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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

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DO I KNOW YOU? (3)

SUMMARY: Miguel's been showing up at your house for months. And yet, you still have no idea who he is.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 4,810

WARNINGS: Angst, all hurt no comfort (sorry folks, I promise the comfort is coming just be patient), enemies-to-lovers adjacent, descriptions of a panic attack/dissociate behaviours.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this chapter gave me such grief I'm just so fucking glad it's over. Enjoy! Please! For the sake of my sanity. :')

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

It’s been nearly two months since that first encounter. Two months of random, bloodied drop-ins, and you still have no idea who Miguel really is.

At this point, you’ve spent weeks wondering. Every time you look at him it’s like you’re met with this overwhelming desire to discover new information —to explore the contents of his brain in a way that makes your own begin to race at the thought. Like you’re cracking some kind of code. Oftentimes, it takes over you entirely, pushing you further and further over that established boundary line towards the impending doom of another late-night argument neither of you wants to have. So far, it’s happened six times, each argument worse than the last, but despite that, you refuse to give up.

“Okay, how about two truths, one lie?”

“Seriously?”

Each time he shows up at your house battered and bruised, you find yourself coming up with new ways to attempt extorting information. Sometimes you outright ask, hoping he’ll simply give in. Sometimes you resort to bribery. Tonight though, after several weeks of partially un-consented arrivals, you’ve decided to try your luck with a game.

“No.”

Or not.

“No?”

“I come here to rest, not play games.”

“Okay well, house rules.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not, actually. House rules state you have to participate if you continue crashing on my couch.”

Without missing a beat, he snorts, throwing his head back against the couch in frustration —something he always does whenever you’re being annoying and he isn’t sure how to proceed.

“You know I’m still not gonna tell you anything.”

You hum and turn to face him, watching his head fall to the side to look at you.

He’s got the kind of face that could make a baby cry. Not because he’s scary or unattractive but because he’s mean. With constantly downturned eyebrows and a frown so deep you can see the wrinkles already starting to form, he’s perfected the unimpressed face. The one that always has you second-guessing your intentions at least for a second.

“Do you know the rules or do I have to explain them?”

“I’m sure I can guess what the rules are.”

“Good, you want to go first or—“

“You go.”

You can’t help but grin as he motions towards you, offering his palm into the space between. For once it’s bare, along with the rest of his arm. Usually, he always shows up in his suit and nothing else but after last week's incident of almost indecent exposure, you figured you’d offer him something more comfortable from Peter’s closet.

“Okay, two truths, one lie, two truths, one lie…”

He watches you closely as you slip further into the couch, your brows knitting together as you try to come up with a plausible set of facts, knowing it shouldn’t be that hard. Like you, he knows very little. Sure, he has the slightest advantage of constantly making himself present inside your apartment but like him, you haven’t revealed any big secrets —no defining factors of your personality that could give him the upper hand.

So far, the playing field seems pretty even.

“Okay, my favourite meal of the day is breakfast. Blue Moon by Billie Holiday is my favourite song. I work as a geneticist, specifically in R&D.”

You raise a finger with each fact you list, noticing the way Miguel’s brow rises ever so slightly with each passing one. By the end, he looks almost surprised by your choices, as if somehow he pegged you as someone completely different.

“A geneticist. That’s tough work.”

“It is.”

“Can I ask a follow up question or is that against house rules?”

You ponder for a minute, taking slight enjoyment over the way his expression slowly becomes more annoyed as time passes. “I’ll give you one.”

“Do you like your job?”

It’s an off-putting question considering the end goal of the game. Its abruptness throwing you off as you stare, confused, taking in the way his overall posture sort of relaxes under your gaze. Like his question, its change is immediate. His body slipping into the couch as he pulls his arms across his chest, mirroring your position.

He looks weirdly calm —tranquil in a way that has you feeling a bit happy that he isn’t on edge like he usually is.

“Sometimes.”

“Why not all the time?”

You open your mouth to respond but quickly close it. You said one question, not two and you stand by that.

For some reason it makes him smile once he realizes this. His mouth falling open to reveal those fangs you’ve slowly grown used to —the ones that nearly made your heart jump out of your chest at first glance all those weeks ago. It was his second night staying over that you’d noticed them. You were grabbing all the usual items to aid Miguel’s injuries when he let them slip between his teeth in the form of a yawn, prompting you to nearly drop the scotch in your hand.

It was embarrassing for the both of you but you never spoke about it, instead choosing to sweep it under the rug in favour of another argument about why he was there in the first place.

“Your turn.”

“Hm.”

He takes his time curating his answers, focusing on the space in front of him with such intense eyes you almost wonder if he’s doing it to annoy you.

Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him. As time’s gone on, you’ve learned that Miguel is quite the pusher. The kind of guy who can get a rise out of anyone with very little effort. All he has to do is say a few choice words and inevitably an altercation will arise out of nowhere.

You’re certain it’s a Spider-Man thing because as wonderfully caring as your brother is, most of the time he’s always had the same ability. As kids, he could crawl underneath your skin with just one look and to this day, despite winning your fair share of fights, Peter still lands supreme in overall standings.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You want to punch him in the gut but refrain, noticing the smirk that creeps across his face.

“My name is Miguel.”

“Oh, my god…”

“And I’d like a scotch, please.”

This time you really do reach out to punch him, feeling his fist wrap around your own before you can even think to retract. Against your skin, it’s warm —hot even and slick with the kind of sweat that has you pulling away in embarrassment.

In response, Miguel merely snorts and recrosses his arms over his chest, looking as smug as ever as you stand up, opting to fulfil his wishes.

“You’re lucky I also want scotch.”

“Wait, but what if that’s the lie?”

His tone is dripping in the kind of sarcasm you’re unwilling to entertain as you perform your usual route. Grumpily, you grab two stacked glasses and the neck of the bottle, rolling your eyes when you plop back down, motioning for him to do it himself.

“I feel like house rules should apply to the owner as well,” he mumbles, reaching over to grab the bottle. Popping it open, he hums to himself as he pours each of you a glass, ignoring the way your jaw tightens at the prospect of yet another night without information.

“You know it’s kind of unfair that you keep showing up unannounced and refuse to tell me literally anything about you.”

In unison you grab your drinks and settle, staring at each other with offensive expressions that you can feel escalating —building in tension.

“I told you I can’t,” he says, sighing and sipping and ultimately trying his best not to disturb the one night of peace you’ve managed to have so far.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s classified.”

You groan.

It’s the same answer he gives every time. That’s classified, this is classified, sorry all of my personal details are classified! Every time you hear him say it you want to rip your own ears off and eat them. To scream at the top of your lungs because it’s so unfair that you’re this nice to him. This giving —and for what?

Aside from Peter, if he were anyone else you’d tell them to pack it up and take their baggage elsewhere, barely batting an eye as they left. Closing up the window, you’d smack your palms together as if you took out the trash and go to bed, never to think about their presence again.

You’re not sure why Miguel is different. Why you continue to let him in night after fucking night, regardless of the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a part of your brother’s overall safety or because you think Peter will get mad at you if you don’t.

Regardless, it still doesn’t make sense considering the nature of your relationship. The lack of ability to communicate genuinely. Every conversation you have with one another is snarky and laced with daggers aimed to kill. There’s nothing of value to redeem. Nothing to make whatever this is worth it as you stare at each other angrily, trying to defy the constant wall that sets you both apart.

“God, you are so—“

“What?”

You drop your glass onto the table and move your hands into the air, extending your fingers out as you shake them in frustration, groaning.

He’s so fucking confusing, you decide then. Conceited and awful and stupid. Ungrateful too, remembering the fact that he’s never actually thanked you for letting him stay over —for being there whenever he arrives, willing to plaster up the pieces of his broken body.

Without question you’re always at the window, peeling it open with tired hands that later pour him drinks and feed him pills and fucking wash his wounds, and not a single time has he ever thanked you.

“Selfish.”

You see the impact of your words on his face. As he looks over, his eyes go from immediate belligerence to apologetic, his brows lowering in confusion. Awkwardly, his frame sort of slips, causing him to cave in on himself as he slowly looks away, making you realize he might actually be sorry this time.

“I know I’m not a part of your secret society,” you tell him, waiting for something —anything, knowing deep down it’ll never come. “But this is my house. My home.”

“Okay, and?”

His tone doesn’t match the expression on his face. Devoid of anything sympathetic, he sounds like a dog being backed into a corner, canines fully out to defend; his face transitioning into that same old scowl that makes you feel insane for even attempting this time and time again.

“I don’t know you, Miguel! You’re a stranger and you’re in my house all the time!”

“You’re the one who lets me in!”

“Okay, and?”

Repeating his words back to him feels like a bit of a low blow but it’s all you got. You’ve already had this same conversation countless times. All that’s needed to be said has been, and if he can’t understand that you’re not sure you can keep doing this.

Sure, he may be Peter’s superior but he’s certainly not yours. He doesn’t dictate what you can and can’t do and he certainly doesn’t have the right to assume he’s allowed entrance into your home without at least a little exchange of trust.

“Listen, I get the whole keeping the universes separate bullshit —believe me, I hear about it from Peter at least a zillion times a week. But I don’t know you —I don’t know who you are or what your deal is and it’s getting kind of weird.”

His jaw shifts, loosening ever so slightly at the calmness of your words.

Oftentimes, during these moments, you find the volume of your voice surpassing the level you want. With him, whenever an argument erupts, it’s like something completely foreign takes over and all attempts to quell the anger inside are shot dead in their tracks.

“All I want is something —anything. I’m not talking trade secrets. I’m talking like, uh…” You pause, trying to rack your brain for something easy and boring. Something he’d be willing to give up. “What do you do for a living when you’re not Spider-Man?”

“What do I do for a living?”

He sounds almost offended, as if you’ve just asked the stupidest question on the planet but you refuse to falter, staring at him with interest in your eyes.

“Out of all the questions in the universe, that’s the one you want to go with?”

“Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s boring.”

“Okay, then answer it.”

“No.”

Oh, for fuck's sake.

“You know, talking to you is like talking to fucking wall!”

Suddenly you’re standing up and reaching for your glass, taking a moment to throw the contents back in one swift dip. As it goes down it burns your throat, making you cringe and smack your mouth around before grabbing the bottle and pouring yourself another glass.

“I mean, am I crazy?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question.”

Ignoring him, you down another glass and begin to pace, your mind racing to piece together everything that’s happened between you. Right now the details are fuzzy —whizzing past your head in rapid succession but they’re there. Taunting you from every angle. Reminding you that, yeah, you’re definitely crazy for letting this stranger into your house. For giving him so much when he returns so little. For assuming that offering up even an inkling of kindness would gain you anything but absolute bullshit in return.

“Am I crazy for wanting to know why you’re always here? Why, even when you’ve barely been touched by another one of your stupid anomalies, you always show up in the middle of the night?”

He’s silently staring, looking up through his lashes at your outburst. Somehow throughout it all his face remains completely neutral, barely a muscle out of place as you continue your rant, yelling about him and how he doesn’t care about you —how he’s just using you for something you don’t even understand.

By the end of it, you’re nearly in tears, gripping the glass in your hand so tight you’re certain it’s about to break. Everything is tense and hot and despite the calmness that washes over your face once you’re done, inside you’re messy. A mixture of emotions you can’t quite place as you watch Miguel stand up, take the glass out of your hand, and slowly lean in.

“In every universe you are infuriating. Every single one. In my experience, there’s not a single one out there that you reside in that isn’t filled with a rage I haven’t understood. You think I want to keep secrets from you? You think I don’t want to tell you everything each time I step through that window?”

He’s so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“I know you don’t think I know you, but I do. Trust me.”

“How?”

Something in him changes then. A switch of some kind flipping mid-thought, causing him to back away and look towards the window in your bedroom. “I know your favourite meal of the day is breakfast because it reminds you of mornings with Ben,” he says, still looking, avoiding your gaze entirely as your brows perk up. “I know that your favourite song is Blue Moon because it’s on that album that May used to play when she’d do all the housework.”

There’s no way he knows that based on you in other universes. Taking into account the few spider people you've met, it's obvious everyone is slightly different. Not all of them look and act the same so Peter must’ve told him about you —about your childhood and how the two of you were practically raised on bacon, eggs and Billie Holiday. It’s the only plausible excuse for how confident he is in all of this.

In how when he finally looks at you with sympathy in his eyes.

“I know you’re a geneticist but your focus isn’t R&D —it’s biotech. I know this cause—“

He stops before he can even begin to explain, leaving you wanting. Yearning. Your mind and heart working in panicked tandem to get him to talk as he rapidly blinks and looks around.

It’s obvious then that he’s said too much. For a little too long he ran his mouth and now he’s about to suffer the consequences in the form of anxious movements that have him sidestepping around you and moving towards the exit.

Out of habit, you tell him to stop —to wait for just a second but like Miguel, he doesn’t listen. Doesn’t stop in hesitation as you stand frozen in the middle of the living room, watching his suit form directly over the clothes you let him borrow as he opens the window and leaves.

How do you move on from this?

It’s a question you ask yourself as you lie on the floor, eyes shut tight. Your breath is heavy. Underneath the weight of the information that’s suddenly been thrust upon you, it’s hard to form steadied breaths. Your chest shaking; twitching as you count your breaths and try to come up with a solution.

You could talk to Peter. Maybe get him to convince Miguel to come back. You know it’s probably the most unlikely outcome but you’re awfully stubborn and Peter’s always been the type to at least hear you out before he inevitably says no. If you could just form enough of a case to get him to help, maybe then he’d take enough pity on you.

Ugh, probably not. Peter’s nice but not that nice, especially when it comes to all his Spider-Man stuff. Aside from the aftermath of fights, he likes to keep all that separate —says it’s easier to keep you safe. The less you know the better and all that bullshit.

Groaning, you press your palms against your eyes to try and get your brain to focus. To come up with something good and convincing. Something that’ll really tug on his heartstrings or—

You hear the lock of the front door click. Sitting up, you drop your hands to the floor and twist, watching as it opens to reveal a very tired, civilian-looking Peter with the messiest hair you’ve probably ever seen.

“Hey.”

“Hi."

As he steps further into the room, he yawns and throws his stuff onto the floor near the entrance, narrowing his eyes as you quickly shuffle into a standing position.

“Why were you on the floor?”

“Just stretching.”

“On hardwood?”

He looks at you like you’re crazy as he passes by, making a beeline for the kitchen. Once there, he opens the cupboard and grabs a couple of protein bars, opening one almost immediately.

“It’s good for your back.”

Raising his brow, he takes a suspicious bite, watching the way you fiddle with your hands. You’ve never been a good liar. At least, not with him. Over the years you’ve learned to lie for Peter —to always have an excuse ready for when he’s late or unable to show up at all— but never to feed him false information. It’s too hard with that stupid spider sense of his.

“How was work?”

You’re not sure if he’s changing the subject to fish for further info or to actually progress the conversation, so you merely shrug, offering him a dull fine as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Just fine?”

“Mhm.”

Usually fine is enough to get him to stop. As time’s gone on he’s learned to understand the limits of your responses —how fine usually means fuck off rather than yes now please ask me more. Right now though, it’s obvious he knows something’s up. That beneath it all you’re hiding something in plain sight. He can see it in the way you struggle to answer his question. How you press your lips together and awkwardly look away, trying to come up with some sort of placeholder response.

“Any reason why?”

For a moment you think about coming clean right then and there. You think about telling him about Miguel’s most recent visit and how it went from zero to one hundred all the way back to zero in the span of minutes. It’s not like he’d be that mad, right? Besides, Miguel’s the one in charge, so all that information about knowing you and how you’re infuriating was told to you by him —not Peter. Therefore, no dirt on his hands, right?

But then you think of Peter and how he’s a firm believer in boundaries. How, since day one, he made it clear to you that he never wanted you getting involved in this life. That it was too dangerous for someone so fragile.

At first, you were pissed, mostly because you hated the idea of your little brother being stronger than you, but slowly you began to understand that he was a part of this whole other world you’d never be able to experience. A world too brutal for your stupid unmodified body to handle.

The same world Miguel is in. The same world other universe you is maybe in too. A thought that makes you wonder if maybe this is all pointless, because regardless of who you try to convince —Peter or Miguel— ultimately one of them will deny you the right.

The statistics are there, stacked against you, so instead of continuing like you want you just sigh, accepting defeat. (For now.)

“Exhausting. Harry was on another rampage.”

“About what?”

“Time constraints. Apparently Norman’s on our ass about wanting this project finished so he can present it to some new board.”

“For funding?”

You nod, watching him finish the rest of his bar and move on to the next. “I guess there’s this new company that wants in? I don’t know. Norman refuses to tell us but Harry says they’re some sort of start up.”

“Interesting.”

You pray to god that the details you’re giving him are enough to deter him. To keep him here in this conversation so that he doesn’t decide to explore any further.

“Did Harry give you a name at all?”

You shake your head.

“Hm.”

The gears in his head are turning then. He’s got that far-off look in his eye he always gets when something piques his interest a little too hard. The one that makes the lids of his eyes sort of slip to the halfway point while his jaw falls slack. Whenever it happens you have to hold in a laugh because he always looks so ridiculous, like he’s about to fall asleep, even though it’s obvious he’s just focusing a little too hard for his brain to remember how to properly present his face.

“You good?”

“Yup.” He takes another bite, finishing off the second bar before throwing the wrappers in the trash under the sink. “Just tired.”

Immediately you take this as an opportunity to shift the conversation further onto him. To distract yourself from the creeping thought that’s telling you to keep trying. “Rough day?”

He nods and instinctively both of you move towards the couch, sitting on your usual sides.

“Two robberies and a car chase.”

“Yikes.”

“And in the middle of the chase Jonah kept calling me asking me to get pictures of Spider-Man so afterwards I had to stage some.”

“Were they any good?”

He scrunches up his face which tells you they weren’t.

“Well, at least it’s over?” you offer, flashing him a fake grin that falls once you hear that familiar beeping in his backpack.

Immediately, it shifts your mind back to Miguel. To how his breath felt against your skin with each accidental confession. You remember how awful it made you feel, standing so close to him, the rage inside his chest reaching out to touch your own.

Thinking back, it suddenly dawns on you how quiet it all was. How the words tumbling from his lips somehow barely registered through the anxious ringing of your ears. And how regardless of the small, yet empty space between you made you feel like you were being enveloped entirely. You can still imagine every movement of his lips. The curling motions formed over statements you’ll never get the answers to.

Watching Peter jump from the couch to his bag you’re reminded of this. Taunted by it as he pulls out that stupid watch and Miguel’s masked face suddenly appears, telling him there’s another anomaly in some world you’ve never heard of.

It makes your skin itch, hearing his voice again. The way it strains through the hologram, prompting Peter to spring into action, ripping both his hoodie and shirt over his head to reveal that familiar spider emblem that now makes you sick to your stomach.

“I’m, uh —I gotta—“

As he hooks a thumb over his shoulder you merely nod, watching the way he sort of perks up at your acceptance.

“Get home safe,” you tell him then, watching the frantic movements of his hands pulling off the rest of his outer shell until he’s reaching into the front pocket of his backpack to grab his mask.

After he puts it on you lose all focus, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to move on from this. How every day moving forward you’re going to have to sit on the sidelines, watching him live while you’re forced to forget.

It’s not fair, is it?

You can feel the sting of tears beginning to form as you stare at Peter messing with the watch on his wrist. Quicker than you can think to suppress them, they begin to pool at every corner, threatening to break free as your front door suddenly becomes obscured by a warm-toned, octagonal portal.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” he tells you.

Pressing your lips together, all you can do is nod, forcing yourself to remain as calm as possible as he waves goodbye and steps through, leaving you there to stare at the now empty space that continues to glow; the portal’s reflection dancing across the room.

Delicately, it flickers in and out as its existence begins to dwindle, reminding you that once again you’re alone, feeling the same effects of another spider person abandoning you in favour of something bigger than yourself.

It feels weird to admit you’re jealous. That the envy that creeps through your veins feels familiar yet foreign as you wipe your eyes and cough out the sob that’s been sitting in your throat.

Embarrassingly, you have to force yourself not to let it overtake you as you stand from the couch and move towards the portal, suddenly feeling the urge to jump in after him.

He’d surely kill you if you did. He and Miguel and probably any other spider person present. These portals aren’t meant for you. Everyone involved has made that very clear that you’re not meant to know about this life and the way it works.

And yet, as you inch closer the temptation grows. Filling you with a thousand what if’s as you reach out to graze the light dancing before you.

It tingles against your fingertips like static, bouncing off each cell of skin at such high speeds you have to force your hand back in shock, laughing.

“What the…”

You push your hand out again, noticing the portal begin to decrease in size, its slow-moving layers starting to cave in on themselves the longer you stand there staring. Waiting. Debating whether or not to take the plunge into the unknown.

Not going in should be the obvious choice. Inter-dimensional travel is something you always anticipated to be a myth, so there’s no telling the actual science behind it now that it’s so obviously not. If you step in you could easily die —come out the other side a complete scramble of decomposed elements. You could lose your memories or simple motor functions or the entirety of your soul. Anything’s possible.

In fact, the only thing you’re certain of is the argument that will inevitably ensue if you manage to make it. It’ll be a big one —an unforgivable one filled with consequences you aren’t sure you’ll be able to handle. Peter will probably give you the silent treatment for a while, if not indefinitely, and Miguel will most likely yell at you until you’re deaf.

Still standing there, watching the portal become smaller and smaller you debate the worth of it all. The potential outcomes and how maybe, for once, it might be best to fight for something you want rather than run away like you usually do.

It’d certainly make for an interesting experience if you come out of this alive, right?

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#who are you when nobody's watching?#miguel o'hara series #miguel o'hara fan fic #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x female reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst #summer writes

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angeygirl · 2 years ago

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Edward Otto Night Guard Variants (FNaF/OC AU)

(Before anyone gets mad, no, I did not replace my son. This is an AU and also Crying Child is still Bite Victim in '83, so don't worry. I gave the Nightmares lore that I won't be explaining right now)

Ok... so. IDK if any of you have seen the FNaF 1 song animation I did back in like September, but it featured an AU of mine (because I can't stop making AUs about my OCs, and have had this problem for years) where my fusion OCs take the place of the animatronics. Originally, the canon humans would stay the same, but I ended up modifying that so that the main plot is mostly the same (and based on simplified theories) but my human OCs get to be nightguards, and maybe someone can be part of the police, I haven't thought that far ahead yet.

Well, considering Edward is one of my personal favorite OCs (yes I play favorites, you can tell by who suffers most) I had to give him a major role. Anyone remember how the original interpretation for FNaF 4 was the Bite of '87 victim's nightmares before people started noticing it was '83? Well, I wanted to expand on that, I guess. To make this just a little more confusing then it needs to be, FNaF 4 comes first, followed by 1, then 2, then 3. Now, this is a little weird because the nightguard in the 1 location gets stuffed into one of the withered animatronics, but the guard in 2 sees him as he gets bit.

Right. So you know how the common theory is that Mangle bites the 2 guard after he switches shifts? Well, I have my Mangle parallel bite this totally random guy, who then gets put into the coma in 4, who wakes up and becomes the 2 guard so he can investigate all the weird stuff he can see now that he spent a week fighting his way out of the ghost realm. Confusing? Good. The Post-Pizzearia ver. is just to show what he looks like after surviving, though I don't think he's actually relevant there. Low key proud I can actually make an old man look old now

And of course, Edward Otto, who was already slipping his sanity in vanilla, gets to be our bitten guard :)

Oh, Crying Child is still the first bite victim, but I may or may not having given the Nightmares their own lore bc 4 is my favorite and also I wanted to. This means that the 4 coma is actually a phenomenon that has been experienced by more then one bite victim, but I won't be explaining that just now

Also being assigned Edgar Allen Poe for school (including Fall of the House of Usher) and having FNaF 4 being my favorite game in the series had produced an interesting effect. But I'll wait to show you that ;)

#oc au #oc art #my art #drawing tag #OC: Edward Otto #fnaf au #hey buddy wake up more lore just dropped #reblogs appreciated #night guard oc

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ofdreamsxpride · 2 years ago

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A new year approaches.

This year has come to an end and I am ready for the new year along with new years goals in mind:

Continue working on improving my art

I will sadly have to take a backseat from doing character birthdays. It was really fun doing character birthdays for the Scarlet Nexus characters. That is still an amazing game and being able to share my fan art, along with talking to fans and having my art RTed by the director of Scarlet Nexus! It has been a wonderful year to experience. Probably one of the rare times I get this type of interaction on a chaotic social platform, lol.

I’m not sure what type of fan art I will do… I want to try vtuber fanart, maybe Genshin Impact fan art. I might continue some video game anniversaries we’ll see, it always depends if I have free time to pull it off. Doing some more thinking, maybe I can do a sketch log. Where I sketch out ideas, and plan them out ahead of time. One of my biggest annoyances is that I am always rushing towards the end of a project deadline. Most of my drawing ideas don't really have an exact deadline, but as someone who is experienced with commissions. I try to discipline myself and not delay the process of one drawing idea.

Look for a new job.

Depending on my hours in January. I do want to look for a new job. I have been employed since the pandemic, but I am always broke most of the time. For 3 months, I was struggling with payments and I had to ask my mom to help me out a bit. I can not keep living like this, I need to find a more stable income.

Continue to work on my YT channel.

I really want a side job for video editing, but it's going to take me a long time to get a lot better at it. My knowledge of video editing is an intermediate level, but I would love for it to be a side job someday.

I would like to try again at commissions, maybe in Late January.

If anyone is interested in commissions from me, DM or wait for my commission announcement. I really would like some extra cash, while building my art portfolio for future clients. I still need to finish those Twitch Emotes that I started back in September… I got ahead of myself and as I mentioned already. I want to better organize and plan my drawing ideas a lot better.

Looking back on this year, it was a rough start for me. I got covid in January, my house flooded due to a broken faucet and I slipped on the wet floor, which resulted in injuring my toe. That is the first time I have broken a bone in my entire life, it was not fun wearing a cast. Other than that, I managed to get by while keeping myself distracted with video games and drawing. Doing these activities has helped keep my sanity together through these difficult times. I am thankful to the friends I have met in the past who also continue to support me or just there for a good conversation.

And Thanks for reading this. I wish everyone a safe and happy new year!

#my thoughts #year end post #good bye 2022

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mineogi · 3 years ago

Text

Obsession. | J.Y.H

pairing: yan! yunho x f! reader

wordcount: 2.5k

genre: yandere au, unrequited love, drabble, non-idol.

synopsis: He tells you the depths of his obsessions for you, in series of messages but begins to question his sanity after finding out about your new relationship.

warning: yandere topic & theme, heavy stalking, mentions of death, unrequited love, talks of fantasies, possessive behavior, creepy behavior, suggestive texts, obsession, unhealthy relationships goals, delusional yunho, obsessed yunho (he can’t help his obsession v.v), mentions of trauma, implied murder.

A/N:small twisted drabble i wrote while listening to obsesión by aventura no real smut in here and it’s not as good as my other work i feel but i still love it lol, ty for 300+ followers cryiny ㅜㅜ

[5:22 AM]UNKNOWN: I met your boyfriend today. I’m not one to judge, but to me he’s not much of a looker, you can do way better. He doesn’t care for you with the way he talks of you to his friend, I feel no need to respect someone like him. I should be outraged but to me he is no competition.

He wanted to laugh. In fact he did.

Yunho believed it was a joke, but then he heard your boyfriend talk on how he wanted to fuck you but you were forcing him to wait. A disgusting scum Yunho thought of the excuse of a man you dare call your boyfriend; your man? It was outrageous in his eyes. You must not think this was the best you could possibly do?

In his mind you’re dating a servant over a king. Truly you baffle him in many ways. He couldn’t wrap his head around you dating anyone other than him, his imagination taking you as his own already and he can’t help feel played. However it's you; for you he's compliant, patient, watchful, and the longer you go against him only encourages him. He could do more and better than the boy you call your lover.

Your resistance is his acceptance.

[5:34 AM] UNKNOWN: I have patience, I am a patient man but nights like this, I lay restless, the thought of your body and beauty drive me to insanity and I start to question my waiting game. He can not please you the way I can, I’ll show you another meaning of love and passion.

[5:48 AM] UNKNOWN Incoming Call.

For the first time your phone rings with him on the other line anxiously waiting to hear you. Instead of the bird starting to chirp through the newly fresh skies to wake you up; He’s starting to make sure he’s the one to start your day. It’s only right as he starts the day with you on his mind as you’re always on his.

“Hello?” Voice dripping with grogginess with a tint of annoyance, the orange hues of the rising sun peeks through your curtains informing you that it must be near dawn.

Shuffling is heard quickly before a faint breathless “My love..” Is heard and your body goes into autopilot ending the call before your heart can beat into another second. Right away your heart begins hammering in your chest, this was something he has never done—Yes the multiple time he’s texted you from private numbers to other numbers, you didn’t understand how he could find multiple ways to keep incontact with you.

Blocking him did nothing.

He knew all the right ways to push your buttons, to force a response out of you. When you don't, ton’s of messages flood your phone, his desperation turns into anger then guilt and ends with endless apology’s. No matter how much you block, ignore, it always results in you turning off your phone countless hours throughout the day.

Allowing the device to slip through your fingers you cover your ears with a small groan when your bed vibrates with more text and you’re guessing his new favorite method now— calling you. Answering that call unaware that you opened a door for him, introducing him into a new world, a new level with you.

Answering that call, you made a grave mistake.

[3:29 AM] UNKNOWN: I drove past your job today, dressed my best incase you glance my way. I found out you weren’t at work, I know because you memorized your schedule. I panicked at the thought of you being away without my knowledge. To calm down I went to text you but I came to see you also changed your number, I had no way to contact you, I was like a madman looking for any connection to you.

Recalling the moment discreetly hiding away in his sleek window tinted black car parked a street away from your workplace. Waiting, and waiting for you to come into work, you’re never one to be too late for work and when the hour mark had hit his anxiety came flooding through him like an overdue storm set to pour. Indeed it did begin to pour within him, when his messages no longer sent not from any of the five phones, he switched between messaging you from.

But, of course to no avail.

Guilt settles in his stomach, the lengths he would do to have any part of you. Past memories of sweet words and tempting gaze, soley an act in his game of trying to get closer to you, having no intentions to go anywhere near your friend again after getting what he wanted; and he got it.

Moments like this sets an unpleasant taste in him, if you would just cooperate and listen he won’t have to spend his time on others. Your friend, so easy to give him any piece of information after he showed a tiny size of interest in her; even with the majority of his face hidden she was so easy—no fun. You wouldn’t have a right to be upset he flirted after you did it to yourself but that hold you held him in has him guilty at any action deceitful to you.

He will explain to you.

[4:31 AM] UNKNOWN: At a loss for options I went to your co-worker, the one you always talk with at work, she had denied me at first but I could sense she liked me and my appearance. Being handsome helped me with my solution, although it’s wrong to flirt with any other that isn’t you. With a few words and glances, she gave me your new number. My only hope is for you to hear my words, the way my heart beats for you. Please don’t leave me stranded again.

Letting the scoff leave your mouth after sending the message going to slam your phone onto the table of your living room, upset with the messages flooding to your phone. He must be so delusional to think you would care if he was to flirt. What did he not get? Multiple times you rejected everything from gifts he sent you, to dozens of messages he made for you—and he still continues.

Continuing his annoying messages, his gifts, his opinions on your life when you never gave him any right to. Especially no right to stalk you, he was so shameless and confident but remained deeply hidden.

To say hate was an understatement of what you felt for him, he was ruining your life, stressing you out, degrading your relationship and boyfriend. Now using your workplace to get to you, after trying so hard to get him away, even going far enough to buy a new phone with a brand new number in hopes of him backing off— of course he never does, instead he does the opposite.

[6:19 AM]Y/N: Please stop. This isn't love, it’s obsession. This isn’t how the heart works.

[6:19 AM] UNKNOWN Incoming Call.

[6:23 AM] Y/N: You’re obsessed. Get help.

Containing the scoff that wanted to leave his throat, begging you at this point, who was he turning into? Was he becoming this desperate? Yet, he continues pressing send, fingers moving quicker than he can comprehend any sense of calmness. You keep slipping through his fingers, he’s running out of time.

[6:34 AM] UNKNOWN: Answer me please, baby.

[8:57 AM] UNKNOWN: I've been seeing a psychiatrist, in hopes for them to help my obsession with you. Anything I do is for you, they tell me to let it go and not to make you my whole world, only a part of it, but I can’t imagine a life without you in my imagination, my messages get no reply these days, I’m fearful of the person I see myself becoming because of the effects of this unrequited love. My friends no longer wish to be around me anymore for only talking of you, I tell them I wish to speak to you, therefore I get a chance at kissing you.

[9:00 AM] UNKNOWN: Is it possible for one to die from obsession? I believe without you I will suffer true heartbreak and be forced upon death. This love is truly deadly.

Driven to the edge of sanity with the thoughts of you and another wrapped in a cocoon of love that should only be embraced by the two of you alone. Thoughts turning in every which way to grasp any cheap method given by his psychiatrist, for the sake of you. Cold fingers gripping against the sides of his device, a device he desperately wished he could exchange in return for the warmth of your hands. His friend group shrunk after all he could speak of was you countless days of only talking of how beautiful you looked, how you had trouble in the morning choosing what shirt to wear, how he wanted a chance to speak to you outside of work so he can kiss you.

Why must you make him suffer? Decline all the emotions, dedication, protection,love? Everything he has to offer you declined for the love of another who couldn’t even compete in any way, shape, and form against him. Yunho himself built himself into the man he was today, the man that could make you happy and yet you settle, as always.

But, he was such a weak man, for you. Knee growing weak at any glance you would give him every now and then. Mouth watering with his words tumbling over one another at the sheer smell of you when he tries to order his coffee. It’s those few seconds he daydreams of him and you alone, the comfort of a home that will one day belong to you guys—the intertwining smells of your perfume and coffee sets off his imagination of a nice meal with you being eaten with you in the morning.

You never recognize him, nor the lovesick puppy dog eyes he always gives you, and you must not recognize the subtle cologne he always makes sure to wear. Same cologne that lingers in your room minutes after his departure from your room, barely missing him as you come home from work, drained of any energy, when your attention is too low to correlate his smell at the shop to the smell coating your bedsheets.

Was it your trauma, he often wondered, ego too high to even take in your rejectful advances as a sign of disinterest but as a sign that you clearly didn’t know how to accept a good, stable, man. It had to be, it was the only reason you wasted any time with the boy you called your man.

Desperate eyes linger on the dimmed screen waiting for the reply he won’t get. A nagging voice of his psychiatrist roams the back of his mind reminding him of his spoiled upbringing, the lack of no’s he got in his life blinds him from any rejection—he was spoiled. The lack of controls pulls down on the rest of his sanity, now he’s learning he’s way too far gone now.

Four days.

Four days you get no messages from both men in your life. Your obsessive stalker and his passionate eerie messages had gone at a standstill and for a moment you thought he had finally got the hint but then your boyfriend became a hot topic after he’s been missing for exactly four days. Of course, your mind shoots straight to your mad stalker, how exceptionally quiet he has been is suspiciously off to his daily ‘loving’ messages you ignore. Internally fighting with yourself, Did he do something? Would he go that far? No he couldn’t, He would clearly go to jail.

Endless sleepless nights, bitten raw lips, fingernails reaching the nub of your fingers; the outcome of your never ending anxiety filled thoughts and actions. Countless pacing in your room, phone pressed to your chest in yearning for your boyfriend to call you, to tell you he is fine.

But it never came.

Instead you’re reminded of all your problems when one message comes to your phone. Lighting up under your grasp and you feel your heart stutter at the thought of it being your boyfriend, with an apology, any excuse to explain his disappearance. The nauseous you feel expanding within you every passing second, you refuse to acknowledge why it’s truthfully there because you can’t bear the thought of what you know is going to be true.

Sliding to reveal the message you hope to be your boyfriend, a sliver of hope. Then it’s taken from you at the first sentence.

[9:09 PM] UNKNOWN: I am no different than any other, I love in my own way. Give me a chance to woo and sway you in loving my loving ways. I’ll make you fall in love with me— please forgive me for writing your fate in our book of life, but thank you for allowing me to love you in such a way you can’t control.

With little time to digest his words your eyes glare at the three bubbles floating underneath his paragraph; disappearing, re-appearing, disappearing. Mocking you at the privilege he has to text you, while you want only your boyfriend to message you.

Interrupted by a call, you almost curse out at him having the audacity to call you only to see it’s your boyfriend’s mom; in a heartbeat your fingers press accept.

“Hello.” You say rushed with worry coating your tone, proper words don’t formulate to you, not when your hearts hammer against your chest leaving you a breathless mess. A lingering feeling of fear hangs onto you tightly unwilling to let go, you know the outcome, you feel it, but you can’t accept it. Denial coming in to poorly shield you of what you’re already beginning to predict.

“They found him.” You almost let out a sigh of relief for it to be interrupted by a heart wrenching sob from your boyfriend’s mom, “They found his body, Y/N. Oh god.”

Letting the words sink in, your finger grip your phone tightly, biting your bottom lip in hopes to refrain the sob that was set to erupt from you. When it physically hurts to hold your grief you sob releasing heartbreaking helpless apologies into the phone to your dead boyfriend’s mother. Second pass like hours when the line fully goes dead with her breaking down; another dreadful second passes when you’re reminded of the messages left from your unknown admirer when buzz arises on your phone.

[9:34 PM] UNKNOWN: I’ll plan everything out, every detail will be from my heart. You’ll listen to our love from my side of the story and will understand the severity of this passionate love I harbor for you.To have your pure love is my only wish. Let me take you on adventures, to another world, one where I can devour you, one to show for pleasure and satisfaction. One where it’s only our voices for one another to hear and cherish.

Then another buzz.

[9:36 PM] UNKNOWN: Finally you’ll understand if this is an obsession like you claim, then it must be rooted from the love we have grown together.

MASTERLIST

#ateez x reader #yandere ateez #ateez smut #yandere!ateez #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #ateez yunho #yandere yunho #ateez oneshot #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #yandere kpop

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figurativepieceoftrash · 2 years ago

Note

wip game - 3. Sympathy for the Devil

I know you sent this forever ago but I only just now saw it while combing my inbox, sorry! Just gonna answer it now bc I'm bored, but fair warning, I REALLY wanna go off about this one so... this is gonna be a lot. Also this is a psych horror fic so. Keep that in mind

The final fight is over and Izuku won without the heroes suffering any (plot relevant) casualties. He himself sustained very few injuries, none of which were serious, and was able to save Shigaraki and convince him to attend rehabilitation along with a considerable number of the lov

Not long before Izuku killed afo in their one on one battle, he was told about dfo (bc of course it's a dfo fic lol), and believes that afo might've thrown the fight based on his own ease of victory and excellent physical condition post-fight

Even more strange, afo reached out to grab Izuku’s hand before he died, but doesn't seem to have done anything to harm him via the action

Izuku is concerned, but doesn't say anything to the vestiges bc of how happy they appear in the immediate aftermath. When he does finally talk to recovery girl, she finds nothing wrong, and ascribes his lingering anxiety to trauma, instructing him to relax and enjoy the downtime he's fought for

He asks the vestiges if afo did anything freaky quirk-wise, but they all answer that they can't detect anything off. Oddly enough though, Izuku begins to have very strange reoccuring dreams that seem to be taking place in the mindscape wherein strange, obscured figures approach him with silent urgency. The vestiges deny any involvement in these, however, and similarly suggest that Izuku is suffering from a form of ptsd

Izuku decides not to tell anyone ab dfo bc it doesn't seem to be especially relevant following his father's death, and less admittedly doesn't want to draw connections between the two of them. Afo was actually a very good father to Izuku in the trademark absent dfo sense, with regular phonecalls, checks, etc. Making their way to the Midoriyas prior to afo's imprisonment. This means that Izuku is still quite a bit conflicted over killing his father and hasn't fully processed the realization yet

He suspects that his father might've truly cared for him and thrown the fight for his safety, but won't fully admit this to himself, as he doesn't like how it reflects on his actions

Izuku receives constant compliments, thanks, and congratulations from both his peers and professional heroes, though each only serves to exacerbate his anxiety regarding his fight with afo. While everyone else seems to be incredibly happy and thriving, he's constantly plagued by nightmares, stress, insomnia, and an uneven temper

When speaking to class 1a the first day of school, he lets slip a very cynical and unheroic sentiment regarding current events. Although he sees nothing wrong with his words, his friends have very strong reactions, and he naturally draws connections between the sentiments he just expressed and afo's latent ones after he realizes how uncharacteristic they were

He finds himself thinking similar thoughts throughout the day and grows gradually more concerned. Eventually, he asks the vestiges, specifically Yoichi, for advice, and is told that his newfound cynicism is a natural response to the trauma he's suffered. Izuku rejects this explanation, but not aloud, hoping to deny any potential similarities to his father

There's a lot of sanity questioning, identity questioning, regret, etc. I do like my usual themes

Obviously, this being one of my fics as well as an efition to my psychological horror catalog, things get worse. I feel like the twist is obvious already, but if it isn't and you're cool with spoilers, afo passed his quirk and vestige on to Izuku directly prior to his death, and is doing something very similar to him to what he did to Tomura, who he only faked losing control of. He obviously has no reservations about sacrificing his original body so... all according to plan and all that :)

#ask game #wip #my writing #my fic

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cupofteaguk · 4 years ago

Text

let the games begin

PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES

summary: in hindsight, acting out against prankster Jung Hoseok wasn’t entirely good for your sanity. after all, it’s not very fun to have hiccough sweet mixed in with your morning breakfast—a feat that goes about as well as one would think.

pairing: hoseok x fem!reader

genre: hogwarts au, pranskter!hoseok, enemies to lovers | fluff

warnings: there’s mention of Nayeon in this fic and yes it’s the same Nayeon from new romantics because i love crossovers lol, talks about Hogwarts curriculum (definitely not technically accurate but I tried my best), slow burn, ~banter~

word count: 19.5k

a/n: a birthday fic for jung hoseok <3

As soon as his name is called, a silence falls across the dungeon as students stand a little straighter and become a little more alert to the situation about to unfold. Murmurs rise up amongst the crowd as people look around, stand on tippy-toes, poke their head up, all trying to seek out the owner of the name—the brash individual who has piqued interest and has guaranteed an excellent show of skill for today’s lesson.

There’s a moment of silence, before a hand raises briefly into the air. “Present, professor.” It’s a voice from the back, a low tone but full of confidence. All the eyes flicker towards the source, a boy stepping away from his group of friends in order to walk towards the center of the room. At the center sits a long table, stretching across the expanse of the class. The surface is colored blue with decorations of wands and colliding spells, explosions of rainbow patterns. The perfect backdrop for a dueling lesson.

“Ah, wonderful Mr. Jung!” The professor announces, curling her fingers into each other. Professor Wong is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who has recently employed a dueling class once a week as part of her curriculum to interweave real life practices with academic intentions.

For every single duel that has been conducted, it’s always the same: pair two students against each other who have one assignment: disarm the other. There’s always a comment on the form, always a comment on the reflexes of the participants, and never a repeat of students who are volunteered for the activity.

With the exception of this one.

Jung Hoseok steps onto the table with practiced ease, his arm sweeping his cape back so he can step towards the center of the table. A light flurry of giggles pass through the air, of students already in awe of a move as simple as moving his cape. Hoseok doesn’t react outwardly to the shower of affection, he merely looks down to fiddle with the rings that decorate his longer fingers.

“And the student who will go against Mr. Jung today is…” Professor Wong refers down to her parchment. “Kim Mingyu. Mr. Kim?”

For a brief second, silence envelops the room until a distant voice is heard. “Oh fuck, Professor Wong is trying to get me killed.”

Professor Wong lowers her parchment. “Language, Mr. Kim. And facing off against Mr. Jung shouldn’t be a problem—his form is good but you’ve had weeks to study the art of dueling from previous students who have come up before you.” She pauses for a moment as Mingyu makes his way towards the center of the room. “And I have every confidence that you’ve been preparing.” She lowers her neck to fix him with beady eyes. “Did I presume correctly, Mr. Kim?”

Mingyu hoists himself up onto the table, managing an uneasy smile. “Of course, professor.”

“Filling me with confidence as always, Mr. Kim.” Professor Wong sighs. But she steps off the table and whirls around to address the two now situated atop the dueling table. “Now, the purpose of this duel is to provide real world context to this aspect of wizard combat. You two are not to injure each other but simply disarm your opponent. Nonverbal spells or verbal spells are allowed. Now, you know the rules. You may begin.”

Hoseok turns to Mingyu as the pair approach each other, the air weighing down in tension and anticipation. Once in the middle, the two bow before turning around and making their way to their respected ends of the table. Mingyu shuffles around nervously, while Hoseok whirls with the spin of his robe.

Mingyu launches first, stepping forward as a bright burst of light flickers out from the end of his wand and zaps straight towards Hoseok. A nonverbal attempt at expelliarmus—one that is immediately thwarted by Hoseok’s deflection. The light of the spell reflects off, creating a sound of hollow space, before the pair are once again back to where they started.

Hoseok attacks next, his own silent spell flying towards Mingyu, who mirrors a shield charm. But Hoseok steps forward and another attack flies at Mingyu, who has to step back hastily to reflect the spell. The latter boy looks exhausted, as nonverbal spells are still a challenging subject to master. Most seventh year students have the concept of casting spells nonverbally down, but require more practice beyond what a single year can provide. A lot of it comes down to practice, discipline, and mental fortitude—all things that Mingyu is losing hold of right now.

His opponent, however, doesn’t seem to be losing steam. Hoseok merely narrows his eyes and continues stepping forward. With every step he takes, he attacks with yet another expelliarmus spell aimed at Mingyu. After the second spell, Mingyu has reached the end of the table before the wand flies out of his hand. In the midst of the confusion, his foot slips off the edge and everyone gasps as Mingyu teeters, about to fall.

Bringing his wand towards him, Hoseok brings an end table from the other side of the room, lining it up to the edge of the long table so Mingyu has an additional surface to step on. The latter boy stumbles but maintains his footing at the higher ground.

Hoseok smiles slightly. “I can’t have you breaking your back during a disarming duel.”

There is a moment of stunned silence from Hoseok’s save, but as soon as the silence passes, the crowd erupts into claps and cheers.

“A wonderful benchmark for fair dueling practices once again, Mr. Jung,” Professor Wong starts up again as she steps onto the table. She waits for Mingyu to step back onto the main long table, waits for Mingyu and Hoseok to bow to each other again, before she’s turning back to the class. “Alright class, what did we learn from today’s duel?”

As the class engages in conversation about what has just occurred, several gazes flint over to Jung Hoseok. The boy appears calm and composed as always, making sure to pocket his wand before he’s running fingers through his hair and creating a curtain in his hair that exposes his forehead. Several more giggles arise from the movement. No doubt the conversations would carry on after the class time about Jung Hoseok is confident, posed, and absolutely—!

“Dreamy…” Nayeon sighs as she finishes recounting the events of the duel to you, ending it on the kind of note that makes you want to stab yourself with a fork. “You should have seen him—it’s like he gave Mingyu a chance to go on the offensive before Hoseok just tore into him. How do you think he did it? I’ve never seen anyone our year be able to conjure up so many nonverbal spells in a row.”

“Seems like Jung Hoseok never has anything better to do than learn that shit,” You grumble under your breath as the pair of you step into the next lesson of the day: potions. Your statement is dripping in sarcasm because it’s entirely false. Jung Hoseok can conjure up many nonverbal spells in a row for a variety of reasons, and most of those reasons have nothing to do with burying his head into a book.

Nayeon doesn’t seem to hear you as she slides into the seat next to yours to continue gushing about how attractive Hoseok had looked sweeping his robe back or pushing the hair out of his face. Although talking about Hoseok makes your eyes roll all the way back into your skull, you indulge her infatuation because she’s a friend. A new friend, but still a friend regardless.

Nayeon is the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Despite the six previous years spent in the same castle, Nayeon is not someone you were very familiar with as you were growing up. The pair of you just ran in different social circles throughout the previous years, and her popularity as a player for the house team has always made her seem like some faceless figure in your conversations with other people. That is, until a few weeks ago when you ran into Nayeon leaving a party in the Room of Requirements. It was after the first Quidditch game of the season—Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, and Gryffindor had lost out on the opportunity to advance to the next round.

To be fair, Jeon Jungkook is a monster on the Quidditch field.

Regardless, Nayeon had gone to the party and had been seconds away from being caught by Head Boy Min Yoongi had she not run into you heading back from the library. You saved her from detention that night, had played along with her claim that the pair of you were partners for some upcoming project. As the pair of you were walking back to your respected houses, you both made good conversation and decided to start hanging out in between classes. Nayeon is unlike some of the other friends you have within the castle walls—she’s much more outspoken and extroverted, but she is really sweet which is why you’re indulging her the way you are right now.

Because despite Nayeon’s parading of how cool and amazing Jung Hoseok is, he definitely is not.

“Yeah, wasn’t I so cool? Mingyu tried his best, but he just couldn’t handle me coming after him with my spells.”

You sigh through your teeth, and don’t even bother watching as Jung Hoseok himself appears in the potions classroom. His Slytherin friend Park Jimin is at his side, and they both slide into the seat behind you as Hoseok continues to brag about his victory during the dueling match.

This carries on for a little before the potion lessons start. In preparation for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, there are less students and higher expectations than ever before—all lessons expertly crafted to help students prepare for their examinations.

And it all starts here: with an assignment from the professor to construct a potion for dreamless sleep. “Some of you might need this in the coming months, depending on how many N.E.W.T.s you have to take,” He had remarked humorlessly, before sending the class off on their own. As with many classes during a seventh year at Hogwarts, students are usually left to their own devices to finish up whatever assignment may be in store for them.

In the case of the potions class, it’s typical to get an ingredient or a potion to either write a paper on or recreate the mixture where a grade would be received on the spot. For today’s potion, ingredients are situated in the back and the textbook on Advanced Potion Making in the reference tool. With everything set up, you go off to gather your ingredients before returning back to your desk. After setting up your cauldron, you get to work setting up your station.

As you’re turning around to gather your textbook from your bag, an unwelcome figure approaches his own desk in order to set his own materials down atop the table. He notices you immediately, and flashes you a smile. “Hey Y/N, you should have seen me today in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I kicked ass at our dueling lesson.”

“Unfortunately for you Jung Hoseok, I’m not taking that class,” You sneer, whirling back around to focus on your current assignment, trying to focus. You can do this. Every grade distributed in your classes is important and you cannot afford to be distracted.

“You mean Dark Arts isn’t in your wheelhouse,” Hoseok says as soon as you’ve tried to settle yourself into a comfortable silence. Nayeon watches from next to you, eyes flickering in confusion between the two of you.

You turn back around to give him a sweet smile. “Herbologists aren’t required to have a Dark Arts N.E.W.T. Not that matters much, since it doesn’t affect you in any way.”

You turn around, staring down your first ingredient of the day: a sopophorous bean that needs to be cut in order for the juices to help with the construction of the potion.

As you start your chopping (or attempting your chopping), Park Jimin’s voice resumes from behind you. “So how exactly were you able to go like three nonstop nonverbal spells against Mingyu? Doesn’t that require a lot of concentration? At least, according to the textbooks.”

“It does,” Hoseok answers. “But I like to think I’ve had a lot of practice in casting spells. It requires a lot of mental commitment and you really have to think about what spell you’re trying to use as you’re using it. Luckily, I think my skills are pretty solid so Professor Wong is pretty smart in having me be a good reference point—!”

Unable to take it anymore, you place your knife down on the table and turn around once more to face the two boys behind you. Hoseok and Jimin look up, but you only focus your attention on Hoseok. “Jung Hoseok,” You seethe. “Some people are actually trying to do well on these assignments and pass this class so we can set ourselves up for success. Not everyone here is protected by a family name.”

At your final sentence, the people within hearing range react immediately. Jimin’s eyes widen as he lowers his own knife to study you. Even Nayeon looks over her shoulder to stare at you.

Hoseok, however, just raises an eyebrow at your attack. He takes in a breath of thinly veiled frustration before giving you a nod. “Fair enough. Focusing is really important in class, I get it. Here.” He picks up his wand from his desk and gives it a wave. “Consider this water under the bridge.”

Your eyes follow the movement of his wand with narrowed eyes, before you turn back around without saying a word. You turn back to your ingredients, not thinking anything of it as you manage a clean cut through the sopophorous bean. You pick it up, sprinkle it into the cauldron—!

And the contents inside immediately implode. You jump, Nayeon screams, and the ends of Hoseok’s lips tug up into a grin.

Professor Slughorn is at your table. “What seems to be the problem, Miss. Y/N? Put the wrong ingredient into the potion so soon?”

“N-No professor, I promise!” You stammer, frantically sorting through your materials before settling on the pages of the textbook you’ve been referring to. “It says to put the juices of the sopophorous bean into the cauldron first. I did and it just—I don’t know…” You continue, borderline helpless as your eyes shift.

Professor Slughorn is quiet for a moment before he leans forward to pick up one of the ingredients you have on the table. He observes it before placing it back down. “No worries, Miss. Y/N. It seems like your ingredients have been tampered with—with an aging charm no less. If ingredients like these are past a certain threshold, they lose their magical properties and end up damaging the potion. I know you wouldn’t do such a thing, so go ahead and grab the correct ingredients once more—Mr. Jung?”

Hoseok falters slightly with his own mixing as Professor Slughorn turns to face him this time.

“Now, Mr. Jung, just a quick word.” He lowers his chin to give Hoseok a more beady look. “Considering the wastefulness you’ve treated my ingredients, I am partial to just removing you from class for today. But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Next time I’d be a little more mindful about picking up my wand before threatening another student. Just detention for you this time, Mr. Jung.”

Hoseok hardly seems fazed by the punishment, like he has been expecting it. He lowers his head slightly. “I’ll be more careful, professor.”

Professor Slughorn walks away, unable to see the wink Hoseok throws at you, unable to see the way your lips part in realization and the way your teeth clench together. Because Jung Hoseok has done it again.

“Argh!” You scream, bringing your curled fists up to your hair, ignoring the curious glances you receive from your classmates. The fingers land into the strands as you make an extra note not to pull too hard. “I’m gonna kill Jung Hoseok one day, mark my words.” You catch Nayeon’s wide-eyed stare. “He’s not that pretty to look at, come on.”

Nayeon blinks for a moment, before her lips curl into a smile. “You seem to know Hoseok pretty well.”

You groan. “I’d rather not go into it right now, I think I’ll burst a vein in my forehead.”

Nayeon keeps quiet at that, giving you the few seconds you think you mentally recover from the day. You did manage to get your potion done for the day, no thanks to Hoseok, and now you and Nayeon are walking through the outdoor pathway that drops off into the courtyard. The greenery is fresh underneath your shoes as you and Nayeon continue until you see another familiar figure laying atop a picnic blanket with a book in her hand.

But this time, rather than irritation, the sight of this person brings a smile to your face. You exhale the last bit of your frustration. “Sana!” You sing, quickening your pace with Nayeon following closely behind you.

Sana looks up from her reading material and waves wildly at the two of you. “Hey guys, how was class?”

“Pretty calm,” Nayeon starts as she carefully slips off her shoes and steps onto the blanket Sana had laid out. “Until someone got into a fight with Jung Hoseok.”

Sana gives you a side glance. “What did he do this time?”

Nayeon blinks, having not expected that. “Wait, you know about that?”

Sana laughs, gesturing to you with the point of her book. “They’ve had bad blood since year one. Jung Hoseok has done a few hair-pulling pranks throughout his Hogwarts career. Sometimes they’ve affected just one person or sometimes they’ve affected a whole dormitory. But Y/N is usually caught in the middle of it all and thinks that Hoseok is full of shit.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, what stuff? I’ve heard of a few pranks going off in the Hufflepuff Common Room and an incident with house arrangements but I didn’t think—!” Nayeon starts.

“Yep, all Hoseok’s fault,” You cut in, digging into your bag and pulling out a bag of food.

Nayeon’s eyes light up. “Sounds like there’s a lot of tea to unpackage then—I honestly figured something was up. Hoseok seemed to know exactly how to push your buttons and your insult about his family name seemed very specific. What was that all about by the way?”

You give her a look as you rip apart your bread. “Oh that’s right, I forgot that a lot of people outside of Hufflepuff don’t really know Hoseok’s history. But I’m sure you know about the Jung family line in the Auror department.”

Aurors were highly trained law enforcement officials who dealt with crimes relating to the Dark Arts and the dark witches and wizards who engaged in that dangerous magic. The training to obtain an auror position was known for being vigorous and intense and the reputation of the job was even more so. Despite that, wizards and witches who worked as an Auror were highly respected. It’s usually rare for even one wizard from a family to become an auror, but to have an entire family with the skills, talent, and grades to become an auror is a rarity in of itself.

Knowing that, Nayeon nods. “Of course. The Jungs are legends. Not only did they have generations of family members both heads and regular aurors in the department, but they have such an impressive streak of finding dark witches and wizards. But wait—are you saying—?”

“That Hoseok is from that Jung family? Yes, one hundred percent.”

Nayeon’s lips part as her eyes widen. “Wow, that’s pretty crazy. I’m guessing Hoseok is expected to become an auror too.”

“At this point, just being a Jung is enough to probably get him in. He just needs to get the right number of N.E.W.T.s and he’ll be smooth sailing. I don’t even think he’ll need the grades to get in.” You move around in your blanket so you’re resting on your stomach. “That’s why I think Hoseok is full of shit. He doesn’t take school seriously because of his family. His job and way of living has already been predetermined, so he just spends his time creating havoc everywhere he goes and literally dampening everyone else’s day with his horrible pranks. Seriously, now that I think about it, he pulled some crazy shit once a year.”

“Oh, like remember that time during first year when he set off a dung bomb in the Hufflepuff common room?” Sana asks, shuttering at the thought. “Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still smell the bomb in my nose. It was awful. The smell was in the room for days.”

Intrigued, Nayeon listens in as you and Sana briefly recount the annual party of pranks Hoseok created for everyone around him, or for you more specifically.

In second year, while trying to impress a student, Hoseok tried levitating a bottle of ink into the air during a lesson but lost control of the bottle. The actions caused the ink to spill all over your white blouse, colored with an ink so poignant that it required help from the Headmistress. You doubt Hoseok even knew you existed before then.

In third year, Hoseok spread quick dry glue all over one of the moving staircases—a product that, like the name implies, dries quickly when activated by the movement of a person, place, or thing. Unfortunately, you and Sana had been the person, place, or thing, to arrive atop the moving staircases. It was following a post-dinner bliss, seeing you and Sana trying to head back to the Hufflepuff common room before the plan was promptly thwarted by glue.

“Oh hello there, I remember you,” Hoseok had said, teary eyed and grinning from his previous laughter—just appearing from the shadows. “I spilled ink on you last year, nice to meet you!”

It had been your first conversation with Jung Hoseok, and the first time you wanted the ground to swallow him whole. But sadly, it doesn’t end there.

In fourth year, Hoseok made everyone’s quill disappear throughout the whole duration of the lesson only to have them reappear moments before class ended just to chase the poor professor out of the classroom. And of course, the final cherry on top had been a firework of feathers, the byproduct of the quills colliding and exploding over the whole class. The feathers had stuck to you for weeks, and Jung Hoseok had been laughing the whole goddamn time.

He had even cornered you after class with his classic shit-eating grin. “You look like a bird,” He commented.

In fifth year, he did something that surprised you: he walked to your desk and gave you a present.

“I hear you’re into plants or whatever,” Hoseok said, placing a small pot onto your desk. “So I found this and thought of you!”

He had seemed polite enough for you to indulge him. “It’s herbology,” You corrected him, but you wave it off. “But it’s fine. Uh…” You take the pot, curling your fingers around the edges. “This is very nice of you, Hoseok. Thank you.”

But turns out it was not a very nice gesture for you because the plant had been jinxed—a bewitched thing that became dangerously overgrown through the night and latched onto you in its path. You had woken up the next morning with branches and leaves curled over every part of your body, your entire bedpost covered with greenery and you right at the heart of it. You, lifted several feet above the bed, trapped in the plant Hoseok had given you. The Headmistress was called to help you out, and you refused to stand next to Hoseok in the greenhouse for the rest of the year.

And finally, the cherry on top of pranks was during sixth year. In an attempt to fix an admirer’s robes, Hoseok ended up bewitching the entirety of the housing system. The crests people wore on their robes were mixed around and swapped out. The gesture ended up fucking up who was allowed or denied access into the different houses—a crazy day that you remember extremely well. The paintings that guarded the common rooms couldn’t let in certain students, especially the first years because new students are still trying to be adjusted into the school. The day had been an overall frenzy where the attention of the Headmaster was needed to undo the mess. Hoseok had gotten a week of detention following that incident.

“Wow,” Nayeon says, back in the present, with her chin in her hand and her eyes wide. “I didn’t even know most of those pranks were done by Hoseok.” She looks at you. “I didn’t know you were the one who got attacked by the plant overnight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You cut in, looking embarrassed. “It was all very terrible and horrible and Jung Hoseok is a gigantic piece of trash—!”

“Piece of trash? You don’t mean yourself, do you?”

The familiar, shit-eating grin in his voice causes the three of you to jump as you pivot your waist to find Jung Hoseok and his stupid equally-as-naturally-talented friend Jeon Jungkook by his side. They’re both staring down at you.

You glare at him. “Are you stupid? If you’re selectively eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for you, it’s clear that you know I was talking about you.”

Hoseok slides his hands into his pockets. “Tactful as always. Anyways, this is my friend Jeon Jungkook. You may know him.”

“What’s up,” Jungkook introduces himself, eyes flickering to Nayeon as he grins. “Hey Nayeon.”

Nayeon gives him a weak smile in return. You wonder if she’s still upset about her loss against Jungkook in the Quidditch match. Or, deeper than that, you wonder if she’s more upset that he invited her to that party in the Room of Requirements and never showed up.

“Pleasant,” Hoseok comments in regards to the atmosphere that has been crafted before he’s turning back to you. “I’m hearing about a potions exam coming up.”

You nod. “You’re correct. Why, you’re gonna try and study this time?”

Hoseok laughs at that. “Nah,” He brushes off. “It doesn’t seem that important. I’ll look over a guide or something, but that’s it.”

Your stare hardens slightly. “I think it’s a little more important than you’re making it seem. You do realize that if you fail your exams, you won’t even make it to the N.E.W.T.s, and it seems like that’ll definitely fuck up your chances of doing anything significant with your life.” You pause. “Don’t you need to continue that family legacy or something?”

Hoseok laugh melts into a frown. The group you’re surrounded with becomes significantly quiet, as everyone seems in shock about the direction you’re taking the conversation. “Why don’t you just mind your business? My ‘family legacy’ or whatever dumb shit you want to call it isn’t of your concern. More than that, how I decide to go about my business is up to me.” He smiles, all teeth but no humor. “Your concern for my grades is cute. But I’m a Jung. I don’t need help and certainly not from you.” He readjusts the page on his shoulder. “Have a good rest of your day.”

As he and Jungkook take their leave, you roll your eyes and turn back to Sana and Nayeon. You smile. “He’s a dick. So, Sana, What kind of food did you bring out for us?”

When Jung Hoseok said he didn’t think the upcoming potions exam struck much importance to him, he didn’t think the universe would actually take him seriously. That is all that can run through his mind as he stares at the POOR classification written across his test.

His mind whirls a little as he starts to flip through the parchment, to figure out what had happened. Sure, he didn’t study specific ingredients closely, but he’s always known the gist of what different potions were meant for. That is, after all, how he passed his O.W.L. in potions.

“Yeah… I guess the more advanced courses look into what certain ingredients can do,” Jimin says, where his OUTSTANDING classification is over his own exam—of course. “When you get out in the real world and need to make something specific, it’s better to have the foundation of materials. Anyways I thought you knew that. I gave you a copy of a study guide for you to reference.” He narrows his eyes. “Unless you were out with Namjoon again.”

Hoseok sighs. “Whatever. It’s just one exam, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He’s about to collect his belongings when Professor Slughorn’s voice calls him from the front of the room. “Have a bit of trouble studying for the test, Mr. Jung?” He asks as Hoseok steps towards the desk.

Hoseok looks down at his test and plasters a smile. “Just wasn’t sure what to focus on, Professor. It won’t happen again.”

“I hope that it won’t, Mr. Jung.” Professor Slughorn puts down his quill before folding his fingers atop one another. “Because if you fail another one of my exams, it’ll be clear to me that you aren’t fit to take the N.E.W.T. for potions. And I understand you’re interested in the auror program after graduation. That is something I can’t guarantee right now. Unfortunately, just being a Jung won’t be enough if you can’t even make it to the examination period at the end of the year.”

Hoseok furrows his eyebrows, pressing his lips together. “So what do I need to do?”

Professor Slughorn ponders for a second. “An Outstanding classification would do you well, Mr. Jung. Good luck.”

With that, Hoseok leaves the confines of the dungeon with a head full and a panic brimming at the corners of his consciousness. An Outstanding was a Park Jimin level of smart and a 24/7 level of commitment—something Hoseok himself has only accomplished once. What the fuck was he going to do?

He ponders this question as he leaves the dungeons of the potions classroom, where Park Jimin is waiting near the entrance.

Jimin grins, detaching himself from the wall to approach his friend. “Are you still my potions partner?” He asks jokingly, matching Hoseok’s pace as the pair of them make their way towards the Great Hall for breakfast. The tall glass windows bring in that morning light, the haziness of morning stretching out past the horizon of the mountains outside.

Hoseok huffs. “Maybe not for long. Professor Slughorn says I need an Outstanding classification for his next exam or he’s gonna kick me out of class.”

Jimin whistles. “That’s the highest grade in the school from one of the hardest classes you’ll take at Hogwarts. Potions exams are no joke.”

“I know that,” Hoseok snaps. “I took the exam. I’m aware they’re hard. Otherwise I wouldn’t be in this fucking position right now.”

“Spicy,” Jimin rebuffs, nudging Hoseok with his shoulder. Hard. “But hey, don’t be a dick to me. You failed on your own merits. You’re lucky Professor Slughorn is actually nice and is letting you off with a warning. If this was first year and he didn’t know jack shit about you, you’d be gone.”

Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t apologize, however, but it’s implied with his momentary lingering glare. “So, uh,” He starts. “You got time to help me out during study periods? Outstandings require like… near perfect scores. I only got that score on the O.W.L. for Defense.”

Jimin gives Hoseok a long look. “I would help you Hobi, but I recently got roped into some Ministry of Magic project with that transfer student from Ilvermorny. Professor McGonagall’s orders. It’s a pretty heavy assignment, so I could still try to arrange some time for you…”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Hoseok cuts in, waving him off. “I’ll figure something out.”

Jimin ponders this for a moment as he and Hoseok linger outside the Great Hall, waiting for their other friends to show up as per usual. “You sure? I could make time. No worries dude, seriously.”

“Like I said, it’s fine,” Hoseok brushes off once more, eyes roaming around the hallway. Several unfamiliar students pass the pair of them before you show up and catch his eye. “Uh,” He starts with Jimin, looking at you but directing his voice to Jimin. “If the guys show up, go ahead without me. I’ll catch up in a second.”

Jimin looks over Hoseok’s shoulder, looking vaguely curious about where Hoseok’s interest in engaging conversation with you has come from, but shrugs it off when Kim Taehyung appears.

“Hey!” Hoseok calls, saying your name and making you look up from your conversation. “Hi,” He repeats, smiling from you to Sana and back to you. “I need to talk to you.”

You roll your eyes. “No, Jung Hoseok, I didn’t rat you out to Professor Slughorn and no, I didn’t imply that you were the one to mess with my ingredients.”

Hoseok snorts. “Okay first of all, I know Professor Slughorn figured that out on his own. I know you weren’t smart enough to piece anything together—!” He cuts himself off when your glare narrows into something that implies you’ll murder him in his sleep. “Right.” He readies himself. “I need to talk to you.”

You look at Sana and sigh before looking back at Hoseok. “What is it?”

He’s quiet for a second. “You’re good at potions, right? Like, you’re actually good at knowing ingredients and shit?”

“Where exactly is this going?” You snap back, looking slightly hurt that your expertise in potions was being put under question. Not that it was ever Jung Hoseok’s responsibility to know your grades. Not that he cares, anyways.

“She’s good,” Sana interjects politely. “She got an Outstanding classification on the recent test.”

Hoseok brightens. “Thank you Sana.”

“Hey,” You protest. “Who’s side are you on?”

Sana gives you a look. “Are you saying that you were just going to ignore him? While he’s standing right in front of you?”

Your glare deepens. “Why don’t you go and save me a seat for breakfast? I’ll catch up.”

Sana laughs. “Alright then.” She turns to Hoseok. “See you around, Hoseok.”

Hoseok tilts his head up. “Later, Sana.” He waits until Sana has entered the Great Hall before he’s turning back to you. “So, an Outstanding classification. You’re pretty smart then.”

Your glare doesn’t go away. Instead, your eyes narrow in suspicion. “What do you want?”

He seems to ponder this. “I’m giving you an opportunity. I’m in need of a tutor for potions and you seem…” He waves towards all of you. “Vaguely qualifiable. What do you say?”

You look like he’s grown a third head. “Are you serious? If you’re actually trying to get me to help you out, you’re not doing a very good job of selling yourself. In fact, you’re coming off as more of a dick than usual.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Why don’t you ask your actual smart friend over there?” You gesture towards the entrance of the Great Hall, where Park Jimin is only now sliding into one of the tables. Around him are the company of Jungkook and Taehyung—all three of them laughing mid-conversation.

Hoseok turns back to you. “Jimin is busy.”

You give him a tight smile. “And so am I. Goodbye, Jung Hoseok.”

“Hey, wait, come on,” Hoseok cuts in, not entirely used to rejection of this degree. He’s more accustomed to friends rearranging schedules for him, to students watching his movements with awe. Not disgust, which is the look you’re giving him right now. “Don’t be like that. I need help.”

“Wow, you’ve really built up a case this time. I’m jumping out of my seat with glee and anticipation,” You remark sarcastically.

Hoseok bites his tongue. He speaks without thinking. “You should be honored I’m asking you for help. I’m a Jung—people part for my family because they know how important we are. What’s up your ass anyways?”

Your gaze on him turns from annoyed to appalled. “What’s up my ass?” You echo. “You think I give a shit about how you’re connected to your family? Based on your work ethic alone, you’re unrelated to them for all I care. The fact that you’re using them to justify your dick behavior is blowing my mind right now,” You sneer, taking a step back away from him. “Tutoring you isn’t an ‘opportunity’, Hoseok. It’s an anchor.” With that, you turn around and Hoseok alone in the hallway.

To say he’s frustrated would be an understatement. He lingers, watching you make your way into the Great Hall to join your friends. For some reason, your rejection just makes him even more attuned to your actions and gestures—the way you join your friends at the table, the way you reach for the food lined up along the center of the long table, the way you smile as if you hadn’t been snapping Hoseok out just seconds ago.

With a huff, he too steps into the Great Hall and slides into the corner seat along with his friends.

Jimin laughs, sticking his fork into some bacon and eggs. “What happened?”

Hoseok scoffs. “What makes you say something happened?”

“Dude, it’s written all over your face,” Jimin retorts, gesturing to Hoseok with his fork. “She pissed you off. What happened?”

“Does it even matter?” Hoseok returns, reaching over to grab the cup laid out for him. It immediately fills up with the morning drink of his choice—coffee. “Just being frustrating and yelling at me, as per usual.”

Jungkook laughs. “That is true.”

“Anyways…” Hoseok starts up, craning his neck just slightly to see you further down the table, still smiling and joking around with your own friends. “She said something that really bothered me. So I think I’ll send her a little present of thanks.”

Very slowly, he takes his wand out of his robe and rummages through his bag for a box. With the mutter of a spell underneath his breath, the box turns invisible with only the vague shimmering blurriness of its space to give an indication of its location. Hoseok raises his wand up, and the box follows, as it floats soundlessly down the table and past the other small clusters of students partaking in their own morning eating. Most don’t notice, too involved in their personal conversations or trying to shake off the morning exhaustion in time for lessons.

The box lingers when it reaches you, and Hoseok drops his wrist so the contents inside the box sprinkle all over your breakfast food.

“Accio box,” Hoseok hisses, watching as the box flies towards him before catching it with one hand. At his friends momentarily bewildered look, he flashes the now visible product towards them. “Hiccough sweet,” He explains, tossing it to Jungkook when the latter opens up his arms with a silent question.

Jungkook catches the box and turns it over to read the product description on the back. “A Zonko’s Joke Shop Product,” He reads. “Induces a hiccoughing fit when consumed.” He looks up. “So you just need to eat this and…?”

An utter of your name is heard from across the table. “Are you okay?”

You cough, hitting your chest with the palm of your hand. A round of hiccups escape you as your whole body jerks with each spasm of your diaphragm. “Maybe I—hic—ate too fast—hic—!” You try for a glass of water, but your hiccoughing makes you choke just before you can down the liquid, causing only further coughing and discomfort.

Hoseok watches the whole thing with a grin on his face.

In the midst of your coughing fit, you catch Hoseok’s eye and don’t have too much trouble deceiving his grin this time. It also helps that he’s waving the box of Hiccough Sweet at you.

Your lips part in shock. “Jung—hic—HOSEOK—!” The noise of your hiccups grow louder to echo through the breakfast hall. The increasing silence doesn’t help as your struggles only become more and more apparent.

Your lips part in shock as the noises of your hiccups grow loud enough to echo through the breakfast hall. The increasing silence doesn’t help as your struggles only become more and more apparent.

Sana seems to catch wind of this and places a hand on your back as you gasp in between your fit of hiccups. “Maybe we should go to Madam Pomfrey and see if she can fix this,” She says, helping you out of the seat as you cough in between your hiccups.

You point to Hoseok as you and Sana make your way out of the Great Hall. “I’m—hic—going to kill you—hic—so you better make sure I don’t—hic—see you in the hallway—hic—you dick!”

Hoseok is still mid-laughter as you and Sana leave the hall, bringing the curiosity of whispers and rumors along with you.

You don’t return to the house dorms that night, something about how Madam Pomfrey couldn’t figure out how to combat the hiccough sweet and had to take some time to figure out how to settle your diaphragm down. Hoseok had giggled about it then, and continues to smirk about it hours later as he exits the castle and makes his way down to the Gamekeeper’s hut along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Today is Saturday, and the breeze is calm but the clouds are collecting along the edges of the sky with the telltale signs that a storm is coming up soon.

Regardless of the weather, Hoseok is still making the trek out as he crosses down dirt pathways and rocky inclines—finally reaching the hut and the gates of magical creatures that are housed within the area. Today, Kim Namjoon is out there begrudgingly combing through the cages of the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Hoseok lingers outside the cage for a moment, watching his friend partake in the very activities he had talked about and laughed about months prior.

He speaks finally. “If I decided to hit this cage, would the skrewts start shooting fire at me?”

If Namjoon is surprised by the visit of his friend, he doesn’t show it. “No, they’d start shooting fire at me so for the sake of our sanity, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Hoseok grins. “I’m sure that the zookeeper who is supposed to be mentoring you would appreciate the sentiment.”

Namjoon flicks him off instead, and the pair wallow in silence as Namjoon continues cleaning up the cage until the area is spotless. Quickly, he opens the cage and shuts it behind him to signal his completion of the task. The silence stretches on as Hoseok reaches into his bag and pulls out a roll, referring to a common activity between the two of them, as the air quickly fills with purple smoke that smells of berries.

“What about your problem?” Namjoon asks after a few minutes. He shakes his roll. “The potions girl had a bit of trouble recovering from your hiccough sweet prank, so I’ve heard. Is that supposed to help convince her that she should tutor you?”

Hoseok blows smoke. “Probably not. But she called me an anchor!”

Namjoon snorts. “Because you’re asking someone to help you study when you can be pretty shitty at studying because of your even shitter attitude? Especially regarding potions, AKA your hardest subject?” He looks out. “I’m surprised she didn’t say anything worse.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes at his friend. “You dick. You’re not exactly a model citizen either. What the fuck do you think got you into this position in the first place?”

The pair of them bicker for a little longer—conversations indulging through the activities of different classes and the different affairs going on amongst their friend group, before the aforementioned heavy clouds groan from above. It’s an angry sound, a crackle of noise that splits through the sky and gives a warning of what’s to come.

It’s a warning that only lasts a few seconds before rain starts pouring down from the sky, loudly pittering and pattering against the ground. Taken aback by the sudden nature of the weather, as well as the heavy weight of the rain drops themselves, Hoseok and Namjoon scramble to collect their belongings. Namjoon turns his attention back to the magical creatures around him, the rain starts to soak through his hair.

“I need to clean up,” Namjoon says, slightly begrudgingly, but firm nonetheless.

So Hoseok nods. “I’m gonna try and head back.” The pair of them exchange one last final parting before going their separate ways.

Despite Hoseok claiming a trip straight back to the castle, he doesn’t follow through immediately. He takes a bit of a detour, towards another place he knows he can remain alone and unbothered—a place that usually allows him to wallow in his thoughts given how it’s always unoccupied during certain days.

He heads towards the greenhouse.

But the time he’s reached the outskirts of the house, he’s soaked through his robe and his hair is promptly sticking to his forehead. The cool temperature invokes a slight shiver as Hoseok still pushes open the door of the greenhouse and closes it behind him.

He basks in his alone time for a grand total of five seconds before—!

“Jung Hoseok?” It’s your voice, and Hoseok groans. You’re not exactly the first person on the list of people he wants to see right now, especially after the whole hiccough sweet thing the other day. Not that he’s actively trying to avoid you, but seeing you is like salt in the wound. It’s definitely vice versa for him to.

He whirls around to see you having stepped out from an enclosed area of the greenhouse, a separate place of the building separated by more glass for advanced herbology students. It’s closed off from the main portion of the greenhouse to ensure that curious first-years don’t accidentally mess with plants that could alter one’s memory or other forms of dangerous enchantments. You, however, are prepared for this—with your dragon-hide gloves and rolled up sleeves of your white polo shirt.

When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you only further narrow your eyes at him. “What are you doing here? Last time I checked, idiots don’t need to drop by the greenhouse.” You jerk your chin towards the outside. “In the rain of all times.”

He ignores your insult to approach you instead. “I was just escaping the rain, thank you very much. Very cozy in here. And I’m totally fine, thanks for asking.” When you don’t say anything, he clears his throat. “So, what are you doing here?”

You gesture towards the area of the greenhouse you’ve just emerged from. “Do you have eyes? I’m here for an assignment.”

“Ah.” Hoseok nods. “That’s right, I forgot you like the play with plants.”

You frown. “It’s not playing with plants, I’m observing them—!” You cut yourself off, seeming to decide it wasn’t worth fighting this battle. You raise your hand and make a noise of self-protest in the back of your throat. “You know what? Whatever. I’m done for today anyways so I’ll let you roam free in here. Touch a plant and lose your memory for all I care.” You disappear back behind the advanced herbology section of the greenhouse once more to put your equipment back in the proper place, leaving Hoseok back at the entrance.

A few seconds pass before you’re emerging once more with your school blazer over your shoulder, brushing past Hoseok and turning the knob to exit the greenhouse—leaving Hoseok behind.

Watching you leave, somehow, is even more frustrating than enduring a conversation with you, which is why Hoseok dashes towards the door you’ve just closed to pull it open again. You’re up ahead, blazer over your head and your shoes splashing into the puddles on the ground.

“Y/N, wait!” Hoseok calls, closing the door and jogging over to catch up to you.

Your pace doesn’t let up. Neither does your disdain for him as you look over your shoulder to continue barking at him. “What do you want, Hoseok? Doesn’t putting hiccoughing sweet into my breakfast fulfill your quota of torturing someone for the week?”

“What?” Hoseok shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not about that. It’s about the thing, the—the other thing!”

“The other thing…?” You trail off, before stopping dead in your path. Hoseok would have crashed into you had he been running behind you rather than next to you. But alas, he slows down into a standstill. The rain continues to pour down on the two of you, further soaking Hoseok past his already wet clothes. You yourself lower the blazer off your head, allowing the rain to touch the strands of your hair. “Are you seriously bringing that up with me again?”

Hoseok swallows. Every little micro aggression you direct towards him only eats at his confidence more and more. Not used to being rejected as many times as he currently has, he finds that he has a harder time trying to formulate the right words into the right sentence, he actually stammers. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?” You interrupt. “That avoiding me would make me forget how much of a dick you are? That’s right, you don’t think I noticed what’s been going on for the past few days. You’re filled with guilt and you think ignoring the problem will just make me forget it long enough to be your stupid tutor. But let me tell you something, Jung Hoseok.” You take a step closer to him, close enough where he can see the rain drops clinging to your lashes. “Nothing can make me tutor you.”

You step back, turn around and start your walk towards the castle once more before Hoseok sighs loudly into the air. He says something that he hasn’t said since he was ten. “I’m sorry!” He calls out, yelling it through the space between you.

That makes you falter slightly, having never heard those two words spoken to you before. You stop walking, looking over your shoulder to stare at him—give him a chance to further explain himself.

Hoseok sighs again, trying to quickly formulate his thoughts into words before you lose interest and continue to think he’s full of shit. “Professor Slughorn called me in the other day and said that if I don’t get an Outstanding classification on the next exam, I’m basically out of the potions N.E.W.T.s. If that happens then I won’t get into the auror program after graduation—and yeah, I’ll be a disappointment to my family. So I, uh… need your help. Please.” He says the last word more as an afterthought, more of a grumble.

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the sound of rain pattering against the grassy pathway. A part of Hoseok really thinks that you’re going to curse him out again, tell him to piss off now and forever. But you speak. “What was that?” You say. “The last part.”

There’s a slight smile in your voice, as if you know what he said but just want to hear him repeat nonetheless.

“Please,” Hoseok tries again, a little stiffer but a lot louder.

“One more time?”

Hoseok glares harder, but he’s not sure you can see it through the rain.

Finally, you take a step towards him. Your shoes squish against the mud, stopping when you’re arms length away from him. “You must be desperate,” You say at last, running a hand across your forehead to rid of some of the water that has collected there. At last, you yourself emit a sigh as you rummage through your bag for your wand. You pull it out, pointing it up to the sky as a clear veil comes out from the tip—an invisible umbrella. The rain hits the surface of your spell-produced umbrella, but it’s a protection that only covers you up. Hoseok continues to feel the rain soak through every part of him. “Fine,” You acknowledge after a moment. Hoseok feels his heart lurch in his chest. “I’ll tutor you—but, if you fuck with me even once… if you show up late or don’t take this seriously, then I’m out. I won’t even give you a warning. This is my warning.”

Your strong-hold and straightforward attitude about your conditions to tutor him leaves Hoseok vaguely starry-eyed. Not that you aren’t normally no-nonsense, but to see you take so much control over something he is a part of makes him stunned.

So he utters the only thing he is capable of uttering with a full head. “S-Sure,” He manages.

That seems to be enough for you, because you give him a curt nod. “Tomorrow afternoon, 2pm,” You throw out. “That’s when I’m done with lunch. Meet me in front of the library.”

“Y-Yeah…” Hoseok says, trailing off as he watches you leave, taking your energy and the pitter-patter of your umbrella with you down the pathway and back toward the castle.

He doesn’t even want to try and entertain the possibility of fucking around the following day—doesn’t even want to see if you were perhaps joking around when you threated to back out of the tutoring arrangement if he so much as breathed wrong in your direction. He shows up five minutes before the agreed time.

You show up a minute before, readjusting the strap of your bag, but you stop at the sight of him lingering outside the library. You wear an unreadable expression as you approach him.

Hoseok stares right back. “What?” He says, trying to keep the bite out of his voice.

You shake your head. “Nothing, nothing. Nice to see you passing the first test of showing up early..” Without another word, you make your way into the library with Hoseok hot at your tail.

The two of you eventually settle into a tiny corner booth encompassed by shelves of books. The library is quiet considering it’s a Sunday afternoon when most normal students are probably fighting the food coma of lunch. Normally, Hoseok would be one of those people—would prefer to just relax outside in the courtyard with his body laid out amongst the grass and the conversations of his friends putting him to sleep. The momentary visual of that is contradicted to his current predicament: inside the library and the uncertain nature of the current situation leaving him apprehensive. It’s an emotion he isn’t accustomed to.

“So,” You start just as Hoseok is settling into his chair. You lean forward, fingers lacing together as you regard him with a curious look. “We need to figure out how much you know. Can you tell me what bezoars are and what it’s good for?”

He stares at you.

You kiss your teeth as you twist in your chair to collect parchment from your bag. “Alright. This’ll be a good next few weeks.” The dryness in your tone is hard to ignore.

Hoseok furrows his eyebrows. “Why, what’s wrong? What’s a bezoar?”

You sigh. “What’s wrong is that bezoars were the first things we studied this year in class. Honestly, Jung Hoseok, how did you even make it to this level of potions?”

“Hey,” He exclaims, actually pouting at you. Just a little, but the defeat in his tone is present—still guilty for not knowing what bezoars are. “The O.W.L.s were easier. And Park Jimin is one of my best friends, he usually tutored me right before the exams. And exams from last year were made for more memorizing rather than actually giving me a foundation for this shit.”

You waver in the collection of your materials to give him a look.

He looks right back at you. “What?” He asks again, a little sharper this time.

You lift your hands up as if to deflect his self-conscious attitude. “Nothing, it’s just—you’re pretty observant about that kind of stuff. And I would even go so far as to agree with you. Those tests were pretty brutal.”

“Yeah, exactly…” The notion of you actually agreeing with him feels like a few weights off his shoulders. Hoseok settles himself deeper into his seat. “So I honestly just forgot the information as soon as I finished the test.”

You nod slowly. “Okay… that’s fine. It’s a problem, however, because you really need to know all this information if you’re gonna need to pass the upcoming potions exam and even further for the N.E.W.T. exam. Just memorizing and forgetting for each test isn’t going to work this year. But, for this upcoming potions test, this is what you’ll be tested on.” You produce another parchment that contains a small list of ingredients and actual potion brews. “Professor Slughorn said that the next exam will be a combination of concepts learned from the first test as well as the lessons after that.”

Hoseok takes the parchment from you and feels his eyes almost bug out of his head. The list itself isn’t too long—just a handful of ingredients and potions—but the subheaders are filled with different points that would need to be covered in the exam. Like where specific ingredients could be found, what season would be the best time to grow them, if they could be grown, what potions from class one would find this ingredient, and the general purpose of the ingredient. For potions, pointers you’ve written cover the intention of the potions and the ingredients required.

The new knowledge that he would need to know all this information fills Hoseok with a sense of dread, before the doubt settles in. “There’s no way it has to be this detailed.”

You glare at him. “Hey, why would I take the time to write out all these different subheaders otherwise? Last time I checked, I was the one who passed and you were the one who failed.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Hoseok snaps. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

You slam the textbooks and parchment you’ve brought over onto the table. “Are you seriously trying to pick a fight with me over this shit right now?” You run both your hands through your hair. “Look, you don’t like studying and memorizing and applying yourself—I don’t get it, but who the fuck am I to spare brain cells in trying to make sense about you. But this is the reality of the situation. You get out what you put in. If you would prefer Park Jimin to tutor you and whisper the answers to you when the professors aren’t looking, then be my guest.”

“No! No, okay, fine, I’ll stop,” Hoseok interjects tensely. “I guess you just make me a reactionary person.”

You make a side-eye at that comment, but don’t say anything to further drive the wedge already in place between the two of you. “How good are you with retaining information?”

“Depends how mean you are to me,” Hoseok mutters.

You ignore his jab to open up your copy of Advanced Potion Making. “Alright, well, I guess we can start with going over bezoars…”

You can not fathom why you decide to tutor Jung Hoseok. Thinking clearly about it, there isn’t a gain or a loss to come out of helping someone who has done nothing but make your many years at Hogwarts challenging and terrifying at the same time. You know that he doesn’t purposely single you out, and more often than not it’s just the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time—Hoseok doesn’t have the bad blood in him to target one person (unlike his friends), but his carelessness doesn’t excuse years of frustration and annoyance.

Given those feelings, you almost said no. In the beginning, you had been fully prepared to reject his ass over and over again until he gave up. It wasn’t difficult at first, with his arrogance shining through and doing well to push all the right buttons that drove you to a rejection in the first place.

But that day in the greenhouse had changed some things. Hoseok had been the most vulnerable you had ever seen him, showed the most humility, and actually seemed human. And you’ve always had a soft spot for vulnerability—makes you feel guilty if someone poured their heart out only to get rejected once more. So you accepted.

Besides, even though you aren’t sure how to tutor, you painted yourself as a good student and assumed that teaching someone concepts that have already been reviewed before would be simple.

But you were very, very, very wrong.

“For the last time, Jung Hoseok,” You seeth, fingers pressing deep into your temples as you rub. “A fluxweed is part of the mustard family, grows purple flowers, and is known for its healing properties. Knotgrass doesn’t sprout flowers—it’s used for polyjuice potions and is brewed to make knotgrass mead. How do you keep fucking this up?”

“They both have a grass differential in their name!” Hoseok whines, throwing himself back into his seat. “Weed and grass is very confusing! How does a grass ingredient not sprout a flower but a weed ingredient does? That’s too weird!”

“It’s not weird, it’s just the way things are!” You snap back.

“The fact that you say that only makes it more weird!”

You have to zero in and read an excerpt on fluxweed to calm the nasty flare of anger that lights up in your stomach. Not only is tutoring Hoseok not simple, but it turns out he has difficulty memorizing very basic ideas of things he has zero interest in. How on earth did he pass his O.W.L. for this fucking subject in the first place?

The pair of you were in your third week of tutoring, still reviewing concepts from the beginning term. With the next upcoming potions exam rapidly approaching, the seeds of doubt start to grow in your mind, an unsure feeling that the pair of you could catch up to the rest of the material. Your growing frustration over Hoseok’s inability to retain the information is also starting to get in the way of proper tutoring sessions.

Basically, you’re at your ropes end. The hour-per-three-days you have spent tutoring Hoseok could have been spent studying for your own assignments and own weaknesses. Or perhaps seeing a therapist on how to stop letting people like Hoseok take advantage of you.

“You’re being so impossible right now!” You shriek, ignoring the wandering eyes of other students who glance over at your outburst. “How are you not retaining this information? It’s almost like the only time you’re studying for this class is during our tutoring sessions…” You glance over at him, seeing the vaguely guilty expression in his eyes, and you feel your heart race pick up—the feeling of fight or flight coming over. “Please do not tell me that’s what you’ve been doing for the past three weeks.”

“Hey…” Hoseok protests. “That’s just how I studied with Jimin. Maybe if we met everyday I’d retain the information better.”

You turn to face him completely this time, eyes wide and body shaking with only thinly veiled irritation. “Do you think…” You start, voice already rising. “Do you think I have the time or the patience to go that far when I’m already sticking my neck out for you? Why can’t you just work around what I’m giving you—?” You begin to feel it, the anger settling in your throat and the heat of your face bringing tears to your eyes, the absolute frustration of the situation and the fact that you have only yourself to blame for the outcome.

But, someone new swoops in to interrupt your raging.

“Hey, there you are Jung Hoseok.” You manage a quick glance in the direction of the voice before turning away to collect your thoughts. It’s Kim Namjoon—one of Hoseok’s good friends and lead writer for the Hogwarts Daily. The thought of being seen and reported on by Namjoon brings you enough nerves that you choose not to make eye contact. You merely look away to blink away your anger and swallow your frustrations.

It’s hard though, especially when Hoseok and Namjoon start to have a conversation as if you aren’t even here.

“What’s up?” Hoseok asks, after the two of them engage in their handshake. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, same as usual.” Namjoon stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to ask if you were free. Jungkook wants to go down to the Three Broomsticks.” You’re in the middle of flipping through your copy of Advanced Potion-Making when Namjoon adds on one more line: “It doesn’t seem like you’re doing anything important anyways.”

Then, Hoseok laughs.

That final sound makes you feel like something has snapped inside of you, with that white hot anger coursing through you once more with no force inside you willing to stop it. Without a warning, you slam the textbook shut. The sound of it crashes through the library.

For the first time since Namjoon’s arrival, Hoseok looks over at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, okay, now you want to ask me what’s wrong,” You snap, standing up so fast that the bottom of your chair scraps against the floor. You start to collect your parchments and textbook into your hands. “This was a mistake. I should never have agreed to this.”

Hoseok frowns, standing up as well. “Wait, hold on—are you mad at me?”

You slam your bag onto your seat. “WOW, okay, for someone who was all signed up to take five fucking N.E.W.Ts, you do know how to lack critical thinking skills in all shapes and forms! Of course I’m mad at you! You lack respect, initiative, and any self-sufficient skills that could make you a fraction of a good student! It’s like you seriously expect me to solve all your problems and tell you exactly how to handle your situation and be honored that you chose me to do this, when in reality I just felt bad and I thought you reaching out to me would mean a change in your attitude. But clearly, I was wrong. You—you’re impossible to deal with! I can’t believe that I wanted to help you in the first place!” You spit out. your chest heaves up and down, the tears pricking in your eyes. The wetness makes your vision glossy, so you miss Hoseok’s expression drop. “I’m sure you can figure out your own way of passing the class.”

With a final huff, you turn on your heel, ignoring the gaze of other students who watch you leave. You even brush past Madam Pince who looks seconds away from a scolding. The action leaves Hoseok alone in the library to mull over what has just happened.

But would he even process what you’ve just said and actually take it seriously? Debatable. But you don’t even care. Your main focus is just to get out of the library as quickly as possible and find somewhere to scream.

You just heard towards the first place that comes to mind—the Hufflepuff common room. You brush past the painting, storming past the group of students conversing near the fireplace and up into the girls dormitory. After going through a maze of different hallways and doorframes leading into different bedrooms, you stop at your own—the door leading to your own bedroom. Inside, Sana is sitting atop her bed, flipping through the pages of a History of Magic textbook. She looks up from the book as soon as she sees you. “Hey, how was the tutoring session?”

You don’t respond immediately. You brush past her, beeline straight for your own bed and throw yourself atop the covers. Landing face-first onto your pillow, you yell right into the cushion.

Sana jumps at the sound, immediately sliding off her bed to make her way towards you. “What’s wrong?” She asks, sitting on the edge of your bed.

You pout to yourself for a moment, before you huff and proceed to flail your body atop your bed. Your arms and legs wiggle around, hitting the mattress before you stop and perform a 180 so that your back is resting on the mattress. The tears have disappeared from your eyes, but the angry weight still sits in your chest. “Hoseok is an ass, and I effectively quit from being his tutor today.”

Sana tilts her head. “But I thought you guys were getting along okay.”

You snort. “Understatement of the fucking year.” You push yourself up into a sitting position. “That bitch was only using our tutoring sessions to study for potions. The fact that he can’t even fit in supplemental lessons just to make sure he remembers what we’ve gone over. And when I brought it up he was so disrespectful about it! As if I don’t have other things to think about, and like he just expects me to worry about him on a daily basis!” You give Sana a look, before sighing and throwing yourself back onto your bed. “Whatever, it’s done. I can just go back to focusing on my own studying. Hoseok can drown for all I care.”

Sana smiles as she reaches over to brush the hair that has fallen across your face. “How about we go down to Hogsmeade. I’ll buy you some candy, that should help you get over that jerk.”

You lift your head to focus on your friend, the corner of your lips quirking up at her offer.

“Okay, but I’ll just let you know that I won’t hold back,” You say, sliding off the bed and digging through your trunk to get your coat.

“Since when do you ever?” Sana retorts, as the pair of you break off into giggles, making your way down the stairs into the common room and out into the castle halls.

The crush of footsteps against the grass underneath gives away the arrival of new company. You’re laying in the courtyard outside of the castle, blanket under you and your own copy of Advanced Potion-Making at the edge of your fingertips. All it takes is one glance up to know who has decided to visit you.

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “Didn’t I say you should figure out your own way to pass potions?”

Above you, Jung Hoseok shifts nearly on his stance, switching from one foot to another before he settles on standing straight. He’s doing something you haven’t seen him do in the many years you’ve been in his company: he’s staying quiet.

His silence leaves you with little choice but to follow along. You push yourself up into a sitting position and lean back enough for your arms to aid in the upcoming of your posture. “How was the Three Broomsticks?” You ask. “You seemed excited to go off with your friend.”

Hoseok winces at that.

You catch it. “Yeah, I heard you laugh when Namjoon said it looked like you weren’t doing anything. How do you think something like that makes me feel? Invisible? Like shit, perhaps? Well then, you would be right.”

Hoseok sighs. His eyes flicker down to an open spot on your picnic blanket. “C-Can I… Can I sit?”

You only continue to glare at him. “No.”

He ignores you, electing to just sit down anyways.

You sigh. “First you can’t even respect my wishes, then you just go off and do whatever you want to anyways.”

Hoseok glares right back at you. “Because I know you won’t listen to me otherwise. Just hear me out, alright?”

You engage in a staring match with him, before scoffing and returning the attention back to your book. “Don’t you have another date at the Three Broomsticks to attend to?”

Hoseok blinks once, twice, before looking down to fix his attention on the edge between the picnic blanket and the grass. “I didn’t go,” He admits quietly, under his breath.

You tilt your head back, eyes rolling back momentarily before you train your gaze back onto him. “I can’t hear you—why even show up if you can’t even have an honest discussion with me—?”

“I said, I didn’t go,” Hoseok cuts in, louder this time with a tinge of frustration in his tone. “Just because I laugh with someone doesn’t mean I agree with them. That’s why you were so mad, am I right?”

Instead of denying or confirming his answer, you keep your mouth shut.

That seems to be enough for Hoseok, who sighs as he runs a hand through his hair—the frustration over whatever miscommunication he thinks occurred between the two of you clearly affecting him. “Anyways,” He continues. If he’s baffled by your silence, he chooses not to comment on that. A good choice, honestly. “I didn’t go, so can we just continue our tutoring sessions?”

You keep your gaze on him for a moment, before you look back down at your book. You pucker your lips together. “Nope,” You answer, emphasizing the ‘p’ sound.

Hoseok recoils, taken aback by your response. “What? Why not?”

You shut your book, a silence acceptance that you weren’t going to get any reading done at this rate. “If you think I’m just mad about you laughing at some stupid comment your friend made, then you’re a lot dumber than I thought and you would drive the auror department right into the ground. I don’t need that energy around me right now, so good day to you.” You open your textbook right back up and look down. However, it feels as if you’re staring straight through the page, not really absorbing the material and rather just waiting for Hoseok to make his next move.

He does react with a scoff, looking away for a moment before training his gaze back on you. He’s quiet, and you think that he really is going to walk away, but he goes for his bag. Rummaging around, he produces a stack of ripped parchment papers. He stares down at his collection, before he hands the stack to you. “Here.”

Your eyes flicker from the papers to his face. To your surprise, Hoseok actually looks embarrassed by what he’s showing you. His meekness gives the encouragement you need to reach out and take the stack. “What is this?” You ask, looking down anyways to find your answer.

Your heart beats a little quicker at the sight—but it’s not an acceleration due to frustration or irritation. It’s something softer and quieter—touching.

In your hands is a stack of flashcards ripped from a roll of parchment: potion ingredients on one side and all the requirements you had mentioned previously scribbled on the other side.

Hoseok watches you carefully. “I, uh,” He starts. “I turned down going to the Three Broomsticks yesterday to work on these. Uh… I’m sorry. For being a dick. I shouldn’t have laughed at what Namjoon said. What I should have been doing was studying on my own though, especially since I know that I have my own shortcomings as a student. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you going out of your way to help me. I should have been a better student, so… yeah. I understand if you don’t want to tutor me anymore. But I didn’t want us to end on terrible terms.” He reaches his arm back out to you, silently asking for the return of his flashcards.

It’s a request you don’t follow through on immediately. You stare between Hoseok and the cards he has just handed you and feel a soft flutter in your stomach—a notion of fondness? Or perhaps is it pride? Either way, it feels like you are seeing Jung Hoseok in a somewhat different light. His meekness and shy nature is coming out in more ways than you had ever expected it too and you are taken aback, and yet it heightens the curiosity you have for him. What other layers does Hoseok have? And are you willing to take the risk and find out?

Hoseok raises an eyebrow at your unmoving stance. He jerks his hand up and down a few times to get your attention. “Hello? You good in there?”

You snap out your trance, staring at Hoseok for a moment before looking back down at the flashcards. You skim through a few of them, thumbing through the parchment and flipping over a handful just to see what he’s written. He’s… surprisingly thorough.

You close your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. You better not regret this.

You extend your arm to return the stack of parchment back to Hoseok. “If you want, we can go over the details to make sure you can be as thorough as possible.”

Hoseok takes his flashcards back, looking up to meet your gaze at the statement. He seems to be analyzing your expressions, waiting for you to tell him to piss off all over again. But when you don’t say anything, he speaks up. “What are you saying…?”

“Look,” You cut in softly, looking down and refusing to make eye contact this time around. “You have already put in all this effort to apologize to me and I can see that you’re working hard. At this point, it seems like a waste if you aren’t able to pass your exam.”

Hoseok looks stunned at your answer.

You look away again. “Besides,” You continue. “I don’t want you to come bitching me if you happen to fail your exam and tell me that I held your fate in my hands—I don’t want you to make me feel guilty about this. That’s all.”

Hoseok processes what you’re saying quickly, because he nods and flashes you a grin. But you can see the weight of tension and stress melt off his shoulders, because he holds himself up a little higher as nods a few more times. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll, uh, let you get back to your own studying.” He straightens up, but keeps his gaze on you. “At the library after lunch tomorrow, right?”

You kiss your teeth, pointing an index finger at him. “Sounds good, Jung Hoseok.”

Rather than look back down at your notes, you find your gaze trailing after Hoseok’s retreating form. You watch the way he walks over to Jimin—the way the pair of them talk briefly before Hoseok is gesturing to you with the wave of his arm. Jimin looks at you, makes brief eye contact with you, before you’re turning away to gaze back down at your textbook.

You cannot pretend you don’t feel the weight of Jimin’s stare as you wait for the two of them to disappear from your line of sight.

Hoseok is waiting by the entrance of the library by the time you show up, and the nervous shift in his weight tells you all you need to know about his apprehension.

“Hi,” You greet, approaching him as Hoseok looks up to regard you almost cautiously. “Are you ready for today?” At his nod, you lean back in your body weight. “Just because you apologized doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you, okay Jung?”

He just nods again.

“I just have one little quiz to give you before we can get started,” You continue. “If you can’t answer this, then you really are hopeless. But if you can answer it, I’ll tutor you and we can forget all this other shit happened. Tell what bezoars are and their purpose.” You ignore the face Hoseok gives you when you bring up the potential hopelessness of the situation.

Bezoars—a reference to the very first question you asked him when you started this whole tutoring session.

The vague allusion makes Hoseok laugh. Just a little though, because the smile disappears when he notices that you aren’t fucking around with that question. So he settles down and opens his mouth to answer the question. “Bezoars is an antidote for most poisons with the exception of basilisk venom, and it’s taken from the stomach of a goat. It’s formed from the collection of hair or plant fibre that settles in the gut of the animal. Most effective when you swallow it whole.” He wavers slightly. “That’s pretty much the basics.”

You nod. “Impressive.”

He shrugs half-heartedly. “I uh, pretty much stayed up all night working on those flashcards, which is where I learned all about bezoars.”

You nod again. “Alright, that answer satisfies me.” You gesture towards the entrance of the library. “We are free to continue on with the lessons.”

As you walk into the library, Hoseok is right behind you. “Are you saying you would have just walked away if I didn’t know the answer?”

You snort. “Of course. It’s been a month since we started the tutoring session—if you didn’t know what bezoars were I would have run for the hills. Hence, me calling you hopeless.”

“But naturally you aren’t going to do that,” He says, sliding into the seat at the table booth you’ve selected for the pair of you. “Because I’m awesome.”

You glare at him, letting his self-praise settle for the matter of four seconds. “Okay,” You say, standing up and collecting your books in your arms once more. “It was really nice knowing you, Jung Hoseok, but I’m about to go run for the hills now—!”

“Wait, wait, okay, I’m kidding, nevermind—!”

Things get better after the conversation in the courtyard. Two weeks and two tutoring sessions later, Jung Hoseok is already in the library at your usual sitting spot by the time you arrive. You’re still in the haze of your lunch coma, but you become more alert at the sight of him hunched over his textbook.

You pull your seat back, causing Hoseok to jump in surprise at your arrival. There is, however, a bag in your seat, one that Hoseok quickly tugs back onto his own lap. “S-Sorry,” He manages, flashing you a small smile. “I was just saving the seat for you.”

You press your lips together to hide the momentary gap in your expression. “Thanks,” You return, sliding into the now vacant chair and placing your bag on the desk. “What are you working on today?”

“I’m reading about garrotting gas,” Hoseok answers almost proudly, straightening up enough to flash you his textbook and the parchment he has set aside to take notes. After flashing a quick peek, you are clearly able to see the long line of bullet points he has made.

“Wow,” You say, impressed by how far he’s gone. “You’ve covered a lot. When did you even get to the library?”

Hoseok smiles sheepishly. He touches the back of his neck, a habit you’ve noticed recently that takes form in the presence of nerves. “About thirty minutes ago actually. I know garrotting gas is pretty advanced stuff so I wanted to get a head start. Plus… since Professor Slughorn taught it about a month ago I know I’m still behind.”

“Nah, you’re catching up rather quickly, actually,” You interject with a smile of your own. “The fact that we’ve been able to cover all the first exam’s topics within the week is awesome. Your flashcards have really helped out.” You turn your attention to your own bag, missing the soft look Hoseok sends your way. It vanishes as soon as you look at him again. “Plus garrotting gas will be on the N.E.W.T. Nice to see that you’re planning ahead.”

Hoseok actually rolls his eyes at that. Playful, but unbelieving. “I need to pass this potions exam first before I can think about the N.E.W.T.s. “

You laugh, reaching across the way to rest your hand on his shoulder. “At this point, if you don’t pass that potions exam, I will literally throw you off the Astronomy tower.”

The next tutoring session comes on a Sunday, per Hoseok’s request.

“I just want you to test me on the two potions we went over right after the first exam,” He explains. He’s selected a different spot in the library today: a table in the main area with enough space for the pair of you to sit opposite of each other. Something about you sitting directly across from him feeling more official, or something like that. You don’t understand it, but Hoseok seems eager to try.

So you nod, folding your fingers atop one another as you give Hoseok a look. “Alright. So garrotting gas and the garnish pink blended poison, correct? Just to make sure you didn’t skip ahead.”

Hoseok feigns a gasp, pressing his hand to his chest. “I would never.”

You snort at that, closing your eyes and shaking your head. Clearly, it’s a rejection of an attitude Hoseok once held for the potions curriculum. The fact that you are able to joke about it and earn an equally sarcastic reply back shifts something in your heart—he’s now smiles with teeth.

The pair of you go at it for a little bit—“garrotting gases are colorless that causes choking or even suffocation because the gas catches people by the neck if someone were to walk through it, and garnish pink blended poison are pink in color that have ten different components for ingredients. According to Golpalott’s Third Law, the effects of the poison could be countered with the adequate antidote or a bezoar.”

You nod, corner of your lips turning up. “Good job. And you brought Golpalott in as well, which is always a plus. I would say that you pass the review then.”

Hoseok grins and makes a little noise of satisfaction, a quiet little burst of excitement that makes your stare linger for an extra moment. Having never heard a sound like that from him, it makes you wonder what more he’s hiding from you. It’s also such a happy sound that you cannot help but smile back at his own happiness.

Hoseok drums his fingers on the table, the smile still plastered to his face. “Hey, uh, want to cut this session early and enjoy some sunlight for once? Jungkook is in the middle of Quidditch practice and sometimes I like to go watch what he’s up to. Want to join me?”

You blink at his offer, surprised that he would ask you something so forward. Not that Hoseok is a stranger by any means, shapes, or forms, yet you would never consider the pair of you friends or even people that hung out outside the barriers of your normal interactions. Which is why you are shocked by his offer. “You want me to join you?” You ask instead.

Hoseok flushes at your question. He may have softened around the edges but it’s hard to let go of old expectations and it shows. “I-I mean,” He starts. “Obviously you don’t have to come with if you don’t want to. I just figured that you’d still be here studying when you could go get out and get some sun. Not that you couldn’t have gotten sunlight on your own, I just thought—!”

“Hey, Jung Hoseok,” You interrupt, unable to hide the smile of pure amusement that takes over at the sight of him being so flustered. You’ve never seen him stammer through anything before. “What are you so nervous for? I’ll go to the Quidditch practice with you.”

He blinks. “Really?” At your expression, he springs right into action. “Oh yeah, of course. His practice just started so let’s get going!”

The pair of you start packing up you belongings, albeit not much was taken out to begin with given that Hoseok had only asked to meet up for a single purpose, so it doesn’t take long until you’re exiting the library and making your way through the hallways that will lead to the entrance of the castle. You and Hoseok talk briefly about Jungkook and some old memories, but most conversations fade out into a comfortable silence.

You don’t mind the lack of talking. Hoseok’s presence has never made you uncomfortable per say. Irritated, annoyed, or frustrated would definitely be a better word to describe the nature of the dynamic you’ve always shared with Hoseok. Yet lately with all of your previous interactions, it seems to have softened the frustration into something else. What that something is, you aren’t entirely sure yet but you aren’t opposed to finding out.

“You’re right, the sunlight is pretty soothing,” You speak up as the pair of you continue through the grassy fields and the flags and hoops of the Quidditch field grow larger with every step.

Hoseok hums. “Was I right in that you were just going to continue studying on your own as soon as I left?”

You cough. “W-Well, you weren’t wrong.” At his laugh, you immediately whirl to glare at the boy. “What’s wrong with studying huh!”

“Nothing, nothing!” He protests, waving his hands back and forth. “Actually, I guess it’s good you’re a nerd who likes to study so much. Otherwise we wouldn’t have become friends.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is an anchor,” You grumble, ignoring the fact that he’s just called you a friend—and further ignoring the fact that you aren’t completely grossed out by that label.

Hoseok scoffs. “You dare use that word of insult against me? After everything we’ve been through!”

“It’s not an insult,” You protest wildly despite the fact that it is, indeed, an insult. “It’s… well…”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Go on,” He beckons. “I’m listening.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Oh! Hey, look, it’s the Quidditch field!” You exclaim loudly, gesturing to the now extremely tall structure of stands and hoops above. “Shall we head up?” You ask, pointing upwards to indicate the higher elevation the pair of you will have to take in the hopes of seeing the Quidditch practice in its full glory.

Hoseok points at you. “This conversation isn’t over.” He does, however, drop it long enough to lead the both of you into the tent and up the wooden stairs. It’s a long trek up to the top of the stands where the seats are located, but you make it eventually. Several other students are scattered across the area, some are grouped together with friends and others are watching the practice with bright eyes and wide smiles.

Hoseok seems to notice you staring curiously at the solo watchers because he leans over to whisper something in your ear.

“Those are some of Jungkook’s fangirls,” Hoseok explains, subtly gesturing to a few. “I recognize that one. And that one. And the one over there too.”

You snort. “Seems like you’re also one of Jungkook’s fangirls if you can point some of them out so easily.”

Hoseok chokes, taken aback by your analysis. He recovers quickly however. “Hell yeah I’m one of Jungkook’s fangirls. And I actually get to sit with him at lunch.” He winks.

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Cocky as ever, I see.”

The pair of you continue walking until you reach a more secluded area of the stands, less occupied by other students, so you and Hoseok can continue to converse amongst each other.

“Not cocky enough, apparently,” Hoseok notes quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat and looking out to watch the Quidditch practice. Up ahead, Jungkook performs some sort of twirl—a movement you aren’t super familiar with given that you aren’t the biggest observer of Quidditch technicalities. But it seems impressive, if the little shrieks and screams coming from the fangirls’ Hoseok pointed out to you are anything to go by. “You agreed to still tutor me even after calling me out on my bullshit.”

You laugh. “Well, I would argue that me calling you out made you less of a cocky person.” You turn to him, nudging his arm with your own. “I never got to bring this up, but you’re actually a good student and you’re actually really good at studying. I didn’t know you were holding back on me, Jung.”

Hoseok hums. “Not even.” He goes quiet for a moment, lacing his fingers together at his lap. “Well, I’m sure you know my family.”

You snort. “As if. I probably expose that fact to people at least three times a day—!”

Hoseok’s eyes glint. “Wait, you’re the reason I get auror-hopefuls coming up to me at random intervals of the day?”

“Uh…” You trail off. “You know what, never mind about that. Keep going, you know, you and your family and stuff. Sounds like you were going in an interesting direction.”

His glare softens the more he looks at you. “Well, coming from such an impressive family, honestly I never saw myself as someone who needed to apply himself. Things were always just sort of… handed to me, I guess? I grew up with Jungkook—I took him to his first Quidditch match actually. And then we just took more people into our group. Anyways, since things were handed to me, it just feels like I never have to try so hard because rewards were always the expectation.”

You nod slowly. “That’s why you poured hiccough sweet over my breakfast food when I refused to tutor you.”

He nods back, surprisingly acknowledging his past prank on you. “Yeah but since you’ve been cool about helping me out, it feels different. No one in my family has ever praised me or told me that I did a good job on something. So having you around fills me with pride. It’s getting to my head honestly, so you might need to stop otherwise I’ll revert back to my old ways.”

Realizing that he’s slowly transcending back into his arrogant mode, you scoff and roll your eyes as you look away from him. “How about you just use your common sense and stop yourself before that happens.”

Hoseok blinks. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

You make a face at him. “I’m always being serious.” With that, you turn your attention back to the practice session in front of you, missing the way Hoseok stares at you before smiling to himself and fixing his own attention back on the flying broomsticks ahead.

One week before the next potions exam, you tell Hoseok to meet you along the edge of the Forbidden Forest where you are waiting with a textbook and a task in your mind. Hoseok shows up moments after you’ve gotten settled. The boy is all bundled up in a scarf and a long coat—all prepared to fight the winter weather that is threatening to overtake the school.

You smile at his arrival. “Hello, Jung Hoseok.”

Despite the layers that Hoseok is sporting, he still finds himself shivering slightly from the cold that seems to pass through him like nothing. “Aren’t you cold? What the fuck are we doing out here?”

You shrug half-heartedly, a smirk dancing across your lips. “Oh I’m fine. See, I like to come prepared.” And prepared you are, with your thick fluffy scarf, fur-lined coat, and beanie that covers your ears. “This is a metaphor for our lives.”

“No it’s not.” Hoseok deadpans across from you.

You ignore him. “But alas!” You continue, opening your arms out wide for him. “The potions exam is one week away. Are you ready?”

Hoseok presses his lips together, giving you a shrug. “I don’t know, probably, I guess—!”

“Wrong answer!” You interject. “You should be ready. Do you realize how much time we’ve both put aside for this moment? Have more confidence!”

“Is that why we’re out here?” He grumbles.

You sigh after a moment, lowering your arms and leveling Hoseok with a glance. “No, that confidence should have been second nature to you by now. We’re here because I want to give you one final test.”

“Oh.” Hoseok seems to straighten up at the mention of a final measurement to see how much he’s learned thus far. “Okay…” He ponders this for a moment before settling back down—probably just to acknowledge to himself that this was actually happening. “What kind of test?”

You untuck your copy of Advanced Potions Making from under your arm and wave the book at him. “A finding test. This is really important, not just for Professor Slughorn’s exams but for the N.E.W.T.s as well. I like to kill two birds with one stone. I want you to find the ingredients for a potion of my choice. The one I’ve picked should make it easy for you to access the ingredients around this area—that is, if you know where to look.”

“Okay… okay….” Hoseok replies, shifting the gears of focus in his mind, mentally preparing for the challenge. “What potion am I working for?”

You smile at his question. “Elixir to Induce Euphoria, if you please.”

Hoseok ponders that potion deeply for a second before he looks over at you. “When can I start?”

Your grin widens. “Now.”

So Hoseok runs off to gather the materials, to search high and low if necessary to find what he is looking for. You imagine that the ingredients necessary must be engraved in his mind, since this particular elixir is something the pair of you have just recently gone over in your tutoring sessions. Based on the reading you were both doing on the elixir, you know that all the ingredients could be found within the forest—albeit, the difficulties could be found from not knowing the specific flower to pick or which trees produce which kind of leaves. In the wintertime, with everything as bare as it is, it adds a level of challenge in identification.

Yet, you are still confident in Hoseok’s abilities. The book knowledge he’s gained from the readings and the random quizzes you’ve had together definitely leave you with the sense that a practical test is fully possible considering how much progress he’s made.

Hoseok comes back within twenty minutes, fingers clasped around the various goods and materials he has collected from the forest.

You hold out your hands to inspect the ingredients, but Hoseok doesn’t hand them over right away. He holds them back, bringing the materials closer to his body. “Hold on,” He says. “I should tell you how to use the ingredients right? I’m sure that would be part of a test.”

You think about this. “Fair point,” You agree, but you still hold your hand out. “Here, you can just give things to me in the right order.”

Hoseok nods, looking down to sort through the various ingredients before he’s lifting up the first. “First, you add shrivelfig.” He holds up a purple fruit, roughly the size of his palm. “Originally from Abyssinia, but it’s an aggressive root allowing it to grow anywhere. I’m guessing that’s why Hagrid and Professor Sprout made a magically controlled garden for them near his hut.” He puts the fruit down into one of your open palms. “Next, add some porcupine quills—from porcupine, naturally.” He puts the few spines he has collected carefully into your hand. “Then you…” He searches his mind, finally snapping his fingers when he finds his answer. “Right, you stir four times in an anti-clockwise motion.”

You watch him carefully, the corner of your lips turning up as you feel that rush of excitement and pride starting to take over you. He’s getting it all right so far.

Seeing your smile, he continues. “The possible side effects of the elixir of induced euphoria include excessive singing and nose-tweaking so to combat that you should add a spring of peppermint right here…” He places the spring of peppermint in your open palm. “Add sopophorous beans… and finally some wormwood.” He, to your surprise, produces a tiny flask.

Your eyes widen at the sight. “I-Is that where you put the wormwood?”

The wormwood part of the ingredient is actually derived from the wormwood plant, meaning that there was a certain level of extraction required to gather this particular material. Knowledge that Hoseok had to put an extra level of thought into acquiring the wormwood makes your smile only grow wider. You don’t even have half the mind to ask where he got the flask.

Hoseok gives you a tentative look. “D-Did I get it?”

“You did!” You exclaim, throwing the ingredients up into the air and out of your hands. You start bouncing in place, unable to contain your excitement. “Y-You exceeded my expectations, and the fact that you wanted to tell me the process and you had a storage container for the wormwood plant? That just blows my mind right now!” The fact that Hoseok has gone from someone who once refused to pick up his own textbook to someone who voluntarily wanted to relay information from you, to someone who has become so prideful and confident about the straight facts he’s ripped for you—it gets to you.

So much so that without warning, you find yourself cupping his cheeks and kissing him right at the corner of his mouth.

The reality hits you as the icy cold realization washes through your veins. You back up immediately, holding your hands out as your heart takes to pounding as loud as it can in your chest. What the fuck did you just do? It was a spur of the moment reaction, sure, but again, what the fuck?

Hoseok looks just as shocked as you, looking across with equally wide eyes at what has just transpired.

Quickly, the humiliation floods through you. “O-Oh my god Hoseok I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” You brush off, taking a few necessary steps backwards and trying to wave off the previous action with your hand—as if something like that is even possible.

Hoseok snaps out his trance quickly, leveling you with an unreadable gaze. “Hey, no, it’s okay—!”

“No, no, it’s not okay,” You interject, feeling yourself start to spiral slightly as you run a hand through your hair. “That was such an unwanted advancement on you. I just… I don’t know what happened.”

Hoseok becomes a little bolder at that, stepping towards you. “Y/N, I said it’s fine, I—!”

“You don’t need to say anything,” You cut in again, giving him a tight smile. “I’m already embarrassed enough as it is—no need to chew me out for doing something stupid.” Without looking to see his next reaction, you kneel down to gather the ingredients (and the flask of wormwood) into your hands. You don’t make eye contact with Hoseok as you practically shove the materials into his chest. “Y-You did really well, I’m confident you’ll pass the upcoming test for sure.” You continue to stare at the ground. “I’ll, uh, see you around then.”

Without waiting for him to say anything—for him to reject you—you run off, knowing that this time, you yelling into a pillow or crying will be for something entirely different from frustration.

Hoseok doesn’t see you until the potions exam, and even then you are a blur of robes and colors as you shuffle past him and into your seat right in front of him. Before he even has half the mind to reach over and talk to you, Professor Slughorn passes out the exams and the class is reduced to complete silence.

You hand your test in before Hoseok even reaches the last page.

But when Hoseok turns in his exam, he is confident—which is an emotion that doesn’t usually accompany him in these types of situations. The fact that he knows all of this confidence came from you only widens the gap of loneliness he feels when he knows he won’t be able to celebrate the completion of the exam with you.

Professor Slughorn eyes Hoseok carefully as he takes the exam from him. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow to see your grade, Mr. Jung, so you can act accordingly.”

Hoseok nods, ignoring the way his heartbeat is pounding through his ears. “Of course, professor.”

That night, he sits in the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by friends but feeling alone. Not even Park Jimin, who lifts up a glass of his butterbeer in congratulatory graces, can shift Hoseok into Party Mode. So much so that Hoseok excuses himself from the restaurant to linger outside and dig his feet into the snow.

He’s wandered off for so long that he isn’t surprised by Jungkook exiting the restaurant to check up on him. The latter boy shivers slightly, hands digging themselves into his coat pocket as he runs up to his friend. “Hey, everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head, big doe eyes watching his friend curiously.

Hoseok regards Jungkook momentarily before he’s looking back out at nothing. “Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind.”

Jungkook hums. “I thought you’d be happy. You’ve dedicated so much time to studying for that potions exam, after all. I really imagined that you would be through the roof. Maybe you’d celebrate with that girl who’s been tutoring you. I saw you guys show up to my Quidditch practice game that one time, it seemed like you were pretty close.”

Hoseok huffs. “Well, I thought we were. I don’t know.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “You want to talk about it?”

So Hoseok talks. Only for a little, as to not bore Jungkook with useless details like the color of your eyes or the prettiness of your smile. He sticks to a storyline, discussing the nature of your relationship—starting from the arguments, going through his apology, and ending on your kiss. “She started apologizing like crazy,” He continues. “And going off on how uncalled for it was for her to do that. I was surprised, sure, but I wasn’t opposed to kissing her! Or her kissing me for that matter. But I tried to tell her and I guess she thought I was gonna reject her? Anyways that’s when she left and I saw her for a bit during our potions exam, but she seems hell bent on ignoring me.” He looks over at Jungkook, gauging for a reaction or even just a piece of advice.

Jungkook remains silent, lips pressed together.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Nevermind. I forgot you’re a womanizer and don’t need to worry about this kind of stuff.”

Jungkook pouts. “When you put it like that…”

Hoseok ignores him, choosing instead to straighten up into a standing position. “Anyways, let’s go back inside.”

The following day, as Hoseok is heading towards the dungeons to get his exam score from Professor Slughorn, he spots you sitting at one of the open window sills with Sana. Blame his sixth sense for being able to detect your position, but his feet move before his brain can. One second, he’s standing at the edge of the hallway, and the next second he’s standing in front of you and Sana.

Sana parts her lips in greeting, the smile ever-present across her lips. “Hey Hoseok—!”

“I need to talk to you,” He interrupts, reaching for you until he’s grabbing your wrist. Without warning, he hauls you up and drags you up onto your feet. Ignoring your flabbergasted expression, he pulls you down the hallway into a secluded corner. Most of the general area lacks people and footsteps, but he prefers the privacy.

He doesn’t even realize you’re trying to yank out of his grasp until he drags you forward to stand in front of him. Noticing your struggle, he lets go of you immediately. He manages a quiet apologize, one that you don’t notice because you are already opening your mouth to argue. “Are you crazy?” You shout. “Do you just always go around interrupting people’s conversations and being rude to my friends? Did you take some crazy pills this morning?”

“Yah!” Hoseok cuts in. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if the person I’m trying to talk to wasn’t actually a child who thinks avoiding me can retroactively erase a month’s worth of interactions!”

“I’m not trying to erase anything!” You argue back. Hoseok gives you a look, and you retreat slightly. Only slightly. “Intentionally, anyways,” You mutter. “But okay fine! What does it matter to you anyways? I’m embarrassed alright! I did something uncalled for and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole but I couldn’t do that so just being away from you seemed like the next best thing.”

Hoseok maintains his glare on you. “Why would you be embarrassed?”

You look like you want to snap his neck. “Because!” You start, voice initially loud and projecting clearly through the halls. You lower your voice into a hiss. “Because I kissed you,” You grit out between your teeth. “And just exposed the fact that I kind of like you now—!”

“Okay but,” Hoseok interrupts. “I really like you too. And I didn’t mind that you kissed me.”

You stop short, craning away from him. “Wait, what?”

Hoseok gives you a small smile, but he diverts his gaze as to not embarrass himself fully. “I think you’re cool. And you would have heard me say that yesterday if you hadn’t run away like a dumbass!”

Your face feels hot suddenly. “Hey, you were just staring at me! How else was I supposed to react!”

“You had kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it! Sorry for trying to process things like a normal person!” He snaps back.

You pout. “You should have run after me then. I felt like shit all day yesterday!”

Hoseok makes a face back at you. “I’m not a mind-reader, how was I supposed to know that?”

You sigh at that, bringing your fingers up to press against the bridge of your nose. “Okay, okay. At this rate, this argument will go back and forth for years.”

“Sure,” Hoseok relents, backing away for a moment. “But I’m not a mind-reader.”

You clench your hands at your side. “Fine, fine, I got it. I shouldn’t have run away, but—!” You raise a hand up to point a finger at him. “You should have been more transparent about your feelings!” With a huff, you lower your arm back down and cross them over your chest. “Anyways, uh…” You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow as you try really hard to keep the smirk from taking over your lips. “You like me too, huh?”

Hoseok purses his lips out, also trying to hide his smile. “Maybe.”

You start laughing, twirling your hair around your finger. “What was that, Jung Hoseok?”

He glares. “Actually, what I need to tell you isn’t that important.”

“No, no, c’mon,” You say, reaching out to latch around his arm. “Tell me.”

Whether it’s the pout in your voice or the glint in your eyes daring him to refuse you, he relents. “I’m going down to the dungeons right now—Professor Slughorn offered to grade my test early so I could, uh, prepare any next steps. I was just wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Your gaze softens. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. Let me just let Sana know what’s up.”

You make a quick detour back to Sana, still sitting at the windowsill, but she nods when you update her on the situation. Together, you and Hoseok make your way down the hallways and towards the dungeon. Hoseok doesn’t even realize how nervous he is until he reaches the steps leading downwards and his heart is thrumming to its own beat.

You notice, because of course you do. “Hey,” You call softly, reaching over to take his hand. You squeeze it in your own. “You’ve prepared so hard for this. If you don’t get an Outstanding, I will go up to Professor Slughorn myself and tell him to stick his grading up his ass.”

Knowing that you’re just trying to reassure him, he gives out an airy laugh of appreciation. “Thanks.” He squeezes your hand back before letting go. “I’m going in now,” He says, taking the stairs down towards his destiny.

Professor Slughorn is in the dungeons when Hoseok pushes open the room—the older man is at his desk at the front of the classroom, papers folding from one pile to another on its own. With every sheet of paper that settles in front of Professor Slughorn, there’s a few movements of his quill, before the paper moves on to its next pile. Overall, a very efficient system.

Professor Slughorn looks up at the sound of the door. “Ah, Mr. Jung. I was wondering when you were going to come in.” For a greeting, the statement is much too passive and neutral for Hoseok’s liking. Any indication of Hoseok passing or failing the test doesn’t shine through at all. “Well come in, come in. I have your exam ready.”

Gulping, Hoseok steps deeper into the classroom, the heels from his shoes clacking against the stone floor. As soon as he approaches the desk, Professor Slughorn draws his wand and a single wave is required to have an envelope move from one corner of the table into Hoseok’s awaiting hands.

“Best if you review your score outside, if you please,” The professor interjects, doing absolutely nothing to raise Hoseok’s confidence. The man hardly even spares him a glance as Hoseok turns around and exits the classroom—strangely filling like a dog with a tail tucked between his legs.

You’re waiting near the stairs when Hoseok exits, and you’re all ears and attentive stares as Hoseok reaches the top. “So? What happened?” At Hoseok’s solemn expression, your gaze hardens. “Alright, I’m talking to the professor.”

He stops you by tugging harshly at the sleeve of your robes. “I haven’t opened it yet.”

You stop in your trail, eying the envelope. “Well then, take a glance!”

With one final sigh, Hoseok looks down and tears open the parchment. He pulls out the script from inside—the paper with his exam grade. The red letters dance across the paper, the words PASS written next to Potions Examination. His eyes trail further down to see the ranking of his grade, to see if his hard work has paid off…

On the bottom, written in Professor Slughorn’s fancy cursive:

Classification: Outstanding

Hoseok jolts, his whole body moving backwards momentarily as if the words from the paper have slipped out to slap him across the face. He reads the single word once more, twice more, before he’s looking up at you with the widest grin. “Outstanding,” He relays.

And you’re moving towards him at once, jumping up and down until you’re wrapping your arms around his neck. Hoseok doesn’t even care for the suddenness of the gesture, instead wrapping his arms around your midsection and lifting you up into the air. “Jung Hoseok!” You’re gasping out, pulling away from him to place your hands on his shoulders. “You did it!”

“Hhhhholy shit,” Hoseok replies back, placing you back onto the ground but moving his hands to your waist instead. He sees you in front of him, bright eyed and full smiles with all teeth. “Thank you so much, I wouldn’t have done this without you.” One of his hands moves up to cup your cheek. “I could kiss you right now!”

Your grin widens. “Should have done that yesterday too, Jung.”

The smile slips off Hoseok’s face. “You’re really gonna bring that up against you son of a bitch—!”

You lean forward and kiss him. It’s just a peck, a press of your lips against his own, but your lips are so soft that he cannot help but lean forward himself as you pull away as quickly as you had come in. That grin is back on your lips. “I did say too,” You say with a twinkle in your eyes.

Hoseok almost rolls his eyes, before the door to the dungeons opens and you both hear a voice sound from the bottom.

“I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow, Mr. Jung,” Professor Slughorn calls, waving towards the pair of you—that smile finally pasted across his face. “Hopefully with a much better attitude from now on.”

You and Hoseok step away from each other, but Hoseok doesn’t let you go too far as he draps an arm around your shoulder. “Oh don’t worry professor,” He replies, looking down at you for a moment. “My girlfriend will make sure of that.”

#btswritingcafe #bangtan-bookclub #hoseok scenario #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x reader #traci writes #hp reputation series

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subjectsix · 3 years ago

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ive given myself a bit to sit on the investigations dlc and i really dont know how i feel about it. i was pretty fun for the most part, even though i havent played alan wake !!!

my main gripe/question comes with the implication that alan wake has written jesse into existence, which felt very odd; considering so much of jesse's arc is her coming to terms with her own purpose as director on her own conditions. if they were implying that she possibly didnt choose these things of her own volition, that left a sour taste in my mouth. or, did alan wake only write the dlc into existence? i might be missing something by not playing alan wake

id love to hear your thoughts on this dlc, if you havent already talked about it previously [🚬🗿]

oh I'm so excited to tell you anon that the creators deny that alan has written her into existence!!

In my opinion, admitting here that there are many ways this can go, Alan simply has been taken the narrative threads he sees in life and weaving the ones connected to him (ex: Hartman, Chief Sarah Breaker from Bright Falls's father being a retired Bureau officer, Odin and Tor being Jesse's fave band, Jesse knowing Thomas Zane's poetry, his wife Alice coming into the Bureau, etc) to tie himself narratively to the Bureau so that he can justify trying to nudge and guide them toward himself to do... something.

Everything Alan does has to pay narrative sense-- if it doesn't, he suffers the consequences, and Alan is also... not doing too hot, it seems, after being in the Dark Place writing for ten years.

I also think Alan simply wrote the Hiss' incantation, and not the Hiss itself, though that's my view of it.

The TL;DR is that I think Alan has to write something narratively satisfying, and has broken or incomplete glimpses of things he's already narratively tied to in life, and uses his powers to try and guide and move things to write himself a story, losing threads sometimes to outside forces, people, or his own slipping sanity, and possibly unintentionally (or intentionally in a neutral way, as an author is to their main character-- in this case, himself) becoming an antagonistic force to escape the lake finally-- though how aware of that he is, I don't know.

There's also the entire fiasco of 1) who is that other dopple talking to Alan claiming to be Zane 2) where's Zane? 3) why did Jesse remember Zane? 4) Where's Mr. Scratch? 5) why does Hartman say "Hartman said Baby Baby Baby Yeah" instead of just saying it, etc.

So much unanswered! But in a wonderfully thrilling way

edit: alan wake (the game) does make the DLC much more sensical! though many questions still sit unanswered. I played the DLC first with some info from a friend, then watched a full playthru of the game + its own DLCs + the semi-sequel, which made my second play of AWE much richer.

#🚬🗿#also jokes on you beloved anon i love blabbering about narratives and characters and i will repeat myself #if not simply because my memory is trashed #skjfhskjdfh #control 2019 #alan wake #alan wake (the man)#long post

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bangtangalicious · 3 years ago

Text

death valley finale (dark v.) | part 3 (m) | teaser

summary: a summer internship at a famous record label turns wild with blurry nights of dangerous men, dirty money, and extremely hot sex. you soon get caught in a savage game of greed, power and obsession, only to find out that you are the grand prize

pairing: ot7 x f.reader teaser smut ft: jimin x reader wc: 1k

genre: smut. yandere. thriller. mafia!au rockstar!au

teaser warnings: penetrative sex, groping, breast play, choking, praise, heavy drug & alcohol use, implied masochism, rough sex, implied oral sex, implied illicit photography, manipulation, brief suggestion of death

a/n: i know ive been really busy so heres a little sneak peek teaser type thing. im really so sorry for the delay but hope you enjoy this in the meanwhile!

Breathless, the city lights glimmered in your eyes. It was a rush, seeing the world from this high in the air. From the balcony of Jimin’s penthouse, where you floated—a tight red bikini submerged in the scalding waves of his hottub. Red that matched the soft hue of coming from beneath the water, red like the color of your eyes as Jimin came up behind you, pulling the blunt from your lips so he could take a hit himself. Proceeding to trail his lips across your jaw. Thick smoke dancing against your skin. Exhaling bliss into your pliant lips.

You inhaled him. Everything he was, you let him consume you. Eyes crossed, elevated beyond sanity as he deepened this kiss, groaning against you. Hands tugging the string at your hips, allowing the garment to float away as his ringed fingers slid up your folds. Finding your clit, he bit your lip, tugging on it with a growl. Fingers caressing the sensitive flesh with tender intension.

“Jimin—“ You sighed, eyes half lidded as his palm made home over the fabric of your bikini, fondling you lightly. The tempting press of his erection nudging into your ass. He left you in gasps, moving his lips behind your ear where he could whisper sweet nothings. Filthy promises. Dirty lies.

The two of you hadn’t left the apartment in days, trapped in a haze of liquid courage, nothing but moans and the slick slapping of skin on skin, steadily harmonizing. Each time convinced you had already reached nirvana, only to be proven wrong. Bottles on bottles of liquor open as he’d tug your hair back, pouring it down your throat, licking the spill from the edge of your lips until he’d swallow you into him.

Until you’d find yourself pushed back, with Jimin pouring tequila down your body, licking all the way to your cunt. A man deprived. A man with unquenchable desire. Letting the bitter liquid fill your core before slurping it out of you. Screams filling the room as you’d hold his hands, clawing into his palms as he ate you out, high off your sweet arousal. It burned terribly. It was obscene, dirty, painful—and you loved it.

After sucking you dry, he’s shower you with praise. You were his good girl. His little whore. Tongues intertwined. Nails raking across each others backs, bodies covered in sweat. Imprints of his hands bruised around your neck, hickies all over your skin. Wrapping your tongue around him, kneading him good as he would tug your hair.

You’d fall apart, gasping for air with him right next to you. Only for him to pull you into the shower just to do it all over again. You ached—ached bad. In the best possible way. Knees weak. Trembling with pleasure.

“God I can never get enough of you” He mumbled, teeth sinking into your neck as he gripped your breasts. Pinching your nipples, he enjoyed the way you winced in his hold before ripping the bra off you, tossing it across the ledge.

“Jimin!” You squealed, giggling as the two of you watched it fall many stories down. He smirked, turning you gently so that you could wrap your legs around his hips, hands knowing to find your ass, carrying you through the water. He looked up at you in amazement. There was no way for you to know how beautiful you looked to him in that moment. His hands crawling up your back as he began to lower you onto his throbbing cock.

“I love you so much” His words were quiet, but you heard them with every move he made. He settled you down onto him, basking in the sensation of your warmth, tightly gripping around his length. "Fuckkk baby”, he lifted you, cock dragging against your walls, sending heat shooting through your veins.

Water spilt over the edge, sloshing around as Jimin began to pull you back down, pumping you slowly— not leaving your eyes for a second as he bounced you on his dick. You gripped his shoulders, allowing him to move you as he wished. His lips latched onto your erect nipple, gnawing on it lightly before suckling the sensitive nub with his tongue.

“I love you too” How could you not? With the way he was worshipping every inch of your chest with the wet glide of his tongue. With the way he filled your every crevice, leaving no part of you untouched. The way he pampered you and praised you.

It was everything you ever wanted. Right?

Your heart dropped, a pair of eyes invading your memory as yours fluttered shut. The sly smile of a man who petrified you. Who adored you. Who would do anything to get his hands on you. You were a prisoner to him, and he was trapped inside your head.

Pushing the thoughts out of your head as fast as they came, your refocused onto Jimin. “Fuck me harder” You whined, hands finding his so that you could pull them to your neck “Please Jimin…please I need you so bad”

The rockstar chuckled, choking you lightly before pulling out. He moved so fast, you were dizzy by the time he bent you over the ledge, guiding his cock easily back into your sopping heat. Fingers gripped around your jaw he pulled you back against him, teeth grazing against your cheek as he pounded you. Heavy cock hitting you deep with every thrust.

You were faded. Too drunk to mind as he filled you with his seed, plugging you up and keeping you there. Too drunk to react to the fact that across the neighboring buildings, paparazzi were having an absolute field day. Too drunk to see Namjoon’s 30 missed calls.

Too drunk to comprehend two simple words flashing on your phone screen before it too slipped off the ledge:

Yoongi’s dead.

series navi | masterlist | scream in my asks

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dreamkidddream · 4 years ago

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hi I saw your BSD story on AO3 and I was wondering if you could do prompt 11 with Ranpo stealing the blanket from the reader. I think that would be cute.

This scenario + Ranpo = one of the cutest things ever 🥺 reader is gender neutral!

Prompt Scenario: “Person A and Person B sleeping in the same bed and Person A keeps waking up cold because Person B has pulled all the blankets off of them.” with Ranpo!

You finally made it to bed, ready to shut your eyes after a very long day dealing with cases and the usual chaos that came with it. You shuffled in besides Ranpo, who was already fast asleep, soft snores coming from him. He didn’t like to go to bed without you, but after the day you had, you took a much needed shower that lasted for some time. When you came out, he was fast asleep, and you felt a little guilty, but overall happy to see such a peaceful expression on his face. He’ll be a little pouty about missing his nightly cuddle session, but you’ll make it up to him in the morning.

You were ready to be whisked off to sleep, the exhaustion wearing down on you.

You closed your eyes, and was out instantly.

You only wished that you stayed sleep, but you couldn’t because of a certain someone.

Your dear lover Ranpo, who you loved so very much, was starting to make you question your sanity along with how much you really loved him.

Okay that was a lie you will always love this man but you are very close to kicking him off the bed if he doesn’t stop stealing the blanket!

This is the third time you woke up, and it’s only 1 o’ clock!

How could you get some well-needed rest if he kept taking away your source of warmth?! And the blanket is big enough for the both of you obviously (you wouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed if it wasn’t), so why did he constantly feel the need to hog it all to himself? If you woke up shivering and covered in goosebumps one more time-

You just snatched your share of the cover back, you’re too tired to even form angry thoughts right now. But trust, he will be hearing about this in the morning.

You could feel yourself slowly slipping back into your interrupted sleep, finally getting comfortable enough to allow yourself to sink into the bed.

Hopefully you’ll stay asleep this time.

—-

You didn’t stay asleep as Ranpo tugged the blanket again.

You haven’t even been asleep for more than a hour!

You tried everything: taking less of the cover, trying to get up to get another blanket, even wrapping the blanket around you and rolling on your side of the bed. But he just foiled every single one of your plans, and either rolled himself up in the blanket or had his hand smushed in your face like a toddler. No matter what he did, he was either touching or grabbing onto you, like he didn’t want you to even get the chance to leave the bed.

He’s even acting as the greatest detective in his sleep, which is both impressive and terrifying.

It’s just mind-boggling to you at this point. He’s done this before, but never this much! And even when he’s done it, whenever you cuddled and wrapped the blanket around you both, he stopped and didn’t do it agai-

The dots are finally connecting in your head.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You went and curled into his side, bringing the blanket to cover you both, and felt arms immediately encase you.

“Took you long enough.” Ranpo spoke low in your ear. You didn’t even have to look to see his cunning smirk and mischievous eyes, obviously amused with how the night unfolded. “I was starting to get lonely.”

He was awake the whole time, and was just doing this as petty revenge because you missed out on his nightly cuddle session.

Oh you were really about to kick him off the bed and through the window-

“Ranpo Edogawa, you did not just mess with my sleep to be petty-”

“What? You’re the reason that I didn’t have my designated cuddling session earlier, I’m only making up for lost time. It’s only fair!” He just nuzzled more into you, chuckling while he heard you groan in annoyance. You knew that he could be childish, but did he have to play this game right now?! It’s nearing 3 in the morning, and you both have-

“I already solved any cases for tomorrow and asked the President to give us a day off. Honestly, it’s too easy to know what you’re thinking, and I didn’t even have to use my ability to figure it out!”

The nerve of this man! All because you didn’t give him cuddles earlier! This overgrown child will be the end of you, you swear-

“Hey! Don’t be mad at me! This wouldn’t have happen if someone just gave me cuddles and not spend forever in the shower!”

“I WAS DIRTY WHAT DID YOU EXPECT-”

“Well now that we’re properly situated, I’m going to sleep. Goodnight (Y/N), sweet dreams~”

Then he started to snore obnoxiously loud, while you tried to throw a tantrum, keyword being tried. It’s kinda hard to do so when you’re trapped in his arms, and he’s so warm that it’s cozy, and it’s starting to make your eyes droop...

He better be lucky that you’re both off tomorrow and that you love him so much (but it’s already hard to stay mad at him for long anyway, but he didn’t need to know that).

The last thing you remember is a kiss on your forehead, and Ranpo whispering that he loves you.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd ranpo #bsd ranpo x reader #ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dream’s 100 + 200 followers prompt special 💙

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

shut in [3]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, ptsd, fighting over beds

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: every part i introduce more anonymous characters smh. i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Don’t make me shoot you, Wilson.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way, agent.”

“How’s it looking out there?”

“There’s been some talk. Apparently Serpentine isn’t very happy that their intel is dead. They’ve got people looking out for you everywhere.”

A frown adorned your face. Sam was leaning forward on his arms, head turned down as he listened to Ransone.

“How dangerous is it?”

“I would say that everyone’s a little wound up. Best not to go anywhere even a little populated.”

“Noted.” It would blow over in a while. The media coverage of Pierce’s assassination would die down with the changing news cycle soon.

“I can have someone pick you up wherever you are. Just tell me where.”

“Don’t bother. We won’t be here for too long,” you responded, Sam nodding in agreement. Once it quietened down you could leave, go back to Ransone without blowing your cover.

“Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know when you’re out.”

The click of the call ending took with it the only noise in the room.

Sam picked up the phone to remove the battery, discarding it to maintain your security. Burner phones were useful, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

“Wait,” you cut in, holding your hand out for it, “I need to make another call.”

The both of you were seated at the dining table. A piece of paper lay in front of you, playing the dangerous role of being the mediator.

You were trying to ration out your supplies and create a schedule as a way of finding middle ground. Things were more or less calm for the last two days, but the fight over the bedroom was wading into territory that could only be solved by a good old middle school fistfight.

Currently you were figuring out a meal plan so that you could establish some kind of routine. With bread as the only uniting factor, the other three components were going on a rotation. You had reached all the way till Saturday before running out of possible combinations.

“I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.”

“We’ve exhausted all edible options, it’s the only combination left-”

“I will not hesitate to fatally wound you.” You were only half kidding. The ridiculousness of the ideas he was proposing was entertaining, and you knew he wasn’t being serious. It was hard to catch a moment where he was.

“Fine. But in case we get to the point where peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that’s left, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“I would rather die than shovel spoonfuls of plain jelly and peanut butter into my mouth.”

“Your survival game is weak,” he chided, tsk-tsking at you.

You only rolled your eyes at him, moving on to the next subject.

Bed.

“Easy, we just alternate days. You got the last two days, so I get the next two and then we just switch everyday.” Sam eased back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head leisurely.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” you asked, writing down the plan he had just presented. The bed wasn’t queen sized with memory foam or any kind of privilege like that, but it definitely beat the couch with its odd lumps and depressions.

“A week tops. Anything more is just excessive.”

“Hello,” you said, voice low, even though you were well out of earshot of Sam. He was eying you from the living room window. If he was as good as he claimed he was, he’d know how to read lips and you couldn’t afford to have him do that.

“Code?”

You turned your back to the window, facing the large trees that loomed before you. “1993. It’s me.”

“Y/N?” He sounded suspicious, a little shocked, and you understood why he would be.

“Living and breathing.” You toed at a rock that lay ahead of you.

“Word on the street is that you’re dead,” he pointed out dryly.

“Not me; Pierce. I escaped. It was a trap.” When the rock you were playing around with escaped after a particularly hard kick, you started pacing up and down instead, “Ransone put a hit out on him because he thought he was leaking information.”

“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?”

“Don’t know. He was dead before we got there.”

“Who is ‘we’? You got someone there with you?” You didn’t realise it had slipped out during your conversation.

“Another one of our guys. Apparently I was a backup in case he didn’t show up, but he did, so now we’re stuck together.” You averted your gaze to Sam who was still observing you from the window brazenly, intently.

“Where are you?”

“We’re safe.”

“Alright.” He sounded like he understood, albeit not entirely convinced. “Stay low.”

“Will do.”

With that you hung up the call, dropped the phone to the ground and crushed it under your boot heel. When you were convinced that it was sufficiently useless, you turned on your heel, making your way back.

You walked back into the house, beelining to the kitchen to make up for your missed lunch, only to be greeted with Sam sitting on the couch looking at you inquisitively.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody,” you answered straightforwardly, opening the cabinet to get two slices of bread.

“If it has somethin�� to do with this situation we’re in then I need to know who you’re talking to.”

“Just drop it. It has nothing to do with you.” You found the jar of peanut butter he had already opened, using a butter knife to spread it along the bread.

“Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you must. I’m going to take a nap,” you answered evasively, chewing absentmindedly on the sandwich you had just made. You didn’t bother to look at him as you headed towards the bedroom.

“Hey now, hold on a minute. Who said you had bedroom privileges? You’ve been using it for two days.” You stopped in your tracks, face scrunching in annoyance. “If you’re keeping vital information about my life from me, then I think I deserve to not have a fuckin’ backache when I wake up in the morning.”

You quickly weighed the pros and cons in your head, imagining how the next few minutes would pan out if you just said ‘no’ and left. But in every imaginary argument you proposed, the bottom line ended with him prodding at you until he either got the information that he wanted or the bed.

Frankly, the bed was something you were willing to sacrifice to get him to stop meddling in your business. It seemed like the only reasonable way to get him off your ass.

“Fine.” You spun around to face him. “We’re making an arrangement.”

“Whoever has the bed has to forfeit TV privileges for that day.”

“Sounds reasonable. None of those three movies can be played more than twice in a row.”

That was more to preserve your sanity than anything. You had already seen each of them once, bordering on thrice for Die Hard. Sam’s fault, not yours.

“We should have a codeword. In case there's danger or something. Or maybe if you just want to be left alone,” Sam suggested, finger pointing to the blank space left at the end of the paper. “But it’ll be like solitary confinement since it’s so fuckin’ quiet here.”

Almost on instinct your mind flashed to images of dark cells. Quiet sobs. Blood stains on the wall, originating from clawing at it. Sunlight through one small window at the top. Utter loneliness except for yourself.

You could remember the soreness in your legs from curling up into a ball for hours, rocking back and forth. The smell of drain water collecting in the basement where the cell was.

Isolation.

“You got any suggestions?”

“Huh?” You forced yourself back to the present. Your knuckles had a dull ache in them from holding the pencil too hard.

“Do you have any ideas for a codeword?” Sam repeated, looking at you intently.

“No, nothing off the top of my head.” You shook your head, trying to regain focus. You loosened your grip on the pencil, letting it fall to the table.

“We’ll just leave it at ‘Brooklyn’ for the time being.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed to whatever he was saying. It was just a precaution in case something major happened. It was rather unlikely that you were going to use it anyway.

Codewords weren’t uncommon in your business, but it was mostly used for missions or other professional standings. Regardless of being less adventurous than what you tended to work on, this was work at the end of the day.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think we’re done.” His chair scraped loudly against the ground as he got up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out for a while. Need to shake off the possible osteoporosis.”

You didn’t bother asking where he was going, ears following his footsteps as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, probably to get his jacket that he hung up in the drawer.

You left the paper on top of the mini fridge, alongside the car keys and a few dollars you had nabbed in the hurry from Pierce’s house.

Staring around you at the silent room, you realised that there really wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t like you to have so much time on your hands. You could always go for a run or test out some of the weapons hidden here.

You had the rest of the house to explore, plans to draw up, a post mortem to assess what went wrong on the mission, even though the last option wasn’t possible without Sam’s cooperation.

Fuck it, you decided. Couch it is.

Kicking your feet up, you grabbed the TV remote to flip to the news station. The town rarely had anything to report on but it would be worthwhile to know what exactly was available around. Possibly assimilate in the crowd in case you wanted to be hidden.

It took you a few minutes of mindless surfing through static channels till you found it. It seemed like a scene right out of a Hallmark movie; the reporter was holding a microphone to a child who looked like he understood nothing of what was going on.

You were barely paying attention as it flipped from segment to segment, other things taking precedence in your mind even though you willed yourself to relax. There really wasn’t much to make a note of other than a few good samaritans and how utterly boring the lack of content was. A few occasional glimpses of stores and other resources available in the background were the only interesting part.

You were starting to drift off by the time it reached the breaking news of the evening. Sam had already come back when the sky slipped into twilight. He barely acknowledged your form lazing on the couch, only offering you a greeting and a goodbye as he made himself his dinner to take to the room.

Your eyes were just about closing when the breaking news of that evening came in. It was all politics. People you knew from old missions waving and smiling their way to lead their country as if the dubious acts they committed behind the scenes to get there was erased.

Until you suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide open.

“Wilson. Wilson!” You hit the cushion furiously to get his attention when he didn’t respond the first time around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What?” he yelled in response, mild irritation in his voice. You knew it sounded like you were shouting bloody murder even though no one was around other than you two, but you didn’t care.

“Look at this!” You couldn’t stop gawking at the screen. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“What? What do you wa-” He stalked into the room, ready to tell you to stop yelling but stopped mid sentence when he finally saw what you were so concerned about.

“Reports claim that the victim was attacked early in the afternoon at his villa. Officers say they found multiple signs of a forced entry, following which he was shot dead. So far no arrests have been made but the police have since released photos of two suspects of whom, they claim, have reason to believe orchestrated the attack.”

On the right side of the screen flashed yours and Sam’s picture side by side. Old mugshots from a petty offence you committed years ago for which Ransone bailed you out.

“The pair are said to be on the run after escaping before law enforcement arrived. If you have any tips on the whereabouts of-”

You turned to look at Sam. His stare didn’t budge from the TV as they once again reminded the public what you both looked like.

Years of anonymity, working in the shadows and creeping around to avoid being recognised only to have the entire country know what you looked like.

“Well, shit,” he finally exhaled. “Somehow I think our stay here just got extended.”

Part 4

#sam x reader #sam wilson x reader #mcu fic #sam fic #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson angst #sam wilson series #falcon #falcon x reader #the falcon x reader #hitman!sam wilson #hitman!au #shut in fic #marvel fic #marvel #mcu #sam wilson #the falcon

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years ago

Text

Short Stack

Okay, so I recently started a series called Saving Her Sanity, and I had only gotten one part posted. But the more I reread it, the more I really hated the way I’d written it. So I’m postponing that and starting a different series. It’s gonna be a real rollercoaster ride of emotions, so buckle up.

Pro Hero! KiriBaku x ProHero! Fem! Reader

**18+ Fic**

Warnings: Angst, fluff, habitual self-harm, dissociation, swearing from obvious sources, alcohol. Coming up in later parts: smexy times, biting kink, double penetration, unprotected sex, more angst, traumatic past (but not super detailed cuz I can’t handle that shit my heart hurts already)

Word Count: 6.9k

Author’s Note: Alright folks, the reader is a fucking savage and stronger than the fucking hulk cause why the fuck not? Tbh body type isn’t discussed, the only thing is that she’s short af and the angry pomeranian and redhead boulder are freaking giants. Also, everyone’s in their mid-late twenties here.

Part 2 - Part 3

Enjoy the read!

You dove out of the way of chunks of concrete, barely making it behind the corner of the alleyway. You took off sprinting, hopefully drawing the villain away from civilian activity. Thankfully he chased after you, onto an abandoned street, out in the open where you had the upper hand. Twirling around, you materialized a scythe and swung it straight at the enormous arm coming at you, nearly chopping off the villain’s fist completely.

He stopped in his tracks and howled in pain, giving you the opening you needed. You charged him and dropped to the ground, taking his legs out as you slid under him. A chain materialized in place of the scythe and you wrapped it around his ankles and his undamaged hand, hog tying him in place. You’d only been fighting the villain for about five minutes, and backup wasn’t going to be there for at least another two, so you put a quirk cancelling cuff on him and began to wrap his bleeding wrist to keep him from bleeding out.

As you waited for backup, you sat down and leaned against the villain, who’d passed out from blood loss, and tended to your own wounds from the encounter. Backup arrived, but it wasn’t what you expected. Instead of police, stomping toward you was none other than the number two hero Ground Zero. His vermillion eyes glanced between you and the villain that was quite literally twice your size, and the expression on his face looked ever so slightly confused at the scene he was witnessing.

He stopped at your feet, glaring down at you for a few seconds, looked back at the villain, then back at you, and when he opened his mouth to speak the most absurd thing you’d ever heard came from his lips.

“How the hell did you do that?”

You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, slightly irritated at the implication behind the question. Without a word, you stood up and dusted the dirt off your butt. You walked a few yards away, pulled out your phone and dialed the police, making sure they came with a vehicle that could fit the huge villain. When you turned back around to face Ground Zero, you didn’t expect him to be so close to you. He leaned down so you were face to face, narrowing his eyes at you and letting out what sounded like a growl. “I don’t like being ignored, dumbass.”

You rolled your eyes and glared right back at him. “Well I don’t like to be undermined, Ground Zero. I may be small but I can handle myself in a fight.” And it was true. You were very small, at a whopping 5 feet tall (152 cm). His eye twitched and jaw clenched, and you could almost see the steam coming from his ears. Before he could retort, you saw something being launched from behind him. You swung your leg under him and pinned him to the ground just in time to dodge a manhole cover as it whizzed above your heads.

Without hesitation you launched toward the second villain that appeared and quickly had him immobilized and cuffed on the ground next to the first. You turned back to the number two hero, who was still on the ground watching you with wide eyes. You walked over and held your hand out to him, offering to help him up. To your surprise he actually grabbed your hand and let you pull him to stand. He didn’t let go of your hand, instead looking at it, bewildered.

“Can I have my hand back?” you looked at him blankly. He blinked a few times before releasing his grip. Soon the police arrived to take the villains, and once they left, you began to walk back to the agency since your patrol had ended a little while ago. Ground Zero ran after you and grabbed you by the wrist, turning you around to face him.

“What’s your name?” You raised an eyebrow at the man. “My hero name is Inventory. Now If you don’t mind, I’ve got paperwork to fill out.” He let go of your arm and walked alongside you. You knew why he was walking with you, seeing as you worked as a hero at his agency. As you walked into the building he turned to you with a quizzical look. Without even glancing in his direction you gave a small sigh. “Why am I not surprised that you don’t even know I work under you?”

He seemed slightly shocked. He made it a point to know who was working for him. After all, he couldn’t have anybody screwing up his agency’s reputation. Somehow, though, you’d managed to slip under his radar. Though considering your stature, hero rank, and the fact that you hadn’t made a single mistake since your debut, he figured he’d just brushed you off.

After you filled out all your paperwork, you changed out of your hero costume and into workout clothes and hit the agency’s gym. Like you always did, you went straight to the separate room reserved for sparring, expecting to have to go back out and find a partner. Today, though, you didn’t. As you entered the room, there was a certain angry blonde and a very muscular red-haired man sitting against the wall.

“Well if it isn’t short stack” Ground Zero called out to you. Well that’s one way to get you mad. You tilted your head sharply to one side, then the other, your neck popping loudly as you took a deep breath to calm your anger. “Hello, Ground Zero. I didn’t expect you to be in here. I’ll just leave you to it then.” The irritation seeped into your voice as you turned around to leave the room.

Of course, the jackass had to go and say something else. “What? You too scared to spar against me? Am I too big for you to handle?” God damn it. You both knew you had taken down much larger opponents than him, and you knew it wasn’t very smart to fight your boss, but at this point you were pissed. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath through your nose.

He stood up and began stalking towards you, his heavy footsteps ringing in your ears. You dropped your duffel and whirled around, walking to him and meeting him in the middle of the room. At least sparring was only hand-to-hand combat, because you knew he’d easily overpower you if he could use his quirk. But you trained almost exclusively in hand-to-hand, because your quirk wasn’t combat related.

As you dropped into your fighting stance, he narrowed his eyes at you, clearly confused at the odd stance you were in. In all your years of training, you had developed your very own fighting style. He quickly shrugged off his confusion and put his arms up in front of his face, ready for whatever you were about to throw at him. The two of you stood there, waiting for the other to make the first move. As predicted, his patience ran out and you easily ducked and dodged the first few quick jabs he threw.

He kept throwing punches, each one a little more intense, and you could see he was getting irritated from how you were dodging every single one. Soon enough he was lunging at you with each punch he threw, his anger getting the best of him. Five minutes of him punching and you dodging had him fuming. You hadn’t even thrown a single punch. Still, it was a game of cat and mouse with you dodging everything he threw.

The whole time he’d been aiming at your face and shoulders, keeping his strikes high. But suddenly he launched at you and his right fist aimed straight for your stomach. Got him. You planted your right foot and spun counter-clockwise, grabbed his wrist with your left hand, grabbed his shoulder with your right, and used his own momentum to fling him over your head. He landed on his back with a thud, all the air pushed out of his lungs from the impact.

You knew he’d have to take a few seconds to get up from that, and that meant you won the match in a single move. You stood over his head, smirking down at him. He glared up at you with eyes wide as saucers, wheezing from the throw, and the redhead cackled from his spot against the wall. You kneeled down and hunched over, your noses inches apart, and said, “Still think you’re too big for me to handle?”

Staring down at him, you stood again and walked over to the redhead. “Hi, I’m (y/l/n) (y/n), hero name Inventory.” You introduced yourself and held your hand out for him to shake. He took it and introduced himself as Kirishima Eijirou, a.k.a. Red Riot. You walked back over to Ground Zero and once again held your hand out to help him up. This time, he slapped your hand away and got up himself. “The name’s Bakugou Katsuki,” he said, scowling at you.

Kirishima got up and came over, “Come on Bakugou, don’t be a jerk just cause you lost. Sorry about that (y/l/n), he’s just prideful.” You chuckled lightly, waving it off, “It’s fine. I’ve heard ALL about Ground Zero’s friendly personality and peppy attitude. Anyway, It’s been fun, but I should get going.” Kirishima stopped you before you could walk away. “Hey, (y/l/n), we were gonna go out for drinks after this, you wanna join us?” You looked over to Bakugou, who didn’t give any input, choosing instead to glare at the corner. “Sure I’ll meet you outside in ten.”

You picked up your duffel and went back to the locker room to change into your civilian clothes. The bar was only a couple blocks away, so you all left your stuff in your cars and walked over. Bakugou didn’t say anything the whole way there, still wallowing in his humiliating defeat. You, being the smartass you are, decided to poke the bear.

“Stop sulking Bakugou, I haven’t lost a sparring match since high school. Besides, if we were to use our quirks you’d most likely win the match. You don’t gotta be all depressed about it.” His head snapped toward you and his hands popped and crackled at his sides. It was probably meant to scare you, but you only put your hands up in mock surrender.

When you got to the bar you all ordered your drinks and sat down at a booth. Kirishima looked at you and started asking questions. “So, (y/l/n), if you’re so sure you’d lose to Bakugou’s quirk, what’s yours?” You answered him like you answered everyone else who’d asked you the same question. “Basically, it’s like an inventory in a video game, hence the hero name. I can “store” things in a pocket of space and materialize them whenever I need them,” then you held out your hand and materialized your car keys and cell phone.

His eyes went wide and he started gushing about how cool and convenient that is. Meanwhile, Bakugou just rolled his eyes and mumbled “showoff” under his breath. Kirishima elbowed him and told him to behave, making you giggle at the dynamic of the two. Despite being at a bar, the only one that drank any alcohol was Kirishima. What really shocked you was that he was a terrible lightweight, and getting him to walk back to the agency was proving extremely difficult, because he was leaning nearly all his weight on you and Bakugou didn’t bother to help.

In fact, Bakugou was busy snickering at the sight of you trying to keep Kirishima from stumbling out onto the road and taking you with him. You’d be lying if you said Kirishima wasn’t heavy, but years of weight training and hero work pays off cause you could easily squat over 200 lbs even if you were tiny. So about a block from the agency, you’d had enough of trying to keep Kirishima from falling over and you just stopped walking.

Kirishima was too out of it to notice. But Bakugou turned and started teasing you for not being able to handle the weight. You just rolled your eyes at him. Before Bakugou could move and take him off your hands, you took a deep breath, and hauled Kirishima onto your shoulders in a fireman carry. Bakugou’s jaw dropped, and he froze in place, just staring at the scene in front of him. That both annoyed you and made you extremely proud, cause you just impressed the number two hero. You were sure the scene was at least a little funny, a giant hanging off your tiny frame, but you ignored it.

Once you had Kirishima secured on your shoulders, you started the trek to the agency. Again, Bakugou was completely silent, but you could tell it wasn’t because he was sulking. Once you were back at the agency, Bakugo led you to his car and got Kirishima settled in the back seat while you stretched out your arms, popping your shoulders and neck. You were about to say bye and head back to your car when Bakugou stopped you.

“Thanks for carrying him. It was impressive. Unexpected,” he said, not making eye contact, “And the match earlier…You did good. I haven’t been beat that bad in a while.” It almost looked like he was blushing, but it was so subtle you couldn’t tell. You smiled softly at the compliments. “Thanks, Bakugou. I had fun. I’ll be going now.” You turned to walk to your car, but he stopped you again. “Oi, short stack!” You froze at the name, and turned around with a sickly sweet smile on your face, “Yes, Bakugou?” “What’s your number?” It was your turn to be shocked. But you got over it and recited your number to him as he punched it into his phone.

When you got home it was just after midnight, so you got ready for bed and lay down to sleep. The next few days passed relatively quickly, occasionally running into Kirishima or Bakugou. There wasn’t any villain activity in the area, and your gym time was productive. You got a couple of people to spar with you when you needed it, and spent any extra time weight training.

The next day you were off, just like every day you had off, you went straight to the agency and hit the gym. You spent a solid hour at the punching bag and went to go spar again. This time there were five others in the room, which was extremely rare. Normally the room was empty. Two pairs were already going at it, so you asked the fifth if she wanted to spar.

You’d already worked up a sweat at the punching bag, but you needed the spar, so instead of finishing quickly you made sure to take a couple punches and throw a few before ending the match. You kept the same partner for a few matches, winning each one, and soon the others were watching as you won two more rounds.

The partner you’d been sparring with tapped out to get water, and someone else quickly took her place. You immediately jumped into another match. And then another. And another. Soon they tapped out as well, and by then there were a few more people filing into the room to watch. It confused you, because you’d never seen more than ten people in the padded room, but you ignored it and began another match with yet another partner.

After another few rounds, your new partner tapped out, and you decided it was time to get some water. But it wasn’t until you stepped back out into the center of the room that you realised nobody else was starting a match. Nobody else was sparring with anybody, all their eyes locked on you. As you looked around the room, you noticed it was getting crowded with people, all your previous opponents had already left, and a new opponent stepped out to challenge you.

Now this was strange. Even with your opponent getting into his fighting stance, you looked around the room, confused as to why there were so many people. You dodged a jab, snapping your attention back to your opponent. Well that was a dirty move. At his next swing you ducked under his arm, lunged to his side and swept his legs out from underneath him, ending the match before he could even blink. Playing dirty gets you knocked the fuck out as far as sparring goes for you.

The crowd that had gathered cheered at the quick takedown, and yet another opponent stepped out. You lost track of time, sparring dozens of different opponents, never losing a single match. If you began to tire all you did was end the match quickly to regain energy. After you went to refill your water for what must have been the 20th time, you checked the clock. It was already noon. You’d been sparring for five hours.

When you went back into the room, another opponent waited in the middle. You apologized and said you had to leave, and the crowd dispersed within minutes. You showered and changed, and as you left the locker room you got a text from a number you didn’t recognize.

Oi short stack, what are you doing right now?

Correction, you knew EXACTLY who this was.

You:

Just got out of the gym. Why?

Bakugou:

Where?

You:

At the agency

Why?

You didn’t get a reply, but you didn’t need one, cause Bakugou was waiting for you outside the building, sitting in his car, with Kirishima in the passenger seat. “You haven’t had lunch yet right?” Bakugou asked. You shook your head no. Kirishima spoke this time, “Great! Let’s go eat, I’m starving!” Bakugou rolled his eyes and told you to get in, and you chuckled as you got into the back seat.

During the ride Kirishima asked about your day, and you told him about the strange occurrence while you sparred, with a crowd forming to watch and people popping out of nowhere to challenge your winning streak. “Wow (y/l/n)! You still haven’t lost? I should spar with you and see if I can win!” You giggled at that and agreed to spar with him next time. And you kept reiterating how strange it was that there’d be so many people in the room at once, when normally there’s only a handful at a time.

They both questioned it but soon shrugged it off as Bakugou parked the car in front of the sushi restaurant. Lunch was a whirlwind of Kirishima asking you questions, you asking them questions, and Bakugou bickering at Kirishima when he ignored Bakugou entirely. It was fun seeing the two so close. Eventually the conversation rounded back to your sparring matches earlier.

“So how long were you there? If a crowd formed you had to have been at it for a while.” Kirishima asked, trying to figure out how long you’d fought people. You answered sheepishly, a bit embarrassed that you’d lost track of time so easily, “Well...when I checked the clock it’d been about five hours.” Both of them froze, staring at you with wide eyes. Your face burned and you took a sip of your water. Bakugou was the first to talk. “You’re a fucking beast.” Kirishima’s expression went from shock to concern. “Are you ok? Like, how are you not passed out right now?”

You assured him you were fine, and explained how much time you spent in the gym nearly every day, even after patrol. Your gym time only seemed to surprise them more, and after they told you about their gym schedule, you realised just how much time you spent in the gym, and the more you thought about it, the more you realised how lonely you were.

Kirishima seemed to catch on to your stress and smoothly changed the subject. After lunch, Bakugou drove you back to the agency, and Kirishima asked if you wanted to go to their place for drinks. “Sure, as long as I don’t have to carry you again,” you laughed. Kirishima turned and looked at you, his cheeks nearly as red as his hair. “Wait...you carried me?”.

Bakugou barked out a laugh. “Yeah shitty hair, she threw you over her shoulders and hauled your wasted ass back to the car.” Kirishima’s face somehow burned brighter and apologized profusely, but you waved it off. “Nah, it’s fine! Besides, if Bakugou wasn’t being such an ass I wouldn’t have had to carry you. I just got sick of trying to keep you standing upright while he snickered at me being short.” Bakugo scoffed. “Well you’re definitely not tall.” “I don’t need to be to kick your sorry ass.”

At that Bakugou went silent and Kirishima exploded in a fit of laughter. “Put a sock in it shitty hair! And you!” Bakugou glared at you in the rearview mirror, “I’m gonna beat your stubby ass next time!” You looked at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Ground Zero?” He growled at the mention of his hero name. “Yeah short stack, it’s a fucking challenge.”

Soon the car parked in the parking garage, and you all went up to their shared apartment. It was spacious, and very modern. Bakugou pointed out the bathroom and went to the kitchen to grab three bottles of beer. The three of you settled into the living room and the conversation went just like lunch did. Most of the questions were directed at you, and you answered honestly.

The questions were generic and friendly, what you like to do in your spare time (besides going to the gym), your favorite foods, colors, your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves. After the first round of questioning you’d only got through one bottle of beer. “Hey, what other kinds of alcohol you got?” you questioned Bakugou. He got up and listed his menu from the kitchen. You asked him for a glass of the cream liquor, and he returned with a glass filled with the liquid.

After hours of aimless conversation and a few more glasses, you found yourself slowing as the alcohol permeated your system. That was your signal to ask for a snack and water, and you stopped your intake of alcohol. Bakugou caught on to your self cut-off. “You don’t need to limit yourself. We’ve got a spare room if you need to stay the night, and if you need to call in tomorrow the agency has plenty of people to take over your patrol.” His statement shocked you, and you looked at him like he was crazy.

He spoke again, “If you’re cautious about sharing a place with two guys, Kiri’s nearly wasted already, he can’t do shit, and if I were stupid enough to do anything I’m sure you’d kick my ass before I got within a foot of you. As for tomorrow, both of us are off, and like I said, the agency is not short-staffed. And i’ve got meds if you’re worried about a hangover, and I don’t mind lending you clothes if you need them.”

You were stunned. Completely and utterly bewildered. But he made good points, so you decided to take up his offer to spend the night. “You know what, I’ll stay. But I'm gonna slow down with the alcohol, because hangovers are a bitch to deal with even with painkillers.” And with that, the three of you continued talking. Soon Kirishima passed out and Bakugou hauled him into his room. Surprisingly enough, when he came back out he actually engaged the conversation.

He asked about your fighting style, how you developed it, how long you trained. Most of his questioning was about your physical strength and tenacity, nothing personal. But then he asked why you spent so much of your time in the gym instead of with friends. And you answered honestly and bluntly, probably mostly because of the alcohol. “To be honest, I’m not much of a social butterfly. I don’t really have friends, because I don’t ‘make friends’ with people. In fact, you could call me antisocial. I don’t really like talking to people. I don’t speak unless spoken to or unless speaking is necessary.”

And he only dove deeper. “Why not? The world too scary from down there?” he teased. You laughed darkly at the comment, choosing to drain your glass of alcohol in favor of answering the implied question. He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“You avoided the question.”

“Well it wasn’t really a question, just a jab at my height again”

“Yeah, and you didn’t jab back.”

You huff, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Just drop it Bakugou.”

“I won’t drop it. Not until you give me some kind of answer.”

“Are you always this insensitive or is it just the alcohol?”

“Spill it (y/l/n).”

“Ugh fine! But I’m not giving you any details.” You crack your knuckles, take a deep breath, and a long drink of water before you talk again. “I used to like making friends. But all the friends I made turned out to be liars and fakes. I was used. A lot. After a while I finally had enough, so I stopped approaching people. I decided if people want to be in my life they can approach me. I got good at reading people, and I shut them out fast if they weren’t good for me.” You sighed, praying that was enough to sate Bakugou’s drunken curiosity. It wasn’t.

“And if people approached you with the intention of using you? If you read them wrong?” he pried. Screw it. You already spilled this much right? Might as well get it out. “I got really good at pretty bad things. I don’t usually read wrong, because I’m suspicious of everyone that walks into my life.” Internally, you prayed that was enough for him. “What kinds of bad things?” Well that’s unfortunate.

“Things like eavesdropping. Spying. Hiding. Manipulation. Lying. Deceit. Long story short, I have trust issues. It’s easier to keep people at arm’s distance than make friends that could hurt you.” At that, Bakugou goes quiet, his eyes studying your face. And you stare back at him, waiting for the judgement that comes with opening up to people. Waiting for the ‘maybe you should openup more’ and ‘just give people a chance’. But his answer is unexpected. His face softens ever so slightly as his eyes lock onto yours, his voice low, soft and somewhat comforting. “Sounds rough.” You look away, trying to keep your breathing steady, not giving tears the chance to fall, “I’m gonna turn in. Good night, Bakugou.”

Moving quickly, you disappear into the spare room and curl up into the bed sheets. Why the hell are you crying? You’d talked about this before. So why now, of all times, are you suddenly sobbing into your hoodie, clinging to it like your lifeline? You try your best to keep quiet, hoping the only other person awake doesn’t hear you. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you hear the door handle turn, and you freeze, closing your eyes and steadying your breath, going completely silent in mock-sleep. It was a technique you’d perfected long ago, turning off your emotionsin order to avoid confrontation.

You hear heavy footsteps, knowing who it is that just stepped in. He was the only other one still awake. You feel the bed behind you dip, and strong arms curl around you and turn your body, burying your face into Bakugou’s solid chest. His deep voice rumbles softly in your ear. “I know you’re not sleeping shorty. I listened through the door and heard you crying. Just let it out.” And before you can stop them, the tears you’d willed to disappear begin to pour down your face. So you sob into his chest, his arms tightening around you as your entire body shakes.

Soon you’re drifting into sleep, your body giving in to exhaustion. You’re in a deep sleep, and Bakugou stays there, holding you, until the last hiccups subside. He leans away to look down at you, and brushes strands of hair away from your face. “How long has it been since you’ve cried, princess? How long since you bottled up those emotions inside you?” He questions your sleeping figure. He presses a soft kiss into your forehead, gets up and tucks you under the blanket before silently leaving the room and going to bed.

When you wake up, your eyelids are heavy and swollen, making it hard to open them. You tenderly massage them open, remembering the reason they’re so puffy and sore. Despite the discomfort of your eyes, you feel refreshed and light, a weight lifted off your chest that you didn’t know was there in the first place. No, it was more like it’s been there for so long you’d gotten used to the pressure. Slowly, you sit up and blink away sleep.

You check the clock and it’s 8 am, a couple hours later than you normally get up. At the foot of your bed is a set of folded clothes. You quickly change out of the clothes you slept in, and into the t-shirt and sweatpants that you assumed were Bakugou’s. As expected, they’re giant on you, but they’re comfortable, and they smell like Bakug-- NO. Stop. You shake the thought out of your head as quickly as it came and go out to see if either of the guys are up.

You quickly get your answer when you see Kirishima lounging -- freaking SHIRTLESS -- on the couch. Talk about eye candy, damn. Like sure, his hero costume doesn’t exactly hide anything, but it’s different when he’s laying across a couch in nothing but gray sweatpants. Again, you clear the thoughts before they screw you over, and greet him. “Hey (y/l/n) how’d you sleep?” “Pretty good, thanks. I’m surprised you’re up so early Kiri.” He laughs at the observation, “Yeah. Bakugou got me up a little while ago and I couldn’t go back to sleep.” Yeah, that makes sense. You nod and make your way into the kitchen, and as expected, Bakugo is there.

“Good morning Bakugou,” you greet him. “Morning shorty. How’d you sleep?” You answer with the same reply you gave Kirishima a few seconds ago. You lowered your voice a little and leaned slightly toward him, “Thank you, by the way. For last night. I really needed that.” He just nods, focusing his attention to the fridge to find breakfast. Satisfied with that, you turn and head back to the couch and chill with Kirishima until Bakugou calls you to the table to eat.

You ask them what they do on their days off, and today the plan was just to stay in and lounge around the house, not doing much of anything and just relaxing. So, that’s what you did. As the hours passed, you found yourself liking the company of the two men, despite their imposing size. You didn’t feel small with them. But the question lingering at the back of your mind was why? Why were you so comfortable around them?

Thoughts buzzed around in your head like a hurricane, mixing with the doubt that they were in any way comfortable with you, and the fear that they were only using you for what men always seem to want. Soon you were telling yourself all the bad scenarios that would end in them leaving you all alone again. You didn’t even know them all that well, but you had become attached and were already bracing yourself for the inevitable loss of the two. The memory of crying to Bakugou last night swirled into your mind and wouldn’t disappear.

You were spiraling into a panic like you always did when people got close. But it was hidden, suppressed, contained. Whenever you panicked it never showed, the only telltale sign being your sudden need to scratch the soft flesh on the inside of your elbow. You hadn’t scratched in so long that any previous wounds had completely healed over, the only evidence left were small patches of discoloration, only evident if you stare long enough. That was about to change as your nails dug furiously while you stared off into space.

Kirishima was the first to snap you out of your spiral, grabbing your wrists and shaking you out, calling your name frantically. Your senses began to drift back, and the next thing you noticed was the sting on your forearms and the light stain of blood on your nails and fingertips. Your eyes drifted from your wrist up to your inner elbow, and you winced at the sight of blood seeping out of the shredded welts. It looked like it should have hurt more than it did.

“Bakugou! Get the first aid kit from the bathroom! (y/l/n)’s bleeding!” Kirishima called out to him. You heard quick heavy stomps and a curse from the blonde before he came over to examine your arms. He looked at you, and you looked back at him, still dazed from your inner turmoil. He knew from that look you were out of it. Instead he questioned the redhead to ask what had happened while he was in the kitchen figuring out what to make for lunch.

“I don’t know! I was watching tv and when I turned to ask her something she was staring off into space and scratching at her arms! She was bleeding before I even turned and I grabbed her before it could get worse.” Bakugou clenched his jaw and went to get a wet washcloth to clean up the blood. You were watching this all unfold before you, still not quite attached to reality. When he returned, he put the cloth on his lap and grabbed your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks with calloused thumbs. He called your voice, attempting to ground you, and didn’t stop until you finally took a few quick breaths and blinked, answering him with a small ‘sorry’.

He grabbed your wrists, which Kirishima had already released, and spoke to you in a hushed tone, but still strong and intense. “(y/l/n) I need you to listen to me. Are you allergic to anything? Anything at all?” It took a few moments for you to regain your mental balance, but you shook your head. “No. Nothing.” He let out a soft breath and with that he began to clean and dress your arms, wiping away blood and cleaning your fingers and nails in silent concentration.

By the time the entire ordeal was over, the different sensations from the sting of the alcohol wipes to the cool ointment and the soft gauze had grounded you completely. As Bakugou went to put the first aid kit away, Kirishima reached out and gripped your shoulders, looking over your face and into your eyes with tender concern. “You okay little pebble?” He moved his large hands so they rested at the sides of your neck, his thumbs gently brushing at your jaw.

You blush lightly at the endearing nickname and the new sensation of his hands. Leaning slightly into one of his palms, you nod. “Yeah, I’m okay. I don’t really wanna talk about it, but I’ll be just fine. I just got distracted.” He looked at you with a face that said he didn’t believe your excuse, but he’d drop the subject because you asked him to. Letting his hand release you, he gives you a toothy, mischievous grin. He leans in closer to you and nearly whispers, like he was about to reveal the world’s biggest scandal.

“That was the most gentle I’ve ever seen Bakugou. Thanks for bringing that side out of him,” he says, flashing another smile. You giggle a little at the thought of the explosive male being gentle, not quite believing it if you hadn’t been subject to it. Then you remembered why he’d been there, tending to the wounds you’d subconsciously inflicted on yourself. Your eyebrows knitted together lightly, remembering the spiral and being shaken out of it by a panicked Kirishima. When Bakugou came back, you grabbed one of their hands in each of yours.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you say softly. After a few moments of silence, you decided you owed them an explanation of some kind. “And thank you for catching me. The scratching is a nervous habit when I’m stressed. I thought I got rid of it, but obviously I haven’t. It’s been a long time since it happened last, and it was triggered by my own drifting thoughts. It’s purely subconscious and I don’t realize what I’m doing until the pain becomes too unbearable and snaps me back to reality.”

By the end of your explanation, the two were looking at you with concern and understanding. Kirishima gently smiled, and Bakugou’s features relaxed, when you squeezed their hands appreciatively. The comfortable silence was suddenly broken by a low growl. You laughed at the comedic timing of your stomach and glanced at the clock. It was just after 12:30, and Bakugou got up to go make lunch. After eating you asked to wash your clothes, and asked to use the shower. Kirishima got you a spare towel and plastic wrap to cover your newly dressed forearms. Five minutes under the hot water and you were already feeling suffocated. The steam clouded your lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe.

You knew you had a problem with hot water. You always have. Jacuzzis were never relaxing for you, and you loved the cool water of the ocean the deeper you dove toward inky blackness. You turned the handle in the shower, letting the water turn cold. Your body shivered slightly from the sudden temperature change, but quickly relaxed as the cold water washed away all the stress from a few hours ago.

When you had finished up you went to go relax on the couch again, settling into the space between the two. Now with your mind clear, you began to wonder something that you probably should have wondered a while ago. How tall were they, really? They stood over a foot taller than you, so they had to be at least 6 feet tall. You looked from one to the other, your head swiveling back and forth, before you decided to just ask them.

Bakugou barked out a deep laugh, “Why you wanna know shorty? Finally realizing how scary we look from down there?” You rolled your eyes at him, but he answered anyway. “I’m 6 foot 4 (193 cm).” Kirishima looked down at you and beamed, “I’m 6 foot 6 (198 cm).” Bakugou scoffed, and you giggled at the blonde getting upset over height. Suddenly you bounced up from the couch and turned to the two, barely containing the thought that suddenly popped into your mind. Out of the two, the redhead seemed like the more likely to carry out your request, so you turned to Kirishima with wide excited eyes and a lopsided grin like a kid in a candy store.

“Can you carry me?!” you blurted out a little too loud. Kirishima blushed hard, and then you realized how ridiculous the request sounded and rushed to explain. “Sorry! That sounded weird right? I just wanna know what life looks like from that high up! I’m only 5 feet tall so…” you rambled a little before Kirishima laughed and stood up. “Sure little pebble.” He turned you around and squatted down, put his left arm around your waist and right arm against your thighs just above your knees and told you to lean back and sit on his arm.

Once you were seated snugly, your back pressed against his chest, he stood up and you gasped a little from the new angle. The floor looked so far away, and you knew that if Kirishima decided to hold you by your armpits your feet would dangle a foot from the floor. Bakugou looked up at you from the couch and scoffed. “Alright shitty hair, put her down before you drop her and she breaks her legs from the fall.” Your hilariously rebellious brain took that as a challenge. You smirked at Bakugou, his eyes daring you to do exactly what you were thinking. But before you could move he looked at the redhead behind you, and the arm around your waist tightened as he reached to grab his right bicep. He slightly activated his quirk, locking you in place.

“Aw, c’mon! You’re no fun! I’ve jumped from buildings before and landed perfectly fine!” You whined as you squirmed in Kirishima’s arms. Both of them laughed at your struggle, and once again, your brain instantly settled on ‘challenge accepted’. You quickly surveyed your surroundings, going about the best way to escape Red Riot without damaging any of the heroes’ property.

Before either of them could react, you materialized quirk-cancelling handcuffs and clasped one side around Kirishima's left wrist. The instant it went into effect, you brought your foot up and back down into the redhead’s stomach just hard enough for his grip on you to loosen up. When his right arm dropped to grab his abdomen, you slipped down along his body, grabbed the free cuff on your way down and snapped it around the leg of the coffee table, Kirishima landing flat on his ass with an ‘oof’.

Once again, Bakugou just stared in shock. You crossed your arms and smirked at him, “What was that about dropping me, Bakugou?” He was silent. Kirishima chuckled from his spot on the ground. “Damn, you’re a sneaky one little pebble.” You turned back around and took a deep bow. You materialized the cuff’s key and released him, storing them back in your quirk’s storage space. Finally recovering from his shock, Bakugou looked at the time and said, “Alright, short stack. Let’s go spar.” You turned to him and spoke what your brain had thought only moments before. “Challenge accepted.”

#kiribaku x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima bnha #bakugou bnha

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