across from Nina, Monet whimpers.

***

It’s the middle of fifth period when it happens, and Nina’s stomach swoops uncomfortably because she knows what this means for everyone, but especially Monet.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket with the warning and the text from Monet comes through in tandem with the overhead announcement.

“Teachers, please escort students to the cafeteria at this time. Students, remain with your class at all times.”

Nina tells her students to leave their tests on the desks and grab only their phones, then she swings open her classroom door as the eerie sound of the tornado siren pierces through the din of the moving crowds. She’s just made sure the last of her students are out of the classroom when she glances down at her phone.

Monet: fuck this, nina

***

They seat their classes together in the cafeteria, and Monet’s eyes are wide and worried; she bites her lip as she counts heads to ensure all 24 of her students have made it to the cafeteria.

Nina goes through her roster as well, and they give their report to Ms. Visage when she comes by to collect their numbers. As soon as her students are settled, Nina takes a detailed glance around the cafeteria. A few of the girls are crying, but they seem to be clinging closely to their friends and cell phones. Still, Nina makes a mental note to check back with them right after she talks to Monet.

Monet has her back pressed against the cool cinder block wall and she’s tapping furiously on her phone screen.

“Hey,” Nina says quietly, sidling up beside her. She isn’t sure how to approach this sensitive topic.

“Stupid app won’t work on this piece of garbage,” Monet mutters, still tapping wildly. “I just wanted to look at the radar.” She looks up at Nina then, eyes full of panic and unshed tears, so Nina throws caution to the wind and embraces her.

“It’s okay. They’re turning the TVs on.”

And they are. Trixie is standing in front of the flat screen TV in the front of the cafeteria, looking for local weather coverage. Katya is watching both hers and Trixie’s class, entertaining the kids with stories or jokes or something else that only Katya can get away with. (She’ll have them all doing yoga before this is over if she gets her way.)

Monet sets her jaw and inhales deeply. “I fucking hate storms, Neens,” she whispers, grasping for Nina’s hand. “I know you like them and all, but… I just hate them.”

Nina nods. “I know. I’m sorry this is happening.”

Monet shakes her head. “Aren’t you even a little worried?”

Nina shrugs, just as the lights in the cafeteria flicker twice and then stay off.

There’s a collective gasp and someone screams and the emergency lights click on one at a time, casting the cafeteria in a pale yellow wash.

“What do you think that means?” one of the sophomores sitting at the table in front of them asks. Nina won’t have her until next year, but she already knows her name—it’s Jan, and she’s sweeter than spun sugar and always wears something purple. Nina has a reserved space in her heart for kids like that; kids who remind her of that girl who wanted to be a meteorologist or a Broadway sensation before her thighs got in the way of her dreams.

“It means it’s right over us,” the student body president, Brianna, says quietly, and shows Jan the radar on her phone. Her voice is quiet, almost silent so as not to raise alarm, but Nina knows Monet’s heard, because her face pales and her grip on Nina’s hand tightens. Outside the building, the wind thrashes violently and hail pounds the roof.

Monet is spiraling, of this much, Nina is positive. So without thinking about the consequences, without worrying about the kids or administration seeing, she pushes her girlfriend backwards into the small detention room, shuts the door to protect them from prying eyes, and grasps her face in her hands.

“It’s okay,” Nina mutters.

“But it’s not,” Monet practically wails. Then it’s too much and all the emotion she’s feeling spills onto her cheeks in fat, hot tears that Nina wants to kiss away. “It’s not, Nina. It’s right over us and the wind is blowing and it’s hailing and the kids are holding it together better than I am right now. How can you enjoy this shit? How does this not send you into a panic attack?”

Nina kisses her, gently, but firm, and tilts her chin up when she’s done. “You’re scared of storms.”

“Not really,” Monet says, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. “I’m afraid of dying before I get the chance to tell you that I’m, like, stupid in love with you.” Monet stops talking, blushes, then looks at the floor.

“So that’s not exactly how I wanted to tell you that,” Monet finally says, after a heavy moment of silence that’s punctuated only by the sounds of nature. “I really wanted it to be special and perfect. Like, candlelit and shit, over dinner with wine and… Christ, I don’t know. Perfect, I guess.”

The wind is still wailing, but it sounds like the hail has slackened a bit. Under it all is still the whine of tornado sirens, and Nina thinks this is absolutely the most perfect time she could have ever heard the most perfect phrase to come from the most perfect person’s perfect mouth.

Nina’s been trying hard not to smile like an idiot, but she doesn’t care, can’t force her face into something she doesn’t feel anymore.

Monet always says Nina’s a great liar with the exception of her face; she’s never able to control her expression enough to be really believable.

So she allows her smile to spread ear-to-ear and takes both of Monet’s hands, which still tremble, but maybe not from the storm anymore.

“I’m stupid in love with you, too, ‘Net,” she says. “And that was perfect. Trust me. However it happened, it was perfect because it was you, and I love you.”

Monet grins and presses a kiss to Nina’s lips. “I guess that’s a story we can tell people, huh? It only took imminent death and being locked in a cafeteria with 500 kids to get me to tell you that I’ve been in love with you since the very first day I saw you.”

“Speaking of…” Nina inclines her head to the door. “Look, I’d be happy sitting in here alone with you until the storm blows over, but there are 500 kids out there who might need some supervision.”

Monet wraps her arms around Nina’s waist and kisses her again. “Nah. Trixie and Katya are out there. Let them handle the kids for now. Right now, we get to be the obnoxious in-love lesbians that everyone adores.”

They kiss until the tornado sirens whine their last, and then emerge from the detention room with swollen lips and smudged lipstick when Principal Visage finally finally gives the all-clear.

Nina opens her window to the dim sunlight and smell of ozone when she gets back to her classroom.

There’s a robin perched in the oak tree across the courtyard from her room and it chirps. Nina smiles. Just another beautiful thing that survived the storm.

#rpdr fanfiction #ninex #trixya #monet x change #nina west #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #jan sport #miz cracker #michelle visage #meggie #fluff #lesbian au #teacher au #spring fling week 2020 #day 1: storm #submission

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fight-surrender · 4 years

Text

Thanks to @penpanoply for the beautiful cover art and to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta read. I haven’t posted this fic to Tumblr in awhile because. Mental Health. But I’m in a better place now, so. Read if you want & don’t if you don’t want. That’s fine too.

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: A Proper Date?

Word Count: 1453

Summary: Simon and Baz have been dating for close to a month now. They're a couple of horny, in love seventeen-year-olds? What do you think they'd get up to? (I don't write actual smut, though, it's just implied. I’ll leave the smut to the experts. Sorry. )The boys enjoy their new relationship. Simon suggests a romantic adventure.

*****

Baz:

Dating Simon Snow is exactly the erotic grope fest I’d always imagined.

He’s currently on top of me, in his bed this time and working his way down my neck with lips and tongue and sometimes teeth. I’m hoping there isn’t some kind of world happiness quota because at this point, I’ve far exceeded it and should be getting struck by lightning or otherwise smote by the universe at any moment. In bed with Snow has become my favorite place to be. So far, we’ve kept our relationship for the most part secret. I mean, we’ve always been obsessed with one another, so that hasn’t changed. The fact that our physical altercations have become more amorous than violent is something we’re holding for ourselves. For now, at least. This is for us.

Because I can’t leave well enough alone, “We should at least tell Bunce,” I say as Snow is exploring the intricacies of my collar bone.

“Please don’t talk about Penny right now,” Snow murmurs, kissing the hollow at the base of my throat. Then he licks a trail of fire around my nipple and I decide I definitely don’t need to talk about Bunce right now.

***

Snow has fallen asleep again, his head resting on my chest. I’m idly playing with his hair while thinking about all the things that can go wrong now that we’re boyfriends. It’s too good to be true, all of this. I Don’t deserve any of it. Sooner or later, Snow will come to his senses and this dream will come to its inevitable end.

Not today, though. Today is Saturday, we’re having a lie in…well a lie in punctuated with periods of…activity. Simon’s cheeks are still flushed, and his hair is just sweaty enough to accentuate his bronze curls. He’s huffing softly. I count his eyelashes. Then his freckles. Then his moles. I trace the ones on his back with my finger.

These last few weeks have been like an alternate reality fifth year, when Simon was following me around like a lost dog. Lurking outside my classes, glaring at me from afar. Only now, instead of picking a fight, he pulls me into assorted nooks and classrooms for a snog. Not that I’m complaining, I’m a more than willing participant, but perhaps I should set some boundaries before this affects my grades. I’ll be drawn and quartered before I let my romantic life cause Bunce to pass me up for first in class.

Bunce. She’s on to us. I know Snow has been avoiding her, I’m still not sure why. I think she believes I have Simon in a thrall. (Do I? Maybe that’s why Simon developed feelings for me. Not my good looks and charm after all, just another side effect of my vampirism. Perhaps I should focus on un-thralling him, to be safe. Maybe not.) Anyway, every time I turn around, Bunce is there, staring daggers at me. I’m used to her scorn, but this time it isn’t even my fault. Well, not entirely.

“Stop.”

“What?” I ask.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” Simon says, rising onto his elbows. “You smell like intensity and Earl Grey and you’re going to get a wrinkle right there between your brows.” He taps between my eyes for emphasis. “Stop thinking.”

“Darling, I—” It slips out of my mouth before I even realize I’ve said it.

“Ohmygod,” Simon blurts, “You did not just call me darling.” He moves to straddle me, pinning my hands by my head. He’s grinning like a madman.

“You are an insufferable twit.” I squirm, but he’s got me pinned, and frankly I’m not sure which of us is stronger, given his were strength.

“It takes a proclamation from the Queen for you to call me Simon, but a good shag and I’m your darling.” Simon is laughing. “Say it again,” his voice is low in my ear, his breath hot.

“Absolutely not, you knob, you’ve ruined the mood,” I try to snarl, but he kisses me then and my brain shorts out. Because it’s so good, every time.

“Now, darling,” Snow says, dragging out the ‘r’ and still grinning like a fiend over me. “I know what we’re going to do today.”

“What?” I’m trying not to sound petulant. “I thought this was what we were doing all day.”

“Well, we can do this for part of the day, but I’ve got plans for later.” Snow leans in. Thick bronze stubble blooms across his jaw like velvet.

“You need a shave,” I say.

“Mmm, I always need a shave,” he laughs, rubbing his face into mine.

“Get off me, you mongrel.” I push him away, but not far. Simon Snow is beautiful. He always has been, but now, with his condition, he has a wildness about him. A ruggedness. Not an ounce of wasted flesh, every muscle and sinew defined and vital.

Snow kisses me again, long and deep, then pushes away and off the bed. “Come on now, you lazy sod. Get up. We’re going camping.”

“Pardon?” I say, propping myself on my elbows. I feel Simon’s absence from the bed like a phantom limb.

“Camping,” Snow chirps, like he’s being perfectly rational. He’s shuffling around the room, putting on a pair of jeans. “Wear layers, it’s chilly outside.”

“Are you insane?” I sputter, sitting up. “It’s winter.” There are about a hundred thousand reasons this is ludicrous; I settle on the most obvious.

“We’re mages,” Simon says, rifling through his wardrobe. He pulls out some kind of knapsack. “Weatherization spells exist.”

“Furnaces exist,” I reply. “Indoors, where there are beds, and toilets.”

“Come on, Baz.” Snow throws a plaid shirt at my head, thick flannel. It smells like him, Marlboro and cut grass. “Where’s your sense of adventure, get dressed, let’s go.”

“I’m a vampire, dating a werewolf. My life is adventurous enough.” I pick up the shirt, holding it in the air with two fingers. “Am I supposed to wear this? I’m not a lumberjack.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting to get your posh togs dirty.” Simon is rifling through his bag. He pulls out a knife roughly the size of a machete.

“What the hell is that, Snow? This isn’t the Amazon.” I’m growing alarmed.

“It’s leftover from one of my missions. Asp-sassins, I think,” Simon replies thoughtfully, scratching his chin. He tosses the blade back into his bag. “Can’t be too prepared I suppose.”

“Prepared for what?” I stammer, “Grizzly bears?”

“Come on,” Snow urges, “Let’s get out of here. Consider it a proper date. We haven’t been on one yet.”

“Proper dates involve things like restaurants, cars, and theatres, Snow. Places with climate control.” I slowly drag myself out of bed and sulk to my wardrobe. I commence shuffling for something to wear in addition to Snow’s lumberjack shirt. (I’m totally wearing his shirt.)

Simon slides behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Think about it, Baz. You. Me. Under the stars. I want to see the firelight dancing in your eyes.” He turns me around so I’m facing him. “It’ll be romantic.”

Snow is looking up at me. His eyes are soft and he’s currently biting his lower lip. He’s being sincere. I think my heart has melted all over my feet. I sigh. “Fine. At least we’ll freeze to death together.”

Snow’s smile is radiant. “I won’t let you freeze, you wanker.” He gives me a gentle shove. “Now get dressed.”

***

“Baz…,” Snow’s eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather) (My mouth breather)

I’ve just emerged from the ensuite, drying my hair with a towel. Not much use for product on this little adventure. “Yes?”

“You’re—you’re wearing jeans.”

I look down, then back up at him, “I am. Is that a problem?”

“What?” Simon stammers. “No—just, ah,” he hassles his curls, looking at me sideways, lips curling into a smile, roses blooming on his cheeks, “Well, you look really good in them, yeah?”

“Oh—thanks.” I say, quietly, trying not to grin like a fool. I’m so in love I could die.

“Yeah, so—” he stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “First stop, kitchen.”

“Of course, it is.” I shrug on a thick, weatherproof jacket and wool cap (Apparently Simon has a stash of all-weather gear for his missions.) “Can’t start an expedition without provisions.”

“That’s right,” Simon proclaims, jabbing his index finger into the air for emphasis as he heads for the door. “Off we go on our wild romance excursion.”

“Oh my god, you insane sap.” I grumble as I fall into step behind him.

“You love it.” Snow says as he skips down the stairs.

I love it.

#howlin forever #simon snow #baz pitch #werewolf fic #my fic #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #werewolf simon

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Academic Misgivings (Part One) - Peter Parker

Here it is! Part One! Remember this is a Rivals-To-Lovers, slow burn story with a Fem!reader. This also takes place after Homecoming and before Endgame. FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemy either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Blood was pounding in your ears, heart thundering in your chest as if spurred to life by some angered beast. The sensation of tingling nerves as your hand seemingly hovered, magnetically drawn, over the buzzer. Adrenaline drove you through the thrill as Mr. Harrington’s monotone voice echoed in your skull. The question floated in your mind, seeking its own answers locked away between the neurons of your brain.

With a snap of synapse your whole being jolted. Your palm slammed on the buzzer so hard that the light within shuddered a violent red. Mr. Harrington’s brown eyes widened in shock at the sound but her quickly composed himself.

“Midtown?”

“What is the Fibonacci Spiral.”

“Correct!” Mr. Harrington rang a little bell and turned his back to you. Finally, you allowed yourself to breathe, although it felt more like a wild gasp of air.

“Figures,” you heard someone grumble behind you, but you were too caught up in rolling off the high of affirmation. The mounting joy was building like the apprehension of riders on a roller coasters first crest of a large hill.

“Great job, Y/N. You’ll be heading the B team in Chicago.” And there was the stomach sinking drop. No cheers filled your ears, only disappointed thoughts barraged your mind.

“The B team? Doesn’t my improvement push me up to the A team?” The rest of the academic decathlon team fell silent at your question. You didn’t have to turn around to know that all eyes were on you. Almost all eyes.

“Well we already have Mr. Parker leading A team. We need to keep our heaviest hitters spread out through the sets of questions.” Your hands curled into tight fists. It would take you and ‘Mr. Parker’ to even out the intellect on B team. You opened your mouth to say exactly that when the school library doors flew wide. A red faced, panting, Peter Parker had decided to show up. Now, all eyes were on you as you loomed over the table.

“So, so sorry, this won’t happen again, I promise,” Peter said, his bright eyes shifting from you to Mr. Harrington. The man peered at him through his thick rimmed glasses with an almost fatherly expression. Peter, like a scolded child, dropped his backpack next to the others and found an empty seat on the other table, opposite you.

“It better not,” despite the veiled threat, Mr. Harrington’s voice was soft. “We need you in Chicago Peter. You’re our secret weapon.” If it weren’t for Peter’s awkward laugh, everyone could have heard your eyes rolling in their sockets. Ever since you were both young, Peter Parker had never failed to show you up. If he wasn’t deemed superior under the circumstances, then you were put on an equal footing that always set you more on edge than his overwhelming victories.

For instance, there was the first grade summer reading program. The program itself was not, in name a contest; but as soon as the plump librarian dotted on the fact that you and Peter were ‘neck and neck’ with the amount of books you had both read, you drove yourself to collect on a phantom prize. At the end-of-summer reading palooza party hosted by the public library, the final count was drawn in a tie. You and Peter had read a grand total of 42 books a piece, a hefty sum for a couple of seven year olds.

Then there was the infamous war forged on the third grade front of Mrs. Davis’ classroom. The lovely lady taught science, arguably your favorite subject and Peter’s realm of fascination. Mrs. Davis had both you and Peter in her fifth hour class and would often call on either of you to run errands for her before lunch period. The battle to be her teacher’s pet was intense between you and Peter. It was only in fourth grade did you both learn that being a teacher’s pet was the worst thing anyone could be, ever. Nevertheless, the seeds of animosity had sprouted that year and sixth grade only serves to nourish the growth.

The second year of middle school had not only stirred up the beginnings of puberty but also supplied an outlet for your budding hostility towards your academic rival. You weren’t one for physical education, much preferring a good book than a good jog, but dodge-ball was a godsend. Peter was as lanky as a stick bug, making him a smaller target but that also meant he couldn’t throw very far either. The dodge-ball intramural championship gave you your very first win against district-wide admiration of Peter Parker.

Despite how tall and suddenly handsome Peter had gotten over Summer break, your jealousy towards him remained. The flames were only stoked when girls would, happily, go up to talk to him, compliment him. Burning with envy, for which party, that you were unsure of, you finally talked to Peter. All years past, your competition to outdo each other had been silent. Not a word had passed between you before seventh grade and it only served to anger you further.

Peter was kind. So kind that he made you feel like your bitter rivalry had been one sided. Further fueled, you competed against him in a school hosted trivia night. However, the fates seemed to be against your thirst for conquest because you and Peter ended up on the same team. Granted, that team had won, but between you and Peter, no winner was named.

This fervent yet unspoken clash continued to grow as you both entered high-school. Freshman year had consisted of fighting to see which one of you would join the academic decathlon team first. Peter had made the A team and you the B team. The results presented a persistent conflict between you and the boy genius that had followed up to the current Junior year. Was it childish? Perhaps. Were you ever going to admit that? No.

The sound of a loud practice buzzer went off, breaking you out of your reflection. When you looked up at the table opposite, your jaw clenched. Of course it had been Peter to answer the question. His friend, Ned, clapped him on the shoulders and you felt your own tense up.

“Correct, as always, Mr. Parker.” Mr. Harrington changed the score on the board and you felt your skin crawl. Peter was always the star pupil, no matter how well you performed in his absence. “Alright next question. Hypertrichosis is colloquially known by this name…”

The meat of your palm stung when it impacted with the buzzer. “What is Werewolf Syndrome.”

“Correct!”

You smiled smugly, reclining back in the uncomfortable chairs that, on some vile whim, the school board had deemed perfect for the campus library. Ready to gauge Peter’s disappointment in himself, you spared a glance his way. You found his brown eyes on you, lips offered you half of a smile. You wanted to gag. The role of team player had never suited you, but Peter worn it well like the clothes on his back.

“Well, that ties up our practice scores!” Your head seemed to spin out of your control as you snapped your gaze to the white, erase marker board Mr. Harrington was holding up. Just once, that was all you wanted, to win. “That gives me the opportunity to talk about the trip to Chicago.”

A chorus of limited cheers and apprehensive stares flooded the room. MJ finally looked up from her book at the news of the field trip. Some of the team was still reeling from their last one. Washington had been a great victory if you ignored how they almost died afterwards.

“It’s gonna be fun guys!” A cheerful cry from Betty, a lovely blonde sophomore. She hadn’t been on the trip to Washington. Flash, how was sitting beside you, let out a snicker at the younger girl’s optimism.

“That’s right, thank you, Betty,” Mr. Harrington continued, “sadly, due to budget cuts, we will be taking a smaller bus this time. Pack lightly and tell your parents that you will be safe. Everyone signed the waivers, yes?” Most of the team spoke up in response. “Great. Now remember, meet at the front doors at five fifty-five. We’ll be leaving the school at six.”

“So much for the healthy, professionally recommended eight hours of sleep,” MJ remarked, bringing a smile to your lips. You had never had a long conversation with her, but from what experiences you did have with MJ, you took her to be the wittiest person you had ever met. Much to your amusement, that same wit had a tiring effect on Mr. Harrington who, after MJ’s critique, promptly dismissed the team.

You stood swiftly and began to gather your things. The team had a bad habit of stacking bags on top of one another, so it took a moment for you to find you backpack. Once you dug it out of the stack of bags, you spun on your heel and nearly fell face-first into Peter.

“Oh, s-”

“Watch it, Parker,” you snap before the blush on your cheeks became too visible. he warmth from his body had dulled the flames of embarrassment for a moment before you had realized how close you were to him. You didn’t give Peter a chance to reply as you pushed past him. Luckily, it seemed that no one had noticed the dusting of pink along your face.

The white-hot soreness was put to rest by the crisp afternoon breeze of New York. While Midtown School of Science and Technology wasn’t in the heart of the city, it was close enough to the bay where, every now and then, a gentle breeze would carry off from the water. Such a gust was especially felt after school when the sun was no longer at its peak. The receding sunshine made for a cool walk home.

You adjusted the straps of your bag more securely over your shoulders, hoping to keep your mind off of the moment before. Any interaction with Peter had the innate gift of setting you on edge. You clenched your jaw as you walked, the grinding of your teeth drowning out the pestering thoughts of him. However the one sound that wasn’t overshadowed was the quick pattering of feet on the length of sidewalk behind you.

“Y/N! Wait up!’ You turned your head for a brief moment and, after recognizing the figure chasing after you, you picked up your pace. “Y/N!”

“Not now, Flash, I have stuff to do!” You felt a hand grab your wrist and you stopped in place. Glaring at your peer, you yanked your hand away.

“It will only take a moment.” Teeth gritted, you stared at him.

“It better be worth it.”

Flash gave you a startlingly smug grin as you followed him into a nearby coffee shop. He ordered some absurdly complicated mocha-cappuccino concoction before you both found a secluded table. If it weren’t for the circumstances, you would have enjoyed the shop. It was painted a calming sea-blue and littered with antiques of all sorts. The interior gave off a relaxed aura that was brutally interrupted when Flash sat in front of you as he stirred an alarming amount of sugar in his already frothy drink.

“Alright, I have a proposition for you,” Flash said, placing his coffee stirrer on a napkin.

“A proposition? What are you, a mob boss?”

“Nah,” Flash said coolly as he waved his hand in dismissal, “just a boss in general.” You had to keep yourself from gagging as he continued. “It’s clear to me, everyone really, that you’re not Peter Parker’s biggest fan.”

You let out an amused huff. “Really? You’ve noticed?”

“Neither am I,” Flash said, having ignored your remark. “Which is why I extend an olive branch to you.”

“What does this olive branch entail?” You leaned forward with a quirked brow, eyeing Flash. He had your attention.

“You want to be on A team, as do I. No one can move up with Peter sitting there with his other nerd friends. With the right manner of,” Flash leaned close to whisper, “sabotage, we can both get what we want.”

“Sabotage?” You leaned back in your seat, eyes skirted the features of the weasel before you. What Flash was selling was enticing, but the idea of stooping to his level was wholly unappealing. Or perhaps it was the prospect of playing dirty that appalled you, the risk of actually hurting Peter maybe. You shook your head. “Not interested.”

“Hold on, hold on, you haven’t heard my plan yet,” Flashed raised his hands to calm you, keep you listening. “One of us would befrien-”

“Really, not interested Flash,” you interrupted as you stood up from your seat. “I don’t need to ‘sabotage’ him, I’m better than him.”

“Judging by your stable and steady position on the B team, it seems like you might not be.” Rage, pure, unadulterated rage flooded your body and turned your sight red. You turned to glare at Flash before you stomped out of the coffee shop.

You didn’t need him, you thought as the cool air hit your face once more, don’t need anyone. For you entire life, you had been going it alone so what was something more? You would show Flash and, hopefully, Peter. That leading spot on the A team was going to be yours.

“Y/N, hold on! I’m sorry, but please, listen!” You kept walking and, when he realized he was being ignored, Flash hurried to your side. “If you don’t to sabotage him, can we at least train together? If we’re like really good maybe the city can organize for us to meet Spiderman or even Iron Man! He gave that internship to Parker of all people so maybe-”

“What is it with you and Spiderman?” You countered, hoping to get off the road of this conversation with a well-worn detour.

“I dunno, he’s just….he’s like really cool! Did I ever tell you about the time at Homecoming he took my car?! It was-”

“You told everyone about that,” you grumbled, clearly annoyed. “Why don’t you find someone that doesn’t know that story, yeah?”

You took advantage of his silence and darted quickly down the block. Flash’s strength of talking when no one wanted him to was also his greatest weakness. One that could be easily exploited if you were in need of a getaway. Home was just a few more blocks down.

As you rounded a corner, you nearly ran into a couple walking by. The man’s arm was lazily slung over the woman’s shoulder, who smiled so brightly it was almost like she had been paid to do it. The couple exchanged giggles as you passed by and your heart sank. It had been normal for you to be so painfully focused on the academic side of your life that you had neglected almost every other facet of it. That included romance.

Peter and his ridiculously large brain and his shy little smile took up far too much of your time for you to have even entertained a relationship. Books and trivia apps were your closest friends. Your family was a different story altogether. From the moment Peter Parker walked into your life, everything had changed. You imagined his life had changed too.

As you walked, a shadow fluttered over the length of sidewalk before you. Ever so curious, you looked up to see a man swinging from building to building; Spiderman, specifically. He was hard to miss with the bright red suit and flailing limbs, spindly like his name sake. The powered man looked just as you remembered him from the first time you had seen him. Up close, he had looked more like a boy than man as he safely loaded you and the rest of the team in the elevator inside the Washington Monument on solid ground.

It all felt like a distant memory as the apartment complex you called home came into sight. Everything that last year had felt clean and safe, perfectly juxtaposed to life now. Spiraled out of control, you had once said to your mother. She hadn’t responded and you knew that she wouldn’t. You climbed the steps, as the elevator was out of order, all the way to the eighth story.

By the time you had unlocked the door, your feet ached for respite. As you kicked off your shoes, the sound of them as they hit the floor echoed in through the apartment. There was no carry-over bustle from the streets. The exposed brick bore no life in the form of family portraits. No one was home except for you and your thoughts; as usual.

You woke the next morning at five. Luckily, before you had fallen asleep, you had enough foresight to pack for the Chicago trip. Textbooks to read during the drive, clothes for the three day stay, and your favorite green sweatshirt already thrown over your loose t-shirt. From the last trip, you had learned to wear comfy clothes for long bus drives. The twelve hours from the school to Chicago was the perfect excuse to dress lazily.

From the near-empty fridge, you grabbed snacks and bottled water for the road. Already, the idea of competing with the highest ranked schools in The Windy City made your stomach churn. With the twisting nerves, you decided to skip breakfast. A poor choice, you soon realized as you lugged your bag down the seemingly endless flights of stairs.

By the time five fifty-five rolled around, you were sweaty from the trek from your home to the school. Mr. Harrington looked exhausted but the ever spry young Literature teacher, Ms. Lauren, chattered away to the team as they boarded the small bus.

“Ok kids, I know you’re tired, but put your bags in the back of the bus so we can easily unpack it when we get to the hotel.” You wondered if Ms. Lauren happened to be a morning person or if the large, travel mug of coffee held tight in her hands had anything to do with her wide smile.

Once your bag was stacked with the rest, you settled in a seat towards the front. MJ’s mass of curls popped up in a seat nearby, her sneaker-clad feet hung out in the aisle. Ned and Betty, the blonde sophomore, idly chatted, talking about the last time they had been up so early. Late, as usual, Peter Parker made his way on the bus.

“You’re lucky this wasn’t practice, peebag,” Flash sneered when Peter walked past him. The skinny boy dragged a suitcase behind him, one of the front pockets unzipped showed a type of red workout shirt. Or at least you assumed as much, judging by the look of the material.

“Hi Peter,” Ned greeted loudly, making you crane your neck to glare in their direction. It was much too early for pleasantries.

“Hey, Ned,” Peter said quietly as he added his bag to the pile. He gave Betty a nod of greeting before working his way back to the front of the bus. He stopped beside MJ’s seat, just in front of you. “Can I?”

MJ only glared in response, her legs remained sprawled lengthwise along the seat. Peter sighed and turned to look for any other empty seat. As he did, the rather crabby looking bus driver had slammed the bus door shut. The small bus jolted and Peter gripped the edge of your seat tightly, as he kept from falling.

“Is this seat taken?” Peter asked you, his tried looking brown eyes met your gaze in earnest. You stared back at him, mouth parted as your mind tried to register what was happening. It seemed that Fate was against you once more.

“Sit down kid!” The gravelly voiced of the bus driver reached your ears and pulled you back to the present. Locked eyes tore away from Peter’s as you moved. You scooted down the bus seat until your side was pressed up against the window. Peter said a soft ‘thank you’ but you were much too peeved to reply. You hoped that if you pressed your cheek against the cool surface of the window that the blush that had burned into your skin would fade. No such luck.

However, what it did cool, was your heated thoughts. A dull ache that had plagued you since you had wakened vanished. Finally at some sort of ease, you allowed yourself to close your already hooded eyes. You felt warmth as you drifted off to sleep, a safety you hadn’t had in a long time.

Whether it was the jolt or the sunlight filtering through the slightly grimy bus window that woke you, you were unsure. All you knew was that you were comfortable. Slowly, your eyes opened as you cringed against the rising sun. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since you had left, but tiredness still seeped into your bones.

It was when the sounds of snickering filled yours ears that you awoke fully. The telltale sound of a phone’s digital camera shutters clicked off and you were thrown into a frenzy of embarrassment as you realized why you were so comfortable in the first place. As if his body had burned you, you pulled your head away from Peter’s shoulder. You narrowly avoided knocking skulls thanks to an alarming quick reaction on Peter’s part.

“What?!” Your shout caused the growing crowd around you and Peter to scurry off.

“Ar-Are you okay?” Peter’s soft brown eyes met yours and held the utmost, disgusting amount of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The bus jus-just jolted,” you grumbled in reply. Peter nodded but you knew that he knew it was a lie. You had never been quite good at lying.

“Oh, o-okay,” Peter murmured before he fumbled with his phone. You rested the side of your face against the window once more and watched other cars race by. Silently you hoped that the movement would keep you awake. Out of the corner of your eye, you observed Peter as he attempted to untangle his earbuds. He gave up halfway through and put the small speakers in his ears. The cover art on his lockscreen read ‘Bastille’ in bold white font. Of course he had good taste in music too, you thought bitterly.

The twelve hour drive dwindled down to it’s final hours, marked but the periodic buzzing of Peter’s phone on his lap. After it went off three times in a row you looked at in annoyance and hoped Peter would take the hint. The notification was a text from MJ with nondescript emojis, including the squirt gun one. Peter didn’t seem to have noticed your glare and happily responded to the messages.

You let out an audible groan at the sight of his smile. The boyish, upwards quirk of his lips was nothing short of adorable and it physically pained you. Not only was Peter Parker smart and seemingly kind, but he was cute too. As well, at least from what you assumed from the messages, taken by one of the smartest girls in school. It simply wasn’t fair.

“Is Pissbag Parker annoying you?” Flash’s voice crept up from the seat behind you and made you jump slightly in your seat. Before you replied, Peter plucked out an earbud.

“Is everything okay?”

“You being too loud? Y/N here doesn’t seem to happy.” Flash’s taunts seemed to frighten Peter as he looked to you.

“N-No I’ve been quiet this whole time,” he stammered. Flash rolled his eyes and opened his mouth with a readied retort. You took the pause and stepped in.

“Peter’s been fine, Flash. A more agreeable bus partner than you are to John.” You gestured over to the skinny, black-haired boy Flash was sat beside. “Why don’t you be quiet?”

“Alright,” Flash said as he sat back down in his seat. You groaned again and turned back, only to have locked eyes with Peter once more.

“What? He was being annoying,” you said, justifying your rudeness.

“Y-yeah, n-no it’s jus-” Peter was cut off by a buzz. His phone lit up in his hand. Another message from MJ. You bit the inside of your cheek to quell the jealousy, but your envy spilled out before you could stop it.

“You better answer that,” you snapped before you settled back against the window. You let out a huff and hoped silently that the next few hours of the drive would go by quickly. It was torture, being sat next to Peter Parker and knowing full well just how more complete he was than you. Or, maybe it was the fact he was complete without you.

What do you think, my friends?? I hope you liked the first installment! I promise this story picks up, it’s a slow burn, like I said!

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spooky-the-owl · 5 years

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Homeless au Point 3

Amity park was in chaos.

The fact that Daniel Fenton had disappeared was just a small part of it. Because before now ghosts had only been spoken of in campfire stories and, on the occasion, history books (spirits had made an appearance before in their small corner of the world).

Now they were spoken of in school, during lunch breaks at work, and even more in fire and police departments as they discuss what to do to ensure the safety of the town.

It had started with mindless ghost attacks but soon after a clearly sentient ghost had appeared to ward these monsters off. They'd have a showdown and no matter how banged up the white haired ghost would get, he'd keep going until the other surrendered. This ghost looked like a teen and had shown up closely after Danny Fenton's disappearance.

Speaking of, Maddie and Jack had freaked out when the school called about an absent student and their son hadn't come home the next day. They asked his friends, his sister, looked through his stuff for any kind of clue but could not figure out where he'd gone or what had happened.

They blalantly ignored what the students and teacher from Danny's last class told them. About how the boy had fallen into some kind of depression. How quiet he was. It was almost unsettling. How he'd just up and left the last class. They wouldn't believe his friends when they came up to them, very afraid, and revealed that the tired boy had told them he was unhappy with his life.

No. They needed some REAL conclusions to jump to. GHOSTS. Danny's disappearance was the fault of ghosts. It had happened only a month after the ghost portal started working and ghosts started appearing. Danny lived way too close to the ghost world. He'd payed for it and they would find him. But they couldn't let the same thing happen again.

Jazz was sent away. She finished school even sooner than was planned at first and left to college.

There. One child was safe. Now to find the other. The Fentons hurried to make a vehicle and launch themselves into the green void in their basement. Nobody knows what they see on the other side but the two ghost hunters spent more time in that flip dimension than on Earth.

The villagers know they won't find their lost son though.

Nobody talks about it but they would look at the ghostly teen flying around town with sadness and compassion.

The teen ghost hadn't told them a name but everyone called him Danny.

He didn't correct them.

Danny had never felt more alive.

Now that he had left his old life he was so much better. He had to settle first, though. He hadn't taken anything from his room or even any belongings other than what he was wearing and didn't dare go back to get anything. He didn't want to bump into his parents and have to explain himself. Moreover, he didn't want any of his old stuff.

The first two nights he spent in the small forest nearby. It wasn't much of a forest. It was a field of grass with a few trees here and there. It was perfect stargazing spot, but the animals got very loud, especially the crickets.

He spent daytime practicing his ghost powers. By now he'd encountered a few ghosts. And he realized how much he didn't about them.

One time he'd spotted one in the field. He'd been sitting there in between the long grass. And at one point it was just. There.

They'd stared at each other for some time. Danny could only see the head. It glowed softly, but the grass was so thick and tall he couldn't see the rest of the body. But he knew it was gigantic. Like. A grass plain dragon. It would've been terrifying. Danny only felt calm as he looked at the slitted eyes of the giant snake. It disappeared.

These encounters showed Danny what ghosts could do. What he could do. He practised and learned. He thought he'd find his limit very soon. After all, he wasn't a giant dragoneske creature. He was a child.

But the more abilities he saw, the more he obtained.

It was after the second night, when he'd figured out invisibility, that he dared go back in town. Danny spent hours walking around, looking at everyone, wondering.

He was free.

He could do what he wanted.

Whatever he wanted.

But.

What did he want?

This is how he spent the third day. He very much enjoyed watching people go on their business. Sometimes he walked around as a ghost. However he didn't show his face again until he figured out how to fly because of the weird looks he got. He figured they were scared of him. All he wanted was for them to feel safe with him.

He'd never felt this way before. This place. It was his. And he didn't want anything bad to happen to it.

Danny supposed this is what it felt like to be a ghost. To think like a ghost. He felt like he could connect more with ghosts he encountered. But there was still something that separated him. He was different.

He wasn't as...fixated on one thing as them. Wasn't grounded with one set of powers. He had other dreams than what his ghost half told him to do. He didn't only want to protect. He wanted to play, look at the stars, talk to people. He was still a social being. He needed at least a bit of social interaction. Unlike ghosts, who were loners by nature.

He was still different. Just as in his human life. But he wasn't an outcast anymore. This time, he knew his place.

The fourth night Danny slept in an empty apartment that hadn't been rented yet. His neighbours upstairs had children and eventually they got too loud for him and his sensitive hearing so he found a house for rent a few streets down.

He didn't see his parents often. When they spotted him they would look at him with narrowed eyes until he flew away. He didn't know wether they were angry at him or just saw him as an experiment.

He'd also watch search parties look for him or his body. He watched as they stopped and eventually declared him dead.

Danny snorted. As if they could decide whether he was dead or alive.

He watched astonished when his school held a small memorial for him. They taped a picture of him on a tree in school grounds and placed many candles around it. They didn't hold anything big. Sam did a small speech, which had Danny crying. Tucker was there as well, but he didn't talk to anyone or anything. Students threw some flowers they'd picked from school. Then they were gone.

Danny stayed. He stood there invisibly, staring at his memorial. It was the closest thing he'd probably get for a tomb. He knew how his parents were.

The ghsot boy didn't move as teens from all ages came back during breaks and left something behind. Some asked about Danny and the boy wasn't surprised to hear the first thing to come from the others' mouths was that he was the son of those ghosthunters. The ghost kid, one called him.

What did surprise him was when a group came and placed a blurred picture of his ghost, white haired, glowing self under the tree. They didn't say anything, but looked around as if expecting him. Then they left.

And Danny stood there.

He stood there as the wind picked up and blew a few candles out and the rain started. He frowned up at the sky. This it wouldn't touch. This was his. This here under the tree.

The ghost boy didn't know how long he had been standing there when the final bell rang. Students ran out to get in the cars or on their bikes.

One of them, though, only waved another off before trudging towards the tree. They didn't seem to care they were getting soaking wet, but continued walking until they saw a figure by the memorial. They stopped. Then picked up the pace.

The moment they took a step under the tree everything stopped.

There was no rain, no wind and no time when the person stared at the back of the boy standing in front of the memorial. The candlelight reflecting the dry grass. Some of the candles lit up green instead of yellow.

Everything made it seem like he had entered another reality. It had to be. Because there was no way.

"Danny?"

The teen turned and froze.

"Tucker."

It was a breathless reply and echoed as if they were in a cave.

Tucker couldn't compute. His mainframe was glitching and nothing processed. Because what he saw didn't add up.

It was Danny. Plain old Danny. Coal black hair. Pale face. Light blue eyes. As if he hadn't changed. As if he had never left. As if he had never been declared dead.

It was Danny. But it wasn't.

Tucker ran and slammed into the boy, throwing them both to the ground in a crying, confused, overjoyed pile of reunited friends.

Amity Park wasn't a nice place to live. But nobody ever left. Because it was a safe place to live.

Ghosts came and went. Some very violent. Some out to get control of the humans. There was a lot of colateral damage. Streets had holes. Stoplights were bend ninety degrees. Trees were burnt off.

But you could walk with headphones, looking at your phone in the middle of a squabble between ghosts and not have to worry about a thing.

The ghost vigilante of Amity did everything to his ability to make sure nothing happened to Amity's citizens. And boy, his ability went far. He was a very powerful specter and when the people thought they'd seen it all he would pull another power out of his sleeve.

They loved him. He'd hang around town and talk with the people as they went to work or school. He'd stop by the bakery and they'd throw him some bread. Oftentimes he'd stay and talk. If there was no danger he'd have too much free time in his hands, he said.

He was a nice kid. He was a powerful kid.

His aura was that of a shield. A warm hug. Protection. They wouldn't feel safer anywhere else.

New people who moved in wouldn't say the same. Some stayed anyways. Ghosts made for an interesting life.

Despite all the ghosts flying about, Casper High was still circulating with ghost stories.

They told of the ghost dog that had appeared a few times. According to legend, it was a werewolf. And if you'd believe stories Ember McClain, a known ghostly rock star, was the ghost of what Avril Lavigne had wanted to be. And if you listened to that girl from fifth grade all the ectopi wanted was to get to the ocean.

But if there was one story nobody doubted. The oldest ghost story since the start of the haunting.

It was about the son of two ghosthunters. An outcast. A weird kid, they said. Neglected by his parents and low on the social ladder he committed suicide. It happened right after the first ghost attacks. And some believe this was what saved the boy. For he somehow found the will, the power to stay behind in a world that he detested. He despised. He became a ghost. But fear not because this isn't a scary story. It won't keep you from sleeping. It won't make you check all dark corners in fear.

Because this boy stayed behind to protect Amity Park.

Danny phantom was the hero of Amity Park.

#danny phantom #homeless au #chapter 3 #last one #angst #my writing

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yoon-kooks · 5 years

Text

With Love and No Regrets💋 1

Pairing: ??? x Reader, Jungkook x Reader (this chapter)

Genre: Angst, Handwritten!AU, inspired by TATBILB

Summary: Seven stories, seven regrets, seven letters… to all the boys you may or may not still think about…

Word Count: 1.6k

Parts: Prologue // 1 // 1.5 // 2 // 2.5 // 3 //

Warnings: none

A/N: after taking formatting into consideration, i’ll be splitting up each member’s individual chapter and letter into two separate posts (i.e. part 1 is jungkook’s written story, and part 1.5 will be his letter)! so look out for jungkook’s letter in the near future...

Jungkook was your first friend-who-just-so-happened-to-be-a-boy… aka he’d never see you as anything more than a friend. But you were okay with that because the feeling was probably mutual.

In kindergarten, he was the kid who always chased you during a game of tag at recess. Not because you were an easy target, but because you were a difficult one to catch. And if there’s anything you remember about Jeon Jungkook, it’s that he always loved a challenge.

Third grade was the first time in elementary school where Jungkook wasn’t in the same class as you. You made new friends, and so did he. The only chance you had to talk to him was afterschool while his mother chatted with your father about upcoming school events and other boring PTA stuff. You remember sneaking away with Jungkook and hiding from your parents across the schoolyard in the shadows of the jungle gym to prolong your time together. It wasn’t until your parents heard your obnoxious giggling from beneath the big yellow slide that you and Jungkook had to say farewell.

In fifth grade, you realized Jungkook was special. Not necessarily special to you, but he had these special abilities that you’d never noticed before. The two of you were in the fifth grade choir and you heard him hit notes that no one else could hit, sing songs no one else could sing. During PE, he ran the fastest mile in the school and kicked the ball the furthest. Most of all, he had a knack for attracting the attention of admirers. You, too, admired him for all the things that made Jeon Jungkook special. But you also began to feel it—the distance.

In elementary school alone, you lost count of how many times you sat at the same table as Jungkook. Whether the teacher assigned seats or allowed the students to choose where they wanted to sit, you never ended up too far from him. Moving into middle school, however, physical proximity wasn’t what concerned you.

Middle school was That Time in Your Life™ you wish you could either redo differently or forget it altogether—it was that cringey. And for better or worse, Jungkook was there to experience the cringe with you.

You had no classes with Jungkook in sixth grade, and maybe that’s what made the change feel so drastic when you reunited in seventh. Going into seventh grade, you had but one wish, and that wish was to develop a crush on someone, anyone. You hadn’t had a crush on anyone else since Kim Taehyung back in fifth grade, and you were ready to make school a little less boring again. Maybe you’d see and feel a little differently about Jungkook now that the two of you were older.

On your first day of seventh grade, you walked into your science class and looked up at the seating chart projected onto the white boards at the front of the classroom. You scanned the chart for your name and took your respective seat at the table right in the middle of the room.

One by one, kids filled the classroom and located their seats. The first kid to join your table was Park Jimin, a boy you knew of but never had a class with until that moment. He said hi as he took his seat across from you, and you only waved back with a soft hello. You were rather awkward around people you didn’t know, and especially if they were popular boys like Jimin. You wished someone you already knew would’ve shown up first.

“Hey.” A familiar but lower voice drew your attention to the seat next to Jimin. Jungkook dropped his fat camo backpack off his shoulder and waved to his new tablemates.

“Hey,” you said in a slightly more cheerful tone than the one you’d used to greet Jimin. It felt like déjà vu being assigned to sit with Jungkook again just like in elementary school, and yet, it also felt very different. Jungkook felt different.

“Do you guys know each other or something?” Jimin asked. Was it the way you gave Jungkook a warmer greeting or how your eyes naturally followed him that prompted Jimin to ask such a question.

“We went to the same elementary school,” was how Jungkook chose to respond. You nod, but if you had been the one to respond first, you would’ve done so differently. You would’ve told Jimin that you and Jungkook were friends. But perhaps Jungkook didn’t feel that way anymore.

Sure, Jungkook was a lot taller than he was in elementary school, and his voice deepened since the last time you spoke to him, but you didn’t expect him to suddenly brush your friendship aside—though that wouldn’t be the first or last time it happened to you.

“Ryujin is so hot,” Jungkook announced one day to you and Jimin. Ryujin was the girl who sat next to you and across from Jungkook. She was absent from class that day, so you suppose the boy took the opportunity to get some thirsty preteen feelings off his chest. And you have to admit, it was both a little weird and disappointing.

Obviously you knew kids around your age were starting to develop shallow middle school crushes and whatnot, but it was very off-putting to hear Jungkook be so open about his thirst to people he didn’t even consider “friends”. You just didn’t expect him to be so upfront about it because the old Jungkook you knew was neither a skirt chaser nor so bold. Clearly he didn’t hold love affairs or crushes as deep secrets the way you always had. You’d only shared your fifth grade crush on Taehyung with your closest friends whom you trusted, and even then, somehow word got back to him. But you’ll save that story for another time.

“Should I go tell her you said that?” you said in a teasing tone, although you were more so annoyed. “I have her number, you know. I can text her right now and tell her all about your feelings.”

“Ha, yeah right, Y/N.” Jungkook looked rather calm because he knew you were bluffing. He knew you didn’t have it in you. Instead, he tried to find a way to profit out of the situation. “Wait, but can you give me her number?” Jimin rolled his eyes and so did you.

“Ask her yourself when she’s back,” you shrugged him off. You didn’t owe him anything, especially not if it had to do with his feelings for someone else.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook laughs it off. It was all a game to him, as you soon found out. “Then give me your number.”

You should’ve questioned it, but you didn’t. If anything, handing out your number was a sign that you were desired. And you were certainly not immune to the part of human nature that wished to be desired.

Contrary to popular belief, that wasn’t even your first time being asked for your number. You’d been texting Jung Hoseok pretty consistently since sixth grade, and of course you and Taehyung used to spend a lot of time messaging online while gaming together. So the thought of giving a boy your number was not all that scary to you. It was actually a normal middle school thing that you took part in and didn’t mind—until Jungkook did what he did.

As soon as you wrote your number down on a scrap of paper and handed to Jungkook, he blew it to the other side of the table and it landed right in front of Jimin. He didn’t actually want your number nor did he actually want to talk to you outside of school. He only did it because he knew he could, because he thought he still had a hold on you. Whether or not he had a hold on you, you felt a violent punch to your stomach when he so thoughtlessly tossed your number away in the same way he did with your friendship.

Jimin pinched the scrap of paper between his chubby fingers so it wouldn’t blow anywhere else. Although you were pissed at Jungkook, you were relieved your number had fallen into the right hands. You had learned Jimin was one of the nicer boys at your school after sitting with him for a month, so you didn’t mind that it was him who held onto your number. He glanced down at your writing, up at you, and toward Jungkook.

“Take care of that for me, buddy,” Jungkook said as the bell rang.

“Sure,” Jimin nodded, but waited around for you to shove your binder and pencil bag back into your bag as everyone else exited the classroom. Once the classroom was empty besides you, Jimin, and the teacher, he extended the scrap of paper back to you and said, “But this wasn’t intended for me.”

First the boy who asked for your number brushed it aside, and then the nice popular boy didn’t want it either. You didn’t know you were capable of being rejected twice in one day. But that just showed how brutal middle school was.

“Just throw it away if you don’t want it,” you laughed it off, thankful that class had ended so you didn’t have to spend anymore time with the two boys who lowkey just rejected you. Taking that scrap of paper back would’ve only made you feel more pathetic than you already felt.

Needless to say, you distanced yourself from Jungkook after that day. It was probably for the best, but the damage was already done.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts #bangtan #with love and no regrets

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