#At least he had a head charm on but he's very aware that he stinks now haha | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ijhyo · 3 years ago

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HOW TO GET THE GIRL

lee chaeryeong is the most sought after girl in your school. everyone has fallen victim to her charms, including choi beomgyu and it is no surprise that he wants to try and win her over. what is a surprise is that he came to you for help considering that one: you have never spoken to him in your life, and two: you have no connection to chaeryeong at all. well, except for your beginners music composition class.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x fem reader

GENRE. college au, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, light angst

WARNINGS. swearing, lots of food mentions, y/n is a grump lol, two small mention of a creepy teacher, making out/kissing, drinking, social anxiety but it’s not presented that way?

FEATURING. chaeryeong + yeji (itzy), taehyun + hueningkai (txt), rina (weki meki), keeho + theo (p1harmony), jay (enhypen) mentioned

WORD COUNT. 21k (it was never supposed to be like this...)

AN. here she is! finally! i have been working on this for a while now and its done! this fic was beating my ass but look who came out on top. ty to my stink stink @hyukaas for her help. now i am going to go curl into a ball and sleep for 600 years, hope this was worth the wait

TAGLIST. @junniesavidreader @pr0dbeomgyu @rainy-cobbled-streets @laviendove @imyuna-06 @xiaoting999 @hellevatormoa @yyx2 @soobin-choi @xysthe @hyukaas @tsupuffs @yjwfav @ren-chib @mykalon @junityy @iyeonjuni @fairybinie @fallingforhoon @hanlvkes (fill out this form to be added to my permanent taglist)

On days like these you wonder seriously why you would ever choose Music Composition as class. You want to blame it on the fact that you must not have been in your right mind, or that you must have been really drunk when you made that decision, but alas. When you selected the class you were completely aware of your actions.

After dropping out of a Design class you were taking for extra credit due to a creepy professor (who has now been kicked out), you needed another subject to replace it. And Music Composition seemed like the easiest one out of the options. It was not.

Your class had written a test two weeks prior and your teacher was finally giving out the papers for you to check your marks. You watch with dread as one by one students make their way to the front of class to view their tests, waiting for your name to be called. Ms Kwon liked to call everyone up to her desk when giving out tests so she could discuss where you went wrong without the whole class hearing. A small mercy, you think.

You have your arm lying flat on your desk, your head resting on top of it. You find yourself wishing that the fire alarm could go off so you could leave the class before you see just how badly you failed this test. Maybe an earthquake could strike right under your seat and you would be put out of your misery.

Too caught up by the pity party you were having for yourself, you almost didn’t notice the door opening and a boy walking in. He was tall—like tall enough that you would have to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His hair was dark and long, brushing the back of his neck and it looked good, you’ll admit. If only he’d style it instead of letting it lay flat on his head.

The boy walks right up to your teacher’s desk just when she finishes up with a student, grinning cheerfully. He wasn’t in your class, you observe. You don’t know most of your classmates very well but you think you would at least remember him.

He stays by Ms Kwon’s side making casual conversation about whatever and that gets you curious. Who is this guy? When he is not talking with your teacher, he is staring off somewhere in the class and you can’t find it in you to find out what he’s looking at.

“Y/N.” Your head snaps up at the sound of your teacher calling you, eyes wide. It was your turn already?

Taking a breath, you slowly stand up from your seat. You try your hardest to calm your racing heart. Even though you know the mark you are going to see (a big fat fail), you still hated the look you knew would be on Ms Kwon’s face.

Once at her desk, she looks up at you with a slight frown on her face and disappointment pools in your chest. She shows you your paper and you have to swallow a lump in your throat. This was probably the worst you had ever done.

“Thanks, Miss,” you mumble. You lift your head up to find the boy regarding you with a calculating look. Great. Now someone you don’t even know knew how badly you were doing in this dumb class.

You shoot him a glare before turning back to go sit down. The rest of the lesson is spent contemplating whether you should just drop the class and save yourself the suffering. The boy never leaves your teacher’s side.

When the bell rings you waste no time in rushing out of the class, ending up being one of the first ones to leave despite sitting near the back. You had plans to continue wallowing in your dorm and hopefully your roommate Rina would still be in class so you can have the space to yourself.

Your plans are unfortunately interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.

“Hey! Wait up!”

It takes a moment for you to realise that they were talking to you and that was only because they appeared right next to you. And it’s the boy from the class. Absolutely not.

You pick up your pace.

The boy keeps walking alongside you. “Y/N, right?” he asks even though you both know he knows that’s your name.

“No,” you say anyway.

He is undeterred. “I’m Choi Beomgyu.”

“So what?”

“I have an offer for you.” It’s then that you accept the fact that no matter how much faster you try to walk, you will never lose him. Stupid boys with stupid long legs.

Slowing down to walk at your normal pace, you let out an exasperated sigh. “We don’t even know each other.”

“That’s true,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck in a manner that makes him look so boyish. “But I was thinking we could help each other out?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “And how exactly could you help me?”

“I could tutor you. In Music Comp.”

You don’t even bother holding back a scoff. So what, he sees your one bad mark and thinks you need help? “What do you even know about Music Composition?”

He shrugs easily and you feel his shoulder brush against yours. He was really close. You step to side slightly and he doesn’t notice. “It’s my major.”

That makes you stop in your tracks and rethink whatever smart comeback you had. You aren’t sure you believe him but it would explain why he was so comfortable walking into an in session class and just talking to Ms Kwon. If he is telling the truth, maybe he could help you. Despite being terrible at it, you know that you weren’t just going to drop the class. (It was too late to anyways.)

“Say I agree,” you start crossing your arms. “What do I have to help you with?”

For the first time since you started talking, Beomgyu looks shy. He takes a moment before answering. “Um, help me get Chaeryeong to date me?”

Oh, he cannot be serious.

“You cannot be serious.”

You immediately start walking again and start trying to lose Beomgyu in the crowd, not caring if he’s following you. Which he was, but whatever. Because you don’t care.

It’s not even like you’re surprised that he has a crush on Chaeryeong—literally everybody does. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t. And many people have tried valiantly to get the attention of the most popular girl in school, but to no avail. What was really making you speedwalk your way away from the boy is the fact that he thought that you would be any help in being the one successful guy who manages to steal Chaeryeong’s heart.

It was an impossible ask and what’s worse, it wasn’t even a fair trade. I will help you not fail and in exchange you help snag the most unattainable girl in existence? Yeah, there was no way you were doing that.

But Beomgyu was persistent and remained chasing after you and weaving through students to reach you.

“Y/N—Wait!” when he catches up, he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from moving. You sigh and roll your eyes “Just hear me out for a second.”

You don’t respond and he takes it as a go ahead. “Look, okay, I know it’s sudden but I really like her okay.”

“Yeah, and so does half of Seoul,” you scoff.

“That’s where you come in! You help me by, I don’t know, making me stand out from the other people trying to get her attention.”

He sounds so earnest it annoys you. His plan had so many holes in it and once again came the issue of why is he bothering with you. “But why do I come in? I don’t even know her!”

Beomgyu shuffles his feet. “Well, you’re in the same Comp class.”

Oh my god, you think. That’s who he was staring at.

Chaeryeong sits in the middle of the class with her one friend Keeho, you think his name is. You have never spoken to her or interacted, save for the times when she hands out worksheets.

In your opinion, in no way does this qualify you to be some kind of wingman for a boy you just met.

“Sorry man, thanks for the offer, but I can’t help you.” You sidestep around him and walk away, and this time, he lets you.

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The next day you are feeling a little better about yourself. You managed to burrow yourself under blankets on your couch, and even though Rina was home, she made a whole bunch of popcorn for the two of you and put on old historical dramas.

Ms Kwon is standing at the front of the desk, arms crossed, when the lesson starts. “So, after showing you all your marks yesterday, I have decided that it would be best for you to have a rewrite next week.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as gasps and cheers erupt in cheers. Even Chaeryeong seems pleased by this news. Rewrites were hardly ever granted in this class, the first and last one being in your first year. The class had to have done really bad on the last test for your teacher to even consider it.

The older woman waves her arms around to get you all to quiet down. You, however, are too stunned to speak.

“Don’t just take this as me being nice, okay? You actually have to use this opportunity to do better. Got it?” A chorus of “yes” went out as you all answered. Even though Ms Kwon was addressing the whole class, it felt like that last part was specifically for you.

In that moment you make up your mind to study harder than you ever have for this makeup test. Even if you didn’t get an A, you at least wanted to raise your mark.

Except.

You had tried all that. That was literally what you had done for the last test. There was just something about this subject that did not make sense to you no matter how much you tried to understand it.

If you wanted to do well on this test, you’d need help. So like, fuck you.

At the end of the lesson you make your way to Ms Kwon’s desk. “Miss?” you ask, and she looks up from her work to regard you with a curious look.

You watch as Chaeryeong laughs leaving the class with Keeho in tow and and let out a long suffering sigh. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “That boy that was here yesterday? Choi Beomgyu? Where can I find him?”

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The answer was in the Music room. There were two main music classrooms at your school—one for where the lessons take place and the other for students’ personal study. You had never been in either class before because despite taking the Composition class, it was the only music related subject you did.

Ms Kwon’s class was the only one you ever went to in the Music block.

The Students Music room is one of the classrooms at the far end of the block. It was the last room on the right and you had to pass a bunch of other small rooms where students were either recording music or just sitting around.

The door to class was open and you caught sight of Beomgyu before you even entered the room. His back was to you, but you would know that long head of hair anywhere.

You don’t bother with knocking. “Choi Beomgyu,” you say as you walk into the class and march right up to him. He turns around, eyes wide, and a guitar hanging around his body. Huh. You didn’t know he played.

He is not alone, you notice belatedly. There is a boy sitting at a drumkit and another standing by the wall. Whatever. You were not going to be deterred.

“Uh, hi?” That boyish look is back as he scratches his neck. Standing right in front of him, you can see just how tall he is. You do, in fact, have to lift your head up slightly to be able to look at him properly and that in and of itself is…an experience, to say the least.

The overhead lighting casts a harsh yellow glow on Beomgyu’s face, and it should make anyone look unappealing but somehow he looks good. It takes everything in you not to stare.

“You have one week.”

He tilts head to the side and furrows his eyebrows. It is such a simple yet endearing action and you have to monetarily cast your gaze somewhere else. “One week for what?”

“To help me get an okay mark on my make-up test that’s next week.”

“Wait. Does that mean youʼll help me?” The way he perks up is reminiscent of a puppy and you have to roll your eyes at his incessant want to get with Chaeryeong.

The other two boys were watching the both of you intently and trying very badly to be discreet about it. You wonder if these are his friends, if they know about his insane plan. If they tried to talk him out of it. Doesn’t matter, really. Because even if they did, it clearly didn’t work.

“Only if I get a good mark on that paper. Or, at least better than what I would have gotten if I was alone.” You made sure to stress the ‘if’ because the way you saw it, this way you could potentially raise your grade but if that didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have to do anything for this boy.

A fool proof plan.

(Unless, of course, Beomgyu actually does end up being a big help and you have no choice but to fulfill your end of the deal. But, you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.)

Beomgyu grins at you and nods. “Okay, deal. Prepare to get an A.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. We start tomorrow at your place. Send me your address.” With that, you turn on your heel with every intention of going back to your room before your next class.

“I donʼt have your number!” Beomgyu yells after you as you continue on your way.

“I’ll find your Instagram!” you shout back in a dismissive way. Besides, you don’t see a point in giving him your number when there is a chance that after this week is done the two of you will never speak again.

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You do, in fact, find his Instagram. It’s something simple—really just his name and a couple couple numbers at the end. All you had to do was sift through the countless Choi Beomgyus on the Internet and narrow it down to all the twenty-somethings with HYBE University in their location.

You felt like a spy by the end of it.

@ ynln: address

@ choibeomgyu01: woah by me dinner first ;)

@ ynln: chaeryeong will never love you

@ choibeomgyu01: WOAAAHH CALM DOWN ILL SEND IT

@ ynln: see you :)

At 8am, you are standing outside Beomgyu’s door with your bag slung across your back and a muffin and coffee in your hands. Before you knock on the door, you roll your shoulders back and try to rid yourself of any doubt.

This has to be some kind of violation of the Girl Code, or something. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. The greater good of your grades. Chaeryeong was nice, she’d forgive you, right? In fact, if you do successfully help get them together, she would have to thank you, really.

With that, you raise your free hand and rap your knuckles against the door. A moment passes and you think that Beomgyu isn’t even awake. You roll your eyes before you hear the lock click.

There in front of you is Beomgyu, looking like he just rolled out of bed. His long hair sits ruffled on his head, sleep shirt slipping off his shoulder revealing the soft looking, cream skin that otherwise would have been covered. You force yourself to tear your eyes back to his face. You barely suppress a groan when you see he is still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re early,” he says around a yawn.

“No, we didn’t agree on a time, so technically, I’m right on time.”

He doesn’t fight you, just yawns again and moves away from the door into his dorm. You follow him wordlessly and he leads you to a table in the living room. He drops his body onto his couch with a loud groan that is muffled by the cushions.

You barely pay him any mind as you give yourself the okay to look around his place. It’s smaller than yours, you notice immediately and you wonder if that’s because he lives here alone. It was clean enough, you supposed. For a house solely lived in by a twenty-something year old college boy, there was a surprising lack of dirty laundry and empty food containers.

There is, however, an abundance of music sheets and guitar picks and photo frames and Polaroids. Pictures of him and who you think are his friends are sitting on the TV stand, on display for anyone to see.

Except you don’t, because your tutor is currently asleep and you want to finish as soon as possible. Putting your breakfast on the table in front of the couch, you kick Beomgyu’s leg to get him to get up. He groans indignantly, but complies anyway. When he catches sight of your food, he sends a pout in your direction.

“Where’s mine?”

Your eyebrow raises on its own accord. “Your what?”

“My food. I think if I’m going to be waking up everyday at 8 in the morning helping you, I deserve breakfast.”

Rolling your eyes you shrug. “I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“Literally anything. I can eat anything.”

“I will keep that in mind.” You suppose it’s the least you can do. An extra muffin from the dining hall wouldn’t kill you. He makes no move to get started and you have never been tutored before so you don’t know what the procedure is. “Are we going to start, or…?”

That seems to spur him into action. “Oh, right. You can put your books on the table, I’ll grab my notes.”

You nod and watch as he disappears into his room. Your eyes stray back to the photos and before you know it, you have a frame in your hand.

It’s a picture of Beomgyu with those two other boys you saw in the Music room. They were at a beach, the ocean behind them as they smiled at the camera. They look like they were having fun, and glancing at the other photos, it seems like their together often. You wonder belatedly why he doesn’t ask them for help, and instead come to a stranger for this.

There’s a longing in your chest as you continue looking. Your only friend here is your roommate, and you and Rina aren’t close enough to take photos whenever you are together.

You wouldn’t say you were lonely, no, in fact, you loved the time you got to spend by yourself. But this just served as a reminder of what you were missing.

“Oh-kay, let’s go!” You don’t notice Beomgyu coming back into the room until he is yelling from behind you.

You turn away from the pictures with a grimace. “Are you always this loud in the morning?”

He shrugs, putting his books down. “Trying to wake myself up. Where do you want to start?”

You wonder briefly if saying The beginning would be too much for a first session before settling on, “The test we’re writing is on music theory and all that, so there, I guess.”

Beomgyu nods and holds out a cushion for you to take, flipping through pages in his notes. You accept it and place it on the floor before sitting on it and getting out your notes. You notice immediately the difference between you and Beomgyu.

For one, he actually had notes.

Like, they weren’t organised by any means and most of them made no sense to you, but, well. He has stuff written. You, however, have Theory written at the top of the page and probably only ten lines of notes.

A bit embarrassing.

When Beomgyu notices this, you see his whole body physically deflate. “Oh.”

You feel yourself getting sheepish. “Sorry. If it’s too much, or whatever, you don’t have to—”

“No!” He is quick to interrupt and you are starting to think that maybe he really is this loud in the morning. “It’s cool, really, don’t worry.”

Wow, he must really be serious about this Chaeryeong thing if he’s still willing to help you when you know virtually nothing. You nod your head slowly with a tight smile. “Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Pulling his notebook towards you, he goes over definitions and symbols with you from across the table. You think that reading upside down must be hard for him but he expresses no discomfort. He hardly looks down at the book at all, seeming to have all the information in his head anyway.

And you get it. Kind of. It’s a lot to expect to understand everything after only an hour or so, but it’s working. You don’t know what Beomgyu is doing differently to Ms Kwon, but you are not complaining.

“Does that make sense?” Beomgyu looks up at you and you’re struck with how earnest he seems. Like he really wants you to get this. Like he wants to be of help to you.

And maybe it’s just so he can get help with Chaeryeong, but you’re fine with that. At least he cares a lot.

You nod sincerely. “Yeah, it does.” He lets out a sigh of relief that’s oddly endearing and grins. Your phone alarm that you swt reminding you to leave for your first class goes off then and you begin packing your things up.

“Well, I’ve got a class soon so I’ve got to go, but. Thanks.” You stand up from your spot on the floor, and Beomgyu joins you, nodding, as you walk to the front door.

Beomgyu smiles that boyish grin as he opens the door for you. “You’re welcome. Tomorrow?”

Despite your hesitancy, you nod curtly. “Tomorrow.” And you turn around and leave to head to your class.

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The rest of the week goes a little like this:

You wake up, go to the dining hall and get a muffin and coffee for yourself, and a coffee and cookie or a muffin or sandwich for Beomgyu. He meant it when he said he could eat everything. Well, almost everything. You had bought him a sandwich that he looked really excited to eat but once he took a bite, his face twisted in disgust. Apparently the only food that he can’t eat is tomato and after rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you swap your muffin for the bacon, cheese and tomato sandwich. He may be a baby, but you're not a monster.

Beomgyu teaches you with his notes and you try to pay attention enough to take down your own. You get caught a couple times doodling faces instead of music notes and he tries to pull a disappointed teacher look, but you can’t really take him seriously when he’s sitting on a Lightning McQueen pillow.

One time, you actually doodled what was supposed to be him and he couldn’t even try to be upset because he thought it looked just like him, he couldn’t stop gushing.

The session ends and you take your new notes back home with you to go over again. It works well.

(Not included, but worth noting, you getting distracted every time Beomgyu answers the door with his shirt slipping off his shoulder. You might not like him, but you’re not stupid.)

You still haven’t exchanged numbers though, because as well as tutoring has been going, you haven’t written the test. And that is, like, the test of time, basically, for if you will be spending more time together.

On the day of the test, Beomgyu walks with you to your class. Next to you, he seems more nervous than you. He’s constantly wringing his hands out and muttering little nothings under his breath.

It’s annoying. Endearing, but annoying.

“You know I’m the one writing the test, not you?” you say after you’ve just about had enough.

He gets the hint and lets out a sigh. “I know, it’s just—I have a lot riding on this, too, you know?”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I will try and do my best so we can see if you will end up with my help. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna, like, flunk on purpose.” Which, honestly, you had thought of doing. Multiple times.

It seems to put him at ease, though. He takes a breath and when the two of you stop in front of your class, he pulls you into a hug. You can’t help the grunt you let out at the sudden contact.

“What are you doing?” you ask, arms hanging limply at your sides. As confused as you are, you can’t help the heat that rushes to your face.

“Wishing you good luck. This is a good luck hug,” he informs you speaking into your hair.

“Right…” you drawl. You can’t help but think about how weird this is. “You can let me go now.”

He finally does and pats your shoulder once for good measure as well. Beomgyu shoots you what is supposed to be an encouraging smile before walking away with two thumbs up shooted at you. You opt for just nodding, before walking into the class in a half confused daze.

Whatever that was, you think, when you get to your desk. Beomgyu, you decide, is a very strange boy.

Ms Kwon enters the class not shortly after. She greets everyone then gets right down to business by giving out the tests.

When she tells you can start, you push all thoughts of stupid boys and stupid hugs out of your mind and focus only on the test in front of you and what you covered the past week. And, well. It goes well. You have the answers to most of the questions and while you know you don’t get everything right, you at least know why and what you forgot.

The next hour and a half passes by in a flash, and the next thing you know you are handing in your test. Leaving the music block, you feel like skipping. You have never felt this confident after a Music Comp test before, you could sing. Like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Chaeryeong comes out, too, just a moment later and shoots you a smile. You politely return it then make your way back to your dorm as fast as you can. If you really did as good as you think you did, then you would be seeing lot of the other girl��seeing a lot of Beomgyu—which is something you are going to have to get used to.

Maybe failing wouldn’t be so bad?

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Well. You passed.

Like, you got a D. The highest mark you have ever gotten in the class. Ms Kwon even smiled at you when she showed you your paper (“I don’t know what you did, but keep doing it”). And, well, not like you have a choice.

Beomgyu is waiting for you outside the class, rocking on the heels of his feet, when your class lets out. You are surprised to see him there. And you let that be known. “What are you doing here?” you ask, stopping in front of him with a deadpan expression.

The boy just shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant even though you can tell he is waiting for you to tell him how it went. “I wanted to know how you did.” There it is.

You hum noncommittally, turning to make your way out of the Music block and Beomgyu follows. “And what if I did terribly; you would have come all this way for nothing.”

He blanches. “Did you?”

You shrug. “I got a D.” You turn to see Beomgyu’s reaction only to find that he’s stopped in his tracks. “What?” you ask, turning to face him fully.

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen, and that doesn’t make sense to you. “So I guess I didn’t help much, then, huh?” Beomgyu scratches the back of his neck

You fix him with a deadpan stare. “What are you talking about? I did good. You should be, like, jumping for joy right now.”

“A D is…good?” You figure that since he is so good at the subject, he probably can’t wrap his head around you being happy about your grade.

“For me, at least. So stop looking like I kicked your dog, or something.” Turning on your heel, you continue your way across the quad. You don’t look to see, but you can tell Beomgyu is chasing after you.

“Parrot, actually. I have a pet parrot,” he says, falling into step with you. It takes you a moment to realise what he’s talking about.

“The phrase doesn’t go like that.”

“Just letting you know,” he says with a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes. “So,” Beomgyu starts, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “what I’m hearing is you are officially a part of Operation: Woo Chaeryeong.” He holds his arms out at his sides and proceeds to do obnoxious jazz hands.

You barely suppress a groan at his dramatics. God, you hope you don’t regret this. “We need a new name. And a plan.”

Which is how you found yourself here:

“Okay, first things first, new plan name,” you say, putting a piece of paper on the table between the two of you. The two of you are at the on campus café that you have never actually visited before. It was Beomgyu’s idea, apparently they have the best coffee at HYBE.

Beomgyu ordered for you—your standard coffee and muffin, and a slice of cake you didn’t ask for but just trust me on this—because the reason you don’t visit new café’s all that often is because you don’t like ordering for yourself. You find it awkward and anxiety inducing, and oh god what if you don’t like it? Of course you don’t tell Beomgyu this. Instead you tell him it would make sense because he’s been here before so he’d know what’s good.

He cracks his knuckles and nods. “Right, right. So I’ve been thinking and how about ‘Make Chaeryeong Fall in Love With Me’?” Beomgyu actually looks pleased with himself, like that isn’t the worst name for, well, anything. You stare. “Think about it! It’s simple and straight to the point!”

“Yeah, and sucks,” you deadpan. You bring the page closer to you with a sigh, realising that you are going to have to do everything yourself. Grabbing one of the pens Beomgyu brought, you write something at the top of the page. You take a moment to admire your work before you show the boy.

How to Get the Girl: A 5 Step, Foolproof Plan by Y/N

Beomgyu pouts. “Why is your name the only one written?”

“Because, if it was a plan by you, it wouldn’t be foolproof,” you say easily and he scowls.

“It’s boring but I suppose it’ll do.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, step one should be—”

“Here you guys go.” You are interrupted by your waiter bringing you your food.

You mumble out a “thanks” through pursed lips, awkward as ever, while the boy across from you smiles brightly as he accepts the food.

You waiter grins back at Beomgyu but shoots you a glare when she turns to you, that you have no problem returning.

When she walks away, you turn back to your page. “You’re a grouch,” Beomgyu says matter-of-factly.

“Am not.”

“Are to,” he shoots back childishly. “Would it have killed you to be nice?”

“That was me being nice,” you say, a little indignant. It’s not your fault that girl thought you were rude. You were saying thank you!

He levels you with a stare, before raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine Little Miss Sunshine—” you feel like throwing your spoon at him— “what’s your master plan.”

“The first step—Get her to notice you.”

Beomgyu hums, sipping his own coffee. “I can manage that.”

“Uh-huh, because I’m here for fun?” He opens his mouth to retort, before seemingly remembering why he asked for your help in the first place and he deflates in his seat. “Thought so,” you say with a smirk. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“We need to come up with a list of things about you that can get her attention. What you got?”

He ponders this for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’m tall.”

“Uh-huh,” you drawl, writing it down. It’s not like he’s wrong.

“I’m good looking.”

“Right.”

“And I’m charming,” he adds with a wink. Your pen stills and he notices. “Why aren’t you writing that down?”

“Ooh, I just donʼt know how true it is.”

“Oh, you don’t know how true that is,” he repeats, twisting his face and putting on a high pitched voice, supposed to be resembling you.

“I don’t sound like that.” Beomgyu just responds with an angry bite of your muffin. Ignoring him, you continue. “Second, enter her space. Eat where she eats, find mutual friends, stuff like that.”

“Sounds stalkerish.”

“You’re stalkerish.”

“What are you even saying?”

You sigh. “Okay, so it needs a little rewording, whatever. You just have to show her that you’re, you know, available. That you have stuff in common. Get her to want to hang out with you personally. Which brings us to step three. Hang out with her.”

“Like dates?” he asks with a tilt of the head.

“Yeah, but don’t call them that. You’re just two new friends getting to know each other.”

“Like us,” he teases, with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You don’t even crack a smile. “As if,” you scoff. Beomgyu just grins. “The fourth step is asking her on a real date. And then, step five, ask her to be your girlfriend. That is, if you get that far.”

“Hey!” he yells indignantly. “Have some faith in me!”

You snatch your muffin back from him and take your first bite. “We’ll see how well you do on the first two steps and I might change my mind.”

“I can live with that.” He brings the plate of cake closer to him. “We should, like, ask each other questions,” Beomgyu says around his piece of cake.

You barely hold back a long suffering sigh. “Why?”

He just shrugs, a trait you have grown to find increasingly annoying. Does he not have any other way to express himself? “To get to know each other.”

“I already know plenty about you; you are tall, good-looking and not as charming as you think you are.”

“How sweet,” he deadpans and you give him a tight smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Look—I’ll go first.” You raise a single eyebrow at that. You can tell he pretends to think about his question for a moment because not even five seconds later, “Okay, why are you doing Music Comp anyways?”

At first, you pretend not to hear him, taking your first sip of your coffee. And it’s really good. Like, you probably can’t drink from the dining hall anymore. But Beomgyu just stares at you, waiting for you to answer. You sigh, realising that there’s no getting out of this. “Do you know Mr Seo? From last year?”

“The creepy, predator design teacher that got caught trying to get with a freshman?” Huh. His reputation precedes you. You nod your confirmation and Beomgyu hums. “It was hot gossip for, like, a good two weeks.”

“Yeah, well, he was my design teacher.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. “No way. He didn’t, like, you know?”

“Oh no, not me,” you’re quick to clarify. Beomgyu looks relieved to hear that. “I just didn’t want to be there anymore and Music Composition sounded easy enough. I was sorely mistaken, though.”

“Huh. Well, it’s your turn.”

You sip your coffee. “To do what?”

“Ask me a question.”

You bite back the snarky What makes you think I want to know anything else about you? that’s threatening to fall from your lips, because you do have something you want to know. “Why did you hug me? When I was writing my test?”

You weren’t used to people hugging you, and certainly not people you had known for only a week. It was unnerving how quick it took for Beomgyu to initiate that contact. You didn’t even think you were that agreeable of a person—that barista certainly didn’t even though that’s just your face.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to understand your turmoil or confusion. He just shrugs and replies easily, “For good luck.”

“Yeah, but why.”

“I donʼt know, I hug a lot of people. I’m a tactile person, Y/N.”

“And that’s why you’re trying to play footsie with me right now?” He had been knocking his foot against your leg since the moment you sat down.

Beomgyu has the decency to blush, even though he doesn’t stop. The tips of his ears turn red but he tries to play it off with a shrug. He’s so annoying. “It’s an instinct.” You hum. You suppose it is, the same way frowning and grumbling about everything is yours. (Maybe you are a grouch.) “I can stop if you want. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Your turn.” Beomgyu seems to be able to tell that your nonchalance is a front, that it’s not that you don’t care what he does, you don’t mind. And that you are giving him permission for if he ever wants to do it again.

He doesn’t mention it though. Just smiles knowingly and nods. “Eat the cake.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a question,” you note.

He just shrugs. “I’m saving it. For later. Right now, I want you to taste the cake I spent my hard earned money on buying for you.” He throws in a pout for good measure and you roll your eyes.

Whatever, you think, one bite of cake won’t kill you. And so far the coffee and the muffin had both been good, so who’s to say this won’t be too? Except, you don’t have one bite. You finish the whole thing without even stopping to look up from the plate. It shouldn’t be possible but every single thing you’ve tried from this place has been incredible. You hate to admit it—really, really hate to admit it—but Beomgyu was right.

Beomgyu is smirking at you, as though he can read your mind. “Was it good?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you say with no real bite to it.

He just laughs good-naturedly. “So, how do we start step one?”

You think for a moment. Interlocking your fingers and resting your chin on them, you study Beomgyu closely. He shifts under your gaze, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck nervously. Then it hits you.

“We need to fix your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” He furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused.

“It’s plain, it’s boring and while it is a cool cut, it doesn’t look good because you don’t style it. So. We have to fix it.”

Beomgyu sighs, giving in. “Fix it how?” It surprises you how easily he’s going along with what you’re suggesting. You expected more fights, more disagreements, but so far, Beomgyu has just been oddly compliant.

“How do you feel about hair dye?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 1: GET HER TO NOTICE YOU

STEP 1B: CHANGE YOUR HAIR

BG’S NOTE: BLONDE PREFERABLY!!

Y/N’S NOTE: SHUT UP, YOU WILL DO WHATEVER COLOUR I GET

The hair dye is not blonde. You aren’t a monster, of course you tried to look for some, but apparently everyone on campus had the same idea as you and it was sold out at the store. So you settled for the next best thing—white.

Beomgyu was not amused.

“No.”

Standing in the middle of his living room, you are showing off the hair dye you just bought with pride. “Oh come on, think of it as, like, platinum blonde. It’s the same thing!”

He looks affronted. “No, it’s not! My one clause was that it had to be blonde!”

“And mine was that you would suck it up! I tried getting blonde but there wasn’t any. So, you know, this is the best we’ve got.” You cross your arms across your chest with finality.

You kind of feel bad, because if someone had walked into your house and demanded to dye your hair white, you would have kicked them out immediately. You can understand his apprehension, and honestly, you’re a bit nervous, too. You can’t show it though, obviously. If you look confident, it might ease Beomgyu.

You expect him to put up more of a fight, to tell you that there is no way he is letting you dye his hair white. But…he just sighs, walks into his bathroom and sits on the chair he placed in there, levelling you with a stare.

“Do not ruin my hair.”

Beomgyu had everything you would need for the hair dying process ready for you in the bathroom. A pair of gloves on the counter, a chair in front of the bath and a towel draped over the back of it. You enter the bathroom after him, placing the hair dye next to the gloves and get out your phone. You take your place behind him, him finally being shorter than you making you more excited than it should.

“Okay,” you say, rubbing your hands together, “let’s do this.”

Beomgyu’s hair, you learn, is really soft. You haven’t started doing anything, the gloves still on the counter behind you, but you were curious. Wanted to know what it felt like. Carding your fingers through the strands, you enjoy the feeling of the silky locks slipping through your fingers, a bit ticklish. Beomgyu sits still in his chair. He doesn’t say anything, barely even moves. The only indication you have that he hasn’t somehow passed out is the steady rise and fall of his chest. When you tug a little too hard, the boy lets out a sound from below you.

“Sorry,” you say, face flushing, even though he can’t see you.

“It’s fine.” His voice sounds strangely hoarse. “Didn’t hurt.”

You nod. “Okay.” It takes a lot to remove your hands from his hair, but you do and grab the gloves from behind you and put them on.

He clears his throat. “You have done this before, right?”

Well.

The short answer is no. You have never dyed anyone’s hair before, not even your own. You have no idea how this is going to turn out.

The long answer is well, technically. Your conditioner was nearing empty and needed to be replaced. Now, you hadn’t known that what you thought was a refill packet of the conditioner was actually blue hair dye until Rina came out of the bathroom looking murderous, but. That had to count for something, right?

The answer you settle on is, “Yeah. Sort of.”

Beomgyu whirls his head around to face you. “What do you mean ‘sort of’?” he questions, eyes blown wide.

You wave off his concern with a dismissive hand. “Relax, would you? I have a tutorial so if it goes wrong you can blame jaydoesstuff on YouTube. He calls this look ‘Rock Chic’.”

“Oh my god.”

“What happened to having faith, huh?” you ask, barely paying attention to him anymore as you press play on the tutorial. Jay welcomes you to his channel and you fast forward through the sponsorship bit (which takes almost two minutes, god) until he actually starts with the tutorial.

“You are probably the most cynical person I know.”

You let out a snort involuntarily. “That’s fair.” You shake the dye bottle over his head, watching as it drips over his hair. Google says you should mix the dye in a bowl but jaydoesstuff only has the bottle, a brush and hope.

The rest of the process passes by without incident. You let it set for ten minutes and in that time you and Beomgyu watch other YouTube videos from the Jay guy and find out that he goes to your school. What a small world. When the timer goes off, you rinse out the dye in the sink while Beomgyu whines from under the tap that water is getting into his eyes.

You let him dry his hair with the towel on his own, and take to throwing your dirty gloves away and cleaning up any mess on the counter.

“How does it look?” Beomgyu asks when his hair is mostly dry. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, wringing the towel nervously.

You can’t help teasing. “Well. I want to give a zero, but that is not possible. So I give you a one.”

He just stares at you. For a moment you think he didn’t get your reference, then, “Okay, Tyra,” he says with a scoff.

Your mouth quirks upwards. “You watch America’s Next Top Model?”

He shrugs. “I’ve seen clips.”

“It’s fun. Trashy reality TV is a good stress reliever.”

“Maybe. But seriously….Does it look okay?”

This time, you take your time looking at him. Again, you’re astounded by how he can continue to look so good under the crappy light of the bathroom. The harsh yellow casts an almost golden glow across his face. You trail your eyes up to his hair, to take in his whole face with his new look and, well. You did a good job. It’s not professional by any means, but it’s not awful and the white highlights actually suit him.

Your eyes find his only to realise that he’s been looking at you this entire time. That he could have looked in a mirror and come to his own conclusion, but he hasn’t.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “It looks good.”

To test if the first phase of step one works, Beomgyu is going to pick you up from your Music Comp class. Hopefully, Chaeryeong sees him and is so wowed by his beauty, she falls instantly in love with him and kisses him in the middle of the hallway. Which, of course, is not your expectation, but Beomgyu has been talking about it for days and it has kind of bled into your subconscious.

You take your time packing up when Ms Kwon dismisses the class, trying to time your leaving with Chaeryeong who's messing around with Keeho.

When you see that she’s about to leave, you head out before her. Beomgyu is there waiting like you knew he would be, and when he sees you, he walks towards you.

“Is she coming?” he stage-whispers and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, which is something you find yourself doing a lot around him.

“Give her a second,” you say, adjusting the straps on your bag.

And as though you summoned her, Keeho and Chaeryeong come walking out of the class right then. You catch her eye and return the small smile she gives you as she passes. You watch as she notices Beomgyu, her eyes travelling up to his face and an unreadable expression flashes through her face.

She nods at him in acknowledgement. “Cool hair,” is all she says before walking away completely.

Next to you, Beomgyu lets out a squeak. A blush has spread all the way from the tips of his ears and disappears down into his shirt.

You turn to face him. “Well?” He is standing frozen in place, mouth hanging slightly open. You are sure that a tornado could hit and he wouldn’t move a muscle. His face is still bright red.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out when he finally regains the power of speech. “She’s never spoken to me before.” His eyes trail after her as she disappears out onto the quad.

“Yeah, well, you’re wel—”

You don’t get to finish chastising him, because the next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your shoulders and his head is resting on your head. “Thank you,” he says with such sincerity, it makes you rethink teasing him in the first place.

You pat his back gingerly, still awkward about the contact, but you suppose you should come to expect it now. “Um…. You’re welcome.”

He pulls away from you, grinning widely and you can only offer a more strained one in return, but Beomgyu doesn’t seem to mind. “We should celebrate.”

You scoff lightly, no weight behind it. “Celebrate what?” You turn to walk out onto the quad, expecting Beomgyu to follow you. Which he does. He falls into step with you almost immediately.

“The plan working, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Come on,” he whines dramatically. “I’ll buy you cake.” He has managed to pass you and is standing in front of you, lifting his shoulders in what is supposed to be a tempting manner.

In all honesty, you were kind of planning to go do something with Beomgyu today, anyway. You didn’t know whether or not changing his hair would actually get Chaeryeong’s attention but you figured Beomgyu would drag you away somewhere regardless. And clearly you were right.

He is looking at you with a smirk as if he’s cornered you and there’s just no way you can say no to him now. He doesn’t need to know that you would have agreed without the bribery, because free cake is free cake and who can say no to that?

Humouring him, you sigh in defeat. “Fine, I guess this is worth celebrating.”

Grinning proudly, Beomgyu easily loops his arm with yours and leads you across the quad to the café. He orders for the two of you again, sitting across from you at the table and starts talking about how he was so nervous about today that he could hardly answer questions in his classes all day.

You kill two hours like that, just talking in the café. By the time you make it back to your dorm, Rina is home and asks if you were out with a friend. You pause for a moment before answering.

“Yeah,” you say before entering your room. You suppose you were.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Beomgyu shows up to pick you up from class more often than not. He is always there before Ms Kwon let’s you out and it makes you seriously wonder if he ever attends class himself.

It’s a smart move, you acknowledge, because Chaeryeong gives him a nod in greeting whenever she passes by him on her way out of class. You tell him as much and he grins cheekily gushing about how smart you find him, so you make it a point to never praise him again.

You spend a lot of time with Beomgyu. Not necessarily by choice, he just always happens to be around you and you can’t find it in you to tell him to go away. (You find that you don’t want to.) Between him tutoring you and walking you from class, it’s like you see him everywhere now. Even now, the two of you were walking into the café for no reason other than you were both hungry and, according to Beomgyu, what better way to eat than together?

The café was packed today, students and teachers alike rushing in and out of the restaurant, the bell above the door constantly ringing. You don’t know what the occasion could be for there to be so many people here now, but you find you don’t really want to stick around to find out.

You turn to Beomgyu to tell him as much, that you guys can just go somewhere else but he looks almost offended. “We can’t just go somewhere else! This is our place now. We can’t betray it by eating at a basic Mcdonalds.”

You cross your arms and fix him with a deadpan stare. “What’s wrong with Mcdonalds?”

“There’s no charm. No memories attached. We have to eat here.” Staring up at him, you realise that he’s not going to let up. You sigh in defeat and Beomgyu smirks in satisfaction. “Okay, you order, I’ll go find us a table.”

You grab his arm, stopping him before he can walk away. “Uh, you order.”

“Why?” Beomgyu questions.

“Because you know what’s good,” you explain shrugging.

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been here at least twenty times now, I think you know what you like.”

“Can’t hear you, I’m already getting a table!”

You effectively bypass him, weaving your way through the throng of students and teachers alike. If you were to look back, you would probably find Beomgyu staring at you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

On another day, you might have been able to push past the anxiety and place an order for the two of you. But today there are just too many people, too many orders the workers have to fill. And maybe it’s the crowd or the waning patience of the workers, but you really can’t bring yourself to talk to anyone here, especially when Beomgyu can do it for you.

“Do you have, like, a fear of ordering in public?” Beomgyu asks when he joins you at the booth you managed to secure. He opts to sit next to you instead of across the table, making you slide closer to the wall.

You scowl. “No.”

He continues like he doesn’t hear you. “Because it’s totally okay if you do. I know I’m more—out-going? Sociable? Charismatic?—out of the two of us, so I don’t mind being used like that.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.” You punch his arm and he laughs goodnaturedly. “It’s just—It’s weird. And makes me feel awkward, so I don’t do it.”

Beomgyu hums in consideration, like he can tell you are holding back, but doesn’t push. “Well I meant it, you know. I don’t mind.” He nudges your shoulder for good measure and you roll your eyes.

“Like I was giving you a choice?”

He contemplates this for a moment. “Suppose you’re right. Choice or not, though, I don’t mind doing stuff for you.” He says it so easily. So earnestly. Almost too earnestly. There’s a weight behind his eyes when he looks at you and you can’t figure out what it means. He seems to notice his staring and averts his gaze. Clearing his throat, he jokes, “Like paying for your lunch.”

You hit his arm again. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Stop punching me, this is a very small booth!”

“Then move to the other side.”

“Don’t wanna.” And just like that, whatever happened before was gone, replaced with the natural light atmosphere you always have around Beomgyu.

A waiter comes by, then. He leaves your food on the table, and the both of you thank him simultaneously. He nods in response, goes to walk away but does a double take looking at Beomgyu. He regards him for a moment before nodding. “Nice,” he says pointing to Beomgyu’s hair then goes on his way.

Beomgyu smirks in response, claery satisfied with the attention his new hair is giving him. You don’t indulge him and turn your attention to the sandwich and chips Beomgyu ordered for you.

“You know,” he drawls out, nudging your side, “it’s not just Chaeryeong. Bunch of people in class keep telling me how cool they think my hair is.” You raise an eyebrow and Beomgyu nods seriously. “If you ask me, you should drop out of school and do this professionally.”

That makes you snort. “I dyed your hair once, I don’t think that qualifies me for a job.”

He hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. “It’s for the best. I’d miss you too much.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it! You’d be so busy doing everybody else’s hair because you’re so high in demand that you won’t have any time to spend with me. I don’t know how people can go through life without your quick wit and sunny disposition.”

“Most people don’t put up with me long enough to get past the ‘she’s mean and glares a lot’ thing so I don’t think they’re missing out.” You snort involuntarily at your own joke, expecting him to laugh a little, too. But he doesn’t. He frowns.

“Do you think I’m putting up with you?”

Beomgyu stares at you intently and you wonder how the mood was able to change so quickly again. You want to get back to teasing, not whatever this is. “I was kidding,” you clarify, shifting in your seat awkwardly.

“But do you?” When you don’t say anything, he takes your silence as an answer. “Y/N, I’m not hanging out with you because I feel like I have to.”

“I never said that.” You didn’t. It’s not even what you were thinking, not really. It’s more a proximity thing. You’re helping him, he’s helping you, and for either of those things to happen, being together makes sense. There isn’t much more to it. There doesn’t need to be. (You want there to be.)

You hang out with Rina because she’s your roommate. The two of you aren’t friends, but you’re friendly enough. It helps that the two of you live together, so, naturally, you spend time together, but it’s always because you’re there.

So, no, you don’t think he’s fulfilling an obligation by being around you. Just. He probably doesn’t enjoy these outings as much as you do. And that’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Except—

Beomgyu is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in a long time. The thought of that feeling being one-sided sucked. The thought of it being reciprocated, though? Too good to be true.

Beomgyu turns so that his upper half is facing you. Stares at you right in your eyes and holds your gaze for so long you start squirming in your seat. He opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it again. Then, eyes and voice full of conviction, “Y/N, you’re, like, my best friend, you know that, right?” You wonder what he wanted to say, if that’s it.

Your mouth drops. You blink owlishly at him, not believing what he just said. “Oh, now you’re pushing it,” you finally say, shoving a couple fries in your mouth.

“I’m being serious! I spend way more time with you than I do anyone else, I’m pretty sure we’ve been hanging out everyday. My leg is literally hooked over yours right now!” Looking down at your lap, you realise that it is. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the weight on your leg.

“You’re a tactile person,” you say, repeating his words.

“Y/N,” he looks at you like he can’t believe you don’t believe him. Like he’s explaining such a simple concept and doesn’t know how you can’t get it. Grass is green, the sky is blue and you are his best friend. “I wouldn’t be around you this much if I didn’t want to. I’m not tutoring you, and we’re not discussing the plan. There is no reason for me to be here with you right now other than I want to be. I like being with you.”

The only explanation you had to Beomgyu’s clingy nature towards you was the one he gave you first. That he was touchy because he was just like that, and you just happened to be there. Not because he liked you. But here he was telling you that that’s not true.

You flounder for a bit, struggling to find the words, any words. He’s still staring, head tilted slightly with a grin on his face. This, you think probably way to excitedly, is your best friend.

“God, you’re so cheesy,” you say, fighting back a blush, pushing his smiling face away from you. And he laughs goodnaturedly, steals fries from your plate and does not move his leg.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 2: HANG OUT WHERE SHE HANGS OUT

BG’S NOTE: NOT IN A STALKER WAY

Y/N’S NOTE: IT WAS NEVER IN A STALKER WAY!

The success of Step One has Beomgyu itching to begin Step Two immediately. Obviously, patience is a virtue and timing is everything, so you say no. You reason that it would be weird for him to just show up wherever she is after she acknowledged his existence one time (“We want her to think you’re interesting, not creepy”).

The both of you are on your way to Beomgyu’s dorm for no particular reason. You ran into each other on campus after class and started walking together without caring about where you were going, only realising belatedly the familiar route you were taking.

Beomgyu is talking your ear off animatedly about one thing or another, arms waving around him, clearly very into whatever has caught his attention. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t realise you’ve arrived, so it’s up to you to unlock the door and let you both in.

There are two boys sitting on his couch. They both have their feet kicked up on the coffee table, messing with their phones. You wonder who they are to be sitting so comfortably in here when Beomgyu’s gone.

You nudge Beomgyu’s side, making him look up and take notice of the two might-be intruders. He doesn’t seem fazed. “What’re you guys doing here?” Dropping his bag by the door, he moves into the house, leaving you standing in the doorway awkwardly. The boys shrug, looking up from their phones.

“Oh, well, Y/N, this is Kai and Taehyun. Taehyun and Kai, this is Y/N.” Beomgyu points out each boy individually and it’s then that you recognise them as the guys from his pictures. The ones who were in the Music room with him. The ones in his pictures. He waves you over with a slight jerk of his head and you follow him inside.

“Hi!” The one named Kai greets cheerily. Taehyun nods at you with a “Hey” and you wave back awkwardly, a tight smile on your lips.

“Don’t be upset, this is her being polite,” Beomgyu stage whispers to the boys, as if he’s letting the other two in on a secret and you hit his shoulder.

You clear your throat, straightening up your back. “Nice to meet you,” you say. Beomgyu grins brightly at you.

Taehyun speaks up first. “He told us about the plan. Have to say, I’m surprised you agreed to help him.”

“He’s helping me with Music Comp,” you say easily. And he really was. Your grades have never been better and the proud smiles Ms Kwon had been sending you when showing the marks for tests were something you could get used to. Honestly, you never thought Beomgyu would be such a help to you, but here you were.

Kai nods. “And how’s that going?”

“She said my hair is cool,” Beomgyu gushes, like he has been every time you’ve seen him since that day. You didn’t think it was possible, but he actually looks like the definition of heart eyes.

Taehyun studies his friend’s hair for a moment. “I guess it is.”

Pride blooms in your chest and you stand up a little straighter. “Thanks. I did it.”

Kai perks up at that. “Ooh, do you think you could do mine? I’ve been wanting to dye my hair red for a while.”

“Sure,” you say easily, shrugging in agreement, at the same time Beomgyu blurts out, “No!”

You all turn to stare at him. You’re surprised at the outburst, considering he was the one suggesting you open a salon. “Sorry, but I can’t risk Y/N’s magic hands also making Chaeryeong fall in love with you at first sight.”

“She’s not in love with you,” The rest of you say in unison.

Beomgyu stares at the three of you with wide eyes. “This was a mistake.” He sighs heavily and sits on an open armchair while you and Kai snicker.

“We’ve been trying to find out ways for him to bump into her but aside from my Music Comp class, we don’t know where else to find her,” you explain, dropping your bag at your feet. Beomgyu tugs on the sleeve of your shirt, pulling you closer to him until your trying to get comfortable on the arm of the chair he’s sitting on.

“We’ve been stumped for a week,” he says when you’ve settled on the arm of the chair, your own arm resting on his shoulder.

It should be weird how quickly you were able to get used to Beomgyu’s constant touch. How quickly you were to oblige to it. To let him hug you or play footsie with you whenever he wanted. Especially after last week’s revelation that he actually liked being around you. That he thought of you as his friend. It made you closer, somehow.

It should be. But it isn’t. Just easy.

Taehyun eyes the two of you from his spot on the couch and when you catch his eye, he just quirks an eyebrow before looking away. Weird.

“I see Chaeryeong every Thursday,” Kai says. You are surprised Beomgyu’s head doesn’t snap off from how fast he whipped it around to stare at his friend. “Her dance class is before mine.”

Silence. Then. “And you mention this now?”

Kai shrugs, unperturbed by his friend’s outburst. “It never came up.” The way he is smirking, though, makes you think that he was withholding this information on purpose.

Thursday comes around and between you, Beomgyu and his friends, you came up with the next move for Step Two. Beomgyu would go with Kai to his dance class to drop him off and “bump” into Chaeryeong, thus starting his first conversation with her.

He had begged you to go with him. Moral support, he said. But you have a class. You can’t tag along with Beomgyu to make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself, a fact that had him begging you to skip. You said no, obviously, because even if you didn’t have a class, what are you supposed to do while Beomgyu tries to flirt for five minutes?

Halfway through your lesson, your phone vibrates from inside your pocket. Pulling it out discreetly, you find seven texts from Beomgyu. Mainly incoherent key smashes and an excessive amount of exclamation points.

As discreetly as you can, you text back telling him to meet you at the café when your class is over. As soon as the bell rings, you speed walk your way over to where Beomgyu is already waiting for you, booth secured, food waiting to be touched.

You slide into the seat next to him and stare him down. “Okay, talk.”

And, essentially, this is how it went:

CHAERYEONG’S AND BEOMGYU’S FIRST CONVO, ACCORDING TO CHOI BEOMGYU

To say that Beomgyu was nervous would be an understatement. There was a difference between waiting outside Ms Kwon’s class with the intention of exchanging polite, but curt, nods and going to her dance class to (hopefully) talk to her. He was freaking. Out.

“Dude, chill out,” Kai tells him for the fourth time in a row since they started walking to his dance class together. “You’re literally going to scare her off with how much you’re sweating right now.”

Beomgyu knows he’s exaggerating, that it’s a part of his friendly duties to tease and make fun of him. He’s not actually sweating, obviously. But. What if he is? He does a quick and inconspicuous pit-check, and, yeah, he’s not sweating. Kai’s just a dick.

Beomgyu tells him as much and he just laughs obnoxiously loud.

When they arrive at Kai’s class, the students from the lesson before are packing up their things. The students including Chaeryeong.

When she notices him, she looks a little shocked, like this is the last place she would have expected to see him. She gets over it quickly, though, and makes her way over to him. “Cool Hair Guy?”

His mouth hangs open stupidly, tongue dried up. She was talking to him. Chaeryeong was talking to him! He doesn’t know how long he stands there gaping like an idiot, but the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like you gets fed up. Say something, idiot! Yeah, definitely you. “Uh, it’s Beomgyu, actually. Choi Beomgyu,” he manages out.

“Nice to meet you, Choi Beomgyu,” she says smiling, something she does a lot. It’s so pretty. She doesn’t introduce herself, probably knows that she doesn’t have to. “I didn’t know you did dance?”

Beomgyu can’t really believe this is happening. That he’s here, talking to Lee Chaeryeong. That she’s talking to him. “No, I’m just here dropping off my friend.” He waves his arm around noncommittally in the general direction he last saw Kai.

She seems to contemplate this for a moment. “Well, I’ll see you around, Cool Hair Guy Beomgyu.” Chaeryeong smiles at him and gives his arm a squeeze before leaving with her friends. Beomgyu is frozen in place, mouth hanging open as he wonders seriously if this is real life.

Kai’s wolf whistles from wherever he is tell him that it is. Oh my god. He has to tell you.

When he finishes recounting everything, you have a few questions about the legitimacy of everything. You sincerely doubt Chaeryeong was trying to feel up his muscles but you digress. You won’t ruin his fun.

You nudge his shoulder slightly. “See, you didn’t even need me there.”

“Still would have been nice.” You try not to show how much the comment affects you, how it tugs at the corners of your lips, a smile threatening to break out. “So, what now?”

You shrug, keeping your face neutral. “Keep dropping Kai off, I guess. She knows your name now, so it’s basically open season. Anything can happen, really.”

“Open Season,” he deadpans and you regard him with a quizzical look. “That bear movie with the deer?”

“No, Beomgyu, open season the expression.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, but doesn’t push it. Clearing his throat, he says, “I could keep picking you up, too. From your Comp class.”

“I guess. It would maximise the amount of time you see Chaeryeong, or whatever.”

“Well, yeah, but no.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to hang out with you. Seeing Chaeryeong would just be a bonus.”

He doesn’t say anything more and gives no indication that he wants to. He busies himself with his food and you take advantage of the fact that his attention is no longer on you and try to will the heat rising to your cheeks to stop.

When you are sure that the temperature in your face is back to normal, you clear your throat. “I have a question.”

Beomgyu glances from his plate. “It’s not your turn,” he says. “I haven’t used my second question.”

“Well, do you have one?”

“No,” Beomgyu says cheekily. “But I suppose I can let you skip.” Bringing his sandwich to his mouth, he nods his head slightly, giving you the go ahead.

“Why do you like Chaeryeong?”

He swallows. “Everybody likes Chaeryeong.”

“Well, yeah, but not everyone would ask a random stranger to be their wingman.”

“You got me there.” You continue to stare, waiting for an answer, and after a moment Beomgyu sighs. “I don’t know. It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“Well it’s great that I already don’t think that highly of you,” you tease. (You do.) It makes Beomgyu laugh, though, just a little. He exhales dramatically before leaning back in his seat.

“I transferred here in the middle of the year. I missed freshman orientation, I got stuck with a single room because everybody else had a roommate meaning I missed out on the quick and easy way people made friends. Or enemies, depending on who you were stuck with.” You laugh a little at that last bit when he turns his head to give you a wry smile.

He continues. “The first month kind of sucked. And then one day I’m rushing to class twenty minutes late because I still haven’t figured out where everything is and Chaeryeong is running, too, in the opposite direction and when she notices me—this is where it sounds stupid—she smiles.”

“She so clearly had somewhere to be and yet she took the time to do that. To comfort me, or just to say ‘Hey, we’re in the same boat!’ or something, I don’t know. It just made me feel better. I’ve had a crush on her since.”

When he finishes, he drops his gaze to the table, practically burning holes into the metal.

“Hmm,” is all you say.

“I told you it was stupid,” he says looking up at you, chuckling half-heartedly.

You look affronted. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You have that look on your face. You’re thinking it’s stupid.”

“I was actually thinking that I found it sweet.”

Because of course one act of kindness is all it takes for Beomgyu to all but fall in love with someone. He is the kindest and most earnest person you know, it makes sense, really. You wouldn’t have expected anything else.

It makes you think back to your own first meeting with him, how you thought he was crazy and probably said so out loud, too. The farthest from kind or sweet. Not that it should matter. You don’t want him to have a crush on you, obviously.

“Yeah?” he asks uncertain.

“Yeah. Chaeryeong seems sweet. Your crush is sweet—if not a little obsessive at times.”

He chuckles. “Thank you. You’re sweet, too.”

The comment catches you off guard. “Meaning?”

“That you’re a lot nicer than you give yourself credit for.”

Beomgyu has this uncanny ability to seemingly read your mind. To tell when you’re in your head too much and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

You can’t believe that he’s managed to render you speechless and flustered twice in one conversation. You kick him under the table, biting back a smile. “Eat your food.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 3: ASK HER TO HANGOUT

BG’S NOTE: NOT AS A DATE, RIGHT?

Y/N’S NOTE: NOT AS A DATE! IT’S A FRIEND THING!

This, you think, is the perfect time for Beomgyu to take the plunge and ask Chaeryeong to hangout. She knows his name, greets him whenever she passes him on her way out of the Music block, there really is no better moment.

You don’t know what he’s waiting for.

Whenever he gets close, he gets nervous, changes his mind and speedwalks in the opposite direction. He keeps saying he’ll get to it, but at this rate you’re not holding your breath.

You’ve almost given up entirely but Beomgyu surprises you by strolling into your Music Comp class casually heading straight for Ms Kwon’s desk. You sit up in your chair, shocked to see him, and your eyes blow wide when, as he’s talking with your teacher, he points to you.

Ms Kwon eyes you suspiciously and looks wary to give Beomgyu permission to do, well, whatever it is that he wants to do, but gives in eventually. Your friend bounds up the steps two at a time to get to your desk, falling into a crouch when he reaches you.

“Hey,” he whispers, head reaching just above your table.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper back leaning forward to his face, entirely confused by his sudden appearance.

“I’m going to ask You-Know-Who to hang out.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Voldemort?”

“What? No! Chaeryeong,” he whispers, looking around to make sure no one can hear. Your mouth makes an ‘O’ shape in realisation. The girl in question is sitting at her desk, diligently doing her work.

Then what he said hits you. “Wait—Right now?”

He shrugs. “I had a surge of adrenaline. If I don’t do it now I’ll probably chicken out and never talk to her again.”

It makes sense and well, better now than never, right? But— “So you’re just gonna, what? Go up to her in the middle of class and ask her?”

“’Course not. I’m going to wait for class to end.”

He makes no move to leave.

Your eyes blow impossibly wide. “You mean here?”

“Told Ms Kwon that you’re giving me help in Calculus,” he says standing up and moving until he’s right next to you.

“I don’t take Calculus.”

“Neither do I. Scoot over.”

You sigh. The sounds of you moving out of your seat and into the next one draws the attention of the class to the two of you. Even Chaeryeong looks back curiously and Beomgyu blushes before waving shyly.

“This is so stupid,” you groan once you’ve both settled and everyone has turned their attention back to their own work.

“Hush. Now, how do you calculate the slope of a curve?”

The lesson passes with Beomgyu nudging you every so often to make it look like you’re helping. Quick, pretend to explain something to me. It makes you wonder what it would be like to actually share a class with him. Fun, probably. You wouldn’t get any work done, though.

When the bell rings and Ms Kwon dismisses you, Beomgyu stands up, determination written all over his features, staring at Chaeryeong’s back.

He rolls his shoulders back. “Okay, I’m going in.”

“Oh, god,” you groan.

He ignores you. “Wish me luck?” Beomgyu turns to you, cheeky smile on his face and you sigh before wrapping your arms around his torso. He squeezes you back once then pulls away. “Okay,” he breathes out, straightening his back, “I got this.”

You watch as he makes his way to Chaeryeong’s desk and how she brightens up when she sees him. She waves Keeho off and he complies with a perplexed look on his face. Huh. It seems Beomgyu didn’t need the good luck anyway.

You don’t stick around and choose to leave the class, saying goodbye to Ms Kwon. However, once outside, you don’t leave. You linger in the hallway watching the door as students rush to their next classes. Probably because you are invested in the outcome and want to know what happened immediately. More definitely because you want to see Beomgyu again as soon as possible.

Chaeryeong comes out first. Her face gives no indication that she just rejected someone or accepted their offer so you guess you’re just going to have to wait for Beomgyu.

He emerges a moment later, walks with his head low, somehow already spotting where you are. He looks…Well, dejected. You feel your body deflate just watching him.

“Well,” he exhales when he reaches you. You frown. “Guess who’s going to a movie with Chaeryeong.”

“Oh my god, no way!” you gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth. When the initial excitement dies down, you punch Beomgyu’s shoulder and he yelps. “That’s for making me think she turned you down.”

Beomgyu laughs nervously, shaking his arm out. “Yeah. We’re gonna have so much fun.”

You feel your face fall. “We? As in you, Chaeryeong and whoever else you’re going with? Not you and me?” You have a sneaking suspicion that you already know the answer and you’re not going to like it.

He remains silent. You punch his arm again.

“I got nervous, okay!” he exclaims when you continue your assault on his limb but you don’t let up. You couldn’t hangout with Chaeryeong. The great part about the plan was that you handled the logistics and Beomgyu did the heavy lifting. You haven’t even talked to the girl.

“It hit me how weird it would be to just go up and ask her out when she only realised I existed, like, last week, so I turned it into a group thing. A couple of her friends are coming and, well, you—Stop hitting me!”

You stop punching him. “Why couldn’t you bring Taehyun or Kai with you?”

“Because Chaeryeong knows you, kinda. Same class and all. Also they would just make fun of me the whole time.”

“And I won’t?”

“Well, you will, but once you’ve had your fun you’ll help me.”

The worst part is that you know he’s right. Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and stomp your way to the quad.

“Where are you going!” Beomgyu yells.

“You owe me so much cake!” You flip him off over your shoulder, not bothering to look back. But, of course, he was following you anyway.

The movie everyone decides to see is the new Scream. By everyone you mean Chaeryeong, her friends and Beomgyu. He came to you with the suggestions and out of protest you refused to give your opinion. But it seems you spend too much time with Beomgyu because he chooses the exact movie you wanted to see anyway.

Saturday afternoon finds you and Beomgyu on the bus on your way to the mall where you will meet up with Chaeryeong and her friends.

The boy in question nudges your side for the fifth time in ten minutes. As part of your act of protest you had been sitting silently next to him, not engaging in any conversation with him. Which is effective because it seems all you do with him is talk.

“Y/N,” he sing-songs, jutting his finger in your stomach, “you can’t stay mad at me forever. It’s free snacks and a movie, which, by the way, I know you’ve been wanting to see.”

“I’m not mad at you, Beomgyu,” you sigh, slapping his finger away from you, bringing an end to your silent treatment. You can’t have him thinking this is a bigger deal than it is. Or worse: have him feeling bad. “It’s more the principle of the thing.”

“The principle,” he repeats, clearly not following.

You nod. “I have never had to interact with Chaeryeong before and now I’m being thrown into the proverbial deep end.”

It takes him a moment to fully understand what you’re saying. Then, “Oh, I get it—you’re nervous!”

Scowling, you clarify, “I never said that.”

“You have nothing to worry about! You just have to go there and charm everyone with your dry humour and worrying, yet endearing, pessimism and they’ll fall in love with you in no time.”

You don’t fail to notice the implications of his words. But you can’t afford to think about it so you don’t. You don’t say anything and let Beomgyu give you advice on how to not be nervous and just be yourself. Which is rich coming from him, because the moment you meet up with Chaeryeong, he freezes completely.

You sigh.

“Hey, guys!” she greets brightly, waving the two of you over when she catches sight of you. There are three other people with her, one being Keeho. You don’t know who the others are.

“Hi,” you say back. Beomgyu is still stock still next to you so you send an elbow to his stomach.

“Hi!” he finally squeaks out.

If Chaeryeong is confused she doesn’t show it. She turns to her friends. “Guys, this is Beomgyu and Y/N. Beomgyu and Y/N these are my friends, Keeho, Yeji and Theo.”

You all wave at each other before moving to buy snacks. You shoot Beomgyu a look that you hope reads Get it together, loser! but judging from the confused head tilt he sends your way, he doesn’t get the message.

The six of you move as a group into the cinema playing your movie and start looking around for the perfect place to sit. Settling on a row in the middle, all that’s left to do is sort out the seating arrangements.

“Y/N, where do you want to sit?” Chaeryeong asks politely.

“Uh…” It hits you again that you are here for Beomgyu. Choosing to sit next to him would limit or hinder him from sitting with Chaeryeong but you don’t really want to sit next to people you just met. Making up your mind with an internal groan, you lie, “Actually I forgot to buy skittles. So. I’m going to go get them. I’ll sit wherever when I get back.”

“You sure? We can always just save you a seat.” God, she was so nice. Why did she have to be so nice?

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s okay.” You start making your way up the steps to the door.

“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Beomgyu states, following you up the stairs and you freeze.

“What are you doing?” you question when he reaches you.

He regards you with a funny look. “You don’t like ordering? I can go with you.”

Warmth erupts in your chest. “I don’t actually want skittles, I just said that so you could get a seat with Chaeryeong.”

“Now, how would that work?”

“Oh, shut up, go sit with her!”

He bites his lip. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll just stand by the door for two minutes or whatever.”

Beomgyu hesitates for a moment longer before nodding. “Okay. Okay, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You don’t linger to see if he manages to snag a seat next to Chaeryeong, and just exit the cinema. True to your word, you only stand outside for a moment before you walk right back inside. Sitting in the aisle is Chaeryeong and right next to her… is Beomgyu. You don’t know how he pulled it off, but you feel a swell of pride in your chest.

There is a seat for you in between Yeji and Theo with Keeho at the end and you almost turn back on your heel to sit by yourself at the back. Squaring your shoulders, you walk to your seat and once you pass Beomgyu, he shoots you a secretive thumbs up that you return with your own, equally secretive and equally impressed.

“What happened to your skittles?” The boy named Theo whispers to you once you settle down and the lights dim.

“Oh, they ran out,” you lie easily, waving him off.

“Here,” Yeji says from your opposite side, holding out her own packet of sweets, “we can share.”

You smile gratefully and only after a split second of hesitation, you reach into the bag and pull out a sweet.

You sneak a few glances at Beomgyu throughout the duration of the movie to see how it’s going for him only to find him already grinning at you. Yeji whispers her thoughts to you and while you would usually be annoyed by that, you find that you don’t mind, because in the short time you’ve spoken, you find that she’s pretty cool.

By the time the movie ends and you all exit the mall, the sun has set and everyone is making plans to head back to campus. You and Beomgyu politely turn down Chaeryeong’s offer to drive you both back, insisting that you’ll be fine on the bus. As much as you enjoyed yourself, you can feel yourself getting drowsy and you don’t think you could handle spending more time with them without falling asleep.

“This was fun, we should do this again sometime!” As apprehensive as you were about it, you have to agree with Chaeryeong.

When you part ways, Yeji gives you a quick hug with a promise that you should text her and waves goodbye to you. You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as you wave back. Beomgyu doesn’t comment on it but he just gives you a knowing grin. You merely flip him off and board the bus.

It’s late enough that there aren’t many people on the bus, so you get two seats next to each other with no problem.

“Well that wasn’t so bad,” Beomgyu says plopping down on the seat next to you. “Chaeryeong was basically talking to me the whole time.”

You nod half listening, eyelids heavy. “The movie was really good. And I guess the company wasn’t too bad.”

A cheeky grin spreads across Beomgyu’s face. “What I’m hearing is you had fun.”

You groan dramatically. “Hush, please, I’m way way too tired to engage in clever banter.”

Beomgyu laughs, but doesn’t say anything else after that.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you must have, because when you reach your stop, Beomgyu is nudging you gently to wake you up. You groggily raise your head from where it was resting on his shoulder and look around trying to figure out where you were.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, helping you stand up and leading you out the bus.

The cool air of the night helps wake you up. You walk the rest of the way to campus in comfortable silence with Beomgyu.

“You’re going to be fine getting to your dorm?” he asks when you reach the point where you both part ways.

“Yes, dad.”

“Hey!” You snicker childishly. He rolls his eyes goodnaturedly before sobering. “Thanks for coming today,” he says seriously.

“You’re welcome. I…had fun.”

You’re not sure if it matters or what it even means if anything, but when Beomgyu hugs you goodbye, his lips brush against the top of your head for the briefest of moments, you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

It stuns you all the same.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Hanging out with Chaeryeong and her friends becomes such a common thing, you start reminiscing on the times when the only person who asked you to go out was Rina and it was your turn to take out the trash.

Chaeryeong likes going out. You have an invite to a new event almost every week. You have been out watching movies or eating or doing karaoke so much that one time Rina even asks if you’re in a cult. You say no, obviously, but sometimes it really feels like it.

Just yesterday, one of her friends suggested going to an amusement park for the day and Beomgyu was beyond nervous. Am I supposed to win her a prize? Would she want one from me? You have to come, Y/N, I can’t do this. You had fun, sure, none of these hangouts had been boring (Theo won the biggest and ugliest plush for you after you joked that you wanted it. You kept it on your bedside) but it’s the principle of the thing. You are pretty sure that being outside this often is not good for anyone.

And it is not good for you. After the third consecutive week of following Beomgyu around while he becomes friends with Chaeryeong, your battery for these social events has been tapped and you need time to yourself. So when Chaeryeong tells you that they’re going bowling that weekend, you lie and say you’re sick. That your roommate has the flu and you caught it from her, but you’re so sorry you can’t join. Chaeryeong tells you that it won’t be as fun without you and to get well soon and while you don’t buy the first bit, it warms you to know she cares. You almost feel bad for lying.

Almost.

It’s the first Saturday you are spending on your own, in your dorm in almost three weeks, and oh how you missed your couch. Rina comments on this too, wondering why you aren’t with your “group” today. You just tell her that you wanted the day to yourself and so you asked for permission to skip the meeting.

Sometime during your rerun binge of Basketball Wives, there is a knock at the door. You hardly pay attention to it, far too caught up in the fabricated drama on your screen and leave it to Rina to go see who’s there. Probably one of your neighbours asking for eggs or something.

Rina leaves her spot in the kitchen and opens the door. “Uh, is Y/N here?” you hear whoever it is ask cautiously. That gets you curious. You pause your show and try leaning back on the couch to see who’s asking about you, but from your vantage point you can’t.

Rina does it for you. “Uh, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Beomgyu. Choi Beomgyu?” Your eyes blow wide and you practically jump up from your spot on the couch. What was he doing here?

Rina doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Oh, so you’re the boy Y/N—”

“—Okay! Enough of that!” You say jumping in before your roommate could embarrass you any further. Rina just smirks knowingly and moves out the way of the door. You take her place, staring up at the boy who is supposed to be bowling right now. He’s looking down at you, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“You’re sick?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, concern lacing his voice.

Your eyes furrow. “What? No. How do you know where I live?”

“You told me. When we were doing homework you got a text saying that the water pipes in the showers burst and you were all like ‘Fucking Kings Building fucking sucks! Fuck!’ Or something like that.” He shrugs, grinning.

You remember that day like it was yesterday. The building your dorm is located in is one of the oldest on campus. The only things about it that’s been updated are the furniture and accent pieces to make it look more modern, even though everything else about it is ancient. Including the plumbing.

The text came from the group chat your floor has. One of the girls was taking a shower when water started spraying everywhere. It took two weeks to fix. You had to walk all the way to the neighbouring building to wash. But it wasn’t yesterday.

“That was a month ago,” you inform.

He points to his temple. “I have a good memory.”

“Okay, but how did you find my dorm?”

“Lucky guess,” he says easily, although he looks shifty. Can’t look at you directly.

Your eyes widen in realisation. “Did you go knocking on people’s doors until you found me?” His silence and sheepish expression is answer enough for you. Your face threatens to break out in a grin but you hold it back. “Come in,” you say instead, opening the door wider for him to enter.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as he follows you inside.

“I thought you were sick and came to check on you. Turns out you’re just a liar.”

“But you’re supposed to be bowling.”

“So are you.”

“Didn’t feel like it. You don’t have to stay. As you can see I’m fine. You could probably still make it if you left now.” You hope he can’t tell that you don’t want him to.

“Nah,” he brushes you off shrugging. “Looks way more fun here.”

You try not to look too excited, and return to your seat. “Whatever.”

Beomgyu joins you on the couch, kicks his feet up like he’s been here before, immediately getting comfortable.

“What’re we watching?” he asks, pulling your laptop onto his lap.

“The lives of the wives of basketball players from Atlanta.”

“...Cool?”

“You can leave.”

“No, no, no,” he exclaims, backpedaling. His insistence to stay is cute. “I’m sure it’s super fun and interesting and—what was it you said about reality TV?—a great stress reliever. Well, I am just full of stress that needs to be released so press play.”

He stays over well into the evening, Rina migrates to join you in the living room and you switch to watching some drama that they both were looking forward to. Beomgyu gets along well with Rina and it shouldn’t be a big deal but it is. It feels like bridging a gap in your life you didn’t even realise there was.

Beomgyu almost falls asleep on your couch, too, but you kick him out telling him to go to his own room.

(“But I’m already here and your couch is way more comfortable than mine.” “Sleep on your bed, stupid.”)

The fact Beomgyu chose to be here, with you, instead of out wooing Chaeryeong, has you blushing all over again.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Yeji is the one to text you about the party. Someone’s parents are out for the weekend meaning they have the house to themselves and of course throwing a party is the best way to celebrate the fact. Honestly, you’re more surprised that a college student still lives with their parents but whatever.

This party is significant, Beomgyu tells you, because Chaeryeong invited him personally. As far as he knows, the usual suspects are going, too, but Chaeryeong asked him to meet her there, save her a dance, which basically puts them at Step Four. You’re his good luck charm, he tells you.

Rina eyes you suspiciously when she sees you getting ready to head out. “Where are you going all dressed up?” she asks from your bedroom door.

You look down at your outfit of black jeans and a crop top and think you don’t look that different. Or spectacularly good. “A party,” you say.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Is Beomgyu going with you?” You sigh.

Ever since Beomgyu showed up at your dorm, Rina has not stopped badgering you with questions about him. What he’s like, what he studies, if you’re dating. (That last one landed her a cushion to the head.) You indulge her anyway and find that all those teen dramas might have been on to something when it comes to boy talk. It’s fun.

You spent most of your time complaining about him and find that the things that used to annoy you think are more endearing than anything. When you talk about him, Rina always gives you a funny look, the same one Taehyun gave you all those weeks ago, like she knows something you don’t.

“Yes, he is, and he’s coming to pick me up, too, so behave.”

Rina raises her hands in mock surrender “I will make myself scarce.” Then, seriously, “Have fun.”

Not ten minutes later, there is a knock on the door. You smooth out your clothes, checking yourself in the mirror, once, twice then finally exiting your room.

“Hey,” Beomgyu greets, when you open the door.

“Hi.” You don’t know how long you stay staring at each in your doorway, but it must be long enough for someone to clear their throats from behind you. “Let’s go,” you say, when you finally snap out of your daze, “I’m pretty sure Rina is watching us from the kitchen.” He laughs, nodding his consent and you follow out, closing the door behind you.

The two of you make your way to the bus stop together in comfortable silence. You’re always comfortable with Beomgyu, you find.

He’s the one to break it. He clears his throat awkwardly, turns to look at you, changes his mind and looks away, before looking again and averting his gaze. His nervousness is cute, you observe, although you don’t know what could make him nervous. It’s just you. He settles his gaze on a lamppost. “Uh, you look nice.”

You scoff lightly, endeared all the same. “I’m pretty sure I’ve worn this exact outfit in front of you before. I look the same.”

Beomgyu rounds on you suddenly. “Maybe you always look nice.” Where his newfound confidence comes from, you don’t know, but it makes something burn in your stomach. He is staring down at you, using his height to his full advantage. The light from the lamppost is all you have under the night sky and you are thrown for a loop at how gorgeous he was.

Part of you is grateful for the bus arriving just then, the screeching signaling it’s arrival taking you out of the spell you were under.

“The bus is here,” you inform, not sure why you’re whispering, even though Beomgyu probably knows. He hasn’t stopped looking at you, though.

Eventually he nods and moves away from you in a way that makes it look like it physically pains him too.

You don’t find any seats next to each other; there are a couple singles spread out here and there, but Beomgyu wants to be next to you. He grabs your hand with his own, pulling you close to his side as you stand, using your other hand to hold onto the bar above your head.

Your mind is still reeling from what happened outside, even though you don’t really know what happened. One moment, you were teasing him like you normally do and the next—

You think he might’ve—

You wanted him to—

“This is our stop.” Beomgyu’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. You let him lead off the bus and you don’t have to walk far before you reach the house.

Music is blaring from the house, so loud you can hear it from the street. It only gets worse as you enter, the noise seemingly coming from inside your head.

You turn to Beomgyu. “You should go find Chaeryeong!” He doesn’t look like he hears you.

“I’m going to go find Chaeryeong!” he yells over the music and you nod. He pushes his way through the bodies and you remain in your spot. You look around the crowd, watching people dance to the music and find that if you’re to get through this, you’re going to need a drink.

It’s only been ten minutes since you’ve arrived, you nursing the same bottle of beer, when Beomgyu is emerging from the throng of people. He’s saying something. To you, you realise belatedly. The music is too loud to hear anything.

“What?” you yell back.

“Chaeryeong!” he starts, louder this time, “she’s not here!”

Your eyes go wide. The whole reason you were here is because you were banking on her being here. Now that she’s not, well. “What now?” you ask and Beomgyu can’t hear you. You lean closer to his ear and repeat your question.

It seems what you’re saying still doesn’t register and you’re about to ask for the third time when he grabs hold of your wrist and leads you through the crowd, deeper in the house. You want to ask what he’s doing but figure he won’t hear you anyway. There are less people here, though not by much.

It’s still impossibly loud, and Beomgyu seems to realise this at the same time as you, because before you can comment, he spies something by the wall—a door, you realise belatedly—and pushes you inside. He follows closely, shutting the door behind him, but underestimates the size of the room you are in and ends up chest to chest with you.

It must be a closet, you think. Far too small to be anything else. Beomgyu doesn’t step back.

“What were you saying?” His question makes you realise that it is significantly quieter in here, the music a soft thump muffled by the walls.

“Oh. Uh, I was just asking what now. Since Chaeryeong isn’t here.” Your words come out breathless, despite the fact that you have been standing still this whole time.

Beomgyu’s eyes search your face, for what, you don’t know. Your heart is pounding under his stare. Nervous, you realise. Beomgyu is making you nervous.

His eyes flick down your face for the briefest of moments and you think he might have been looking at your lips. But it happens too fast and the lighting is too dim to be able to tell.

A beat.

Then, “Do you want to dance?”

Dancing with Beomgyu consists primarily of swaying inappropriately to bass heavy music and standing stock still when people jump around too close to you. He smiles at you the entire time, face lighting up so bright it rivals the LEDs stuck on the wall. Yours is probably matching.

You’re in a limbo, it feels like. This moment is a liminal space and the only thing that exists is you, and Beomgyu, dancing together, while he stares at you like you are the only person in the world. The space in between something ending and something starting.

An almost.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 4: ASK HER ON A DATE

BG’S NOTE: I CAN’T DO THIS

Y/N’S NOTE: u’ll be fine

You have a problem.

A serious, life threatening problem caused by one long legged, pretty faced, chronically annoying yet eternally endearing boy. This problem has your stomach turning over and your chest erupting in warmth whenever you are in contact with said long legged, pretty faced, chronically annoying yet eternally endearing boy.

Rina says it’s a crush. Says that you like him, have for a long time but just didn’t realise. She also says I told you so, like she ever brought it up before so what exactly does she know?

You suppose, though, it makes sense. Suppose that you have been leaning into his touch more, lingering in his hold during hugs. Catching yourself smiling at him stupidly when he’s not looking.

God, you feel like Beomgyu when you first met him. Obsessed with the object of your affection. Except, obviously, you aren’t going to extreme measures to win them over. No, you plan on just letting it run its course until you eventually get over it.

(Although, according to Rina, you’re in too deep. There is no “getting over it”. It’s been too long and your feelings are probably much stronger than you realise. In simple terms: you’re fucked.)

((But she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, remember.))

Though, as of late, you suppose Beomgyu has been following your footsteps.

He hasn’t seen Chaeryeong, or talked to her as far as you’re concerned.

You figure he’s just nervous and you know you should give him some pep talk to inspire him and get him back on track with the plan, because doing otherwise and taking advantage of this would be selfish. Allowing your own personal feelings to affect how you help him wouldn’t be fair. But, as it stands, you are selfish. If only a little bit.

You don’t give him a pep talk, you don’t encourage him, in fact, you don’t even bring up the plan. Don’t even bring up Chaeryeong. And neither does he. So if Beomgyu wants to spend every waking moment with you, you can’t find it in you to deny him.

loser gyu: come over

ynie: hmmm no

loser gyu: PLEASE IM BEGGING

ynie: uh huh

loser: DON'T BE LIKE THAT loser: i bought you cake

ynie: oh so u RLLY want me there huh? what's going on

loser: i need ur help w smth

ynie: do i have to get my hands dirty?

loser gyu: um loser gyu: not if u do it properly?

ynie: well my curiosity is piqued ynie: give me ten minutes

Arriving at his dorm, you don’t bother knocking and just let yourself in. “Beom?” you call out when you don’t see him immediately.

“Bathroom!” he shouts back.

You leave your things on the coffee table and locate your friend, stopping short when you see the state the bathroom is in. “What is happening?”

There are bottles and brushes on the counter, plastic bags and a bowl, too. A towel is laying across the floor, another draped over the back of a chair, and in the centre of this mess is Beomgyu.

Beomgyu has the decency to blush. “My highlights are fading.”

It is then that you notice that the bottles are hair dye and the plastic bags are actually gloves and it hits you what you’re here for.

You stare. “Did you make me come over here to redo your hair?”

“Depends on how you will react if I say yes.”

God, he was so stupid. You like him so much.

This time, you didn’t even need to watch a tutorial, going off memory from the first time. The colour comes out good, better, even, than the first time around. More yellow, too, something you know he’ll be happy about.

“Looks like you finally got to do that blonde,” you joke, dropping down onto his couch once you finished cleaning up the bathroom.

Beomgyu huffs out a laugh and sits down next to you. Right next to you. Which is normal for him but now that you are aware of your feelings (stupid parties and stupid roommates), you are keenly aware of all the points of contact between the two of you. His thigh against your thigh, his arm pressed up against yours.

You try to keep still, to limit your movements, lest he somehow figure out how much this simple contact is affecting you.

Throughout your inner turmoil, Beomgyu is oddly silent next to you. Gaze straight ahead at his collection of pictures. Pictures that now include you.

The two of you at the café, one of you when you fell asleep on the bus. Another of you two on this very couch where you had a marathon of old dramas and woke up with uncomfortable pains in your necks.

Beomgyu speaks up suddenly. “Do you think this plan is stupid?”

You look over at him curiously. “The Chaeryeong thing?” He nods. “Oh, yeah, terribly stupid. I’m pretty sure I’ve said so, too, when we were making it. Or maybe I just thought about it.”

He laughs. “I can vividly hear you saying it. Like, it’s exactly the kind of thing you would say.”

“Then I stand by my initial thought. It’s so stupid. But, it’s working. Who’d’ve thought?”

“You, of course.”

“Of course. I believed in this plan from the get go.”

“Just a ray of optimism.”

“That’s me. Optimism and positivity.” The two of you are a giggling mess on the couch by the end of your little bit. You wait until your laughter dies down to ask, “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just thinking. We started here, you know?”

“And how far we’ve come,” you muse, chuckling to yourself. You never would have expected to get this close to Beomgyu when you started this whole thing, let alone develop feelings for him. But, looking back on it, you guess it was bound to happen anyways.

“Do you think we should stop?”

Beomgyu’s sudden question brings you out of your musings. You shift on the couch so you’re facing him dead on. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. He wrings his fingers, eyes flitting between his hands and your face. Then, “I saw Chaeryeong earlier.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“She apologised. For missing the party. She had a lot of work to get done and forgot to text that she wouldn’t make it.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I was like ‘Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry’. And she was ‘Cool’ and asked if we could go out later to make up for it and I said I’ll let her know. Then we stood there for a moment and then I just…left. Impulsively felt the need to dye my hair. Texted you.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Beomgyu leans back into the couch, releasing a breath.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing everything he’s told you. You scoff lightly, rolling your eyes. “Well, that was stupid.”

He snaps his head to you. “What?”

“She obviously wants to go out with you!” you explain. Beomgyu just stares at you. “You were supposed to agree and then go on a date—a real date—and then ask her out like ‘Oh, Chaeryeong, I’ve been obsessed with you since I came out the womb, will you be mine, rah rah rah’.”

The boy scoffs. “I do not sound like that. And also, that is a terrible way to ask someone out.”

“Well, what would you say, then?” you challenge, crossing your arms. This is dangerous territory you’re entering, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Beomgyu stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Are you serious?”

You shrug. “Yeah, since you know so much about romance. Pretend I’m Chaeryeong.”

And maybe there’s something to be said about you being selfish as well as a masochist. Because why else would you subject yourself to hearing the boy you like use you as a placeholder to confess to someone else? You get to pretend that he is talking to you, that his words are directed to you. But on the other hand? You know he isn’t.

Retribution, maybe, you think. For keeping him to yourself for so long.

Making up his mind, Beomgyu sits up straighter, mirroring your position to face you. “If you had told me three months ago you and I would be friends, I would have stared at you like you just told me you were from the future and walked away. But here we are, three months later, and you are probably the most important person to me in my life.”

He is not talking about you. You know. But he looks at you like he is.

“I don’t know how you became such a staple in my life but I’m so glad you did because I can’t imagine not knowing you. I’ve liked you for a while now, Y/N. Will you go out with me?”

Your breath hitches. It feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out. He’s staring at you intently. Like he is actually waiting for a response. Like he meant it.

“Chaeryeong,” you whisper. Beomgyu’s mouth falls open slightly, as if only now realising his slip up. “You mean Chaeryeong.”

“Y/N—”

“Other than that, that was good, yeah. You should, like, call her now. See if she’s still interested.” Standing up from the couch, you begin to collect your things, getting ready to leave.

You can make up for your selfishness like this. All he needs is a push.

Beomgyu stands up after you, following you to the door. “Y/N—”

You don’t look back. “Text me how it goes, yeah?”

“Y/N, wait—”

But you’ve already shut the door behind you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

This, you think, is the longest you’ve gone without seeing Beomgyu. Five hours of time to yourself watching your favourite bad TV shows with Rina out studying with some people from her class. You are by yourself in your dorm with nothing to do and no one to see for the whole day, just like old times.

It sucked.

You never realised how much you actually hated being alone until you weren’t anymore.

The day passes in a blur and you think about Beomgyu on his date with the girl of his dreams, then immediately try to think of something else. It doesn’t work very well. Because even before you started liking him, he was a staple in your thoughts.

Rina tries to distract you when she comes home. You don’t tell her what’s wrong but it doesn’t matter because apparently she can spot “boy problems” a mile away. She goes to bed, eventually, leaving you on the couch with only the company of your laptop and Tyra Banks.

You don’t know what you’re staying up for. Nobody’s coming, you’re expecting anyone to. It’s more hope than anything. But it’s late and he can text you in the morning and—

There is a knock at your door.

It can’t be. It isn’t.

It is.

Beomgyu is at your door, still dressed in his date outfit, slightly wrinkled button down paired with black jeans. “Hi.” He looks surprised to see you. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“You still came,” you point out.

“Hoped you were.”

Heart in your throat, you step aside to let him in. He’s nervous, you observe, playing with his fingers as he moves into your dorm.

You swallow. “How did it go?”

“She kissed me,” he blurts out and time seems to slow.

You become acutely aware of the space between you. Him standing by the door and you near the couch. You want to be closer. Don’t think you could handle it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Clearing your throat, you try plaster an encouraging smile on your face. “Well, there you have it. She likes you. Only thing left is for you to ask her to be your girlfriend.”

There is a moment where he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there. Then, “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

Beomgyu pulls his bottom lip between his teeth nervously. “Do you want me to go?” he asks cautiously, eyes boring into yours. It looks like he’s about to take a step to you, body tilted in your direction, but he’s waiting. For your answer, you realise.

You think back to the party, from the bus stop to the party where the two of you danced together. How you wished that moment would last forever. How it felt like it would. But it didn’t. And the party came to an end and you were hit with the reality that was supposed to be Chaeryeong.

It was always supposed to be Chaeryeong.

“Yes,” you say. No. “You’ve got to finish the plan.” Please stay.

Beomgyu looks stunned. Opens and closes his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say. “The plan,” he says breathlessly, dazed. “Right,” this time with more conviction. “Okay, yeah. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

You give him a small smile, something you hope says You’ve got this! and not I don’t know what to do when you’re not around, please don’t go. You open the door for him, leading him out. He gives you one last glance before stepping out into the hallway.

He doesn’t say goodnight. Neither do you.

Turns out Rina was right. You were in too deep. And there was nothing you could do about it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP 5: ASK HER TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND (CONGRATULATIONS FOR MAKING IT THIS FAR, LOSER)

BG’S NOTE: uh thanks

Y/N’S NOTE: ur welcome

“I’m surprised, really,” Yeji starts, from her place on your couch. “I could have sworn you guys were dating when we met.”

You nearly spill the coffee you were drinking all over yourself. “What?”

Yeji had invited herself over that morning, under the guise of catching up, then bombarded you with questions about why she hasn’t seen you around with your shadow (Beomgyu) lately. You don’t know why, but it led to spilling your guts to her about everything—the plan, your not planned feelings, pushing Beomgyu to Chaeryeong.

Yeji shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, you guys are, like, all over each other, all the time, I just figured.” You’re sure you must look like she just told you she believes the Earth is flat with the way you are staring at her mouth agape but she pays you no mind. “And then we started hanging out more and Chaeryeong just wouldn’t stop talking about Beomgyu and I was stunned because, you know, I like you and think you’re cool and Girl Code and all that so I’m like ‘Dude, back off, don’t be a homewrecker’—”

This time you do spill your coffee. “You said what?”

“—and she was like ‘Oh, no they aren’t dating, don’t worry’. Now you can imagine how confused I was. But, I let it go because I know Chaer and she wouldn’t do that, but, I don’t know. Had this feeling in my gut. And now here you are telling me that I was, in fact, wrong and that this whole thing was planned. Crazy.”

At your silence and most definitely frazzled expression, Yeji winces sympathetically. “Too much at once?”

“A lot at once—You told Chaeryeong we were dating?”

“You guys sure act like it! Like, the amount of heart eyes that boy sends your way? Anybody could see he liked you.”

You cross your arms, frowning as you lean back into your seat. “Well, you got your facts wrong, clearly. Those were for Chaeryeong.”

Yeji sighs. “Remember when we went to that amusement park? And the guys were trying to win all those prizes?”

“Yeah, and Beomgyu was trying to win some for Chaeryeong.”

She waves you off with an eye roll. “He was and he did, and she appreciated it, by the way.” You scowl. She is undeterred. “Anyways, you and me were looking at, like, the big ones, the ones that need, like, a bajillion points, right? And you point at this giant, ugly as shit sloth as a joke and tell me that that’s what you want?”

You nod, confused as to what this has to do with anything. “And Theo won it for me.”

Yeji shakes her head. Your eyebrows furrow further. “I asked and he didn’t. Beomgyu did.”

You throw a cushion at her head. “Shut up.”

“I’m being serious!” she exclaims, dodging successfully. “He heard you say that you wanted and stayed back for twenty minutes trying to win that thing for you. Told Theo to pretend it was from him.”

You think back to the plushie in question, resting on your bedside table and try to imagine Beomgyu trying to win it for you. Try to imagine him hearing your offhanded comment, taking it seriously and spending all that time and shake your head to rid the thoughts. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s in love with you and is too stupid to see it? And you’re just as stupid for not seeing it either.”

You sputter to defend yourself. To defend Beomgyu. “That’s not-The plan-He can’t—”

“You can’t plan for feelings, Y/N. You shouldn’t try to.”

You go to argue again but decide against it. Instead you slide down the couch and hide your face in your hands. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Well, for one, get out of your head.” At that, the cushion you threw comes launching back and hits you square in the face. You release a string of curses that Yeji ignores. “Stop refusing the idea that Beomgyu might like you like you like him. After that? I don’t know. It’s kind of up to you.”

Yeji leaves soon after that, having a lesson that’s starting soon and you figure it’s time for you to head to your own, too.

Seeing Chaeryeong in class feels like a punch in the gut. She smiles when she sees you, waves you over to her table to talk but you can’t find it in you to do so.

You give a small wave in return but make a beeline for your desk. You ignore the frown she sends your way. The truth is, you’re not mad at Chaeryeong. You can’t be. It’s not her fault and she didn’t do anything except be super welcoming and nice. But, you can’t sit with her, not when your feelings are practically eating you up inside. Not when you don’t know if Beomgyu’s asked her yet.

If she said yes.

After nearly another hour feeling sorry for yourself, Ms Kwon lets the class out. You sling your bag over one shoulder and exit, barely looking up from the ground.

“Hey,” Beomgyu breathes out, standing right outside your class, like he always does.

You gssp softly, surprised to see him here. For you. “Hey,” greet back, adjusting the strap of your bag.

“How was class?”

“Fine,” you blurt out. You find that you can’t do the small talk. That you just want to know. “Did you talk to Chaeryeong?”

Beomgyu blinks. “Uh, yeah. I did.”

“Well what did she say?”

A breath. “That she likes me—which, I figured—and that, if it’s okay with me, she wants to keep hanging out as friends.”

It feels like the whole world has tilted on it’s axis. “What?”

“Gave me a hug for good luck, too.”

“For what?”

He shrugs, stepping closer. “Getting the girl.”

Your chest tightens. “Did you?” You hold your breath, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Another step. “You told me to go to Chaeryeong.”

You scan his face, hoping to find answers to the one question playing on loop in your head: What is going on? “I thought it was what you wanted. Still do, kinda. I’m confused.”

“I wanted you to tell me not to. To stay. With you.”

“Oh.”

He chuckles softly, “Yeah.”

Talking to Beomgyu always came easy, too easy sometimes. You could talk for hours on end and never get bored. But now it feels like there aren’t any words in the world. Nothing you could say.

He does it for you. “If you don’t mind, I would like to cash in my question now.”

“Go ahead.”

“If this isn’t completely out of left field and I’m not reading this the wrong way, Y/N, would you like to go out with me? And then, I don’t know, if you don’t end up having a horrible time with me, go on another one? And another—a dozen preferably. And, hopefully, if after all that, you’re not absolutely sick of me, would you say yes to being my girlfriend?”

You blink once. Twice. Gasp. Then, “Oh my god.”

“You can be incredibly slow, you know that?” Beomgyu teases, smirking until you punch his shoulder, making him wince.

“I thought you were being friendly, you jerk!”

“Stop hitting me!”

You bring your arm back. You avert your gaze to somewhere over his shoulder, uncertainty and nerves washing over. “I haven’t had any in a while. Didn’t want to mess it up.”

His face softens almost impossibly so. “You couldn’t mess up anything with me. So…about that question?” That boyish nervousness is the only confidence boost you need to remember that this is Beomgyu. Your best friend. The boy you were in love with. (Maybe. It might be too soon to tell. It doesn’t matter.)

“Well,” you drawl and Beomgyu groans at your dramatics, “do I really have to wait till the twelfth date before I can be your girlfriend?”

Beomgyu pretends to think, smile beaming so bright it’s almost blinding. “I suppose we could knock it down to at least six. Minimum four.”

You hum in consideration, taking a step forward. “How about, one and a kiss?”

“Wha—?”

Before he can finish his question, you grab a fistful of his shirt and pull his lips onto yours, bag slipping off your shoulder. He’s stock still for a moment, stunned by the sudden movement, but quickly melts into the kiss.

His hands find your sides, running up and down your arms, pulling you closer. Your hold on his shirt releases as your body practically turns into a puddle. It’s all too much. Too much and not enough all at once. You want him closer, think anymore would make you combust.

Breathing, you remember belatedly, is a necessary thing. Reluctantly, you pull away from Beomgyu, resting your forehead against. He chases your lips once, twice and you giggle.

“No dates.” Beomgyu’s breath comes out ragged. “Let’s just kiss some more and I can be your boyfriend right now.”

You laugh loudly, attracting the attention of a few students. Beomgyu beams. He kisses you again, slower this time, softer. The urgency from the first one is gone, replaced with a gentleness that has you sighing into his mouth.

“You were right,” he says suddenly when you have to stop to breathe again. You tilt your head slightly confused. “Pretty fool proof plan.” Beomgyu grins at you wide and silly and you try your hardest to hold back from kissing it off his face.

(You do, anyways.)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

BONUS STEP!!

REMEMBER: NOTHING REALLY CHANGES

BG’S NOTE: ONLY THERE’S A LOT MORE KISSING

Y/N’S NOTE: CAN CONFIRM, KISSING AS WE WRITE THIS

“So, I guess you fell for my charms after all, huh?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

#beomgyu x reader #ficscafe #klibrary #prism.nw #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu reactions #txt x reader #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt reactions #txt fluff #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #🔮 — cr ijyho.

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submissivekillers · 4 years ago

Note

Yo yo yoooi! Can I please have a lost boys x vamp reader who’s like the very first vampire to be born and she comes and meets the boys cause she’s traveling across the world to visit all her “children” - so basically ancient ass vamp reader who looks 20 something meets the lost boys cause she’s meeting the rest of her kind

like what i do? support me on kofi

ngl i basically pictured reader as a pre-milfication lady d while writing this jhgfdsa. brainrot!! also mild max slander

length: 2.2k

If there is one rule you’ve managed to learn over the long years of your existence, it is this: humans will take any opportunity to make fools of themselves.

Santa Carla is no exception.

Even in the early morning before the hordes of hormone-addled humans descended on the beach, the air had been heavy with smoke and blood and sex, so strong it almost overpowered the scent of the sea even when you'd peeled off your sandals to wade in. In its own way, it's exhilarating; the anticipation had your old blood stirring, your excitement mounting as the sun dipped low and the crowds swelled. From the window of your little motel room, you'd had a wonderful view of the flood of humans that spilled onto the boardwalk, the vast majority of them young and already inebriated to some degree. Ripe for the picking.

It's not humans that you're hunting for tonight, though. At least, not yet.

At a leisurely pace, you wander the boardwalk, taking your time to enjoy the local color. You indulge in a vivid blue cloud of cotton candy, try a couple rides, win yourself a stuffed whale after breaking a few bottles and promptly gift it to the first kid you see. A belligerent twenty-something who stinks of beer tugs at the hem of your white dress as it swishes around your thighs and you break his wrist without a second thought, disappearing into the crowd long before his scream of pain is lost in the echo of blaring music and shrieks of sugar-fueled glee.

You're in line behind a gaggle of chattering teens at an ice cream stand when your nerves prickle, feeling the weight of eyes on the back of your neck. Without turning, you inhale, nose wrinkling as the acrid smell of old blood fills your nose. They absolutely reek of the stuff - it's so strong that you're a little surprised even the humans aren't picking up on it. But then again, maybe they just can't pick it out under the layers of weed and exhaust smoke.

The teens disperse, laden with several precarious cones of ice cream, and the bored woman behind the counter waves you up. You open your mouth, but there's an arm around your waist before you can say a word, a cool body pressed against your side. A ringed hand slaps a crumpled five-dollar bill on the counter, mismatched bracelets jingling with the motion.

"We got the lady's order tonight, Peggy," comes a voice from your other side. You glance over the top of your glasses (cheap, heart-shaped things rimmed in vivid pink, scavenged from last night's meal) and meet the gaze of a cherubic blond, his pale blue eyes calculating as he worries his thumbnail between his teeth.

The arm around your waist squeezes tighter. You turn your head, tilting your chin slightly so you can lock eyes with another pair of baby blues. They sparkle at you mischievously as your fellow vampire, bends to whisper in your ear, teased blond mane tickling your nose. "What can I get for you, baby girl?"

You make a show of considering your options, pouting faintly as you prop a hand under your chin. You slip your other hand around his waist, idly toying with the mesh of his ridiculous fishnet top and grinning when he shivers at the scrape of your painted nails. "Chocolate shake, I think," you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. "Are you getting anything?"

Rocker boy shakes his head, tips you an exaggerated wink as he shoves the fiver towards the increasingly petrified-looking cashier. "Nah, all yours tonight."

"Sweet of you," you chirp, popping up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He beams at you sunnily, shooting an excited glance at the cherub over the top of your head.

Peggy pushes your shake over the counter, lid only half-on in her haste to get the three of you away from her little stand. You manage to flash her a smile (aiming for sympathetic, but perhaps landing closer to smug) before you're pulled away, happily taking a sip of your drink as the cherub comes to walk at your side, trapping you between their bodies. You address the rocker first, catching the way his eyes dart down to catch you licking the ice cream from your lips. "You got a name?"

"You can call me Paul, baby," he purrs, then wiggles his brows at you suggestively. "Or daddy, if ya want."

You snort around the straw of your shake, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth. It's definitely one of the more low-effort pickup lines you've ever heard, but something about him - the goofy little eyebrow waggle, the answering grin when you laugh at him like he knows exactly how ridiculous he is, his overall puppyish manner - manages to push it over the line from sleazy to charming. "You should be so lucky."

"I'd be the luckiest man in the world, I think," he flashing you a smile that's slower, more seductive than his cheesy grin - the kind of smile that would make any pretty young human a little more willing to spread their thighs.

It's perhaps more effective on you than you care to admit, but you ignore the lazy heat that curls down your spine, turning to bat your eyes at the cherub. "How 'bout you, handsome?"

"Marko," he says shortly. His face is young, but he's definitely the older one here - you can always tell by the eyes. "And you're on our turf."

"What, a girl can't take a little vacation in peace? I thought this was a free country," you huff in mock indignance.

Marko narrows his eyes at you. "Free country, maybe. Not free hunting grounds." He gnaws his thumbnail again, scanning you like he's trying to judge a threat - though it seems he can't help lingering for a long moment on the bare skin of your thighs. "Mind coming with us? David wants to meet you."

David. The name is familiar - Max's first, if you recall. From what you'd heard, he could be quite a territorial creature.

Paul, perhaps mistaking your thoughtfulness for unease, squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, you're not in trouble. We just wanna make sure you're cool, you know?" His thumb draws steady circles over the arch of your shoulder blade. "This is our turf, but if you're not gonna cause any trouble, you'll be okay."

The expression on Marko's face makes you doubt Paul's optimism, but you play along, curling a hand around his bicep and leaning in. "But what if I like causing trouble?"

Paul grants you another sunny grin. "Then you can cause trouble with us," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "I bet we could show you a good time."

Marko clears his throat, distracting you from your flirting, and you're suddenly aware of the scent of blood grown stronger - along with the pungent smell of motor oil. Looking ahead, you see a group of bikes before you, two more vampires leaning against their respective rides.

Both handsome, and you can tell they're both strong - but it's clear from a glance which one is the leader.

"Thanks for fetching our guest," the blond - David, you know instinctively - rumbles, his voice a warm, sardonic purr. He looks you up and down, the weight of his eyes like a physical thing. "Welcome to Santa Carla."

"Do you give all visitors a personal welcome?"

"Only the interesting ones." He smiles at you, the edge of a fang glinting in the light. "Come with us. There's someone you should meet."

You lift a brow. "Oh? And here I figured you were the one in charge around here?"

"I am, don't get it twisted," he shoots back lazily, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes from inside his duster. "But our sire wants to meet you."

"Ah, so you're the lead enforcer," you muse, nodding. David gives you a look caught between exasperation and amusement and takes point as you're herded after him. "And you?" You chirp, turning to the dark-haired boy who walks behind you.

He blinks languidly at you. "...Dwayne."

Strong and silent. You can appreciate that in a man.

You're lead to a video shop in the center of the boardwalk, fielding Paul's flirting, Marko's questions, and Dwayne's cautious stare as you go. David walks slightly ahead of the rest of you, puffing on a cigarette and occasionally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

As you approach the door you hear Dwayne sniff, his rumble of "Maria's not here yet," barely audible even to your heightened senses.

"Good," David murmurs, pulling open the door with a merry chime of the little bell. He bows his head, making a sweeping gesture to usher you by. "After you."

Drifting inside, you're assaulted by flickering screens and lurid posters, a storm of color and noise. You run a fingertip down the spine of a videotape, but a whimper draws your attention. Bending at the waist, you catch sight of Max's hound hiding under a desk, watching you with ears pinned flat to his skull.

Shame, really. You found him rather cute, but the beast had always been terrified of you.

A familiar scent reaches your nose, and a familiar face follows soon after - though he's changed significantly since the last time you saw him. The trappings of the modern world suit him well, you have to admit; the thick glasses lend a sort of non-threatening charm to his face, which you suppose is the point.

"Thorn, what's gotten into"—he stops so quickly his shoes squeal against the floor, the friendly shopkeeper guise dropping in the space of a blink—You."

"Maxie." You greet, inclining your head. "You look... alive. In a manner of speaking, of course."

He steps between you and the hound, hands curled into tense fists at his sides. "What are you doing here?"

"Just sightseeing, really," you say soothingly, holding up your hands in surrender. "Figured the time was ripe to catch up with the world, see how all my little birds are doing. Carmilla sends her love, by the way."

"This is my territory," Max hisses through his teeth, eyes bleeding yellow. "You know you can't be here without prior notice, it's law—"

You sigh through your nose and snap your fingers. "Maximillian, kneel."

He falls to his knees hard enough that the tile cracks under his weight. You step closer, lifting his chin to meet his furious glare; he visibly strains against your order, a vein pulsing in his temple. You have no doubt that he would tear your throat out if given the chance.

But you've been alive entirely too long to let a little upstart like Max get the better of you.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," you say, calmly, but firm. "But I made the laws, Max. You would do well not to forget that."

He bares his teeth at you, face fully transformed to reveal the beast within. You look at him impassively for a moment, then sigh, turning on your heel and edging past a stunned Dwayne. "I'll meet you outside, boys."

You push through the door with more force than strictly necessary, the tinkle of the bell almost mocking your dampened mood. Disappointing. Max had always clashed with you, even if he lacked the nerve to do anything about it. You'd hoped that a few hundred years apart might have cooled his animosity towards you, but clearly that was too much to hope for.

You suck on your straw, making a face at the airy rattle you get instead of ice cream. All out of milkshake, and still so thirsty.

The bell jingles again, heralding the approach of Max's coven. "I apologize for not warning you," you say before any of them can speak, twirling your empty cup. "I did have a feeling Max would react badly to seeing me. He's always been a bit of a cunt when things don't go his way."

"How old are you?" Marko blurts.

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady's age?" You tut, waving a finger in mock-indignation. "Really. No manners at all."

David steps forward, eyes glittering in the neon lights. "You turned Max."

"No," you say, smiling to show off the long, curving points of your canines. "But I turned his sire. And I turned the sire before her, too."

Glances are exchanged. Dwayne and David hold each other's gaze for a long moment, then Dwayne breaks away to glance at Marko, murmuring something just quietly enough that you don't catch it. Paul smiles, curious and admiring, and when David looks back at you there's a cautious interest written in the lines of his face.

"Tell you what," you purr, looping your arms around David's neck. His gloved hands come to rest on your hips, leather creaking as he idly kneads the flesh hidden beneath soft cotton. "My throat's feeling a little dry. Why don't you boys take me for a drink, and then I’ll answer a few questions."

#the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine #horror imagines #sfw

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years ago

Text

Day 27, Post #2 by @booksforevermore13

Author: @booksforevermore13

Summary:

"Well, considering the fact that you just asked me out - “

“and the fact that you turned me down,” he countered.

“- why not? she finished, grinning broadly. “And-and, if I had turned you down,” Ginny added, “I wouldn’t be going with you now, would I?”

“Fair enough."

Ginny’s spent the last two hours alone in a coffee shop. Luckily, a handsome stranger steps in

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

Prompt:

Meet-cute

Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

...

“Sorry I’m so late love, traffic is crazy right now,” he said loudly, overly loud to be called normal. Ginny looked around, sure the entire cafe could hear him from where he was standing. Not to mention he was an unnaturally handsome man, and men like that tend to grab a lot of attention in a coffee shop.

Did she mention she had never seen him before?

Ginny watched him glance around and glare at a man staring at them, then bend down towards her. She almost automatically leaned away from him, and in all likelihood, she supposed he could see that she was uncomfortable, for he made sure to keep a safe distance between them.

Somehow, she felt that he was going to do that anyway.

“I’m Harry, just go with it, yeah? Whoever didn’t bother to show up is a git.”

Ginny frowned, dawning on her that this man she’d never seen in her life, who could essentially be a serial killer for all she cared, was trying to save her from the embarrassment that would follow when she got up after her two hour long wait in solitude.

Okay, fine.

She lied.

Her boyfriend, no, she’d not considered him one for months now, but anyway, the git stood her up. Technically, he’d always been a git, but she’d thought he’d have the least decency to at least call.

Not that she hadn’t suffered the quiet glances enough, but she particularly didn’t want to see the pity that followed her when she got up to leave.

The self-respecting part of her wouldn’t have waited after the fifteen-minute mark, but she’d stuck around for the sole purpose of being miserable, because there really wasn’t anything else to do. And of course, for the hope that when and if he finally showed up, she’d enjoy giving him a piece of her mind. In the middle of the damn shop.

So, Ginny couldn’t help but smile for the first time that evening, because whoever this stranger was, he was doing a damn good job at turning her evening around.

She watched as he looked around the cafe, and pulled out the chair opposite her, stumbling while trying to sit. He didn’t make eye contact, but when he did, Ginny very nearly was taken aback by the dark green of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t have sat here hadn’t it been for the - “

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

This close, she could see a lighter green coronary around his iris and try as she did, Ginny couldn’t help the blush spreading across her cheeks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him, and though she was glad he did, she was slightly embarrassed he had had to.

“Sure I did,” he replied while grinning, and it was one of those grins which were infectious enough to make even the likes of her smile. With one hand, she watched as he brushed his hair back, a few strands still over his eyes and Ginny struggled to keep the red away as their eyes met.

“I’m Ginny,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he replied, and Ginny, for a second there, was overcome with how much of a gentleman he was. Surprisingly enough, she found herself knowing the meaning behind the word, the first time she’d happened to do so, for Michael had been everything but.

“You know,” she shrugged, “if you want, you can walk out right now, right now, and you don’t need to—”

“Why do you assume I want to leave?”

Ginny blinked, taken aback by the interruption. “I just thought,” she stuttered, “you’d, I’d- I just thought you did this out of pity, which is what is expected but —”

“I didn’t...”

“I don’t need it,”she continued, “trust me, I am well aware the person who left me hanging was a git but — hang on, what?”

And Harry laughed, ducking his head, and Ginny felt like she was eleven all over again, blushing at the slightest laugh, riling up at the smallest comment, her hormones all over the place.

“I’m not doing this out of pity,” Harry said, and then he blushed, much to her surprise, red spreading down his neck, and cheeks. “I did this because, I, uhh,” he fumbled for words, and became even more flustered as Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s nothing actually.”

“But?”

“You’re beautiful.”

She laughed at that, relaxing into her seat, enjoying how he’d riled up at that, his face completely red.

For the first time that day, let herself relax, breathing out a sigh of relief. Was it relief or all of her pent up emotions at once? She didn’t know, but all she’d felt for the last few hours had been anger, annoyance, hurt, though the latter she refused to admit. She could only feel so much at once, she knew that, yet Michael had only added to her troubles and Ginny had let him.

She hated herself for that.

A moment later, she spoke up again, leaning towards Harry, still enjoying how he got all flustered by her words. Clearly, he wasn’t as smooth as she thought he had been.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Who’s that girl sitting back there,” she gestured, “the one who’s been looking at us for the last few minutes from over her menu?

Harry whirled around, and then started chuckling. The girl in question dropped down again, and Harry turned back.

“That’s Hermione,” he said. “She’s my sister, friend,” he rubbed his neck again, “best friend.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Ginny had sat through Luna’s entire date with Rolf, she really couldn’t comment on it.

A moment later, Harry spoke up again, as if he’d thought of something important and wanted to get it out of the system. “Can I ask you something?” he said, repeating her words from before.

She smiled, sitting back in her seat. “Fire on.”

“I think now would be a good time to order something,” he said quietly. “That waitress over there has been giving us the stink-eye since before I sat here.”

“Can I tell you something?”

Harry nodded.

“She’s been doing that since the last two hours.”

He started laughing again, ducking his head again, and Ginny joined him, shaking her head in disbelief. She was still having a hard time believing that she was this relaxed around a complete stranger when she couldn’t even be this close with her family.

Nevertheless, she called the woman over here, who introduced herself yet again as Alicia, and then proceeded to rip their orders down in her notepad, stalking away afterwards. When she disappeared behind the counter again, Harry looked at her again, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“What’d you do to rile her up like that?”

Ginny grinned, returning his look. “I don’t blame her, really,” she said and chuckled, “if I was the one with a customer sitting for two hours straight without even drinking one measly coffee, I would have done more than glare.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

Ginny looked at him, an eyebrow arched. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” she teased and Harry scoffed.

“Not even close. I’m trying to, though I don’t think I ever will.”

“Good that.”

Behind him she saw the girl, Hermione, get up, and as Harry followed her gaze and turned, the girl looked at him, and smiled in reassurance, leaving a dollar note on the table and leaving.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s the one, now you be honest, she’s the one who pushed you to meet me, isn’t she?”

He had a sheepish look on his face as he shrugged, and Ginny threw her head back in laughter.

“How did you figure that one out?”

“You’re not as smooth as you think,” she teased, and Harry winced again, ducking his head as he smiled, and Ginny was glad she wasn’t the only one in their interaction behaving like a complete tween.

She took her time, observing him as the silence came after. It felt….comfortable, sitting with him, joking with him. There was a particular ease between them, one she hadn’t failed to notice, one she hadn’t shared with Michael or anyone she’d dated before.

He was handsome, Harry, with his lopsided glasses, and his green eyes sparkling behind them. If she could be so poetic herself, she’d have described it as a storm brewing in his eyes, the green of the forest across her house.

But she hadn’t failed to notice how it was slightly odd that he’d been here at the same time as she, and it was weird because it was a Monday, the busiest day of the week. He wasn’t an athlete, no athlete could be this charming and this flustered at the same time, and she didn’t know any other professions where they had a day off on Monday.

“What were you doing here?” she asked suddenly, and then winced, wondering if her question had been a bit too forward.

But Harry only shrugged. “Nothing of importance, really. I had a day off, so I decided to get out of the house for a change.”

“Sounds reasonable,” she replied. It was quite a mundane reason, nothing like she’d imagined. Nevertheless, she didn’t push him, didn’t ask for details, though that was partly because she knew it wasn’t her place. But over the years, with Michael and Dean and every other bloke she’d been with, constantly nagging her for details, where she’d been, whom she’d been with, why she’d been there with whomever she’d been with, that she knew better.

And she had a strong feeling that Harry appreciated it too.

When their eyes met again, she couldn’t help but smile. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck again, and then leaned forward slightly.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked, and it was, if she could be so honest (a trait she didn’t possess) concerning that the very first thing Ginny thought was how much of a damn charmer he was and the second: she couldn’t wait to tell Luna.

Not for the first time, she found herself thinking she needed to get a life.

Ginny shrugged. “You’re the one with the plan. I do whatever seems fun at the moment.”

“And what exactly seems fun here right now?”

She looked around, giving a once-over of the place before shaking her head, shrugging.

“Nothing, nada. This is a most literal garbage dump.”

“Then how about we just talk?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, as if contemplating the great mysteries of the universe, before they burst out laughing, her eyes glinting with anticipation. It had been long since she’d felt this, this ridiculous fluttering in her stomach, this tingling she felt every time their fingers brushed together.

God, they were like two giggling teenagers. No wonder everyone was looking at them.

When she checked her watch under the table, it was six in the evening, and night was setting fast, their surroundings already a dusky blue. The door of the coffee shop was open, and every other minute, a huge gust of wind blew in, cool against the summer sun. Other than the two of them, there were only three other people in the shop, and one was just about to leave.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ginny smiled.

“You play for the London Dragons?”

She frowned, slightly taken aback by how he knew that piece of information before he pointed out her jacket.

“Oh,” she chuckled drily. “Yeah, I do. It’s my last year in college.”

“I see.”

Consciously, she tugged her sleeves down, clearing her throat in earnest. One minute she wanted to twirl around the cafe twice, giddy with excitement, and the other she wanted to jump twice in her chair in fear and anticipation.

Michael hadn’t been good for her emotions.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “My turn.” She cleared her throat, and Harry raised an eyebrow, to which she wiggled hers.

“Wh…. do you, um, do that?” She asked.

He looked at her in confusion, a slight smile playing on his face. He was adorable, and Ginny was having a hard time keeping herself from smiling too much.

“Do what?”

“This, when you laugh, you duck your head. Why do you do that?”

“I…..uh, I have no idea. It’s habit, I guess.”

“I see.”

They both solemnly looked at each, and then shared a smile, Ginny still feeling quite tingly in her fingers when they touched his. The couple sitting a few chairs away from them shot them a look, after which they had to shut down their sneaky-glancing contest, but that didn’t last long.

“So,” Harry shot her a mirthful smile, “tell me something about yourself.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You save me from a dateless evening and now, you’re letting me talk about myself? Seems like I should be glad I was abandoned.”

“I think you should be more impressed by the fact that I know nothing about you.”

“And why is that?”

“So the chances of me mansplaining are next to none.”

Ginny laughed, sitting up straight in her chair. She folded her hands and looked at him. “Okay, one,” she started, “I, uhh...have six brothers, older, mind you and all of them are dolts of the highest calibre. Two, I have a dog, named Daisy, she’s a Husky, and the one being I love most in the world, and three, I am currently…. single.”

“Three things?”

“It’s your turn now.”

Harry laughed, and then copied her as he too, sat himself in the same position, his hands on the table, fingers drumming to a noiseless tune. “One, I have no siblings,” he clicked his tongue, and then continued. “Two, I….uh, I am an officer in Scotland Yard, under training though,” he said hurriedly as she looked at him in surprise, “and three, I’m twenty three, and single.”

She smirked, sitting back, satisfied, and trying to ignore the fact that he was single too (and failing miserably). “I didn’t know we had an officer in our midst,” she said.

“Under training.”

“Ah, well, potato, potahto.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation, and they sat up as Alicia, the waitress came to their table, holding their order, which she, by all accounts, slammed onto the table.

“Oh well, she’s a pleasant one,” Harry muttered and Ginny smiled into her coffee.

She blew on it and took a sip, before blatantly making a face. “Oh,” she put her coffee down. “That-that’s not good at all.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s bitter. It’s very bitter.”

“Oh,” Harry passed her a sugar packet, one which she graciously ripped open, dumping it’s contents into her coffee, stirring it, as she looked up at him.

“Can I ask you something?” Ginny gestured at his hair, and consciously, he ran his hand over it, as if he knew what she was talking about.

“What’s,” she hesitated, “that scar under your…your hair?”

She knew she’d messed up at that, for his eyes hardened, and he looked down at his plate. It was clearly a painful subject for him, one he wished to keep private and Ginny felt herself thinking she should have kept herself shut.

“I was in an accident,” he explained as their eyes met and Ginny nodded hurriedly, not asking more. She looked away, though she could feel his gaze on her long after she had turned.

“I have a feeling you want to ask something,” she smiled, and Harry nodded as he shifted in his seat.

“He, the person who didn’t show up,” he started, “he didn’t call?”

“No,” she replied sharply, before sighing. It was an awfully personal question, but she felt he deserved at least an explanation for why he had had to step in as her faux. “Michael, the boy, the git, and I,” she clicked her tongue, “well, we are too far gone to do something like that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said quietly and Ginny shrugged. She’d never broached the subject before, her and Michael’s relationship, if she could even call it one, partly because she hadn’t bothered, and partly because she didn’t know what to feel about it.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I overstepped, I’m sorry”

“No that’s alright,” she said, and waved her hands haphazardly around as if they could prove her point. “I mean we were broken up long before this. Four months, actually. This was basically grasping at needles in a haystack.”

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Why didn’t you break up then?” Harry asked and Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. If she had figured that one out, she’d have put an end to this long since.

“I’m a bad girlfriend,” she chuckled drily. “He’s a bad boyfriend. We deserved each other.”

Harry didn’t ask more.

It was a few long minutes before either of them spoke. Her brain was completely blank, one of those times where she didn’t say anything, didn’t think anything, just stared aimlessly at the sugar dissolving in her coffee.

“You know that gets me thinking,” she started, “why the hell did I date that jackass in the first place?” Ginny looked at him, a smile playing on her lips, and a need to make the conversation lighter. “The answer to that question— well, I don’t exactly know— but, well, maybe because we were attracted to each other,” she said, nodding mockingly.

“But then that gets you thinking. I am, for example and this is completely hypothetical, attracted to pie,” Harry raised an eyebrow, hiding a smile, “or this coffee for example, but that doesn’t mean I feel the need to date it.”

She looked at him, and he looked at her, as if he didn’t quite know how to respond, and just like that, they burst out laughing again, as if they hadn’t been talking about her sorry excuse for a love life the very other second.

“I think that neither of us are drunk enough for this conversation,” Harry said between chuckles and Ginny laughed harder.

They paused as Alicia, the waitress shushed them from behind the counter, and looked at each other, both of them struggling to keep the chuckles in.

In a fit, she sipped on her coffee, immediately regretting it as she coughed, spitting the coffee back in the mug again.

“This is worse,” she coughed, gulping the water in. “This is like mud. Like bitter mud and sugar.”

Harry looked at her, slightly concerned before he pushed his chair out and stood up. “Okay,” he said. “That’s it.”

Ginny frowned in confusion, as he pushed the chair back in, slightly disheartened by what he was doing, but he only smiled, holding out his hand for her.

“Care to join me?”

Ginny tilted her head, trying out those words in her head and then laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Where are you going?” she asked, and Harry looked at her, she was yet once again, captured breathless by his eyes on her.

“Anywhere but here,” he said, and Ginny felt her cheeks heating up.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were asking me out on a date.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I literally just met you!” she exclaimed, chuckling in disbelief. Harry was still looking at her, and she found herself pausing, hesitating and then asking.

“How about, as two people who just met?”

“How about as friends?” Harry countered.

She shrugged, and then smirked. “Fair enough.”

So, when he offered his hand again, Ginny took it, and let him pull her up and as Harry smiled back at her with that grin of his, she couldn’t help but grin like that. In a moment of irony, she realised that had Michael not been a bad boyfriend and her, not the essential definition of the Mad Hatter, they would have never been standing here.

He let go of her hand as she stood up, though it lingered near hers long after he’d left it. Ginny didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, smiling, and both of them, completely ignorant of the fact that Alicia was now staring pointedly at them.

“Well, considering the fact that you just asked me out - “

“and the fact that you just turned me down,” he countered.

“- why not? she finished, grinning broadly. “And-and, if I had turned you down,” Ginny added, “I wouldn’t be going with you now, would I?”

“Fair enough.”

...

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission

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writesowhatnext · 5 years ago

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lost in translation // george weasley

Summary: George and the reader are rather… close. Fred and Ginny are very, very suspicious as to why they weren’t informed that their best friends were together.

Request: Could you write a George Weasley imagine with the couple trope "what is personal space" with a reader who is the Golden Trio's age and friend and Ginny's best friend? Thank you!

A/N: I tried so, so hard to get George to right character-wise so I really hope I did him some justice here and I really hope you like it my love – sorry it’s essentially Christmas themed

Reader: female

Warnings: none I think – very PG! Maybe British swears? A common theme I suppose… kissing?

Anyone would’ve thought you and George Weasley were dating. It was an easy assumption to make given how absolutely inseparable you were. No one knew exactly how you got so close; only last Christmas, at the Burrow, Ginny brought you home for the holiday. Somehow you went from rolling your eyes at the pranks and the schemes and the inventions in December to smiling and laughing in January. Though, there were still eye rolls when required. Honestly, Ginny and Fred were rather put out by it.

“Hey, Gin?” Fred asked, leaning forward on the desk she’d been scribbling her Charms homework on.

“What?” Ginny said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. She smudged her words with the side of her hand. Fred wasn’t paying attention, though, he was staring at the sofa in the centre of the Gryffindor common room.

George was sat at one end, face lit up like a Christmas tree and you were, well, practically sitting on him. You were facing him, knees folding into your chest and feet tucked neatly under George’s legs. His one arm was spread along the back of the sofa whilst the other he used to gesture wildly, sending you both into hysterical laughter. Fred enjoyed seeing his twin laugh like that, his head tilted back with his whole body shaking, but this was taking the piss a little.

Ginny followed Fred’s eyes to the couch.

“What is that about?” Fred rested his head on his hand.

“Y/N and George?”

Fred nodded.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, copying her brother and smudging ink across her parchment with her elbow. “All they seem to do is spend time together.”

“I’ll say. We haven’t pranked anyone in a month.” He huffed. “A whole bloody month. We have a reputation to upkeep, you know.”

“They’re so close to each other, too.”

“Too close.”

“Last week,” Ginny said, casting a glance at the way you hit George’s leg, laughing at a joke he’d made, before turning to face her quite grumpy looking brother. “I came here after Potions and they were comparing hand sizes.”

Fred’s expression turned to one of distaste. It only worsened as George pushed you off the sofa. You grabbed his arm as you fell, pulling him next to you on the ground, both your legs tangled in the air.

“Fred, you don’t think they fancy each other, do you?”

“Fancy each other?” He looked incredulously at his brother. Experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously, he frowned. “They would’ve told us, right?”

Ginny didn’t reply.

“I think it’s time for some investigating.” Fred’s grin was wicked.

You’d got very used to George touching you. He was a very affectionate person, always with the hugs and the arms and the hands. It was hard not to enjoy it, actually, because George was tall and incredibly funny. He was a genius, too; not that he’d ever let his professors know that. His laugh was infectious and you couldn’t help but bite your lip when he rolled his sleeves up the way he did. These thoughts were ones that often distracted you in the recent weeks. You didn’t know what had started it, exactly, but you knew you were definitely a little bit lost in whatever it was you felt for him. Right now, you were lost in the middle of Charms, ignoring whatever Flitwick was saying. If you’d been paying more attention, you would’ve noticed the strange way Ginny was staring at you. It wasn’t until Flitwick set you off to practice your spells that you were even remotely aware of what was happening.

“Y/N,” Ginny said, uncharacteristically softly for her.

You hummed.

“Are you going out with my brother?”

You turned to face her then, looking at her determined expression. “George? No.”

She nodded slowly, frowning. “Why?”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time together. The only time Fred sees him nowadays is at Quidditch practice and even that’s cancelled for the holidays.”

You couldn’t help but feel bad for hogging her brother. Fred must hate you, you thought.

“We’re not going out.”

“But you want to?”

“What?”

She sent you a dry look.

“Maybe.” You sighed, rubbing your eye with your hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

You smiled at her hard expression, how bold she was, how bright her eyes were. Your smile fell.

“Well it’s not like he fancies me, is it?”

Ginny got a sharp reprimand from Flitwick for how loudly she laughed.

George, on the other hand, was much less confused about the whole situation. He had been, at least, before a choice conversation with Fred.

“George, do you fancy Y/N?” Fred asked, deciding a surprise attack in the corridor after breakfast was the best line of attack. His approach returned strange results. George laughed as he reshuffled his books in his hands.

“I should hope I do, you daft sod, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Your what?” Fred stopped in the hallway, ignoring the mutterings of students unfortunate enough to have been behind him. “You prat! Why didn’t you tell me?”

He caught up to George, hitting him in the shoulder.

“Bloody hell, Fred, I thought it was quite obvious.” George rubbed his arm with a wounded expression written across his face. “What do you care, anyway?” His face turned mocking. “Jealous?”

“Oh, shut up.” Fred murmured. “I’ll have to tell Ginny.”

“Ginny doesn’t know? They’re best mates.”

“Weird, right?”

It wasn’t until class ended that Fred found Ginny again. You and her were chatting in the corner of the common room, laughing and bickering about something or other.

“Hello ladies.” George said as the twins drew closer. “Raising any hell today?”

His eyes lingered on you.

“No more than usual.” Ginny drawled, folding her arms. “I’m sure you have a miraculously terrible plan up your sleeves, though.”

“Ah, dear sister.” George said, looking to his brother who had lit up significantly since last time Ginny had seen him.

“Just you wait and see what we have in store.” Fred’s grin only grew.

“There’ll be lights,”

“Smells,”

“Sensations beyond your wildest imagination.”

“It’ll be wicked.” They said in unison, smirking at you in front of them. You and Ginny shared a dry and wordless look.

“Anyway,” George said, offering you his hand. “I owe Y/N a trip to the kitchens to thank her for her wonderful Potions expertise. See you at dinner, you two.”

You glanced at Ginny before letting yourself be dragged along, hand in George’s warm palm.

Fred waited till you were out of earshot before pouncing on the chair opposite Ginny you’d just abandoned and leaning over the table.

“They’re going out!” he said at the very time Ginny said “They’re not going out.”

“What?” they said at the same time, again.

Ginny shushed him.

“What do you mean? She said they’re not going out?”

“He said they were!”

They both paused for a moment.

“Mind you,” Fred hummed. “Do you think George ever asked her?”

Ginny mused on it. “Very like him to just assume they were an item.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Christmas dinner in the hall was no less fun that usual; full of laughing and cheer and the general merriment you get at this time of year. It wasn’t till it was time to go to bed that anything remotely notable happened. Well, other than the exploding stink jellies Fred & George had planted as dessert

“Y/N’s staying over Christmas. Ginny invited her.” George said as him and Fred packed their suitcases, at the last minute of course. Fred nodded.

“George,” he said, standing up straight. “Did you ever actually ask Y/N to be your girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Did you actually ask her or did you just assume she knew, like me?”

George quite resembled a fish, the way his mouth was opening and closing.

“I think you might want to ask her, mate.”

You were confused, to say the least, and also slightly hurt. George hadn’t so much as talked to you since you’d arrived at the Burrow. He hadn’t touched you either; which was more of an adjustment than you were prepared for. There was something obviously wrong with him because he was quiet. Even with Fred at his usual eccentric volume, the absence of George’s voice was somehow louder. You’d asked Ginny about it but she had no idea. Fred did, though, you suspected. That’s why, when George disappeared into the kitchen before bed, you followed like a somewhat lost puppy. It was almost as if he was waiting for you, leaning against the counter with a glass of water.

“Are you okay, Georgie?”

He didn’t say again as you walked closer, your hand skimming the side of his arm as you stood in front of him. He let your hand fall into his own, fingers interlocking.

“I like being close to you.” He said sombrely, completely out of character. You looked up at him, frowning slightly.

“I feel like a right prat, actually,” he barked out a laugh. “I thought we were going out.”

“What?” you asked, voice sliding up on octave. You could feel your cheeks heat up and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Me and you?”

He lifted your hand, moving his fingers back and looking at the size of your hand compared to his. You stared at him but his eyes never left your hand.

“Would that be so bad?” he asked, finally meeting your eyes. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped in between his feet.

“George Weasley, are you asking me out?” you placed your free hand on his shoulder. “Because,” your mouth twitched “If you are,” his free hand found your waist. “You are doing a horrible job, truly.”

“Oh, is that right?” He asked, smiling now himself. He tilted his head downwards. You bit your lip as you nodded.

“Yep. A girl hopes for fireworks, roses, big grand gestures-“ You rocked your head to the side. “I get an ‘I already thought we were-“

“You are talking rubbish.” He whispered, unable to contain the way his smile lifted his cheeks.

And then he was kissing you. Slowly, softly. Your hands loosened. His dropped to your waist, pulling you closer as yours dragged up his chest, winding around his neck. You scratched the back of his neck lightly and he made an indecent noise in your mouth. He pulled away all too soon, resting his forehead on yours. Neither of you could hide your smiles. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pursing your lips.

“If you want fireworks, I’ll light you fireworks in every room of the castle.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

“One condition though.” He smirked, pulling you to his chest as you raised your eyebrows. “Be my girlfriend.”

You laughed.

“Have to get it in writing now, don’t I? Don’t want to look like a git again.”

“Oh, we are far past that.”

“You cheeky-“

You didn’t let him finish, only moving in for another kiss.

That was until you were interrupted by two very smug looking redheads.

“So,” Fred smiled, crossing his arms and leaning against the fridge.

“You two going out yet?” Ginny asked, shooting you a pointed glance, a small smile playing on her face.

“Oh, piss off.” George huffed, rolling his eyes and cupping your cheek with his hand. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss when you heard gagging noises from the doorway.

#Harry Potter imagine #harry potter #imagine #writing #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader

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cupcakemolotov · 4 years ago

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Twisted Intentions: Chapter Two

@accidental-rambler let us not go back and check how long this chapter has been coming, yeah? But I think its finally finished? Probably. We are ending it here, at least.

Everyone please be checking the tags on this one. It is a fairly more darker take than I usually do, these two crazy murder fiends, and there is smut. The first scene below has some murder to it, but nothing smutty. You can find both chapters on A03: Chapter One, Chapter Two.

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Regency; Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon; Possessive Klaus Mikaelson; Vampire Caroline; F/F Smut; M/F smut; Non-Klaroline Smut (referenced); Referenced Threesome F/F/M; Canon-Typical Violence; Not Canon Compliant; Dark Caroline Forbes; Past-Prostitution; Klaroline End Game; no non-con; Suggested Sexual Coercion; Vampire Klaus Mikaelson; Hybrid Klaus Mikaelson; Compulsion; Murder; Dark; Violence; Smut; Orgasm Delay/Denial; Oral Sex; Sex; Murder Kink; Biting; Blood Kink; Mutual Masturbation

The pub was quiet so early in the evening, dust lingering the corners the same as the plague lingered on the street. It was not a place she would have willingly visited, but some summons could not be ignored. Casually, she ran her fingers over her lips to make sure she’d cleaned up any of the blood that might have lingered.

Today was her third day as a vampire, and tonight had been her first solo deliberate kill. Her sire had taught her how to compel a man, the taste of a rabbiting pulse against her tongue, the fastest way to a heart with her fingers, and she had taken well to the hunt. Caroline felt no shame in learning to enjoy what she had become, to embrace the choice that she had been given, that she had made.

Some monsters, after all, were not nearly so kind as to show their devil’s bargains with fangs and eyes, though she had learned to recognize them all the same. But while the life of a whore had taught her many things, this new existence had been illuminating. Caroline had learned to avoid the sun, begun to learn the language of the night outside of the stained sheets of her old bedroom, and not once had she gone hungry. Here in the midst of the plague, blood was as easy to steal as the streets made dying, and for the first time in her seventeen years, she felt strong. Powerful. The predator instead of prey, and it was a heady feeling after years of being powerless.

But dangerous. She could not forget the dangers of this new life. Dangerous that she had not yet fully come to recognize. While her sire was indulgent of his newest creations, she was not such a fool to take his pretty did not hide a terrible sort of lethal practicality. Those dimples masked a violence she had caught lingering in his eyes, and every instinct she had warned her that there was more to him than he wanted her to know. He was deliberately mysterious, and while he’d offered so few expectations for their behavior, showing them how best to indulge their sins, and Caroline wondered why.

Compulsion was no idle tool, and though it had opened the world to so many whims, greed was a risk she was not willing to indulge in. Not yet. Humans might easily be bent to her will, but she would do well to remember the lessons she’d learned and been taught in her handful of years. Avarice could leave her the fattened calf for others as easily she could take from those less wise. She was not the only creation her sire had made, and from his offhand comments, age seemed to make a difference in strength.

Better then, to teach herself control, to master every instinct and then indulge only when she controlled every aspect of the experience. She had no intention of letting the gift she had been given control her, not when she’d vowed never again would she have a master except herself.

Never again.

Though she would have to be careful.

Glancing towards the back of the room, she pursed her lips at the trio of men who unknowingly awaited her presence at a table. Caroline recognized two of them from her lessons, though her sire had not introduced her to them. She had not asked to know them, not when she understood how they watched her. Lustful, but stupid.

They thought themselves clever, and the new monster that lived in her bone and marrow that she knew in the back of her throat as hunger, did not approve of their ilk. They’d smelled weak. Eager. It wasn’t her place to judge her sire’s choices, but she’d been certain he’d picked up on her disapproval.

Chosen to be amused rather than offended.

Tonight, the blood that stained their clothing, the scent of sex and death that lingered on their skin did nothing endure her to them. Mixing those pleasures when you had so little control told her that her original assessment had been correct. Wrinkling her nose, Caroline wondered if leaving would be a mark against her.

She was not given the chance to find out.

Awareness and warning prickled down her spine, and Caroline turned to find her sire watching her from the doorway. His lips curled at the edges, a hint of dimple catching in one cheek, and he strode forward to meet her. “Good evening, love. I must say, your new life suits you.”

His eyes dropped from her face to skim her figure, the dimple deepening. Caroline gave the endearment little meaning, he dolled out charm too easily for it to be sincere. But even knowing some of his truth, the impact of him was unavoidable. Her sire was a feast for her eyes and the monster she had become did not find the violence of him unbecoming.

However, the compliment was sincere, so she allowed a smile to touch her lips. Her new dress was well made, but not so expensive to draw attention, but it was pretty and hers. It had been a very long time since she owned her own clothes.

“Thank you.”

His gaze swept back to her face as he approached and offered her his arm. She took it, because she would not be accused of not having manners, and he sighed, head angling as if letting her into his confidence. She took no stock in that either.

“It is a pity that the same cannot be said for the rest.”

Klaus, Caroline had learned, was as mercurial with his violence as he was with his mercy. He’d plucked her from the street as easily as he’d left others to die, had shown her the fastest way to a man’s heart with dimples and bloody clothes. Tonight, there was something in his voice, a hint of roughness that did not bode well for any of them and she had no intention of being a target for that rage.

“They seem to lack some... subtlety,” she agreed.

His smile shifted to a sort of dangerous amusement. “Let’s find out just how little they have exhibited, shall we?”

Very aware that this was not her choice, Caroline merely hummed in agreement and let him escort her to the table. Violence did not frighten her, but something about the way he moved, the pleasant tilt of his lips, was unnerving.

“Hello, lads. It seems that you have enjoyed yourselves.”

They went still in front of her, a court very aware of its king’s displeasure, for all that he was smiling. Lifting Caroline’s hand from his arm, he brushed her knuckles lightly with his lips. “Do make yourself comfortable, sweetheart.”

In the next heartbeat, he’d twisted and was suddenly holding a twitching heart in his left hand. Caroline paused from where she’d gathered her skirts to settle, her heart a thump in her throat at the ease, the speed of his strike. But it wasn’t exactly fear that danced beneath her skin, though wariness had her watching him carefully. Settling the heart casually on the table, he motioned for her to sit on the empty seat.

She sat.

Reaching into his pocket, Klaus removed a handkerchief and meticulously began to clean his hand. “It really is so much easier to deal with baby vampires when the sire bond exists, but I suppose you can’t win them all.” His smile widened at the sudden, sharp stink of fear. “I am a benevolent ruler, but there are some lines that will not be tolerated being crossed. Leaving bodies where they can be found by anyone, even during a plague, will not be allowed. Is that understood?”

Next to them, the body finally toppled to the floor, as if it had finally understood it was dead. Caroline stared at the heartless vampire, considered how quickly his life had been snuffed out, and she arranged her skirts to avoid the growing puddle of blood while wondering why she was here. She had not been so careless with her teeth or metaphorical cock.

Across from her, the remaining vampires stammered their understanding, but when her eyes returned to her sire’s face, it was to find him watching her. There was something about his expression, the set of his jaw, that left her very certain that this mess was much as a message for her as for them, and she worked through the whys. The point of this little warning. This show.

She had no care for these men, and she was certain, neither did her sire. Even with this warning, it was likely the remaining two vampires would be dead within the week. Klaus had never struck her as anything but calculating, even in his whims, and it dawned on her that perhaps that was his point.

Her sire wanted her to see just how easily he would snuff the life from his creations, should it be necessary. Should they make it necessary... Vampires were monsters, but they were hidden, tucked carefully between the shadows of the nights and humanity’s soft dreams of safety.

But if they did, he might offer a quick, clean death. That message was for these men. Her message was tangled in the quickness of the death, the way he had offered her his arm before leading her to this little slaughter. He might find her amusing, might be indulgent of her opinions, but she could not count on that indulgence to save her.

Caroline tipped her in silent acknowledgement of his message. Betrayal, she knew without it being said, would have far more dire consequences.

Link: A03

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #darker than usual #please mind the tags #thank you!

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fijiangecko · 3 years ago

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Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 8 - In Motion

Read it on AO3 here

previous | next

~~~~~~

The sun had risen and set 3 times since each group began their hunts. Each day providing no new information and the hope of keeping each other safe felt as if it was getting farther and farther away. Kuroo, Oikawa and Iwazumi split off into two groups most of the time, Oikawa and Kuroo walking around town while Iwaizumi kept an eye out for any Port Mafia patrols and your car.

Iwaizumi refused to be alone with Kuroo, stating multiple times that he would “rather gauge his own eyes out then look at the fuckwad who drove out one of his best friends”. A tad bit harsh for Oikawa's taste, but he maintained the peace between the two whenever they brought tension to the table. Kuroo doesn’t mean to be irritating but there’s still so much he doesn’t understand, and these two don’t help in answering his questions since they don’t know much about your past and why you left.

On your end of things, you decided to lay low during the day and do some rounds on the streets at dusk and dawn. Largely things remained the same for the Port Mafia: they operated on the schedule you created and stuck to the same routine based on what vehicles and hangouts you’d seen so far.

Guess they really haven’t progressed all that much since I left, you think while watching the endless stream of cars. Washijo’s health wasn’t too good, and I can’t imagine it’s gotten any better with all the stress of transferring power and dealing with the mess that I left.

After little to no new information and more questions than answers, the weekend rolled around and the sun has started to hang lower in the sky. You lean against the counter in your kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea and listen to the birds sing from tree to tree. Looking to the clock, you sigh and set the mug down, heading towards the bedroom.

If everything goes according to plan, this whole operation should be relatively quick and you can just leave the club within an hour of getting in. You sift through what little clothes you have and get ready to blend in with tonight’s crowd; standard makeup, nothing too flashy, and a relatively short dress to match. None of your shoes really fit, so the black sneakers would have to do for now.

With a deep breath, you take a final glance in the mirror and mentally prepare for whatever the night has in store. You double check that your car is stacked with any you could possibly need and rev the engine, taking the dirt road down onto the streets.

The sun starts to set over the horizon, leaving the bright orange orb blaring down on the asphalt as the tires roll down the highway. You don’t bother to turn on the radio, deciding to run through the plan and all of the backups you have prepared. Through public records you were able to find the new layout plans for “The Neon Nights”, so you knew relatively where everything should be and how to get to it. That didn’t always translate into action, though.

Instead of chewing on your lip you moved onto the inside of your cheek, ripping it to shreds over the course of the past couple of days. You haven’t been this nervous in quite a while and it was really starting to fuck with your head.

Confidence and assurance were two very different things but often got confused for one another. Back at the ADA everyone just believed you to be confident, and that’s not to say that you weren’t. You know you are one hell of a detective, doing the work that needs to be done and doing it effectively, but it was more so that you knew you were safe and around people that were relatively safe as well. Standard protocol in the Port Mafia was not to fuck with others that had gifts. Washijo always stated that it was to keep the peace on the streets, but that was total bullshit. At the very least, you knew that while the ADA was on their radar, there wasn’t anything that they would be able to do in order to harm your friends.

Now everything was uncertain, there was no more assurance. You didn’t know if they were going to be safe. Tendou always did what he wanted and Washijo just turned a blind eye to it. Now he knows that you’re alive and in Yokohama.

On top of that, he saw you with the two of your right hand men that left shortly after you and a new man from the ADA. Tooru and Hajime were found out because you got careless.

The Port Mafia is also aware now of who Kuroo is and that he has connections to you. There’s always going to be a crosshair aimed at the back of his head if you don’t get into that club tonight and do everything you possibly can to erase those damn records of not only your existence, but everyone you care about too.

You blink hard, letting the colors settle behind your eyelids before reopening your eyes and focusing on the road. The stream of thoughts that just crossed your mind had left your heart and head pounding.

Nothing will happen to them as long as everything goes as planned. I’ll find the data servers and wipe whatever I can then skip town. Again, you go through the plan as the last bit of sun disappears around the edge of the world.

Coming to a slow halt, you park a few blocks away and walk the area in order to secure a teleportation spot and secure an escape route. The checklist in your mind finally had everything marked and every movement from now on was going to be almost robotic as you try to act like the crowd around you. Countless couples and parties line the edge of the building you once knew as a headquarters, the stink of alcohol present already from those who were leaving the venue for whatever reason.

By your lonesome you wait to meet the bouncer at the door, minutes passing as the line dwindles down until you can hear the muffled electronic music. The ground felt like it was shaking from the hundreds of people all dancing just a few feet past this wall. You peer around a few people ahead of you and make note of a pin on the bouncer's suit jacket, confirming that this club is still under mafia control.

You take another deep breath and just hope that news of your reappearance was just kept to the inner circle and henchmen like him weren’t informed quite yet of what was happening. The person in front of you walks inside the club, leaving you face to face with the man with shades. He looks you up and down, your heart picking up as you smile sweetly. Charm wasn’t your specialty but you know the basics. Without another moment to spare, he nods towards the mass of people and you quickly take your place inside the dark and dense room.

The music increases tenfold from when you were outside, feeling the bass changing the rhythm of your heartbeat. Hundreds of people crowd the center of the room, dancing to their hearts out while others line the bars stretched out on the walls.

You walk to the furthest side of the bar, mapping out where you are in your head and making note of little landmarks on the map you practically memorized. Figuring it would look more natural, you squeeze yourself in and order something. Partially to calm your nerves.

“And the devil herself appears.” Chills run up and down your spine, the voice of whomever just spoke stopping you dead in your tracks. They lean in real close,from behind, lips grazing your ear, their breath warm against your skin as they whisper to you. “Nice to see you Y/N.”

Cautiously you turn your head and face the voice, only to be met with a head of bleached hair and a sultry smile. “Miss me?” He says while placing his hands on his hips.

“Terushima.” The tension in your body hadn’t quite left, unsure of where his loyalties are makes your mind run a thousand miles per second. You prepare to portal out of the club, but his hand on your wrist interrupts everything.

“Let’s have a chat in the back, yeah?” Before you even know what’s going on, you're being dragged to one of the side hallways and up a set of stairs. You take in the surroundings the best you can while being pulled along and realize that he’s taking you back to what used to be the main office area.

Terushima pushes open a set of doors into a lounge area. A large sectional couch faces glass panes that showcase the entirety of the club and a small personal bar and desk line the other two walls in the room. He lets go of the hold on your wrist and beelines it to the alcohol and starts to construct his own drink.

You’re stiff as a board in the center of the room, still taking in everything that just happened in the last two minutes. He watches as you try and create a plan, and laughs out loud at your distraught. “I’m not gonna tell anyone you know.”

It’s like your body snaps when you move to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘I’m not going to tell anyone’.” He strains his cocktail into a glass and saunters over to the couch, sitting himself down. “I really don’t do any work with the Port Mafia since I manage the club. There’s no real benefit to me telling them.”

“Wait,” you blink and scrunch your face together as you follow him down onto the couch, “you manage the club now?”

“Bingo.” The amber drink in his hands disappears slowly as it glides down his throat. “After you left and Tendou took over your position they redistributed everything and wanted to change our little jazz club into a full blow nightclub for the younger people to come and party. I was pretty much the only person around that knew how to keep everything relatively in order, so here we are.” The one free hand Terushima has open lifts up off of his thigh and plops back down in a sort of defeat. His chocolatey spheres hold your gaze.

“And you gave up on singing?” It’s an honest question. The last time you both had a serious conversation was when Terushima was the main singer for your aforementioned jazz club.

“No, more like I took a break. I couldn’t really say no to the Port Mafia so I put my career on hold.” A pained expression flashes across his face before returning to his previous position.

“I’m really sorry Teru.” You scoot closer to him on the cushion, setting your drink down on the table at the center and resting a hand on his shoulder. It was the best consoling you got considering this is basically your fault.

“Don’t be.” He can see the guilt in your eyes and quickly dismisses them. “You did what was better for yourself. Anyone who couldn’t see that you were unhappy was stupid and it wasn’t a suprise when they told me you were gone.” He rests that free hand on top of yours and rubs circles onto the back of your hand while reaching down to place his drink on the same table. “I just thought that I would never see you again, so spotting you by the bar tonight really shook me to the core, y’know?”

The smile that finishes his sentence is wicked, lips curling up at the end. There was always something left unsaid between you both; light touches here and there, lingering glances from across the dimly lit club room and the handful of “dates” (according to him) shared between you two. It never went anywhere; he being the flirt he was made you very nonchalant about his advances. Plus there was the matter of his gift that made things complicated, so it was just better for you to stay out of trouble the best you could.

Things are different now, though. Terushima didn’t cause your chest to tighten or make the blood in your system rush to your cheeks when you thought of what it would be like to be with him late into the night, curled into one another and just simply being. No, that spot now belonged to a tall, lean and dark haired man that weaseled his way into your heart and mind by using his shitty science puns and awkward dancing when he was almost blackout drunk. Those nights of wondering what life would be like with someone else no longer contained bleach blonde hair or a tongue piercing, but the easy comfort that came from Kuroo Tetsuro.

“Yeah, about that.” Your grasp on his shoulder tightens, other fist clenching “Tendou saw me a couple days ago and I’m pretty sure he’s on the hunt. I need to find the P.M. servers-”

“So you came here to find them.” He cuts you off, but doesn’t finish the sentence with a question. He might be a playboy but he’s been through the ringer once or twice and knows that you just didn’t show up tonight to see him. “Unfortunately they moved them a couple of years ago to create an arms deal station in the basement. To my knowledge they took all that stuff to Club Impac-”

Suddenly a young lady busts through the doors, drunkenly falling onto the floor with her eyes completely unfocused on the area around her. A man in a suit comes rushing down the corridor, targeting the woman on the ground.

With many apologies the guard pulls the woman rather harshly off of the ground and looks up to once again ask for forgiveness from Terushima, but meets your cold eyes instead. The spur of the moment interruption caused you to turn around in your seat and watch the events unfold.

Unknown to you, this man had worked under Ushijima for years and had met your eyes years ago. He recognized the dead stare you were giving him currently, but continued pulling the woman out of the room. A bitter taste fills his mouth as he shuts the doors, immediately ditching the woman by the restrooms and walking to the head of security to inform him of the guest that just happened to be sitting up in the lounge.

“Anyways…” Terushima continues filling you in on what has happened logistically within the mafia since your leaving.

Roughly 30 minutes prior to that conversation, miles out into the outskirts of the city the three men who have been trying to catch you at the right time huddled around a coffee table and went over their plan of attack one last time.

“You both got it?” Iwaizumi flicked the last piece of paper in a file down onto the hardwood, looking between the two taller men. Wordlessly they both nodded and turned to grab their respective bags with the appropriate clothes for the night. Oikawa’s outfit was a little more classy then the others to match his personality, Kuroo and Iwaizumi going for something pretty simple just in case anything goes haywire, but with their final touches done up they were ready to set out for the night.

“Do you really think that she’s going to be here tonight?” Kuroo asked Oikawa while Iwaizumi called a taxi. They were a little behind schedule and missed the train, so they had to opt for something quick.

“Out of everything we’ve done so far, I think this is our best chance at catching her. This club used to be a faux headquarters for her. I’m almost positive that she’s either looking for a certain someone,” Iwaizumi catches the tone in Oikawa’s voice as he spoke, making eyes at him while he finished his sentence, “or that she left something behind.”

They both knew that you were fond of Terushima, but they also knew that you had moved on from all of that. You had your eyes set on someone else. That still didn’t mean that you weren’t there for him, but the idea that it was anything but business was a little far fetched.

“So you guys used to be there all the time?” The taxi pulled up to the curb, waiting for Kuroo and the others to hop in.

“Yeah. Every weekend she would have us come have drinks with her since we were her ‘groupies’, essentially .” Iwaizumi answered, using quotations with his fingers to get the point across. “It was more like a weekly check in but sometimes all we did was catch up with one another.”

The memories warmed his heart. He never once felt like he was working for you, but alongside you. You truly cared about their goals and ambitions, oftentimes ignoring the actual work that the Port Mafia wanted to get done and helping the citizens most in need. Coincidentally, that was how you made the most money and controlled the most area - the people liked you. Being in your squad was a different experience from every other job he had within the Mafia, and as soon as you disappeared he knew that he was going to have to get out sooner rather than later.

Oikawa felt the exact same way, and couldn’t imagine a life where he and Iwaizumi didn’t work together, so they devised a plan and faked their deaths in order to obtain what little freedom that would allow. Both knew that you weren’t dead, no matter how solid the evidence looked, and stuck their foot in the ground in Yokohama in an effort to find you. Two years later they accepted jobs as detectives with the ADA and walked in to see you, sitting at a desk, smiling and laughing with your fellow detectives.

The car ride was silent for the most part, the taxi driver asked a handful of questions before letting the radio fill the dead air. Iwaizumi kept track of how close they were and directed the driver to a few blocks off so they could walk up to the club (he really didn’t want to get this poor guy involved, so better to keep him out of it).

With a small wave from Oikawa, the boys head down the streets but their moods quickly shift as streams of people flood out of the building. The screams of hundreds fills the night air and the heavy footsteps of the three carry as closely as possible to the front entrance. Crowds topple over one another in an attempt to make it out safely as the sound of a single gunshot ricochets off of every surface, furthering the panic in the chests of innocents. Eyes flicking to every possible entrance, Kuroo feels deep down in his soul that you’re inside - you’re either the one firing or being fired at and either causes his chest to tighten, the neverending pit of anxiety at the bottom of his stomach somehow growing deeper. The three stand like a rock against a current of bodies, everyone just running past them and filling the space behind the group as they run.

Only a few moments before their arrival, Terushima and yourself were finishing your drinks and sharing a laugh when splinters flick off the set of doors, and single shot entering the room and shattering the large glass windows that look down on the dance floor. The initial panic takes a second to kick in before the patrons below start their scramble. Terushima’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed you rather harshly and shoved you down onto the ground, covering your body with his own.

“We know you’re in there Y/N!” The voice that spoke was unfamiliar to you, probably just some higher level goon that happened to know what was going on. While tucked under Terushima’s body, you open a small portal to the dashboard of your car and grab the handgun you left waiting. It always pays off to have a backup plan, you think while taking in the surrounding area. The men had yet to breach the room itself, leaving an opportunity for both of you to escape, whether that be jumping down onto the dance floor or using a portal.

“Teru,” his eyes focus on the door but you know he’s listening to your harsh whispers, “we can jump down and blend in the crowd-”

“No.” His jaw clenches, the lines on his face becoming harsher. “They deliberately shot at the window to lure us out there. The one talking is the head of this district so I’m sure every mobster in the area is here keeping an eye out for you.”

“Fuck…” your heart beats just as fast as your brain fires off thousands of different ideas. The crowd of people down below scream for help as they run out into the night and then another shot comes, this time it sounds like it’s from down below. In the crowd.

“Are they firing at civilians?!” Your mind spirals down. What the fuck are they thinking?

“One of those idiots might’ve thought that they saw you.” Terushima detaches himself from you and reaches under one of the tables, grabbing a hidden handgun and making sure it’s loaded.

As he checks the magazine, you muster up a portal big enough for a person to fit through, the other end looking out onto the streets. “Get in Teru. They’re after me.” You plead him with both your eyes and your voice, hands twitching around the cold metal of your pistol.

“Not happening sweetheart.” His smile is sly and coy, teasing you almost. “This is my club that they’re ruining and these people are my guests.” He gestures to the window and then to you, slowing the fall of his hand to emphasize his next words. “It’s my duty to protect them.”

Your lips tugs into a smile and you shut the portal. “Alright then.”

Down on the streets below the three men try to push up river through the endless streams of people running away from yet another shot. Women fall over, others trampling them in the fearful haze that covers the downtown. Iwaizumi rushes over and picks them up, shielding them from the hoards of shoes and getting them back on their feet.

SUV’s among other black vehicles speed around various street corners and men in suits start to surround the area, each fitted with different weapons of different calibers. Pressure grows in the small atmosphere of the downtown area, ears yearning to pop and get ahold of the situation but Kuroo doesn’t know if he would rather feel the throbbing in his head or the despair of hundreds.

Oikawa spins in circles, taking in every detail he can of the mayhem. Each of his senses feels like they’re on fire, enhanced from the sudden change in pace. It would be suicide to use his gift now, so the best he can do in trust his brain to intake whatever information is available.

The three converge after each attains their bearings and stand back to back. “What now?” Iwaizumi is forced to yell over the collage of sounds.

“We go in? I mean she’s gotta be in there, right?!” Oikawa shouts equally as loud, still turning his head around to look at the distressed faces. His voice comes out exasperated and rushed, his breathing picking up.

“Go in?! We can barely move five feet forward, how the fuck are we supposed to get in?” Kuroo takes the more logical stance, trying his best to find a solution to the problem at hand: what to do next.

Luckily, Oikawa, in his twisty turn around scavenger hunt, had spotted a fire escape on the side of the closest apartment building. If they wanted to get a height advantage and take a moment to clear their heads, that would be the spot. He shakes both of his companions shoulders and gestures his head to the ladder. Lightbulbs light up in their heads and slowly but surely they take small steps towards the iron bars, giving the people enough time to adjust to the change in current.

It only takes a minute or two to finally reach the ladder, Iwa hoisting Tooru with weaved fingers and will to lift with his legs, not his back. One handed, Oikawa pulls down the ladder and the three make their way to the landing.

The chaos seen from above is only less claustrophobic as it doesn't let their hearts take a moment to rest. Rather, showcasing the complete lack of control from anyone down below. Every person down below looks like a rat on the loose, caught at the wrong time as they scatter in all directions. Kuroo leans over the edge of the railing, trying to get a better view of the inside of the club.

“There’s a bunch of guys with guns pointed at the top room, part of the window was either smashed or shot at since it’s all over the floor.” Iwa observes to the left of Kuroo, also leaning over the delicate iron bars.

“Can you see in that top room?” Kuroo squints, but it doesn’t enhance his vision.

“Not really,” Iwaizumi starts to tilt his head in various directions, finding the best angle to peer inside that room. “Looks like there’s two people up there but I can’t make out any faces.”

“We should’ve brought Akaashi…” Kuroo mumbles to himself, at this point wondering everything that could’ve been different in this moment. “Well one of them has to be Y/N. I think that’s a given at this point.”

“That or she’s the woman one of the guys has hostage on the lower level.” Oikawa notes, gesturing to each of them to come to where he stands and uses his hand to try and guide their view to a better position.

You also take note of the hostage, peeking down from the remains of the windows. The thought that the Port Mafia is now so low that they would take hostages in order to obtain an ex-member leaves a bad taste on the tip of your tongue. Cold metal brushes your chest as you keep your gun close to your chest. Being as silent as possible, you carefully crouch around the room and get eyes on everything you can.

Terushima had taken off his blazer just a few seconds ago, throwing it over the edge of the couch and creeping closer to the double doors. He listens to whatever words he can make out through the veil of screams and footsteps, retaining only the name “Tendou”.

His head turns to yours from across the room, mouthing the words “Tendou is coming”.

With a clenched jaw, you turn back to the dance floor and see that two more girls were being kicked onto the ground, making a total of three hostages. Hands cover their ears as they plead for their lives.

“Alright Y/N! You’ve got one choice: you either turn yourself over right now or you sit and wait until Satori gets here and we kill those girls and Terushima!” Whoever spoke before loudy shouts again, the words bouncing off of every glossy surface of the club.

GODDAMMIT! Sweat builds in the palm of your hands, the bass from the speakers making the miniscule shards of glass on the ground shake; bits and pieces falling off the ledge and into various crevices in the tile. There’s really only one thing left to do, you think to yourself and Terushima watches as the familiar cerulean hue starts to color the very lines of your body.

A portal opens to your left, the circle opening up to a view of the entryway of the building. From this vantage point you can see a group of men, all in suits and with their weapons either pointed at the hostages or the balcony. Without hesitation you aim the barrel of the gun at the closest guy and fire at his leg. The bullet enters his calf muscle, leaving through the shin and he immediately keels over. Other men are alerted by the sound and turn quickly to find the source. Like a trained soldier you close and open various portals, one at a time and in dissimilar spots to try and confuse them, and fire potshots at whoever catches your eye first.

Arguing continues between Kuroo and Iwaizumi as they battle on what to do next; one trying to approach the situation like it’s made of delicate porcelain and the other ready to give blood, sweat and tears. Oikawa refuses to let his eyes leave the club, and it proves to be useful as rifts start to open and close within the confined space. His eyes dilate and once again he slaps Iwa on the shoulder mid sentence.

“What the hell Shittykawa?!” Iwa gnashes, foam practically running down the side of his mouth.

“She’s making her move.” Dominos start to fall, but for once in a very long time the two don’t know what lies at the end of the line. Kuroo can’t believe what he’s seeing - he’s only ever seen you use your gift sparingly and in desperate situations, never to an extent such as this. The last piece of the puzzle finally goes into place as it dawns on Tetsuro that this is life or death. There is no playing around and there are no wrong moves.

“Alright Iwaizumi: I’m in.”

The aforementioned turns to him with a blank expression, a little unsure of what to do now. Oikawa watches as Kuroo claps his hands together and squats down and it hits him all at once; this is the first time he’s ever seen Kuroo’s gift in any capacity. Satisfied with the warm feeling on his skin, Tetsuro releases his hands and places them on the iron below, the space surrounding them glowing like they do.

In an instance, the vibrancy dies down and on the landing lies two items in a similar shape to hand grenades. A smirk tugs at his features and he states, “We’ll get in with these.”

Their jaws drop and Tooru starts to huff in disbelief, “I can appreciate your tenacity Kuroo-san but that seems like overkill.”

“Seriously…” Iwa adds sarcastically, slightly sticking out his arm to act as a shield between the two.

The smile disappears quickly and Kuroo brings a hand up to rub his brows. “They’re smoke grenades…”

Forming an ‘o’ with his mouth, Tooru starts to nod his head and Hajime drops the raised arm. “I knew that.”

Licking his lips, Kuroo passes one of the grenades to Iwaizumi and mouths “of course you did” to silently mock them. At least they share a brain cell.

Another few minutes pass, the gang of men make their way back down the ladder and into the frey. During that time you remain using the same tactic, effectively avoiding any unwanted attention from the growing crowd of henchmen. More had been called in after your initial shot, the head honcho making plays over the various walkie talkies.

You close a portal and let your chest heave, taking long deep breaths and settling down. The spacing of your shots has been growing larger to keep the suspense up, but in this timeframe you create a mini portal to grab a new magazine and reload. You close your eyes and let the noise wrap you like a blanket, surrounding you and taking precedence over every other sense in your body. Right as you whip to the right and start to open a rift, the small tinks of metal on concrete are drowned out.

Slowly, smoke swirls around the dance floor, rising and expanding out in all directions. Another can sputter to life and causes the room to turn opaque. Light bounces around in rays that color the white sheet that now fills the room.

Right outside the doors of the club Iwaizumi charges up his ability, letting a firm feeling prick every inch of his skin before ramming himself through the doors. Tooru sticks to his back and fires at every shape he can make out through the fog, Kuroo acting as the kaboose and covering any stragglers that those two seem to miss.

From your end of things, the room starts to fill with white and immediately you shut the gateway, watching from your perch as the fog dissipates right as it reaches your feet. Terushima also evaluates the situation, deciding to take the chance and barge out of the doors and tackle whoever is closest. Unfortunately he didn’t think super far ahead and that leaves you in a compromising position.

Gunfire fills the hallways of the building, but the light that flashes up on the second level lets Kuroo know that shit’s going down. Without hesitation he leaves formation and hauls ass down the hall and up some stairs. Four men in total block his path to you, two being on the floor and the other two shooting in your general direction.

It’s as if red seeps into his eyelids, rage pumps through his veins at a level he thought himself incapable. The barrel of his gun points down at the thigh of one of the standing men. As soon as the bullet hits its mark he rushes the other one and knocks him upside the head with the butt of the gun. In less than three minutes Kuroo had entered the building and knocked out two guys in order to rush to your side.

A wedge was pushed in the cogs in your brain, halting all functions and making your eye twitch. Kuroo squats down to meet your eye level and stares at you with piercing golden eyes. His pupils dilate when they meet yours which are full of confusion, then disbelief and finally annoyance.

“You fuckin’ asshole.” The words should be lost to the mirage of the night, but they’re the only things Kuroo can hear.

Almost scared, he reaches forward and curls his fingers around the flesh of your forearm and responds. “Let’s get out of here.”

Whatever shock that stopped your brain had washed over and now it felt like everything was moving too quickly in order to catch up. The fog was starting to clear and you can make out the figures of both Oikawa and Iwaizumi down on the dance floor below, watching each other's backs. Terushima stands near the edge of the balcony and joins them in taking down what seems to be an endless stream of goons.

He turns to you and winks, a silent goodbye as Kuroo grabs a tight hold of your arm and pulls you off of the ground. It’s a blur as you leap over several unconscious men and down the stairs. Whatever crowd was left was thin at best, no civilians in sight and many mafia members toppled over. Iwaizumi steps backwards towards you two, Oikawa shifting himself so the three act as armor around you.

Just as swift as the entrance, the boys shove you along and out into the streets. The screeching of tires alerts the four of you, yet another SUV speeds down the narrow streets of the downtown.

“Fuck” you whisper and get your bearings. Your legs are quicker than your brain and you shout, “follow me!” Your two fellow ex-members are already by your sides and Kuroo lags behind. Quickly you throw the keys to Iwaizumi. “When we get to the car, just drive. Doesn’t matter what streets you go down.”

Yet again Kuroo watches as the three of you work together like a well oiled machine, Hajime practically ripping the door off of its hinges and shaking the car as he sits. Tooru follows suit on the passenger side and deja vu strikes hard once Kuroo gets his but down into the seat.

Iwaizumi revs the engine and rapidly turns the wheel from side to side as the car skids and jolts into the center of a major road.

“Whatever happens, just keep her in the center of the road!” You whirl around and face the rear windshield, spotting the vehicles that now tail you all. Luckily the night means less traffic and Hajime can keep to the center of the road. Whoever was driving this late at night veers out of the way as the street turns crowded with several cars turning corners rather fast and joining in with those that already follow you.

You roll down the window next to you and start to shoot blindly out of the side, not daring to stick your whole body out of the car like last time due to the sheer amount of firepower that would be sure to hit you. Kuroo and Oikawa do the same as you, Kuroo ducking his head while doing so just in case any bullets come flying in through the back window and Oikawa tries to use the side mirror to aim his shots.

Not even two minutes since this drive began and cop cars light up the road ahead, about three quarters of a mile in front.

“Uhh Y/N! We got a problem!” Iwaizumi white knuckles the steering wheel and starts to turn it, planning on going down one of the side streets to put all threats behind your car. You whip your head around and evaluate the situation, quickly realizing that this is an opportune moment for something you’ve been keeping up your sleeve.

“You better keep this car in the center of the road Hajime or so help me God I will kill you before anyone else has the chance!” You scream and place yourself in the center of the back bench which gives you a relatively clear view of the road. Breathing in through your nose and out with your mouth, you clap your hands together much like Kuroo did earlier in the night. Continuing your breathing pattern, Hajime returns the car to the center of the road.

“Step on the gas.” You command, your eyes closed in concentration.

“Y/N are you sure?!” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Iwaizumi’s questioning, but more of a confirmation of action.

“Just fucking do it!”

The clock ticks down as both forces start to close in. Five seconds before impact: the cops are unsure what to do. Some stopped their vehicles and were preparing road spikes while the others continue charging forward and speak through the sound system, warning you all of what’s going to happen. The Port Mafia also starts to slow down as they are just as confused as the police. No one really knows what you have in plan, but those in charge of each group are determined to get to the bottom of things.

Four seconds to go and the pit at everyone’s stomach grows a size larger; a faint sapphire glow emanates just from your hands and Kuroo watches curiously. The phrase trusting someone with your life had never meant much to him, but in this moment he really understood the complete lack of control he has.

Three; Oikawa sits up right in his seat and straps himself in, also closing his eyes to alleviate the stress of the scene before him.

Two; the glow around your fingertips has grown exponentially into something almost blinding. Iwaizumi steadies the wheel and fights the urge to jerk the car.

Right before impact with the front runner the view of a country road lined with trees fills Hajime and Kuroo’s eyes. The car barely fits into the rift and bounces up and down. You weren’t able to align the two roads perfectly off of memory, so you opted to have it a little high up. Kuroo checks behind them and the road is empty. No sight of any buildings or vehicles - just a clear sky and the wilderness that surrounds them.

Tooru didn’t realize he was clutching onto his chest strap until he opens his eyes and lets out a breath he was holding. Hajime adjusts quickly to the new territory and slows the car down some, leaning back into his seat. Kuroo, amazed that you were in the clear, turns to you, but your head is lolled to the side.

“Y/N?” Ever so gently, he shakes your shoulder and your eyes crack open. You turn to face him and blood is streaming from one nostril, down your face and dripping onto your shirt. He freezes up, just now realizing how much this whole ordeal must’ve taken out of you.

A tissue appears in front of both of your faces, Tooru’s hand attached to it. “You always pull that stuff off last second even though you could’ve just done it as soon as we got in the car.”

“Fuck off,” you sound drained and totally devoid of any emotion. “If we can get out of it without having to port out then we’ll do it that way, but the cops got in the way.” You take the tissue and start to wipe up whatever you can, your movements slow.

“Are you alright?” Kuroo is unsure of his place, a total contrast from inside the club when he was the most assertive you had ever seen him.

“Loaded question.” You want so badly to drop them off on the side of the road and hope that they just leave you alone, but your eyes blur every few seconds and you know that you are in no position to drive. Several emotions bubble up at the thought that they kept looking for you, put their lives on the line to find you and actually ended up saving you.

Effectively dodging the question, you slide back over to your side of the car and place your head on the window, giving Hajime directions to your home. They’re smart enough to know that now isn’t the time to talk, nor is it the time to ask questions like “what’s next?” and so on.

The high beams of your car light up the large house at the end of the gravel road, your headache nearing its end and the boys all ogle at your property. A flick of his hands and Iwaizumi turns the car off, then steps out into the cold air. He takes a few steps back and precariously opens the door you’re leaning on. With careful consideration, he crouches down and tries to let you use him as a crutch, but in all the time you had to think on the ride here, you shove him off and stumble a bit.

Gaining some balance, you speak with an unwavering tone. “What you did tonight was stupid. All of you.” You turn and meet each of their eyes, Kuroo and Oikawa still on the other side of the car. “I explicitly told you all not to get involved and still you fucking showed up.”

They all freeze at the accusatory finger you’re pointing and watch as you start to back yourself up to the entryway. Iwaizumi, who normally decides to let Tooru charm his way out of things, is the first to speak. “You’re right.” His eyes bore into your own, but he continues. “But that doesn’t change the fact that if we weren’t there you would’ve been fucked.”

“As if.” You spit back, not thinking clearly as you’re more focused on getting your own point across. Hajime only started fights when he thought it was absolutely necessary. This didn’t cross your mind, but Tooru’s as he realizes the upcoming screaming match.

“As if?!” His voice booms over the forest, possibly shaking the leaves on the trees. “You were backed into a fucking corner Y/N! For god's sake, did you think Terushima was gonna be able to help you out of that shitshow?” He stops his assault for a moment, seeing if you would answer but you grind your teeth instead. “You needed our help. We’re the ones that got you out of that situation-”

“Hajime-”

“No Tooru! She doesn’t get to disappear behind everyone’s backs and tell us NOT to find her! Especially not us.” Tooru purses his lips, knowing that he’s right. Tooru would’ve thought that maybe after the first day or two you would contact them, allowing them to help, all things considered. He knows where Hajime is coming from and ultimately decides to let him continue. “She sure as fuck doesn’t get to tell us that we didn’t help either. I know damn well that once we all cool off you’re gonna have to apologize and admit to me that I was right.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you still decided to follow me.” You're quick with your rebuttal. “I’m trying my best to protect you all-” A cackle catches you mid sentence, and you watch as Iwaizumi rests a hand over his face and laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? What’s so hilarious Hajime?”

“Do you really think that we need protecting?” His eyes peek through the cracks in his fingers, a sly smirk curling his lips.

“Maybe you don’t but the Port Mafia knows now that I’m involved with the agency. For the safety and protection of everyone I need to erase myself from their records and go away.” This is your retreat. You can feel your own arms wrap around your form and start rubbing slow circles into your sides. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’re just pleading for them to live. Or pleading with them to leave you with the idea that they’ll be living a peaceful life without you.

“You do know who you’re talking about, right?” Iwaizumi takes his hand off of his face and glares at you. “You got Bokuto, who is an accidental genius; Sugawara and myself who act like human shields; Tanaka and Nishinoya who are the wildcards; Kenma and Asahi who can heal practically any injury and Kuroo, who can literally create a bomb if he has the right materials within his vicinity.” As he lists off the various members he sticks fingers up and counts. “I don’t think they need as much protection as you seem to think. I bet everyone’s losing their shit right now since you just walked out and now the three of us have been M.I.A. for almost a week.”

While he presents a pretty good argument, it feels like it just goes in one ear and out the other. Your only goal right now is to get them to understand that you don’t want them here. Anything you can do to save them is the top priority, and having them here with you is a fucking nuisance. “I don’t give a rat's ass about any of that! You and Torru have seen what the Port Mafia is capable of and there’s is nothing that is going to stop them from finding me! If that means blowing up the agency building, they will! You know Tendou will do anything and Washijo will just let him!”

“Y/N.” The desperation in your voice is becoming more apparent with each word as your sentences speed up and your tone gets higher and higher. Oikawa walks around the car and stands next to Hajime, taking your beat of silence as a cue to speak. “You know you can’t say that anymore. We haven’t been with them for years. Washijo might be too sick to even speak.”

“Plus everyone at the agency knows what this job entails.”

“You don’t get to talk Tetsuro.” He stands behind the two, and honestly your rage was so hyper focused on Oikawa and Iwaizumi that you forgot he was there. You snap at spit back. “It’s not a matter of knowing what they signed up for more than a problem of the Port Mafia doing whatever they want.”

“That’s why we’re here to help you.” Tooru still stands between you and the others, the mediator. “You know that we’ll do everything we can, everything you say, in order to protect them. Tendou didn’t just see you that night. Obviously he doesn’t care all that much about us but we’re on their records too so it’s not just your problem.”

“I can’t fucking do this right now.” It feels like no one is listening to you, just throwing water in the tank you’re already drowning in. With a sigh and balled fists, you come to a hasty decision. “You can all stay here tonight. I expect you to be gone by midday.” Without a chance to speak, you storm into the house and start preparing mats for them to sleep on.

Tooru runs his tongue over his teeth, lips shut and starts tapping his foot. There were a thousand different possibilities for how tonight could’ve gone - this being one that wasn’t on his radar. Hajime feels the frustration bubble over, but he knows there’s not much else he can say that will get to you. Focusing his attention on Tooru, he pats his shoulder and says, “She’s not gonna budge. C’mon.” The two walk into the house, following the lights and let you finish preparing their room.

Swiftly you finish fluffing the pillows and brushing past them, avoiding any contact, any chance for them to stop you. You slide open the door for the next room over and raid the closet, setting the room up for Kuroo.

“Y/N wait.” For one reason or another, you stop your actions and look to the aforementioned, him standing in the doorway. With a final push of your muscles, you throw the mat down on the floor and wait for what’s next. “I just wanted to say that- that I want to do everything I can to help you. I know it’s not much but Iwaizumi and Oikawa have been doing so much and I really think that-”

“Go to bed Kuroo. You guys are gonna have a long day making your way back into the city tomorrow, so you’re gonna need all the sleep you can get.” You shoulder check him, leaving the room and the yet to be unfurled bed mat on the floor.

In the late hours of the night you find yourself tossing and turning. The entirety of the past few hours replayed in your mind, every situation rewinds and restarts as you analyze the points that the guys made. You wouldn’t have lived through last night if it wasn’t for them. There’s no way in hell Tendou wouldn’t have gotten his hands on you if it wasn't for them.

You sit up, sweat dripping off of your brow bone and everything starts to feel like it’s closing in. The four walls around you feel like hands around your throat and your chest heaves. Throwing off the duvet you stand up and stretch, the small pops and clicks from your back. After a few moments you slide open the door and step into the hallway, heading to the kitchen to start a kettle.

Maybe you were being a little harsh on them earlier. Tendou was a real threat and only sought you out, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that whoever that boy was with him a few nights ago seemed to recognize you, Oikawa and Iwaizumi. They were there with you through thick and thin when you had to organize almost half of the mafia’s patrol cars, pickup sites and so much more. You went above and beyond to prove to that old fucking geezer that you deserved to be in your seat as an executive. Tooru and Hajime did nothing but support you, even after they discovered that you did in fact fake your death and worked as a detective in the same city they thought you abandoned. Even after that they still treated you like nothing happened.

The kettle whistles and you take it off the heat, trying your best to stay as quiet as possible in the early morning hours. Preparing a tea strainer and some leaves, you grab a mug and start to assemble everything. As the tea steeps, you open the back door and let the cool breeze engulf your body.

The wood that covers the porch is cool to the touch, the soles of your feet uncomfortable, wanting to go back inside but you continue forward. The only things warming you under the cascade of stars is the mug between your hands and a blanket you placed around your shoulders. You venture off of the porch onto the soft moss that tickles your toes. Further into the trees is a small creek, in which you placed a few hardwood chairs.

No distractions, you allowed yourself to continue your train of thought from earlier. Once it fully settles in your consciousness that they are in their own right to want to be a part of this battle. Just as much was on the line for them as it was for you, and it never really hit until now.

So what would happen if I let them stay?

This was the real kicker. And before you knew it, you were going through every possible scenario you could think of, listing the pros and cons of having a team to work with rather than only relying on yourself.

The moon shifts throughout the night sky as you get up a few times to refill your cup, and before you know it rays of sunshine start to peer through the fog that settles under the canopy of leaves. With a new piping cup in your hands you resume the various tracks of different decisions. Inside, Kuroo slowly cracks open his eyes, the sunshine peeking through the blinds and the birds chirping. In the other room Iwaizumi sighs heavily and looks over Tooru. Shadows define his jaw and cheekbones, even accentuating the curve of his lips and the flutter of his lashes when he finally opens his eyes.

“G’morning.” Hajime’s voice is scratchy, his eyes red from the haziness that comes in the morning.

“Morning.” With a smile, they both take their time getting up and ready for the day.

Kuroo straightens out his clothes (which he slept in) and walks out into the living room. He notes the kettle and jars of loose tea leaves on the counter, also noting that you’re nowhere to be seen. The door to your room is open as well, arousing his suspicion.

A glance passes between the two men as they each put back into their clothes. First it was Hajime trying to catch a glance at Tooru, and then vice versa just a few seconds later. They stumble around one another, pick dusting their cheeks but neither speaks.

A knock at the door interrupts their game of cat and mouse along with a voice. “Have you guys seen Y/N?”

Hajime finishes the buttons of his shirt and slides the door open. “No? She’s not here?” It’s like last night all over again, the panic bubbling in his chest.

“I haven’t seen her at all, and her room’s empty. I think she’s around since the car is still here and there’s stuff on the counter, I was just wondering if you guys heard or saw her?” Kuroo fidgets with his fingers, picking at the cuticles with his nail.

“You checked all the rooms?” Hajime takes command of the situation, stepping out of his room and into the living space.

“Yeah, all empty.” Kuroo follows him and Oikawa behind Kuroo.

“Well the back door is open, so…” Tooru nods towards the door although no one sees it.

Without another word the trio walk into the forest, taking in the scenery before them. Calm was the one word that came to mind. Branches crunch under their heels, alarming you to their presence.

They can see your figure up just ahead and slow their roll. Kuroo stops in his tracks and just looks at you bathing in the golden sunlight, hair disheveled and eyes baggy once you finally turn and face them.

“Morning boys.” You sound and look tired, each of them knowing that you probably didn’t get any sleep at all but continue down the path to meet you. With a single gesture you get them to sit in the chairs beside you. You say nothing as you drink the cold tea - or what’s left of it at this point.

“What’s going on up there Y/N?” Oikawa pokes his temple and looks at you with the most sincere eyes. It’s not like the question wasn’t just on his mind, but the silence was starting to kill him.

“I did a lot of reflecting last night,” you start, setting the small cup onto the moss and straightening up. “For starters, I hope you all can forgive me for the way I treated you last night. It was unfair and I finally get that we’re all fighting for the same thing. You all have just as much reason to fight the Port Mafia as I do.” You make eye contact with each of them individually as you try to convey remorse.

They each take it the same, knowing that adrenaline was high and that you meant the best for all of them. If anything, Hajime knows that the both of you will need to have a one on one conversation later to clear the air.

“As for what I said last night,” you turn your eyes downward, knowing that you can’t bear to stare at their eager eyes, “I thought about it, and I want to take it all back. If you want, I could use the extra hands.”

Silence settles again, but Tooru doesn’t let it last long. He stands up from his chair and rushes over to give you a big hug. His arms encase you and he puts his head close to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

It catches you off guard, but tears build in your eyes. What did you ever do to deserve them? “Of course. I knew you guys weren’t gonna leave me alone once you knew where I've been hiding.”

“Damn straight.” Hajime joins the hug, placing his head on your other shoulder.

Kuroo stays in his seat and watches the scene unfold, not wanting to ruin a second reunion. He goes back to fiddling with his fingers and looking at the ground until the three of you break off from one another. You walk over to him and place a hand over his, preventing him from doing any more damage to his hands. Maneuvering them in a way to grasp one of his hands, he looks up at you, the rays of sunshine behind you, filling the forest.

Holding onto his rough hand and smiling down on him, you say “Let’s get to work.”

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redrosesartcabin · 4 years ago

Text

Self indulgent series: Part 2.1

Life: Part 1

(Kenji x female reader, authors perspective) (the reader is a singer) (also: Some angst in here. I dunno why, but I just love writing some angst with fluff endings xD)

“So, let me get this straight”, the interviewer said, bewildered by the story the singer and songwriter Red Rose had brought up, “you met your now husband, Kenji Kon no less, on Jurassic World as one of the kids who got stranded for five months?”

“That’s correct”, she said. She had answered that very question a million times, but she couldn’t fault them for it: It was an unbelievable story (though she started to wonder how not everyone was aware by now that she was one of the teens back than).

“It was in December of 2015. I was thirteen years old and exited to be one of the first teens to visit Camp Cretaceous. I have to admit, I wasn’t and still am not, maybe even less than before, the biggest fan of dinosaurs. I’m not particularly interested in facts about them, but I definitely was interested in seeing some Dino action! So when I won first place at the talent show of my school-“

“Unsurprisingly”, the interviewer interluded at which the audience gave a collective chuckle.

“-I was still very excited about going to Jurassic World. My parents never wanted to go and in retrospect I can understand why. But you know: I was a naïve thirteen-year-old and didn’t think much about the consequences of the past. What happened at Jurassic Park you know? I was convinced Jurassic World was different and all worked out. Boy was I wrong! We all know it now! But at least I can say that I got, besides trauma, lifelong friends and my amazing husband out of it”

“That definitely can’t be disputed”, the interviewer agreed. Red Rose found him quite pleasant. Although he was a chatterbox, he was still very respectful and didn’t poke too much into the Jurassic World story: Although she was, for the most part, over the trauma, it was still a work in progress and it’s not a time she always remembers fondly. On most days she remembers the good moments she had with her newfound friends there, but sometimes she could feel the adrenaline rush through her as she thought of dinosaurs trying to eat her and her fellow campers. She saw flashes of sharp teeth and could feel hot, stinking breath and hear growls drawing shivers down her spine. Red Rose liked to focus on the human part of the experience, so she preferred being able to tell the tale of Jurassic World the way she wanted without being asked too much…

“So, Kon helped you reach fame if I remember correctly?”, he asked.

“Definitely! Though, I mean: I was able to do most of what I’m doing. Teaching myself how to use certain programs. I taught myself how to sing and I’ve always written my own stuff…But I certainly wasn’t good at marketing myself or making myself grow.

Kenji and I became boyfriend and girlfriend when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. That same year we went on vacations for three weeks in the Caribbean’s. And “, she let out a laugh. The camera closed up on her and caught a smile and a glance that looked so touched by love anyone could feel how much she adored her spouse, “I remember how we went on the private part of the beach Kenjis father had purchased. I sat down on a hammock and a guitar and just started improvising and singing. Little did I know my boyfriend -gosh that sounds weird to say now- was filming me. He put it up on Instagram, and he already had quite a following back then, so it gained quite some attention. Though not necessarily because it was a nice scenery or any of that: But because people genuinely liked how I sing and the melody I had come up with. And well… it got wild from there. People soon requested I make my own Instagram page for making music.

A year later I was asked if I would like to produce some music and well… then my career started”

“That’s honestly such a cool and sweet story. Though how about an even sweeter reunion? Please welcome: Kenji Kon”

Red Rose got up from her seat with a wild jump, not as the eccentric, elegant yet kind of crazy minded artist, but as y/n Kon. As the wife who hadn’t seen her husband in person for a month because of the production of yet another movie starring him as the protagonist.

The crowd clapped in awe of him, as fans. She wanted to clap because her heart was clapping too. Her heart was dancing a tango inside of chest as though she was seeing her middle school crush in the hallway. His dark eyes, ridden with depth met her y/e.c. ones and all they could read in each other’s eyes was happiness and love.

This happened within miliseconds, but it passed by in slow motion for her, so she perceived herself running towards him with calm. For the rest of the world however she was perceived as looking like a golden retriever who had missed his owner whilst they were at work and were ready to play.

It was adorable. It was downright touching how the couple met each other halfway and gave each other a long, passionate yet gentle kiss (so that it wouldn’t be too inappropriate for life TV).

“Not to be giddy, but you really are a couple to die for”, the interviewer said. The audience half chuckled half yelled in agreement. She felt her cheeks blush in a deep dark shade of red and heard her husband chuckle in embarrassment. She looked down to her and whispered “Hello love”

Kenji had, unsurprisingly, had found joy in being actor. Being dramatic and showing his face on camera all the time? Perfect!

And he honest to god was a great actor. Though it did get annoying from time to time that he was casted as either the pretty faced villain or the charming, perfect love interest. Sometimes he was even both.

Y/n didn’t like to admit it, but she was quite jealous at the beginning when she saw him kiss other men and women on screen. It took a big fight for her to admit that.

She wasn’t proud of that fight at all. She had been, without wanting to, been very critical of her then fiancé (it was about six months before they got married). She would call him several times a day when he was on set of a particularly spicy rom com and observe his socials every couple of minutes. Y/n remembers her friends teasing her about it in the beginning and then eventually scold her. “Don’t you trust him?”, they had asked and she had answered, “I do….”, and they knew she was telling the truth, yet there was more behind it.

Kenji soon caught up and noticed her strange clinginess.

“What is up with you, Y/N? You know I have work to do! You can’t call me that often on set!”, he had yelled when the topic came up. He had been visiting for the weekend before he would go back on set.

“Why not? Can a girl not talk to her fiancé?”, she had asked with a sharp undertone

“Of course, you can darling. But twenty times a day is simply too much!”, he argued, yet he tried keeping his tone softer.

“I don’t call that often”, she pouted

“Oh YES you do!”, he put his phone out and showed her the times she had called just the other day. She counted about thirty, “I was nice with that number!”

“And? So what? You can just put your phone on silent”

“Yes, of course I can. This isn’t about solving the notification issue it’s about solving your trust issues towards me. Why don’t you trust me?”, as he asked the question his anger had subsided and genuine hurt showed in his eyes in his voice, “you monitor me like I’m an inmate”

“I…”, she was only able to say, her throat suddenly seemed dry, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I…”, she couldn’t find the right words to explain it. It hurt too much to admit. She thought she had been over that thought pattern a long time ago, but it had returned to her.

“What? What have I done to deserve this?”, he asked, “Why are you even with me, if who I am disturbs you so much?”

And that… that sentence had hurt her more than that ugly thing inside of her she hadn’t wanted to face.

“You fool!”, she screamed in fury as the sentence he had uttered stung, her eyes filling with endless tears, “How could you ever think you disturb me? You are the most beautiful, wonderful human being I know, inside and out. And on top of that you are incredibly kindhearted. And that’s why I’m like this… I don’t want to lose you. And it’s not that I don’t trust you: I highly doubt you’d ever cheat on anyone. You are too kind for that. But I fear… I feared when you are together with all these good-looking actors you might not find me enough anymore. I know it’s stupid, but you see: The past haunted me again. When I was called fat. When I was called not-good-enough. When I read social media comments saying you’re out of my league and I don’t deserve you. Ugly words that ate me up inside when I was a child and young teen. I thought I was past that but I…I…”, now the tears were too many and her words died with hiccups. She felt his form surround her in a hug that felt so warm and yet sharp as knifes. She loved his touch but felt guilty for not opening up about this sooner. She had never wanted to be like this, but alas she had been too much of a coward to burden him or herself with this.

“Love”, he whispered after comforting her for a couple of minutes, “Look at me”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips were dark pink, and tears had run streaks across her cheeks. It broke Kenji to have hurt her so deeply, yet he also knew that it wasn’t his fault. It was however his responsibility, to clear this up once and for all.

“Love listen”, he started, “I completely understand your jealousy. But we’ve been together for almost ten years and in all that time, I’ve never encountered a woman more incredible, deeply fascinating and intrinsically beautiful as you. No acted kiss could bring me away from you, no sexy actor could keep my mind from ever wishing for more than to be by your side. I’ve been by your side for almost six years: What should change now?

The monster from your past is, as already stated: Past. Their words were untrue. These people were in pain themselves when they caused you pain. You were a target to unleash the inner turmoil of others. It’s no excuse but it is the explanation. Those who feel they must hurt others are those who seek the most attention and power because they’d be devoid of having a self. I should know: I used to be similar to that. And I had my phase of jealousy as well, you know?”

“Really?”, y/n managed to ask

“Oh yes! I was in rage every time I heard you talk about any of your guy friends back in high school. Difference is I could hide it better because we were apart a lot of the time. I feared you would find someone who had more of a personality than me. I was no longer sure looks would cut it”

“Gosh love”, she answered, her voice love drunken, “you burst of personality. You aren’t just a pretty boy or well… pretty man. You have so much spirit and energy to give to the world. You are the definition of happiness and sunshine. And on top of that you are an incredibly talented man with so much to show. You wield the human mind and emotions so well you can convert yourself to be something other than yourself convincingly-”

“See?”, he asked, “and just like you love me like that and see all that good I sometimes don’t recognize, I see it in you… I always love you”

“I love you too. I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m so happy we had this talk. It was much needed”

“Yeah”, she hummed as her lips almost touched his and within seconds the couple found themselves passionately kissing

Ever since then they hadn’t had any of these kinds of self-worth problems. They’d say I love you on a daily basis and gave each other compliments whenever they could.

One thing the fans found especially cute was that, without fail, Red Rose would comment on each of Kenji’s selfies and comment “hey gorgeous, you single?” and he’d answer every single time, “Sure Sugar. Meet me at seven on your favorite street-corner”

One time they took a picture of each other on a nice-looking street corner. Kenji had called the picture “finally found the street corner. Been waiting to meet this lady for a while, apparently her name is ‘your wife’, which is peculiar but otherwise she seems nice”.

The picture even went viral and became one of the all-time favorite celebrity pictures of 2026.

After the talk-show they flew back in his helicopter.

They were in New York city and y/n looked at the city landscape with a fascinated gaze as she observed the flickering lights of the big apple.

Kenji looked at her with eyes shining almost as bright. He loved her love for everything new she sees. He had noticed that the first time she had seen the watering hole. He wasn’t really interested in her that way yet. He was fifteen and she thirteen, that makes quite a difference at this age. But still he couldn’t but smile as she looked at the dinosaurs with big eyes. And he loved that she hadn’t lost that spark, even as she got older, even as they came together and grew and changed together.

Y/n noticed his gaze and shifted hers to look at him.

‘What a beautiful man. I’ve missed him so’ she thought to herself.

“I missed you”, he said as though he had read her mind just now. Maybe he had. They had been together for so long they were often able to read each other’s subtle shifts in expression. Quite a beautiful thing.

“I missed you too”, she simply answered, “did you plan this talk show surprise?”

“Yes and no”, he admitted, “I was meeting up with Donavan O’Connor, the director of the ‘Elaine, the one?’ series. When calling Donavan, he told me had been to talking to Ray (the interviewer) and he was casually pointing out the funny coincidence you were meeting up for and mention the funny coincidence, that you’d have an interview with him that same day I come to the city and well… needless to say I called Ray and arranged things... I just had to. Couldn’t miss the opportunity to surprise my beautiful wife”

She smiled at that. A shy and flattered smile that reminded Kenji of when they were teens.

They landed on the roof of a nice-looking hotel. They had decided to stay the night here in New York before travelling back to Ireland… yes: Yes Ireland.

Most celebrities lived in L.A., but Kenji and y/n had preferred living a bit apart in an old mansion near the coast of south Ireland, close to the northern border. Although Kenji was a people person, he didn’t like the dishonesty and lying in the industry and wanted to get away from that with his wife who thought the same.

Besides: It was a beautiful country.

As they entered the room, they felt peace and happiness as well as a certain kind of tension arise.

Needless to say, there was another kind of reuinion going on that night...

(Sorry about that short ending, I had to heavily edit that ‘cause it originally was a... well... non Pg scene xD)

#kenji camp cretaceous #kenji x reader #kenji kon #kenji kon x reader #camp cretaceous #camp cretaceous fanfiction #jw cc #jurassic world camp cretaceous #self indulgent #self indulgent af

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jincherie · 5 years ago

Text

mystery gang; unsolved | PT. 1

☾ — pairing: taehyung x reader ☾ — genre: demon au, supernatural/paranormal au, buzzfeed unsolved au/inspired, smut (oncoming), f2l ☾ — words: 8.1k ☾ — rating: adult! this one is sfw, but future part/s will be nsfw ☾ — warnings: demons and haunted houses, supernatural & paranormal themes! some slight dark themes too. ☾ — notes: part one of 2! or maybe three. depends how the next parts go. I’m finishing this over the next few days-- it was meant to be done completely by now, but a combination of life and my usual “accidentally giving the story too much meat” antics have resulted in this! I wanted to stay at least a little true to my word, so here’s the first part!

ever since you met taehyung in one of your first year classes at university, you seemed to click and you hadn’t parted from each other’s side since. you’ve been his friend for a few years now, and your mutual interest in the supernatural and taehyung’s propensity for finding the spotlight wherever he goes led to the two of you starting up your very own supernatural investigation vlog series. friends isnt the only thing you want to be, and one night close to hallow’s eve when the two of you get a little in over your heads in a way you never have been before, you find out that maybe it’s not only you that feels that way.

— posted; 01.11.2019 // masterlist | next⇥

MYSTERY GANG; UNSOLVED — PART ONE

Every creature, past or present, had one true weakness. This weakness was cut from the same cloth of creation as them, complimentary in every sense of the word and a match so perfect and natural it shook even the most corrupt of creatures to their very core. The universe moved to reunite a creature with their weakness only every so often, and when it did there was no question, no refusing it.

Centuries he’d lived, walking the planes of the mortal realm, the underworld, and the space between. He was young, for a demon, and had spent most of his youth chasing pleasures of the flesh and wreaking havoc in the mortal world. He’d had a riot doing so, too, until the fateful day the universe shifted and he met you. A weakness, his weakness. He was thousands of years too young to ever have considered the possibility of such a rare occurrence happening for him, and as such wholly unprepared for what the future held for him. Try as he might he was unable to resist the strings puppeteering him so, and it was with great reluctance that he resigned himself to the remainder of his time spent guarding, protecting, shielding this weakness.

He never imagined he’d end up enjoying it so much.

– x – x – x –

“Can you pass me the lens, Tae? I need to clean it before we pack it all up ready to go.”

Instead of the heavy weight of the camera lens you were expecting, it is a ticklish sensation against the palm of your outstretched hand that greets you. Unimpressed, you look over to see Taehyung tickling your palm with his fingertips, a large grin tugging his lips. When you shift, preparing to smack him, he ceases his movements with a loud laugh. The requested camera lens is quickly placed into your palm to appease you before you get too violent.

“Thank you,” you emphasise, shooting him a sarcastic grin despite the fact you admittedly found his antics a little funny.

“You love it when I tease you,” he scoots closer, huffing and blowing silvery strands out of his eyes so he can nail you with a smouldering look without hindrance. His next words escape on a low breath that has shivers running down your spine that you do your best to hide and ignore. “Admit it.”

“Hmm, don’t think so,” you offer a rebuttal, shooting him a sly look before returning your attention to the lens and cloth in your hold. “But keep trying, maybe one day it will work.”

Taehyung snorts, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed before him as he lets out another loud laugh at your response. You can feel his eyes on you still, and do your best to ignore it despite how it makes heat crawl and trickle like lava down the column of your spine, dripping slowly into your gut. Year three, month two of pretending the male you befriended so quickly and easily in your first year of university doesn’t have such a powerful, swaying effect on you, and it isn’t getting any easier. His stare alone has the little hairs along your skin raising to attention, body constantly on high alert. If only, if only you had the same effect on him—then perhaps there wouldn’t be such power imbalance in that regard.

As mentioned, you’d met Taehyung around halfway through your first year of university, when the first semester ticked over into the second and you were dealt a whole bunch of new classes, new people, and new seatmates. The second you saw him enter the large lecture theatre your next class was to be held in, you registered that he was far too attractive and therefore painfully out of your league, and made a note to avoid him at all costs to save yourself any future embarrassment. Like any respectable individual who was actively attempting to avoid someone, you shrunk into your seat and focused on scribbling nonsense onto the back cover of your notebook, allowing your hair to fall from its style and shield your face somewhat for maximum sleuth as the walking Adonis began to climb the steps of the aisle.

Your efforts were for null, however, as you’d caught his attention the second he stepped foot into the room. A scent so divine it bordered on sinful brushed his senses upon entry, and he was suddenly aware of one distinct heartbeat amongst the eighty-odd others in the room. His gaze was drawn to a seat in the far middle of the theatre, besides the windows and pushing the title of a back row. There, it was you. The source of the intoxicating scent, the owner of the heart beginning to race in what he pinned to be a mixture of excitement and anxiety, and the most captivating human he’d ever laid eyes on. He made a beeline straight for you.

Of course, you would never be privy to any of that. You just knew that one second you were scribbling aimlessly, waiting for him to pass, and the next you were jerking your head up at the sound of chairs nearby squeaking as people pulled out of the way and—oh god he didn’t go past he was walking straight for you. While you aren’t proud of the flustered, discombobulated manner in which you’d handled the situation and introduced yourself, you are proud to say that after that initial interaction you were quick to develop a resistance, a filter of sorts. You aren’t immune to his wiles and charms, his odd flirtatious remark and heavy-lidded gaze, oh no, no, no. You aren’t immune, but you’ve gotten better at handling it, hiding it. And for that, you’re pretty proud of yourself. Kim Taehyung is a hard man to resist.

You were pleased to find, upon engaging in that initial conversation, that Taehyung wasn’t just a pretty face—he had many interests and hobbies, most if not all of which aligned with your own. The most notable of these, was an interest in the paranormal. When you’d first mentioned it casually, feeling gingerly for how your keen interest would be received before opening yourself up about it, you’d been surprised at the more than eager response you’d received. His eyes had lit up, and something curled and gleamed behind them but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what—a sense like he was smiling to himself registered in your mind but you dismissed it quickly. The more extroverted of the two of you, he’d had no problem diving deep into the topic and dragging you with him.

You can’t really remember any of the finer details of how exactly you’d gotten from point A to point B, but by the end of the semester you were closer friends than you’d ever anticipated and recording the first episode of many to come of your very own paranormal investigation vlog series.

Admittedly, investigating paranormal hot spots and haunted places is something you’ve always thought about and an idea you’ve always toyed with, ever since you were younger, but you’ve always been too much of a… well, too much of a pussy. Something about Taehyung, though, had you changing your mind and agreeing to go through with it. You don’t want to be sappy and say that you feel safer around him, or any of that garbage… except you kind of do. Perhaps it’s less that you feel safer, because some of the locations you’ve been have definitely made you feel anything but—perhaps it’s more so that you feel even if things go haywire, Taehyung is capable of protecting you.

That sounds even sappier than what you were trying to avoid, damn it.

All of that aside, the two of you managed to establish yourselves pretty early on as a strong paranormal investigation team on a few different streaming sites—aptly and humourously called Mystery Gang; Unsolved, after a night spent drinking where you lost a bet to Taehyung and he got naming rights. Despite the odd name, over the years you’ve been doing this, you’ve managed to build up quite an impressive fanbase. A part of you likes to think it’s because you’re so damn funny, but really you know that it’s because Taehyung is drop-dead gorgeous and there’s a solid ratio of about eighty-twenty of females to males that watch your vlogs—and you know Taehyung has all the females and about half the males in the bag as well. Not good odds for you for finding a partner in either gender, really. It’s fine. You’re content with the odd comment directed to you among thousands. You’re fine. Really.

It’d be a bit hypocritical of you to be upset about the sheer amount of individuals attracted to Taehyung since you, too, happen to be sitting quite decisively in his bag as well. Sue you.

“Are you gonna clean the camera or sit there staring into space for a while longer? I know we’re kind of freelance, but we still have a window we gotta grab, you know. The witching hour isn’t at ten in the morning.”

Jerked from your reminiscing, you immediately slide Taehyung the stink-eye. He’s awfully rude for someone so attractive, you can’t help but note and grumble internally.

“How about you clean the cameras? Ever since we’ve arrived you’ve been sitting around doing nothing!”

There’s not an ounce of bite in your tone, and you feel like even if there was it would have rolled right off Taehyung’s shoulders as he shrugs, grinning lazily. His pose on the hotel bed has shifted, now his long form is draped indolently across the surface, elbow propped on the mattress and hand cupping his cheek. His long lashes brush his cheeks as he blinks slowly at you.

“I don’t need to stress-clean, I know we have this in the bag,” he says, lips curling as he speaks in his usual low drawl. “You were so nervous the second we got here that I thought if I tried touching anything you’d simply burst into smoke or something.”

The male’s reference to your odd cleaning habits irks you, but only slightly and only because it’s true. The rest of what he said is true, too. As much as you’d like to complain, cleaning your equipment meticulously and probably more than needed has been doing wonders for your nerves. You always tend to have a healthy, respectful dose of fear with every location you visit, but for some reason your nerves seem to be off the charts, tonight.

Perhaps it’s because you’re visiting a church. You always hate it when the haunted location is a church. Something about somewhere meant to be so holy becoming so desecrated that evil spirits haunt it… you don’t like it.

You sit for a moment, feeling your face contort as you assess the nauseous feeling beginning to churn in your stomach. Instead of answering his previous comment, you allow your thoughts to spill from your lips, somewhat distractedly. “I don’t… have a good feeling about tonight.”

Your words must be somewhat unexpected, as silence follows for a few moments after they enter the air. You regain control of your gaze where it had been centred on nothing, directing it towards the male on the bed. Taehyung’s eyes are on you, and you swear you catch something akin to a flicker of concern flitting across his features, before the tension leaves his face and he slaps on a silly grin.

"If ghosts and ghouls were real, y/n, you'd almost be begging them to haunt you," he quips, brows quirking in a sly manner. "Them's invitin' words, darlin'."

You're not sure what weird-ass accent he just pulled out of his rectum, but you're definitely sure your body shouldn't have reacted as shamefully into it as it just did. You throw a glare his way to mask the way you just shivered, at a damn pet name of all things, and turn back to cleaning your lens. He laughs, and you resign yourself for the millionth time to the fact that you'll probably never stop being so affected by him.

"Oh yeah? Well it really sounds like you're inviting a smack right now, mister. Don't make me break out the sandal."

At that, Taehyung bursts into loud laughter, flopping back onto the bed to let out his howling cackles unhindered. You can only sit and shake your head as you continue to rub your equipment clean, fighting a smile but allowing the fondness of the moment to sink in and cover the weight in your stomach.

Taehyung isn't worried, so you probably shouldn't be either.

X x x x

"You're a monster."

Your gaze is petulantly pointed out the window, but you can feel Taehyung fighting a smile from the driver's seat. It's almost silent in the cabin, aside from the low hum of the car beneath you and the smooth sound of slow r'n'b thrumming from the speakers. You do like that about Taehyung's choice in cars; he always managed to find some with excellent speakers for the bass-y songs the two of you enjoy listening to.

"You said you didn't want them!" Taehyung protests, a slight whine to his voice. Oh, he thinks he can get out of trouble by acting cutesy? The absolute nerve.

“No! I didn’t!” You’re affronted, unable to help the way you turn in your seat to pin him with an incredulous glare. “I said I was going to give them a break while I had some of my thickshake! I didn’t say you could have them!”

“You left your fries alone for more than a minute, what was I supposed to do? Let them go cold?”

“It wasn’t an invitation! Honestly, how could you… after all we’ve been through?”

Taehyung makes a choking noise, and you presume it’s because he’s trying not to laugh. You haven’t broken character yet—despite the fact you’re genuinely a little miffed that he finished off your fries while your back was turned earlier—so if he does before you, then he loses. The two of you are far too competitive for this to be anything but normal in your friendship.

"I can't help it," Taehyung says at last, apparently having managed to squash his laughter for a while longer. "They looked so good sitting there, so tempting... I was only going to take one, but you know I can't help myself when I see something I want."

As your eyes train on the scenery beyond the window as it blurs past, you snort, unable to help but quip playfully, "Glutton."

Taehyung finally lets a laugh loose, the sound rich and low, an almost indecipherable smile curling his lips at the corners. "Not the only sin I'm guilty of, but definitely the big hitter."

You roll your eyes, deciding you don't need to add anything more to that since it's definitely true. Sometimes you find it a little odd, how the two of you managed to become friends when you're both so different in subtle but significant ways. It isn't unusual to be unable to reach Taehyung some weekends, which you'd found out through a mutual friend (Yoongi, his roommate and an absolute tattletale whose loyalty is easily bought with wine and lamb skewers) was due to the fact he either didn't come home or brought someone else home. That knife had hurt when it entered your back, but you weren't, and still aren't, in any position to actually be upset about it. Taehyung's often extracurricular activities are probably one of the biggest differences between the two of you; not because you've never gone out or done things, no, but you've never been one to be comfortable with a stranger in your bed every other night. You're not so much into flings and one night stands, as Taehyung seems to be.

Another difference is probably the fact that despite the fact you're a definite ambivert and not one to shy from social situations, you've never actually met anyone as blatantly extroverted as Taehyung. His aura and presence are truly something else; all he has to do is step into a room for all attention to be drawn immediately to him, and for it to stick for the entirety of the time he's there. His confidence is unshakeable, and you think that probably has a lot to do with it. It's as though he has this sense of assurance in himself that no matter what a situation could throw at him, no matter which way it could turn and end up, he can get through it and come out right on top. It's impressive, you admire him for it, but also in a way... it's a little bit unnerving. Slightly intimidating. You can't put your finger on it, but sometimes it feels like there's something more to that confidence, something you're not quite aware of but lingers just under the surface of what he shows you.

He's a bit of an enigma, your Taehyung. You've known him for what feels like so long, and you know enough about him to fill about three encyclopedias, but at the same time... it feels like there's so much you don't know, an ocean behind each page you file away in your mind. It's like the difference between possessing a painting or a photograph of the sea, and actually standing on the shore with your feet in the sand, basking in the beauty of it in person.

Now that you think about it, the ocean is probably the best metaphor you could've chosen for describing Taehyung.

"You still nervous?"

Taehyung's inquiry, somewhat softly spoken but unmissable with how primed you are to hear him, is what pulls you from your light reverie. Blinking and interrupting your gaze where it was staring into the darkness beyond the window, you turn to the male and allow yourself a moment to analyse his features.

Taehyung is one tough cookie to read, you have to admit. He's expressive, sure, but sometimes you feel he has a bit more to offer in terms of what he's thinking and feeling at the moment. You've yet to crack that code but you'll get it one day, you know it.

Currently, his eyes are directed forward (as they should be-- he's been threatened many times with a smack whenever he lets his eyes stray even an millimetre while driving), but what you can observe of his side profile is a somewhat neutral expression. You're used to looking a little closer though, and when you do you find the barest creases of concern at the corner of his eye, brows drawn together just slightly. Aw, he's actually a little concerned for you. How sweet.

"Well, yeah," you answer after a moment, forcing your eyes away from his face and averting them back out the window as you lift a hand to rub the back of your neck. "But I mean, when aren't I? I don't think we'd have a show if both of us were skeptics."

The male hums, shaking his head to dislodge a silvery lock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. "That's true. I guess then we'd really be relying on my face for viewers, huh?"

Somewhat outraged, you let out an angry noise and hit his arm— just the reaction he was looking for. He snickers, still distracted as he watches the road and takes in the signs as he passes them. Sooner than you expect, he's flicking on the indicator and taking a left, down a road that is more dirt than tarmac and feels like it's leading nowhere good. The nerves that had left you momentarily, courtesy of the good mood eating put you in, return now in full force— twisting and writhing and tightening in the pit of your stomach. You take in a deep breath, the exhale a little shaky. Taehyung's eyes flick to you for the barest moment before they return to the front.

Trees line each side of the road, the twenty-plus minute drive having taken you a slight ways out of town. Beyond the trees at the edge of the road, you know there are miles and miles of fields; the odd house is scattered around, of course, but you know that the locals are far too wary of this little area to want anything to do with it, despite the acreage on offer.

The road twists and winds just barely, before Taehyung pulls the car into a partially obscured driveway on the right and you gulp, feeling more nervous than ever. The headlights drill holes of illumination into the pitch black, casting across blurred greenery and bushes for a moment before finally falling upon something lighter and firmer. Stone basks in the ray of the headlights, and gleaming glass windows just barely beyond the light's edge.

"We're here," Taehyung announces in a singsong manner, seeming entirely too happy about your arrival at what you consider to be one of the most cursed destinations you've included in your travels. The car rolls to a stop, Taehyung's large hand pulling the handbrake up and deciding your fate. You feel the weight in your stomach sink further.

Well, no time like the present. If you're gonna die in here, you may as well go on and get it over with.

x x x

The first ever haunted house that you explored with Taehyung, was probably the scariest.

Before becoming friends with him, and subsequently being roped into forming a paranormal investigation duo, you’d never stepped foot in a haunted or otherwise allegedly supernaturally afflicted building. Of course, you’d read your fair share of online accounts and retellings, and watched more investigative programs than is probably healthy, but even you are capable of telling what has been dramatically exaggerated and digitally edited. Before that first house, you’d sort of teetered on the edge of scepticism and being a believer. You were open to the idea, but weren’t cemented in your beliefs. That first house pushed you decisively from the middle and into one of those sides.

Your biggest regret is that you didn’t have the proper equipment to record what you witnessed that night. Since you were just starting out, all you really had was a crummy recording device and a handheld camera, in addition to your phones. Kind of humiliating, in hindsight. How on Earth had people taken you seriously back then?

Everything had gone fine, up until the point where the two of you decided it would be a neat idea to spend a few minutes alone in the most ‘haunted’ room of the house. Before then you were having fun, but you weren’t exactly convinced anything paranormal inhabited the place. In the middle, you remained. Taehyung had been somewhat distracted as you went, but not so much that he didn’t manage to slip in the odd witty quip. Sometimes, you’d turned and caught him staring into space for a few moments longer than expected, before he was once more moving on. You’d figured he was just deep in his thoughts.

As you’d ventured through the house, there were a few little things you both observed, but they were also easily dismissible things; items falling as you moved past them, creaking sounds, windows and curtains moving, shadows out of the corner of your eye. Nothing solid and material, and some to be expected when you were moving about an old, creaky abandoned building with no light save for some battery-powered torches and the flashlights on your phones.

Nothing that would hold up as evidence—at least, nothing until you entered that room alone.

The basement, said to have been where the most activity was and where some not-so-nice things went down while the house was still occupied, was the final stop of your little investigative tour. You’d originally planned to go in there together, but a small argument about jelly beans led to the proposal of going in there one at a time, and spending a few minutes in there alone in an attempt to get some interaction from any spirits that might be there.

From the very second you set foot on the first step, you’d known intrinsically that the experience you were about to have wasn’t going to be a good one. Your skin had crawled even then; it was as though you’d stepped into a freezer instead of a basement, immediately chilled to the bone with the air weighing so heavy against your body that each step was an effortful struggle. You’d been nervous before going down, yes, but this… it was different. Before you could have even turned to act on your second thoughts, the basement door had closed behind you with a final, resounding thud.

“Go down to the bottom! Your five minutes starts now.”

You’d felt disproportionately scared as you reluctantly continued your trek to the bottom, as you’d originally intended. It was colder at the foot of the stairs, if possible, and the small torch in your hand had started to flicker. It smelt rotten, too, and the further into the room you went the stronger the smell. For the first time since entering the house, you felt unsettled, for reasons almost indiscernible.

Some of them became clear to you as soon as the beam of your torch illuminated over the walls.

Deep scratches in the cement and brick, sigils and symbols drawn across the expanse of the wall. Something akin to black sludge was smudged intermittently across places, dripping from cracks and oozing from gaps in the ceiling. There was a disrupted circle on the floor, dark maroon flakes and drops of wax scattered and highlighting more smudged symbols and lines. A copper bowl lay turned over and discarded, its apparent contents scattered across the floor; bones, dried leaves and flowers, rocks, a tooth. You hadn’t even realised how your breath had begun to speed up, chest tightening. Of course, you’d tried to calm yourself and rationalise— someone just did this for a prank, they planted these things to feed the stories.

But then you’d felt a gust of hot air against the back of your neck, so stark in contrast to the chill of the room. Alarmed, you’d jerked, and your torchlight had moved with the flinch of your arm. It whipped over shapes veiled objects in the room, angles creating deep shadows that seemed to have no end, and you’d managed to look up just in time to catch sight of something as it was illuminated in the corner; a long shape, a silhouette, present in the light just long enough for you to see the gleam of two eyes staring right at you—

The torchlight flickered off in tandem with the sensation of your heart dropping through your stomach; something hot and sharp dragged across your sternum, and driven by nothing but fear and instinct you threw yourself back—or had you been thrown? A voice, disembodied in the pitch black, had grated the outskirts of your ears, warped and distorted and registering in your senses in such a way that even now, you can’t be sure whether you’d really heard it or not.

“A human girl walking right into my den… And you smell so good too. Won’t you stay, girl? I hunger.”

You don’t recall screaming, but as you would be informed later, apparently you did. You’d stumbled backwards, crashing into a number of items and feeling something grip your arm. It burned, and of course you’d jerked away once more.

Whether it was the ruckus or your own sounds that concerned your companion, the basement door had quickly been thrown open and Taehyung had bolted down the stairs. Disoriented, you weren’t even aware of where you’d stumbled in the room once your torch had gone out, but when you’d looked up to see Taehyung darting over to you, the room now illuminated, you’d been several metres from where you’d first stopped.

As Taehyung would tell you later, you were shaking as you sat there, partially curled into a ball on the floor. Your torchlight had been all the way on the other side of the room, and your phone a few feet away. He says that when he asked you what had happened, you’d only babbled incoherently, somehow simultaneously telling him off and yet clinging to him in distress.

Your memory of events after that scare is a little hazy, but you do recall that he’d surveyed your form, freezing as his eyes fell upon your arm. When you’d looked down, you’d caught blood trickling down from three irregular lesions across your bicep, the entire flesh of your upper arm red and inflamed and sore, yet in the cold of the room somehow still numb. Despite the horrified look on Taehyung’s face, and the way he’d fussed over your wound from that point onward, he was quick to dismiss it.

“You must have cut it on something when you were tripping about,” he’d said later, once you were out of the house with all your things packed away, back in the safety of the hotel room. His touch had been nothing short of tender as he cleaned and dressed the cuts that just would not stop oozing blood. Perhaps that night, is when you’d really first begun developing feelings for Taehyung. That hadn’t stopped you being secretly frustrated at his words, though. “There were a lot of sharp things down there, I’m not surprised you managed to cut yourself on one of them.”

Even as, days later, the red welts on your arm developed into bruises—long and thin, like imprints of spindly fingers that had wrapped around your arm— and the cuts didn’t heal quite as they should, Taehyung stuck with that story. He insisted on being the one to take care of the wound and still insisted you’d just bumped into something lying about down there in the basement. Once, you’d gone to tell him exactly what you’d seen and heard, but thought better of it. You’d just be annoyed when his sceptical ass tried to dismiss and rationalise it. It didn’t help that the recording you had of the experience had somehow corrupted on your phone.

Oddly enough, ever since that first house you’ve never gotten as scared, or witnessed anything quite like it. It kind of makes you wonder—did you hallucinate it? Was your brain just overactive and scared, and making you see and hear things that weren’t there? You think about it a lot, an especially every time you venture into a new location. Like now, as you’re in the entry of the church and preparing to film the introduction segment of your little vlog.

“Lot on your mind, babygirl?”

Flinching and feeling your cheeks heat as they usually do whenever Taehyung hits you playfully with that particular pet name, you break from your thoughts to send him a glare.

“Only the usual amount,” you answer, a hand coming to unconsciously rub your arm where those cuts had first appeared. They’d never quite healed as expected, didn’t scar as things usually do on your skin. Normally you heal pretty seamlessly, but those scratches had healed in three pink lines, not raised but stark on your skin. Sometimes you think you feel them ache and sting, but it’s just a phantom pain. More often than not, they’re just a bit itchy.

“Camera is ready to go, are you?” Taehyung inquires, holding up the hand-held and leaning around it to flash you a cheeky smile. He has a torch attached to his headband, and combined with the light of the torch attached to the strap over your chest and the torches attached to each camera, the entrance of the building where you stand is somewhat illuminated. It is, admittedly, in a poor state. Cement and brick are in various states of disrepair, the odd piece crumbling whenever you move past. You’re actually more worried about a part of the ceiling falling on you tonight than anything paranormal. Although, you suppose you’d developed a bit of a stronger resistance over the years. These days, as Taehyung says, your bravado is through the roof.

You hold your thumb up for him, waiting for his subsequent nod and the blinking of the light above the camera lens that tells you it’s on and running. As soon as you get the signal, you slip a smile onto your face.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Mystery Gang; Unsolved,” you launch right into the introduction, the name of your little duo coming easier every time you say it. At this point, there’s almost no resistance at all; you’re barely embarrassed by it these days. “Today we’re here in a small town on the East Coast, and we’re investigating the abandoned and allegedly ‘haunted’ grounds of FigTree Church.”

Taehyung has a small smile on his lips as he watches you talk, something you catch as you glance down at your phone for the notes you have prepared. Awfully cheeky he is, as always.

“Now, you might be thinking—that’s quite an odd name for a church, right? Doesn’t it have an official name, something a little bit more proper? Well, no, actually.” You shift, taking a few steps to your left and bringing your arm up to gesture to the rest of the church. It’s pitch black, and you ignore the way the hairs on your arm begin to stand. “This church, nestled in the corner of FigTree Pocket and hidden away from the rest of the world, was never given a name. And when we investigated further, we found that there was never actually any record of this church in any registry or archive for this region.”

“For our research, we had to turn to the townsfolk and some ledgers hidden deep in the town library to unearth just what this church is and what happened that earned it the reputation as one of the most haunted locations on the East Coast.” You pause briefly, glancing to your notes. “As it turns out, the reason there are no records of this church and no name ever given to it, is because this church… was technically never meant to exist.”

Taehyung makes a surprised face, and you sense a question oncoming. “Allegedly, this church, built in the late 1800s, was formed in secret by a small faction that split from the branch residing in the nearby capitol. There is no consensus as to whether the original branch is Catholic or Christian, or something else, and a lot of the lore surrounding it is more hearsay than actual recorded facts. What is known for sure, though, is that this church was formed and built in secret, operating under forged papers and fostering a religion that didn’t quite fit any preconceived ideologies that were around at the time.”

“So this was, like, an extremist sort of situation? They didn’t quite agree with the workings of their original church so they went and made their own?” Taehyung speaks as soon as you leave him a gap, looking at you with intrigued eyes and a shit-eating grin from behind the camera. “Exactly what kind of things did they get up to in here that they needed the place to stay a secret?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say, referring to your notes for a brief moment before continuing. “Apparently, according to stories passed down through generations in this town and some accounts in the town history books, some pretty dark shit went down in here.”

Taehyung tilted his head, sweeping the camera over the rest of the room before centring it back on you with a shrug. “I could see it. What kind of sins are we speaking here?”

“Well, some stories are more believable than others,” you offer. “The less popular ones say that this was less of a church and more of a cannibalistic cult. Others—”

“Cannibalistic cult?!” Taehyung sputters, lowering the camera slightly so he can meet your eyes over the top of it. “Are you for real—?!”

“Yup,” you affirm, fighting a smile. “The next best one after that says that this wasn’t a real church, but a cover for a satanic cult that operated in the night time hours. Apparently they performed their rituals either in the basement, the attic, or a secret room behind the altar.”

Taehyung chortles at that, the denim jacket he has on over a dark hoodie making a loud scuffle as he slaps a hand to his stomach in his laughter. You’re glad he’s amused by what you’re saying, as usual. “This is great. I wonder whether we’ll find skulls or pentagrams.”

“I don’t know which is worse,” you admit, rolling your eyes when he laughs again. “Anyway, those are just outliers. The consensus on the history of this place is a bit of a different tale, actually. Still kind of dramatic, though.”

Taehyung hums to urge you on, gaze flicking to the side for a moment at a particularly loud chirp of a cricket. You shift where you stand, retreating closer to the wall—you don’t like the feeling of having your back to the expanse of darkness.

“From what I was able to gather, most people say this operated as a normal church for a few years. They held mass, you know, did the usual church things. The common thread that everyone mentioned, though, is kind of in line with what you said earlier. In a sense, the principles of this church were kind of extremist, and very misogynistic, moreso than you usually see from the old days. The women that were part of this church were apparently treated no better than property, in-home slaves expected to sit and be pretty, cook, clean and bear children.”

Taehyung winces, apparently noticing the unimpressed tone to your voice. “So if the ghost of one of the pastors is here, you’re gonna beat him up?”

“Maybe so,” you utter, shooting him a sly smile. “But don’t you wanna know what the big happening was? What really gave this place a name—well, I guess it didn’t give it a name, but it did give it a reputation.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, silvery strands of hair flicking from the motion of his head. “Of course, why else do you think I do these little investigations.”

“For the ghouls?” you suggest, grinning in anticipation for the face you know he’s going to make in response. He doesn’t fail to deliver, and you let out a laugh before continuing your initial spiel.

“Like I was saying, for a while this operated like a normal church. There were pastors and priests, and proceedings as normal. But before long, their operations were brought to a screeching halt.” A glance to your notes, then a somewhat nervous glance over your shoulder. “In what would unknowingly be its final year, the church was to hold a wedding. Meena Law, the daughter of two dedicated churchgoers, was to be wed on November 1st, 1899— to a man her parents chose, who was twice her age and, according to accounts of the time, quite an unsavoury character, but someone of a high standing within the church.”

“Oh yuck,” Taehyung utters, almost making you break character and smile.

“Unlike her parents, Meena wasn’t content and complicit with the rules and principles of the church. She was against the wedding from the beginning and fought it with everything she could. It was no use, however, and by the time the eve of her wedding arrived, she was desperate.”

Your thumb scrolls across your notes, and you take a breath. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think the air feels a little colder suddenly; you have to fight a shiver from rolling down your spine. “Here is where the stories diverge a little. One account says that what happened in this chapel was nothing but a tragic accident. As she walked up the aisle in her wedding dress and arrived at the altar to stand beside her would-be husband, the heavily embellished wrought-iron chandelier came loose above them and fell, crushing the two of them and the minister officiating the marriage—who happened to be head of the church at the time, Lui Fonset.”

“The chandelier is actually still over there on the floor, glass shards and rusty metal and all,” you supply, pointing your flashlight in the direction of the altar. You don’t like the way it gleams beneath the torchlight.

“Wait, they never cleaned it up?” Taehyung joined you in shining his torch in that direction. He let out a soft noise of interest. “They just decided that’s it? They’re gonna leave it there?”

You snort. “Actually, this incident seemed to be the beginning of the end for them. Understandably, the tragedy of three deaths within their church, their head included, was quite a blow. It took a while before they gathered themselves and attempted to fix the place up.”

Taehyung shoots you a curious if somewhat confused look. “But they didn’t…?”

You shine your torch in his face to be annoying, and he levels you with a glare. The harshness of the light makes the dark brown of his irises gleam reddish-brown. You ignore the way your neck tenses as a result.

“They didn’t,” you confirmed, “But it wasn’t for lack of trying. This church sat in disrepair for a short while, vacated and momentarily abandoned, but the remaining churchgoers returned to fix it up. No one ever managed to, though, because ever since that fatal incident, it would seem that any activities within the church walls would be met with the most unfortunate, awful luck.”

“To paraphrase an account from one of the townspeople, it was like the building had obtained a life of its own and was hellbent on fighting back against anyone that stepped on the grounds. Windows shattered right as people walked beneath them, pews fell and chunks of statues weakened at just the right times. Some people also reported hearing things, seeing things, feeling things that made them feel so uncomfortable they left and refused to return to the site.”

“Is it the ghosts of Meena and the two that died with her?” Taehyung queries, going for a quick pan of the room beyond the little entrance nook. Rotting pews lined the large space, some reduced to splinters and others weak and sagging. None were in neat order and a few of them were sprinkled with glass and stone and dust—oh, the dust.

“That’s what some say.” You shrug. “But there is another version of the events that happened here. It’s a little more interesting but since we are here tonight, I think I like it a little less.”

Your companion was curious now. “What is it?”

“The night before her wedding, Meena was desperate. So desperate, in fact, that she would have done absolutely anything to stop the marriage—and some say that, in her darkest hours that night, she was driven to do the unspeakable.” You pause, because you know that Taehyung is about to take the piss out of what you’re about to say. “Some say, that on Hallows Eve, the night before she was to be wed, Meena performed a ritual to summon a demon, and then made a deal with him to ensure that the wedding wouldn’t go through.”

Your eyes flick to Taehyung’s face but surprisingly, he doesn’t seem like he’s about to make fun of you. Instead, he seems deep in thought, staring blankly for a moment as he’s consumed by whatever is on his mind. Odd. Usually he’s well on his way to making fun of you by now. He knows you’re especially scared of demons.

“Of course, as is usually the case in stories like these, it seems that Meena wasn’t aware of the little loophole she provided,” you say, preparing to continue before Taehyung speaks suddenly and cuts you off.

“She left it too open,” Taehyung says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “I mean, the wedding was stopped, but at what price? Amateur.”

“Don’t insult the ghosts,” you say, more of an automated, habitual utterance than anything at this point. “And yeah, that’s how the story goes. The unfortunate nature of her death and the despair of her last moments allegedly caused her to linger, whatever soul she had left attached to this place. It’s said that the spirits of the priest and the groom are here too—different sort of entities, apparently. People report a range of weird occurrences in this building, some antagonistic and some merely… supernatural. But they’re not the only presence rumoured to be here that gives this place such a foreboding reputation.”

Taehyung’s head tilts, before his eyes light up in realisation. “Oh, the demon? But how would he be here? Aren’t they meant to be unable to enter holy places such as this?”

For some reason, you swear you detect the slightest bit of humour in Taehyung’s tone. You raise your brows at him, but answer his question anyway. “Yeah, that’s usually the case, I guess. There are a few theories as to why a demon could enter here. First, some people propose that it’s because this was never a legitimate church. Which… I think makes a bit of sense. The second theory that floats around is that when she summoned the demon, she actually did it within the church walls. I mean, I’d think that wouldn’t work, but hey, maybe it did.”

Taehyung purses his lips in thought. “Hmm, I think it could work. Maybe it’s a big boss demon.”

You roll your eyes, locking your phone and sliding it into your pocket. “If that’s the case, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t need to be thinking about high level demons lingering in the halls as I walk through a haunted church, thank you very much.”

Taehyung lets out a laugh, passing you your own camera. You turn to the one currently in his hold, offering a smile that you can feel has somewhat of a nervous tinge this time around.

“Alright, lets go catch some ghosts!” you cheer, feeling like you’re painting a target on your own back, as you usually do. Taehyung nods, smiling to himself as he cuts the camera for a break before you both begin recording and venturing through the church.

“I hate this,” you murmur into the sudden silence, rubbing your arms as a wash of cold air touches your skin. “Why do we always have to film at night? Late at night? In the dark and cold?”

Taehyung snorts, stepping over and slinging an arm over your shoulder somewhat distractedly as he fiddles with settings on his camera, hand rubbing your arm. The action brings out a wave of butterflies in your stomach that you don’t even bother to quell.

“Everyone knows ghouls only come out at night,” he chuckles, flicking wavy strands out of his face. “Demons too.”

You groaned, already feeling much worse than earlier about the night ahead of you. This wasn’t going to be fun in the least for you. Before you’d entered the church, the crickets in the forestry outside had been loud, almost as though they were screaming at you to leave, attempting to ward you away (maybe you’re reading a little too much into it). In here, though, you can barely hear them. Only softly, subtly; whispers of the living world outside slipping in through the broken glass and crumbling stone. In contrast, it’s very still in here—and very cold. Probably from the stone and brick. You slip your arm around Taehyung’s waist for warmth, grinning at the way he jumps and looks to you in surprise.

“Bold of you,” Taehyung wags his eyebrows. “How am I supposed to seduce the ghosts if they think I’m taken?”

“Dirty ghostfucker,” you utter, instantly annoyed enough that you don’t feel like using him for body heat anymore. You pinch his side and withdraw, turning your camera on and moving towards the large room beyond the entrance. Taehyung laughs when you stumble over a piece of rotten wood. Great.

If you don’t end up dying in here tonight, then you just might end up killing Taehyung instead.

Taehyung fires up his cameras once more, his torchlights aiding in illuminating your path as he follows behind you. Right, on with the tour you go.

a/n: pls let me know what u think and pls heart or rb if u read and liked it!!! it helps me know how many people have interacted and enjoyed it!!

masterlist | next⇥

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scriptaed · 5 years ago

Text

his side, her side | 5:00 p.m.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; (bold = genre for this particular drabble)

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 2.5k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: this is not a chronological series; more so, his side her side is a collection of drabbles in which each drabble helps paint the overall picture. each drabble can be read separately without having read the others. // alternatively: his side, her side pt. 2;

her side;

Music—it’s a magical force lying somewhere between evil and good. The closest form to humanity’s long-sought time machine, it merely takes a simple sequence of three notes for the winds to blow, for the skies to set and the clock to rewind, until you find yourself warped in a fragment in time unreachable by all else means.

Truly, it’s an otherworldly craft, one that comes and goes, not on a quest to fulfill a beckoning, but rather, on a quest of its own whimsical accord. In forethought, you were thankful for such an uncontrollable phenomenon that could defy even the grasp of time; but it doesn’t take you more than three ephemeral months of infatuation for you to look back in horrifying awe at the way something so hauntingly beautiful could revive even the faintest of memories you had once misperceived as long buried in time.

And the secret to such a double-edged sorcery?

Willingly or reluctantly, you would soon find out.

<<now playing: i like me better - lauv>>

It all started on that treacherous night midway somewhere between the breezy fall and the frostbitten winter, when the sun prepares for an early slumber and the skies drape a blanket of impending starry darkness, that your fickle heart embarks on a trek of no return. Temperate leaves color the brick road a spectrum between red and orange. Its crunches under your boots accompany the bass of an upbeat track you’ve been blasting throughout summer ‘til now. With a dipped head and a pair of hands buried into the depths of your pockets, the world is made aware of your one-way-ticket to hell—or, in other words, work.

5:00 P.M.

Whew, just on time.

A sigh escapes your lips in a puff just as the wind’s chill on the upper half of your face barren of a scarf dissipates under the hands of your company’s heater. Eyes like darts and lips grumbling incomprehensible curses, it’s apparent to both you and your chattering colleagues that this is the last place you would like to spend a Tuesday night. You scan through the meeting room cluttered by numerous two-seat desks and make your way to the corner of the room where no one could bother your already ruined evening.

Sure, it’s extra pay, but who holds project meetings at 2 P.M. and 5 P.M. in the evening? To make it even worse, why did your supervisor have to assign you to the latter, the worst time slot of all?

Pulling out your phone, you scan through your phone to pull up the list of participating colleagues that your supervisor had sent out last week.

One scroll, two scroll, yup, not a single person you know—oh, well, if that isn’t a surprise. His name rings a bell, one that leans closer to good than bad: Jeon Jungkook; because even though it’s been a name you haven’t muttered since exactly one year, where you had beckoned for the reclusive boy to sit next to you and your friend and he had the audacity to refuse, you can sigh in relief because now you have someone else joining you in the aloof club. Other than the first friendly words you had spoken to him at the cafeteria and the once-in-a-blue-moon tips you had given when he sought for your help, you haven’t exactly befriended that man despite the more than coincidental bump-ins throughout the company building.

Wouldn’t it be funny if maybe, just maybe, fate pairs you with him on the basis of feigned happenstance for just one last time?

If there’s one thing you find amusing in this life-draining room, it would be the mugshot of an ID photo displayed next to his name. Lips grim and eyes looking into the camera, his picture must have been an exact mirror of your expression if it weren’t for your chuckles at the moment.

He just doesn’t give a damn, huh?

“Y/N,” your supervisor points at a table in the center of the room, smack in the middle of other encircling tables, “that table’s off limits. Could you move to this table?”

Nodding, although reluctantly so, you pick up your belongings and start your trek to the middle when you lift your head only to spot the very subject of your snickering; because there he is himself, Jeon Jungkook walking into the room, fashionably late as always, and eyes scanning through the filled room. Reaching the desk, you glimpse through your peripheral vision to quickly come to the conclusion that a few chairs remain unoccupied… one of which is right next to yours. It’s unlikely that he would choose to sit next to you, out of all other seats, right? Considering he had so adamantly refused to take your offer for company last year?

But no.

Swiftly but unhurried in that nonchalant, indifferent mien of his, he seats himself right next to you.

“I know there are plenty of other places you would rather spend your evening at, trust me,” your supervisor announces, “but please utilize this time to introduce yourselves to your partner and get working on the project.”

Keep calm, Y/N, you tell yourself as you slowly turn to face your partner, don’t let him figure out that you remember—shit, does he remember rejecting your offer last year? It was supposed to be a friendly gesture and nothing else! He doesn’t think you’re into him, does he?

Jungkook stares at you. Eyes peering down at you, lips too lazy to even put on a friendly mien, and face emanating of giving no fucks, it seems like an eternity has passed as he waits for you to speak first. Or at least it seems like an eternity to you.

Is this really the same guy your friend told you she found cute?!

“...I think I already know your name,” you deadpan, trying to put on an equally apathetic front.

Finally, he smirks—and when he does so, you think something has your heart jolting. What was that? Judging by his ongoing impression, he’s probably just another cocky bastard. Born with the looks but maybe not so much with the smarts, he must be all up in his head. He must think you’re smitten. He probably doesn’t even remember your name—

“—Y/N,” he greets you, cracking a crooked grin.

What was that again?

The next hour passes by in the blink of an eye. Your supervisor proceeds to explain the project albeit poorly so, but all you can remember from that day was you shrinking away at the sight of the boy beside you through the corners of your eye. Having forgotten his existence until now, you haven’t realized just how much has changed between you two. Just a year older and he’s already popped his own bubble, opting for tank tops and gym shorts instead of his conservative hoodies and slim jeans from last year… probably eager to show off those newly built muscles of his. Remarkably, he’s probably also grown taller—because now, he stands a good three or four inches taller than you. A year must do a lot, seeing how he’s changed from the reclusive boy to an equally reclusive man, and you begin to wonder if he’s noticed the changes in you, too.

Focusing on your supervisor’s wrap-up for the day, you don’t notice just how long Jungkook has been staring at you with those unreadable eyes of his; and when you finally do, turning your head and peering up at him with quizzical, wide eyes, he smirks.

“What?” you cinch your brows.

“Nothing,” he insists, despite how much harder he starts snickering.

“What?!” you gawk, mouth agape in full offense but lips curled into a cheeky smile for who knows what.

Do you have something on your face? Does he think you stink? You don’t know why but your face begins burning beet red.

“Nothing!”

He only laughs harder, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and the apples of his cheeks rising along with the wide grin he slacks open—and at that moment, staring at him in a momentary awe you would recall for as far into the future as a distant year, you marvel at the sight before you.

Has he ever smiled this hard before? You’ve never seen him like this, even with the few friends he had. Or is this a sight others have yet to witness?

Nowadays, when your playlist goes on shuffle and you stumble upon that one melancholic winter beat meant for feverish summers, the expired ache in your heart returns with vengeance.

But in that moment, you were hoping for forever and that was your first mistake of many. If the walls of your heart had managed to fend off many others before, then why did you not listen to the sirens in your head at that very moment? After all, you should’ve known that devilish grin of his lethal charms meant he was only on a search for something temporary.

Embarrassed and ashamed, it’s been a year later and you still can’t listen to that particular song without recalling the moment you fell too hard, too fast.

Maybe, just maybe, you once remarked to yourself, Tuesday evenings wouldn’t be so bad after all.

his side;

This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever had to attend, Jungkook mentally curses with the roll of his eyes as he strolls into the building. The sweat he had shed after hitting the gym had long been washed off after a quick shower and the forfeit of the relaxing winter chills in exchange for the company’s heater only ticked him off further. With a water bottle in his hand, he tosses the plastic wrap of his protein bar into the trash. He then draws the door wide open with utter ease in his hands and a one-way-ticket to the playground in his heart.

Great, not only does the supervisor forget to send a list of participants, but now that he’s finally here to see for himself, he scans through the room, there isn’t a single person he recognizes—well, maybe not.

“Y/N,” Jungkook watches as the accursed supervisor points at another desk in the middle of the room, “that table’s off limits. Could you move to this table?”

Why the fuck put a table there if it’s off limits, then?

In the corner of his eye, he notices the girl rise from her seat, although begrudgingly so, before trudging toward the other desk. Meanwhile, Jungkook had just finished his prolonged entrance into the room, skimming through the room with just one thought on his mind: get. me. out. of. here.

Well, there’s really only a few seats left—hell, why is everyone literally an hour early? It’s either he sits at the back of the room, where he could slack off and honestly would have preferred, or he sits at the very front with someone he’s somewhat familiar with.

Does she even remember him?

Jungkook doesn’t really give a damn, for his feet has already begun its trek toward the empty seat beside her. Judging from the few interactions he had with her, she never really seemed to take a liking to him. She was friendly, no doubt, but maybe too friendly. She probably even realized her own unnecessary benevolence, for Jungkook recalls the multitude of times she had purposely ignored his presence ever since that one time he declined the offer to sit beside her in the cafeteria. Now, she probably saw him as the dumb guy at work who asked her too many questions.

Maybe now he’ll finally get a chance to really know her.

The supervisor babbles a bunch of shit, and before he knows it, people are chattering again and Jungkook mentally cursed at himself for zoning out. Turning around, he looks down at the girl beside him. Is it just him or does she not look too pleased? Well, not that he really cares. It’s not like she’s acquainted with him, nor is she obligated to smile.

“...I think I already know your name,” the girl mutters.

Oh, so she does remember, Jungkook can’t help the lopsided grin that escapes onto his lips.

“Y/N,” Jungkook utters simply, returning his attention to the front of the room where the supervisor continues speaking and failing to notice the look on his partner’s face.

The next hour passes by dreadfully slowly. In fact, it takes Jungkook everything not to rest his head on the table and ask Y/N to wake up from his nap once the supervisor was done. Instead, his mind wanders elsewhere…

Why did he sign up for this again? Oh, right, he needed the cash, and this time fits perfectly after his gym sessions.

Why did he choose this seat then? Well, beats him. Something about his constant run-ins with Y/N has even him, the most indifferent of them all, scratching his head. It’s almost as if this is fate’s own way of begging for him to give her a chance.

Does she actually hate him? Still, Jungkook wouldn’t mind either way, although he wouldn’t say he isn’t curious. Considering how she still remembers his name, however, something tells him she doesn’t exactly despise him, and that’s a bit of a relief. Why? Well, no, he doesn’t really care. Really.

She’s changed a bit, Jungkook remarks as he turns to take a look at his partner. He recalls her long locks from orientation as well as the beginning of the year when she had cut them short. Now that another half year has passed, her hair had somehow returned to its original length… or to whatever extent of a difference a boy like Jungkook could notice. She’s gained a bit of weight, or maybe that’s because she’s bundled underneath all her winter layers as compared to the halter romper he had first seen her in at orientation. Either way, she looks… different, perhaps a year more mature. One thing that hasn’t changed though, he observes as he watches her devote every ounce of attention on the rambling supervisor, is her undeniable work ethic…

...maybe that’s why he caught wind of a certain nerd, Taehyung, crushing hard on his infamous partner who had ghosted the poor boy.

And yet, here he is, Jungkook muses with a half-smile, sitting next to that very infamous girl.

Something about that thought gives him power and he can’t quite pinpoint why.

“What?” she says a bit more offended than he would have expected.

“Nothing,” he says truthfully, because to him, there really isn’t anything to say.

What? Is he supposed to apologize for staring?

“What?!” she repeats.

The confusing mix between offence and laughter that plasters across her reddening face only amuses Jungkook further; and at that moment, he figures there’s something oddly satisfying about teasing this girl.

“Nothing!”

The boy doesn’t notice it until he’s already burst into laughter, a full leap beyond his usual chuckles done out of social obligation, but he’s actually laughing. Mouth agape, teeth showing, eyes squinting into crescents, he really doesn’t know what he’s laughing at and he doesn’t really care that others are staring at the two of you.

Hey, maybe gym sessions aren’t the only form of entertainment he’ll be looking forward to on Tuesday nights.

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weasleydream · 4 years ago

Text

The freaking worst working day of my life

AYAAAA I’m finally back! I’m just so freaking happy!

Despite my long absence I still don’t know what to write here so I’ll just warn you: mention of sexual tension but nothing big really. Oh, and writing this gave me the idea to try something only based on this game between George and Y/N with the tension, would you guys like it?

Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

George was a very serious guy when it came to his work. He was as passionate as his twin, Fred, and could stay entire nights developing new products. No, his seriousness wasn’t in doubt. But, it’s true that when I was in the shop with him, he could be a bit...distracted. The fact that I worked in there didn’t really help. Result? Some days, we spent more time in the back shop snogging than helping Fred. These days, the poor guy couldn’t do anything and had to resign himself, but the guilt always pushed us to offer Fred a day off the the next day. Yeah, we weren’t monsters.

However, this time, we would have to offer him a week off, because I was unable to take my hands off my boyfriend. In my own defense, he didn’t ask me to. We were currently in our shared room, in the flat, because Fred had had enough of our “disturbing noises”. Let’s say things were… Well, there was an undeniable sexual tension between us, since we had had the wonderful idea to bet we would be able not to do anything in bed for a week. Stupid. But the worse wasn’t that, no. The worse was the teasing. And Merlin knew George was excellent when it came to the teasing. I had to be at least as good as him, and I was pretty sure I had succeeded because earlier this morning, he had pushed me against the wall in the back shop and had kissed me passionately, groaning he couldn’t wait anymore. We had joined our room and let’s just say the bet was far from us.

“Maybe we should go and help Fred.”

I was feeling guilty because he was once more alone. George didn’t seem to share my compassion for his twin because he groaned.

“He’s fine…”

He tightened his grip around my waist while sticking his nose in my hair. I installed myself more comfortably against his chest and closed my eyes, ready for a nap.

My plans fell through as soon as Fred called for us. I was ready to yell him to shut up when he called a second time, with a serious tone that alarmed us. George and I rushed downstairs, joining Fred and a man who couldn’t be anyone else than the Minister for Magic.

I had seen his face in the Daily Prophet. He was Fudge’s successor, Rufus Scrimgeour. He was looking down on the shop, raising his eyebrows when he saw the muggle products. He continued his inspection a few seconds after our arrival and eventually consented to look at us.

“Let me introduce myself: Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic.”

“I’m Fred, this is my brother, George, and Y/N, his girlfriend.”

He shook Fred’s hand, then George’s but didn’t even look at me.

“I am here because you might know the situation we are facing. Our employees need protections. They are afraid, but we need them at the Ministry.”

George and I exchanged a look. What the hell did it have to do with us? Fred seemed to think exactly the same because he interrupted the Minister.

“We are perfectly aware of the situation. Why are you here, sir?”

“I’m here to ask you to provide us 500 Shield Hats as soon as possible. I expect a first delivery the next week in person. We will discuss the details at that time. Goodbye.”

He shook briefly the boys’ hand, ignored me once more and left. I realized the door was closed, and, deep in thought, went to open it. Some customers entered, asking loudly what just happened. No one answered them, though, because Fred and George were as thoughtful as me.

“Are we gonna accept?” asked Fred.

“I don’t think you have the choice.” I responded. “He made it pretty clear.”

“I really don’t like his manners.” grumbled George. “But Y/N’s right. We can’t ignore this. Plus, we’re gonna gain a great amount of money.”

The following week was devoted to the fabrication of the Hats. It was a long process, because the Protecting Charm had to be straightened several times. However, the Shield Hats weren’t the only products we had to produce: the shop was still open and had an incredible success. It was full of children all days long and before the opening and after the closure, we had to clean everything, fill the shelves and make some Shield Hats. What a hell of a schedule.

However, we soon found out it was all worth it. Four days after Scrimgeour’s visit, Molly sent us an owl. In her letter, she was congratulating us for the article in the Daily Prophet… Article that none of us had had the occasion to read. We had received it but it had been immediately put on the counter. George grabbed it, opened it, and a big smile appeared on his lips.

“Look at this!”

He shoved the newspaper under our noses. Half of the page was occupied with a picture of the boys grinning in front of the shop. It was after its opening, I was still at Hogwarts at this moment. Underneath the picture, an article traced Fred and George’s childhood, telling some pranks they had pulled at school - I didn’t really know how they could know that - and it boasted the quality of the Weasley products. The end of the article described how concerned by the wizarding world’s security they were, and how, in their great kindness, they had offered to supplied the Ministry in defense products.

“That’s great but -” I started.

“We offered them? Are they kidding? Don’t tell me I’ve ruined my sleep schedule only because I’m kind!” exploded Fred.

George, who obviously hadn’t read the article yet, frowned.

“Offered? I guess we’ll have some explanations to ask…” he muttered.

The week was finally over and we had managed to produce a hundred Hats. All three of us were exhausted but, as we had understood, we didn’t have any choice. The day before the delivery, I was making diner in the kitchen while Fred was organizing everything for the next day and George was cleaning the living-room.

“Guess you’ll owe me another day off.” said Fred after a particularly long yawn.

“Why? We’ve helped you all week long.” replied George.

“Because I’m the one who’ll go to the Ministry tomorrow.”

“I thought you two would go.” I frowned while making sure the vegetables weren’t burning.

“I thought all three of us would go.” replied George.

We burst in laughters, and I couldn’t help but notice it seemed a bit hysterical. I guess we were really tired, that’s probably why calming down was so difficult. We eventually managed to do it and a heavy silence took place.

“Seriously, you both should go.” I said. “It’s pretty clear Scrimgeour wants to see you two, and he doesn’t give a damn about me. Plus we can’t let Verity alone here and it would be stupid to close the shop on a friday.”

“You’re not wrong,” sighed Fred. “George, what do you think?”

“I don’t like the idea of letting you here alone.” replied George. “Not because I don’t trust you, you know I do!” He added quickly when he saw my frown. “Just because… I don’t know, with everything happening out there…”

“You’re not wrong too.”

“By Merlin’s pants Fred, you’re so useful!” I groaned. “Don’t worry love, you’ll be gone for a day and Verity will help me. Nothing will happen.”

We finally decided that Fred and George would both go to the Ministry. The next morning, the noise made by the boys in the kitchen woke me up. Knowing I could sleep a bit more than them, I snuggled closer to George with a sigh of satisfaction. Wait a minute...

“What are you doing here?”

George groaned and pulled me closer to him. I shook him but he didn’t move, only muttering something that sounded like I’m too comfortable, you won’t make me move.

“George, love, you’ve got to wake up. You go to the Ministry today!”

He turned a deaf ear. Understanding I had to do this the hard way, I took the only rational decision when George refused to get out of bed: I pushed him. He fell on the floor with a groan.

“Y/N, what the hell?”

“You’ve got to go…”

I was on the verge of falling asleep again when he lifted me and threw me on his shoulder. My scream came higher than usual, and George chuckled softly.

“If I can’t sleep, you can’t either, love.”

He arrived in the kitchen, and Fred, who was drinking a large cup of coffee, didn’t even lift an eyebrow when he saw us. I realized this wasn’t uncommon and he had to be used to such situations with us. George threw me on the couch, almost sending me crash on the floor, and literally jumped on me. He approached his face in order to kiss me.

“George,” I whispered. “You stink.”

“You too. Shut up and kiss me.”

I gladly obliged, and I swore we would have made out right here if Fred hadn’t cough very loudly.

“You’re really adorable, but I want to stay innocent, thank you very much.”

“Innocent?” George stifled a laugh. “Mate, you’re no longer innocent. Remember when you brought Angelina in our dorm and then I came in with Lee and you were -”

“It was your fault. You should have knocked.”

With that, he looked at us with a false horrified expression, and left, mumbling we had a lot to learn in terms of decency. George rolled his eyes and put his head on my chest, making himself comfortable while being careful I was too. My hands found their way to his soft hair. We stayed like this a few minutes, enjoying each other’s warmth, listening to each other’s breath, until Fred came out of the bathroom.

“You know, I really feel like I’m always interrupting.” He said with a cheerful tone.

“Because you are.” grumbled George.

He got up, keeping my hand in his the longer he could before heading in the bathroom. I glanced at Fred: he was wearing a green suit and ruffled a bit his hair.

“You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?” He asked.

I looked up to see his worry eyes.

“You know, George is right, with everything happening -”

“Don’t worry Fred, it’s your big moment!” I said.

He grinned but I knew better than this: these two idiots would stop worrying about me when they would be back, not a second before. George came out of the bathroom and we went in the shop. It was still closed, so I didn’t mind wearing my pajamas. Fred went in the back shop probably to take the boxes that contained the hats.

I felt George’s hands on my hips and his lips sweetly kissing each part of my skin they could reach. His mouth moved in my neck and he lightly nibbled the soft spot under my jaw before attacking my lips. Our tongues found each other for a sensual dance, and our hands started travelling across the other’s body. We had to pull apart way too soon for our liking, but I couldn’t resist the urge to press my forehead against his. His eyes were closed and his lips were curled up in a peaceful smile. I heard the door of the shop and assumed Fred was waiting outside for his brother. He knew his brother was worried and didn’t want to interrupt, that was really sweet of him. As much as I hated it, they had to leave.

“Love, you have to go.” I whispered.

“I don’t want to… I want to stay with you.”

His breath tickled me.

“You don’t want to make your fanclub waiting in front of the Ministry, do you?”

He opened his eyes and threw me a playful look.

“I had almost forgotten them!” he exclaimed. “I have to join them right away then!”

But he pressed me against his chest once more, obviously unable to let me go and, to be honest, I didn’t want him to do so.

“The later you leave, the later you’ll come back.” I pecked his lips. “Besides, Fred is going to barge in soon and he’ll drag you outside whether you like it or not.”

“I understand, you want me to go.” He faked a hurt expression. “Keep the galleon with you, love, okay? If anything happens -”

“I will warn you, I promise.” One last kiss. “Move your ass, love.”

George smiled at me and left the shop. I watched him as he joined Fred, probably receiving a sarcastic comment because he hit lightly his shoulder, and they disappeared with a pop I would have heard if I had been outside. Without realizing it, I had shoved my hand in the pocket of the jacket I had put on. My fingers were holding firmly the galleon Hermione had given me back at our last year at Hogwarts. It was originally used for the Dumbledore’s Army communication, but we had slightly transformed the charm so that Fred, George and I could send short messages if needed. It was quicker and more discreet than owls. I promised myself to keep it with me all day long before joining the flat above the shop. I got dressed with the traditional magenta robe and came in the kitchen to find a little black owl perched on the table. I recognized it; it was Verity’s. I quickly unfolded the piece of parchment it had brought me and read the message.

I’m sorry, I’m terribly sick, I won’t be able to work today. Verity

I quickly scribbled some words to wish her a good healing and sent back the owl. I sighed when I realized I would be alone all day long and summoned up courage. If I was alone, I should head downstairs and start my day the sooner possible.

Despite me being alone, the day went at the speed of light. It was a very busy friday, and the little shop was always crowded with customers, both delighted children and amazed parents. It was also really loud in there, but I was now used to it. I had been there everyday since the beginning of the holidays, but I still could see why this place was so magical. Of course, the shelves covered in potions of all types and the fluffy Pygmy Puffs helped, but it wasn’t what I prefered here. It was like another world where everyone would be a child again, and even the stricter parents would melt in front of their children eyes when they were full of stars.

The stream of customers slowly decreased and I eventually found myself alone in the shop without knowing when the boys would come back. I had kept the galleon with me without needing to use it, and I was kinda relieved the day was almost over. They owe me a free day, it’s too difficult to be alone here, and I haven’t even eaten. Indeed, the last thing I had swallowed was a piece of bread before heading downstairs with George and my stomach was seriously rumbling. However, I still had some things to do before being free. I checked the hour and saw the shop would officially close twenty minutes later. Even if I didn’t think any customer would come that late, I let the door open. With a wave of my wand, the less fragile products came from the back shop and landed on the shelves. However, I preferred storing the potions myself, it would prevent the accidents. I was filling the pink tray of love potions when I heard the door opening. I quickly looked up, hoping the boys were back, but it was a man who entered the shop. He nodded to say hello, and I smiled politely at him.

“I’m going to put the Pygmy Puffs in their cage, will you buy one?”

The man shook quickly his head and glared at the furballs. I summoned the cage and carefully placed them all in it. I brought back the cage in the back shop and put it on its shelf. I fed them and gave them water.

When I had left him, the man seemed absorbed by the Edible Dark Marks, but when I turned the heels to go back in the shop, he was blocking the way. His large silhouette stood in the door frame. Unconsciously, I slipped a hand in my pocket and reached the galleon. This gesture seemed to worry him and I didn’t realize he had cast a spell until the red flash of light hit me. I flew backward, abruptly landing on the shelves behind me. I vaguely heard a concert of high-pitched screams. I froze in fear when the man stood in front of me, dominating me with his full height. He grabbed the collar of my robe and lift me as if I weighed nothing.

“I won’t hurt you if you give me the money.”

His voice was hoarse and his eyes sent me a burning glare. I wanted to answer but the fabric was strangling me and I vainly tried to get rid of his hand. Seeing I couldn’t make him release me, I tried to kick him as hard as I could, but I was getting weaker and weaker because of the lack of air.

“You’re asking for it.”

He violently dropped me on the floor and my head hit a wooden box left here.

“Give me the money, now!”

I was sure he was pointing his wand on me but the dizziness took over me and my sight was blurry. I tried to get up. The only coherent thought my poor brain could produce was that I needed to get rid of him. Until now, I had forgotten about the galleon, but my wand was nowhere to be seen and I would have been unable to cast the appropriate spell. I limped to get out of the back shop and the man pushed me toward the counter. I barely stayed up, the only thing preventing me from falling down being a shelf covered with candies. I looked at the counter, unable to process how to give him the galleons. I was roughly aware of the radiating pain in my head and I couldn’t focus on anything else. I didn’t hear the man’s repeated shouts, nor did I hear the door of the shop opening. All of sudden, the atmosphere went black and, if I hadn’t fainted at this very moment, and if my brain wasn’t so slow, I would have understood the man had used Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder to disappear.

I didn’t open my eyes right away. I heard whispering next to me, but it took me a few seconds to recognize who was talking and what they were saying. According to what I understood - which maybe wasn’t really reliable - Fred and George were debating whether they should bring me to St-Mungo’s or not.

“It won’t be necessary…” I whispered.

I wasn’t sure it had come out as I wanted, but they probably had understood because all of sudden, I felt them dangerously close to me. I finally opened my eyes to see George’s face a few inches away from mine. When my eyes met his, he sighed in relief and laid in to kiss me.

“You scared me, love…” he murmured.

Even if he didn’t say it, I knew perfectly he was feeling guilty. I knew at some point he would tell me it was his fault, he shouldn’t have left me alone, it would never happen again. I was pretty sure it was Fred’s case too. George helped me sitting and I realized I was on the couch of the small living-room. A few vials of potions were on the floor, some empty and some still unopened. I also felt something tightening my head, and by touching it, I recognized bandages.

“How do you feel?” Fred had been careful to keep his voice low in case my head was hurting.

“Okay, I guess.” I replied. I didn’t wait for them to ask me what had happened, because I knew they would soon, and I summarized the situation. “This man entered about twenty minutes before the closure. He wanted me to give him all the money we had and he threw me against the wall. I couldn’t react, I didn’t know where my wand was and I couldn’t cast a spell to warn you.”

“It’s okay, Y/N, don’t worry. He’s gone, but I swear we’ll warn everyone in the Diagon Alley and Dad will know too. We’ll find him.” said George while stroking my hair.

A sigh of contentment escaped my mouth and I snuggled closer to my boyfriend. With a relieved smile, Fred lightly ruffled my hair and announced he would make diner. A delicious smell hit my nostrils, but all curled up in George’s arms and tired of my long day, I had fallen asleep too deeply. The diner would have to wait.

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you

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lgvalenzuela · 4 years ago

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In snakey matters don't sink your teeth

(Part one) (Part two)

Year 4

The hatstalls shared a train compartment as usual, their friends rotated to expend time with them. Most had shared letters so there wasn't much catching up on how the summer went, when the compartment got crowded, they were ordered to clear up.

Barnaby stayed with Morgana, even if they had exchanged letters as they promised, they could just talk for hours. Andre and Mercy shared a knowing look and a smirk and discreetly left the compartment, dragging Damien with them.

The couple didn't even notice they were left alone. Morgana was absorbed into Barnaby's words, talking about how he'd read Fantastic beasts and where to find them like five times that summer, and he already wanted to do it again. And Barnaby really didn't notice how much he missed Morgana's voice, so serene, so calm, filled you with peace.

He listened to her while she told him about the month Andre expent on her house, learning Quidditch techniques with her dad. Reached to his collarbone to scratch it and that's when she noticed:

"Barnaby...you have a scar..."

"What? Oh yeah" he covered it "It's from Ismelda's charm last year, man she really hit the target..." he scratched the back of his neck nervously as he saw Morgana's ever increasingly horrified expression "It's okay, it's okay, the nurse said it could have been worse if you hadn't helped with your healing magic" that didn't help

"It was Everete Statum, that's a charm, how did she even made it...do this?"

"Well she does have a talent for making not particularly offensive spells...offensive" he patted her head "It only itches a bit, it's okay I swear"

Morgana delicately put a hand on his cheek, and looked at him in the eye, he didn't know if he should feel even more nervous, or calmed, it was a strange mix of emotions:

"I trust you, but if you ever need assistance come see me, okay?"

He relaxed into her hand, she stroked his cheek gently and he melted:

"Of course" he said soflty

Morgana tried not to ponder much about it, but if she was good at something, it was overthinking.

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

Mercy gave Rakepik the stink eye, trying to position herself in front of Morgana and Damien:

"I'm glad to see everyone returned. I expected at least one of you to cower in the face of competition" said the woman "I'm looking at you, Mr Copper"

"Please don't" he said trembling, holding to his robes for dear life, Damien grabbed his hand and smiled at him reassuringly

Rakepik smirked at the young griffindor, and dedicated a sly look to little Morgana, hiding behind her sister, Mercy growled quietly. Thay was...entertaining:

"What curse are you going to teach us tonight?" asked Ismelda, eager, rubbing her fingers

Rakepik looked at the sisters, and smirked to herself, she sruged:

"I won't be teaching you anything tonight, Miss Murk. You will be teaching one another"

Everyone whispered in confusion, until Bill was brave enough to break the silence:

"Curses?"

"Curses, charms, transfiguration, potions, punches..." she walked slowly examining the kid's reactions "I've never belived in putting restrictions on duelling..."

"Miss, you want us to duel each other?" asked Morgana

"As you well know..." she looked at her directly, ignoring Mercy's growls "It's highly unlikely you'll be able to enter a Cursed Vault without facing a fight. Duelling is the best way to improve your combat skills"

"Morgana doesn't go to the Vaults" said Mercy finally, getting in Rakepik's way

"But she went to the last one, as far as I know"

"It was to heal our injured friend" the hufflepuff explained

"Oh yes, I'm aware of the story" she looked at Ismelda, who looked down for a second "And tell me, Miss Canigula..." Morgana looked up "Don't you want to do something about it?"

"I..." Morgana hold Mercy's arm tight

"Nah, you don't understand, Morgana's such a pacifist, besides, she's a terrible duelist" explained Damien, Ben jabbed him "Hey! Am I lying?"

"Miss Murk, can you come to the front?"

Ismelda took out her wand with a smirk and her head high, Rakepik looked at the group:

"So, Canigula, how many more fights are your comadres going to fight for you?" she gestured to the duelling area

"You don't understand, Morgana isn't cut for this short of things, she has other qualities, she..."

Mercy continued talking, but Morgana's mind was elsewhere, she had a lot of time to think about herself, about her weaknesses, about Barnaby, and how weak he felt, and about his scar.

She walked past Mercy, put herself in front of Ismelda and took out her wand:

"Morgana..." said Mercy, worried, trying to intervene

Andre grabbed her arm and shaked his head, this was something their friend had to do on her own.

Ismelda examined Morgana, trembling, swallowing:

"This is for Barnaby" said her rival

The slytherin looked down, she looked at Merula, just a few steps away, her friend dodged her, stubborn, as confused as she was about the whole situation. She looked at the little ravenclaw again:

"When I'm done with you... I'll finish that traitor"

Morgana frowned. Rakepik observed the situation, sensing the genuine tension, this should be fun:

"Prepare to duel"

And just like that, Ismelda's wand was ejected from her hand, before anyone could react, Morgana made a hand movement and a wave threw Ismelda a few feet away.

She ran to her wand while Morgana examined her surroundings, nervously thinking about her next step:

"Non-verbal magic" said Aisling, impressed

"Where the fuck did she learn that???" shouted Mercy

Everyone turned to Morgana's cousins, Septimus and Aisling sruged, they really didn't know, could very well be a family thing.

Ismelda grabbed her wand just to get her head stuck on a pumpkin:

"You have to be kidding me, such a childish spell" she thought, wingardum lebiosa'd that thing away from her face and threw it to her opponent

"Incarcerous!" she yelled as Morgana avoided the pumpkin, now she had her right where she wanted "Bombarda!"

Morgana's friends were interrupted by Rakepik when they were about to intervene, but just because they saw Morgana standing up after falling on the ground:

"Should've taken a more offensive route" said Ismelda

Morgana looked at her straight in the eye, but she wasn't scared, she already knew her opponent could conjure non-verbal magic, the element of surprise wore off, she was about to cast another curse when Morgana made a third rapid movement and she started singing.

In the confusion Morgana run to her:

"Expelliarmus!" singed Ismelda

Morgana's wand flew off but that didn't stop her from running up to her and slap her right in the face, with her hand open, so suddenly that it slapped the cantus jinx right out of her.

Everyone's jaw dropped to the floor:

"Offensive enough?" asked Morgana

Ismelda completely dropped her wand and slapped her rival right back.

This threw Morgana off balance, and failed the both times she tried to punch her, facing her rival with both her fist in her hands she jumped straight up and landed her head on Ismelda's jaw with the weak full force of her whole body:

"Agh" Ismelda grabbed her chin

Morgana put both hands in her head, she was STILL the one getting more hurt, and right when she was about to try to land another lucky hit Mercy grabbed her wrist:

"That's enough"

(@brothergrimm71 and @elefseija 's ocs are briefly mentioned

Thanks for lending me your ocs🖤🖤🖤)

#hogwarts mystery #morgana canigula #melissandre gadea #jacob's sibling #barnaby lee #damien rosse #ismelda murk #merula snyde #mine writing

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kessielrg · 3 years ago

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A Quiet Place

Summary: Inspired by a rp that @chibi-mushroom and @animacreates are doing with each other. I’ve lovingly dubbed it the ‘chaos rp’ because it’s kinda how it started out. And while the rp was also meant to be fandom specific, this little story was written to be mostly removed from that context. You might recognize some names though if you’ve been following me for awhile (or look at the tags). This story has a second part. You can read it: here.

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,085 words

If you liked this story, please reblog.

. . .

Every kid had their challenges. It didn't matter if they were your blood or not, they just did. These two particular kids were warned as being extra challenging- with less than subtle wording indicating the girl in particular was the one who made things difficult. Oswald looked at the kid's photographs, then at their case worker, and said but one single word on the matter; “Good.”

In retrospect, though, he should have given Ortensia a greater warning on these two. She had always wanted children -even before they had gotten married-, and hearing that they were going to foster two kids nearly made her bounce off the walls. She didn't waste any time setting up two bedrooms with all sorts of little things she'd thought the kids would like. Proper things like soap and toiletries, and then general 'welcome to the family' gifts like toys and prepaid phones. When the kids actually got there, Oswald literally had to hold her by her shirt collar so she wouldn't hug them to death.

The boy, Blaine, seemed rather charmed by Ortensia at the get-go. He was the one who gave the proper introductions. The girl, Sabrina, held her suitcase with both hands and at her side like she planned on smacking someone with it. Her face holding a look of utter contempt that it nearly made her look older than she was. Oswald knew with all his heart that Ortensia meant well, but in her excitement, she quite easily forgot to notice the child's body cues. It didn't help in getting the girl to open up. If anything, Ortensia was making things worse.

He purposely let her forget to get groceries this morning. He knew he was going to need to separate her from the kids once she met them.

At least that meant their house tour was done in a slow, linear fashion instead of filled with several mildly irrelevant anecdotes. Never once did Sabrina let down her suitcase. She held it close to her like it was her only possession in the world. (And it very likely was. That was a thought that hurt old Oswald's heart in ways he couldn’t describe.) Blaine had been the one to gently suggest she leave it in her room. Even with her brother's approval, the child was still hesitant. She did end up sitting her stuff down eventually. Blaine was the one that suggested they go back out to the living room to wait for Ortensia to come back, and Oswald couldn't find a reason to disagree. He let the kids lead- it seemed only fair at this point.

“I want to apologize for how rude my sis is being.” Blaine said once everyone had found a place to sit. “Each family we go to, she seems to get more quiet and more scowl-y. If she didn't have such high opinions of certain people and things, then she'd almost take a vow of silence.”

That got some kind of reaction from the girl. She kicked him with the side of her foot; a motion that looked to have quite a bit of force to it, but Blaine didn't flinch. Oswald got a violent flashback to how he and his brother used to treat each other. He quickly shook his head. His brother had ruined more than one thing in his life before, and he wasn't going to take this either.

“It's alright.” he then said. “I can't imagine how stressful all the constant moving around must be for you guys. Once we get into a rhythm (and Ortensia calms down a bit) things should get easier. We won't force you two to do anything you're not comfortable with. I promise it.”

Both siblings looked like he had just punched them in the gut.

“Thanks...” Blaine stammered once he remembered his manners- his eyes averting from Oswald. Sabrina, too, curled a bit tighter inside herself. Their reactions were… odd, to say the least, but Oswald nearly feared questioning it. It's not like he could say he wouldn't force them into anything, then tell them to spill whatever was on their mind.

“I think I'll be fine.” Blaine then said. He tried to sit up proper again, to be an authoritative figure between the two kids. “It's Sabi that's the tough nut to crack. Too much activity and she retreats to her own little hideaway- wherever it tends to be that day.”

“I get that.” Oswald agreed with a nod; perfectly ignoring the stink eye Sabrina was giving Blaine. “I built that little extension above the garage just so I could be alone.” Oswald blinked when a thought came to him. “I have an idea.” he then offered. “Sabrina, how about you follow me for a second. We can come right back after.”

Sabrina gave Blaine a wary look, but at her brother's firm nod, she relented. Oswald offered her a half grin in response before he got up. He gestured for her to follow. He didn't look back- trusting that she would be behind. She did follow. Perhaps by a good foot or two, but she followed him. (Her brother was following as well, by the way. Just out of eye range, but close enough so she could still feel his presence.) Oswald led them through the house and over to the garage. There was a staircase that went up to a second floor, Oswald opened it to enter the room. He left it open to allow Sabrina time to come in if she wanted to. (At this point, Blaine was at the bottom of the stairs, also waiting to see what she would do.) She took a breath in, and followed Oswald inside.

The child was greeted to a room that was a mix of a living room and a workshop. The generously sized area had a CRT TV against a wall, with a dark blue velvet couch in front. Against another wall was a large desk- there was something that looked like a small coo-coo clock on it, next to a decent sized container of tools. On the wall next to that was a well abused recliner, a bookcase filled with books of various sizes, and even a box that looked to have nothing but broken junk in it.

“I suggest making yourself comfortable on the big sofa.” Oswald offered, gesturing to the dark blue couch. “It’s got plenty of room to stretch out. You can even put on a movie too if you feel like.”

Sabrina still hung by the door. Her body was scrunched as if she could disappear just by looking as small as possible. Oswald didn't force her any further into the room. If anything, he went over to the desk to check on the dissected clock than paid any real attention to her. She was waiting. She was waiting for the moment when he forced her to do something- anything. After five minutes, it didn't happen. Giving the room a rather disgusted glance, Sabrina slowly started to move her body to the couch. She flinched when the couch squeaked slightly at her sitting down. She flinched again when Oswald started to talk, thinking she was in trouble.

“Once Ortensia realizes that we’re here, she won’t come bother us. I made it a rule.”

The child's face scrunched as she looked over at him. She really wanted to ask why, but she didn’t want him to think she was opening up. Instead, she pressed herself against a corner of the couch and said nothing. Oswald still wasn't paying attention to her, still talking more to himself than anyone else.

“Ortensia means well, she's just not aware of her own strength- so to speak. I don't blame you for turning down every hug she tries to give.” He gave a small chortle before adding, “There are days when I don't want her to hug me. And we've known each since middle school.”

This was when Oswald finally looked back at Sabrina. Words couldn't even begin to describe how relieved he was that she was still in the room- let alone sitting down. His hand absently went over the thick afghan blanket that he had draped over his desk chair. It had been a wedding gift that was passed down from generation to generation. The blanket was knit together in a ripple pattern using light blue, dark blue, and faded pink lamb's wool. One of Oswald's fingers traced over the knit before he had an idea.

“Here.” Oswald said as he tossed the blanket her way. “You hide under this, then I'll pretend you're not there. I can do my thing, and you can do yours. I won't talk to ya unless you want to.”

The girl just stared at him before covering herself up with the blanket. At first, she was less than amused that the heavy blanket nearly smacked her when he had tossed it. She took it with two fingers as she looked it over. Noting that it was a little worn, but cleaned, Sabrina carefully placed it over her shoulders. She wrapped herself up snugly, covering even her head, and laid down on the couch curled into a ball like she was nothing no more than a lumpy bolster pillow. Oswald smirked a bit. But he knew he wasn't going to say anything about it. This kid had to move on her own time- that was a lesson he knew well.

He hated to admit it; but he saw a lot of himself in her.

“You have any music preferences, kid?” he asked as he went over to where he kept his portable phonograph. An original Edison, crank and all. Took him the greater part of a summer to get it back together again.

“I don't exist.”

Oswald blinked before realizing what she meant. “Oh. Right, right.” he agreed. “Sorry about that. Lemme just put on something then...”

He thoughtfully hummed as he went through his record collection. When he found a good one, Oswald let out a sound of happy discovery. He pulled out a record from its sleeve, flipped it in his hands before blowing on it a bit, then placed the record on the turntable. From her spot on the couch, it was a bit hard to watch him crank the player up and move the needle over to the record. There was no way Sabrina was moving from her spot, though- she was way too comfortable now. When the player gave way to static, Oswald was satisfied enough to go to his desk. He started work on his project as a jazzy song started to say.

“Listen while I tell you about a gal named Daisy Mae. They called her 'Lazy Daisy Mae.' Her reputation I'm afraid is all that people say. Midnight begins her working day. She had a man that was tall and handsome; large and strong. She used to sing this song;”

“Hey daddy!” Oswald sang along in baritone. “I want a diamond ring- bracelets, everything. Daddy, you outta get the best for meeee…!”

Sabrina tried to watch him with a critical eye, but it was rather hard when he kept half humming, half singing along to the song. He really was going to act like she wasn't there, huh? Which was all fine and dandy- she had no interest in whatever he was fixing up. The only sound in the room besides the record player was him shuffling his tools around for another. She didn't like how relaxing it was. This was always the part where someone came through the door, demanding attention to something else in the scariest voice possible. But it didn't happen. She knew that no one was going to interrupt them. This weird fella and his wife? They were genuine.

So far.

They were genuine, so far.

That 'so far' was incredibly important, you know. Just as scary; if not more so.

She didn't want her eyes to close. She didn't want to be relaxed. She wanted to resist the urge to go to sleep here. It wasn't working. But constantly being on guard for something bad to happen was exhausting. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a little sleep. Besides, to Oswald, she didn't exist. He was the only other person in the room with her, and he surely wasn't going to stop whatever he was doing just to make small talk with her. After letting out a small sigh, Sabrina went into a dreamless sleep in seconds.

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divineluce · 4 years ago

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The Champs || Frank & Luce

Timing: Flashback to August

Location: Soul on the Rocks & Al’s

Tagging: @frankmulloy & @divineluce

Description: New to the job, Frank gets to know one of the regulars. Luce is as charming as ever.

Warnings: Alcoholism

There was nothing particularly distinguishing about being one of many of White Crest’s bartenders, but Frank has learned that being one who knew how to handle Soul’s more rambunctious crowds afforded him a degree of influence, and that was even without the use of his pheromones. He also learned that Soul’s patrons would sooner bend under a firm fist than a kind word--of course a kind word from him was a force within its own right, so it was just as well that he was just as competent in wielding the former. Unfortunately for Frank, he liked the use of neither, and the result was a bartender who mostly communicated through monosyllabic grunts, and lost more fights than won them. But he kept coming back for his shift the following night with no complaints and no apparent scrapes or bruises and while his pacifist method served him ill in a brawl, he always got the troublemakers out, so they kept him on. As long as they kept paying him, Frank was happy to stay on.

It was Frank’s second week into the job, but as far as anyone was concerned he was a regular fixture in the beer-soaked tapestry of Soul on the Rocks. In return Frank was also starting to recognise common faces; who was there for a drink, who was there for a fight, and who wasn’t meant to be there at all, then there was Creepy-Joe, and finally coming to the conclusion that Jake was a massive tool. His first memory of one, Luce, was not what she looked like, but of heat. Literally. And Frank, perpetually cold, was like a moth to flame, conscious of his distance and yet unable to help himself all the same-- heat, and the stink of cheap tequila. He put another shot glass down in front of her, which was an anomaly in itself considering Frank never got near enough to anyone to actually put their order down in front of them, but rather slid it to them across the bar top from a safe distance of at least 6 feet. “Your fifth shot...or is it your seventh? Who’s keeping count.” He wiped his hands down on the towel that was draped over his shoulder. “You sure that’s wise?”

Like so many other nights before her, Luce had been looking to get fucked up the night she’d walked into Soul. After all the shit she’d been through, with the Ring, with Remmy and Erin and Adam and her sister… The horrible, terrifying fucking conversation she’d had with Nadia, or rather, whoever was controlling Nadia’s body. And, as the final garbage cherry on top of it all, they’d been excommunicated. The threat of death at the hands of some of the women she trusted most, at the hands of her mother? It had shaken her up. Their mother had done… so fucking little to keep them safe. She’d abandoned them, banished them, went along with the whims of the goddamn council. And, on top of it all, there was all the normal shit. She was hauling ass all day, every day, trying to stay afloat. Bills had been coming in non stop and it was all she could do to keep her head afloat. After getting out of a particularly long session of tattooing, Luce had headed straight for Soul on the Rocks. She needed alcohol. Lots and lots of fucking alcohol.

Waving a hand at the bartender-- a new guy, she’d seen him around a few times, but never paid much attention to him-- Luce took the shot with a nod. But, his question made her pause and Luce stared at him over the rim of the small glass. Glancing at him blearily, she stared at the shot glass full of tequila. Fifth or seventh was a good question. But fuck him for asking. “Not me.” She said, tipping the liquid down her throat. It hardly burned, but alcohol never really did. Perks of being a fire witch. Swallowing, she set the empty glass back on the bar and stared at him. “Do they pay you to ask if people’s drinking habits are wise?” She replied.

He met her drunken gaze with his own measured one, undaunted and undeterred. Yet there was a softness that blunted the edge; the good intention behind a stern word, though Frank was never great at dishing out the latter either. He answered her blunt edge in the way he did with most harsh words: an untiring patience and sometimes even a smile. This time, it was a slight upward tilt to the corner of his mouth, as he relieved her of the empty shot glass. “No. They pay me to kick people out when they’ve had one too many, but I like to give them the courtesy of asking before I start lugging bodies out.” Well that sounded horrifically ominous. “Alive bodies. Obviously. Just unconscious--most of them are passed out by the time I get them into a cab.” Frank said with some good-humour, a trace of a chuckle on each word in the hopes of easing the slip of the tongue that was more menacing than he meant. “It’s a lot easier for everyone concerned if I just walk them out instead of carrying them, and it helps the driver find the right building when they’re awake enough to give the right address.”

Frank had his head tilted to one side, quietly observing the woman that sat in front of him. He recognised her to be a regular, he also noted that she seemed off today. Albeit an easy conclusion to make for anyone that used Soul as their regular haunt. Tonight she looked like she brought a history with her and it was etched across her brow, and in her eyes, in a silent language he was not versed in reading. The temptation was to ask if she was alright, but at the risk of making himself over-familiar, he said instead, “should I be getting a cab ready?”

Rubbing the back of her neck, Luce let out a long sigh. Her fucking neck hurt from spending so long hunched over at the table. The piece had turned out great, just like all her work, but christ. It’d been five long hours of nothing but tattooing. So, a drink or five was what she’d wanted. Not some random bartender getting up in her business. “Lugging bodies, huh? Did I step into the funeral home on accident? This tequila or formaldehyde you’re pouring?” She joked, her words running together just a bit as she spoke. Shrugging, she sighed. Either way, it didn’t really matter much to her. She just wanted to get the fuck out of her head, at least for a little bit. And, with Nadia definitely not an option and Remmy… even less of one, Luce had gone for the old stand by. Alcohol. “Fair. Probably works out for the uber driver too.”

At his words, Luce shook her head. “I’m good.” She said, stubbornness apparent in her voice. She wasn’t dumb enough to drive-- she wasn’t interested in wrapping her 4x4 around a tree and having to deal with more fucking bills. But, she wasn’t ready to go back to Bea’s house just yet. Bea was never there anymore and Nell… who the fuck knew where Nell was most nights. Which meant that Luce would be alone. No, she wasn’t interested in going back to that place, the house that felt more like mausoleum than a home.

“A funeral home is probably a lot cleaner for one,” Frank said, wiping a spill off the bar top as he does. In fairness, you need only step inside of the pub and he was sure that his point was made on first impression, and she seemed comfortable enough in her seat to suggest that she was a frequent patron of the establishment (that information alone had a whole story to itself). He was asked once why he bothered to clean the place up after the close if it was just going to end up being exactly as it was the following night. His answer was something along the lines of: he was more concerned with what the place might look like if he didn’t clean it up at all. “And if you can’t smell the difference between tequila and formaldehyde, let alone taste it, you are a lot more drunk than I thought.” There was a pause. “I mean...not that I would know what formaldehyde tastes like but I would imagine that it is significantly worse than tequila. Like, cancer-level bad. I would assume.” And this is where you shut up Frank. And fortunately for everyone, he does. Her reply hinted at a stubbornness that was both inherent and unyielding, and Frank’s been in enough fight to recognise those that he wasn’t going to win. Of course, that never stopped him from trying either.

“Look,” he began, the single phrase intermingling with his exhalation until they became one, “I don’t know you. Obviously. So you do whatever you want. But I’m just saying, I’ve served people enough tequila shots to know that the solution to your problem—whatever that is—isn’t going to be found at the bottom of the fifth or seventh or fifteenth shot.” He concluded by collecting any abandoned and empty glasses, loading them onto a plastic tub to be brought out to the kitchen. “But like I said, you do whatever you want.”

Snorting at the man’s joke, Luce’s expression sobered slightly at the thought of Erin. She didn’t know the funeral home attendant well, but she was very aware of the last conversation they’d had. Fuck. “I’d hope so.” She gestured to the stains on the bartop, the familiar wear on the wood grain, the slightly ripped and faded stools next to her. “Can you imagine a fucking wake in here?” She said with a slight curl of her lip. As the man continued to talk, she quirked an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Sure you haven’t.” She replied before running a hand through her hair. She fucking… didn’t want to deal with the world outside the doors of Soul. For now, she could just sit and pretend like nothing was happening. She could joke and drink and push aside all the stupid fucking feelings and responsibilities that weighed down on her.

But, this shitty fucking bartender just kept talking. Talked about how drinking wasn’t gonna help her-- like Luce didn’t already know that. It wasn’t about helping her, or finding answers. It was about forgetting. Glaring at him, she drummed her tattooed fingers on the wooden bartop, her skin burning hot with simmering anger. “Yeah, you don’t know me,” She paused, the alcohol flowing through her system making her head spin slightly. Squinting at him, she shook her head. “Who the fuck even are you? Shit, I’d rather deal with Creepy Joe instead of some Pop Psychology bro.” She said with a grimace.

Frank took in her anger with a calm appraisal as he continued to dry the newly cleaned glasses with practiced efficiency. While most would reasonably shrink from the fire, he was almost somehow more drawn to it. Like moth to flame—quite literally, it felt as if heat was just pouring out of her in waves. He could not pinpoint exactly when this happened but his 6 foot rule had been abandoned and Frank was now standing close enough that he could touch her. He just needed to take his hand away from the glass, reach out across the bar, and touch her. Boy did he want to, and he almost did, but then she shook her head. Frank found himself almost doing the same as his attention was snapped back into reality and his focus was drawn back to the intensity of her glare. He took a conscious step back and realised with overwhelming awareness how much he did not want to. “Fair enough.” He resigned with a nod. He looked around. A quiet spell had settled over the bar, and the threat of a brawl was distant enough that if he was quick he could probably get away with ducking out the side door for a couple of minutes. He grabbed the towel from the shoulder and tossed it aside, from his jacket pocket he produced a small white cigarette packet.

“Keep drinking then, see if that helps you, I’m sure Joe wouldn’t mind the company. I’m going for some air.” An invitation could be heard in there somewhere; Frank was seldom ever cordial enough to properly extend the invitation…or any invitation. “Do whatever the fuck you want. You’re right. I don’t know you.”

What the fuck was up with this guy? He was leaning across the bar and, maybe the alcohol was messing with her depth perception, but he seemed way too close. Luce pushed back in her seat, just to get a bit of space between her and the bartender. But, he seemed to realize that he was being a fucking creep and backed off himself. Good, she didn’t feel like throwing hands with someone tonight. For one, she wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to do, the alcohol clouding her vision and loosening her hold on the fire magic that dwelled within her. For another, she’d had… enough of fucking fighting lately. She just wanted to drink and sit and not think about all the shit that’d been going on in her life.

“Yeah, you don’t fucking know me.” Luce repeated. The bar wasn’t as busy as it usually was, but her anger had her blood boiling in a literal way. It was too goddamn hot in here. And fuck it, if this guy was going to be bartending at Soul, she might as well try and talk to him. Even if he was weird. The same could be said of most people in the bar, and of her too. Sliding off the barstool, Luce steadied herself on the bar for a moment has her vision swam. “But air sounds like a smart idea.” She said, more to herself than to him. Walking out of the bar, the cool night air washed over her. Thank fuck summer was over and done with. “Need a light?” She asked, leaning against the brick wall of the bar.

It seemed Frank’s entire existence was damned to fight his most basic instincts: to hand his customers their drinks, to close his distance when he was with friends (to have friends), to help steady a stranger who has had one too many drinks and was maybe not as steady on her feet as she first thought. Even as she swayed Frank did not so much as stir, even as every part of him itched to. He let her out first, following behind at a measured distance. “Look at that, a solution to your problem that isn’t alcohol.” He grinned around the stick of cigarette as he brought it to his mouth, “but what the fuck do I know.”

The air was cool, and with the door closed behind him he was acutely aware of how warm she felt, even at his distance. He made home against a wall a little ways down from her, shaking his head at her offer with a polite thanks, “I’m good,” and he had to be. Mostly because if he wasn’t, that was an invitation for her to come closer, to hand him the lighter, and then for him to hand it back, and that was altogether too many hands for comfort. Frank didn’t smoke for the taste. He didn’t care much for the nicotine either. Like the alcohol, it never lingered long enough in his system to become a proper addiction, but with every inhalation of the hot smoke that was a few more precious moments between him and the undeniable hunger to feed, whether it was happiness or heat. Prolonging the inevitable, as he liked to call it. Not that he ever told anyone why he smoked, most of them were more interested in telling him why he should stop. Frank wasn’t interested in doing either. “So what is your problem?” He said finally, turning to face his new smoking companion, “you were downing your seventh tequila shot in a span of less than an hour in one of the biggest shit-holes in town. That could not have been an inspiring journey.”

“My solution to my problems so far,” Luce let out sigh, her breath coming out in visible trails in the mild fall night, “Have been paying the bills for you. So…. you should be thanking me.” She muttered as she pressed her back against the wall a bit more firmly. Her legs felt like jelly under her, courtesy of the tequila that ran through her system, as well as the run she’d taken earlier that morning. Running. She’d always liked running, but it felt like that was all she was doing now. Wake up, run, work, drink, and then collapse into bed, to try and snag a few fitful hours of sleep if she was lucky. And if she wasn’t lucky, she’d run and run and run until she was too tired to do anything else.

At his question, Luce glanced over at the man for a long minute before shaking her head. “Oh you know. The usual.” Being kicked out of her coven for resurrecting her sister from beyond the grave, nearly dying herself. “Family drama.” The fact that one of the women she’d been sleeping with had been possessed by a ghost, hell-bent on keeping her body. The fact that the other was a zombie who just kept getting themselves in fucking trouble? “Some people I care about have a knack for getting into trouble.” How she was so goddamn tired all the time? Well, that one she didn’t have to lie about. “Insomnia. Take your pick. All of them are good reasons to drink in the biggest shithole in this town.” She corrected. The Ritz Soul was not.

“Right,” Frank’s mouth shaped into a smirk. A gesture accompanied by a faint laugh that almost, to perceptive ears at least, sounded like a scoff, “yours and everyone else’s in that damn bar.” The solution to most of Soul’s patrons, it seemed, was found either at the bottom of a glass or at the end of a fist, the former was usually a lot less messy. Neither seemed to make anyone any happier come day light. It was a temporary salve to a much deeper wound, and they come back the next night, and the ritual repeats itself again. Frank was no stranger to this particular practice and so, it seemed, was she.

Frank gave the woman a long, appraising look, as she proceeded to divulge the source of her problems. It was as vague as it was short, its details hidden by their unfamiliarity. He didn’t blame her, and a part of him wondered whether it was in his best interest to find out. Probably not. Distance, advised caution. He took a long drag of his cigarette, comforted by the warmth, and eased of his awareness of hers. She looked so tired—more than that, she felt tired. There was plenty of heat (strangely) but with his own cravings temporarily satisfied by the cigarette, there was not much happiness to be attempted by. He could feel the ache in her bones, the very weight of. He recognised it in himself. “Hmm,” his eyes returned to hers, attentive and empathetic. Oh he tried so hard to be hard, but he was always very bad at it, and worse at following his own advice. “You want a burger or something?” He said very suddenly. “You look like you could use a burger.”

“Well, means business is booming for you.” Luce said glancing back into the bar through the dirty windows, her head listing as her body tilted just a bit more than she expected. Stumbling slightly, she caught herself on the wall. Her elbow smacked into her side, and she let out an involuntary yelp, “Siktir, motherfucker…” She mumbled, rubbing her side. Fuck, her head was spinning, the wall felt like it was shifting behind her back. And unless there was some new kind of fucked up wall monster that was going to… what, absorb her into the wall? No, she’d just drank too much. Again. It seemed like more mornings than not, she’d woken up with a foul taste in her mouth and started the morning with a few aspirin. Christ.

As the man looked over at her, Luce felt her lips tighten into a thin line. There was something she didn’t like about the way he looked at her. It felt like the way that people had talked to her when she’d revealed that Bea had died. Something halfway between pity and judgement, was what she would guess. And she didn’t really fucking want either. But, at the mention of food, her stomach growled loudly. Her stomach didn’t have the same reservations, apparently. “You know what? Sure. Why the fuck not, it’d be a quick walk. Al’s isn’t far from here.” She said, before remembering. Al’s. Celeste, she’d worked there before... Remmy, they’d had that conversation where they told her what they were in a booth tucked in the corner of the diner. Fuck. Maybe not Al’s. That’s what she wanted to say, but now her lips remained stubbornly shut.

“Al’s it is.” Frank smiled. It was pleasant. Amicable. It was a smile that might have come paired with an offer of a hand to shake or an equally pleasant gesture, but since it didn’t (it never does) Frank had become practiced in making it so that a smile was just enough. Not that he got much use out of this particular skill. Most people couldn’t even get the slightest hint of an upward lift let alone a fully realised smile. Maybe it was his off day. Maybe because when he looked at how tired she looked he saw a reflection of himself. Whatever it was, it remained there as he pushed himself off the wall, extinguishing the last of his cigarette under his boot. Kindness was in short supply in a place like Soul, and this served as a good reminder that Frank was not the place he worked at. Which reminded him—“oh and by the way, when you say business is booming for me, you do realise that just because I serve the drinks there, doesn’t mean I actually run the place, right?”

The walk, as she remarked, was blissfully short, and quiet. This served Frank just fine considering he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, even if his previous insistence might suggest otherwise. She also seemed absent, as if occupied by distant memories, he didn’t need to see the downward tilt of her mouth to know that they weren’t pleasant, he could sense it. He could also sense that no talking, at least on his part, was going to make anything better, although some carbs to soak up some of the seven tequila shots she’d knocked back in the few short hours might. Thankfully Al’s didn’t host a great many customers in the early hours of the morning. “Get a booth,” he told her, which shouldn’t be any hardship considering only one or two were currently occupied, “and get whatever you want. You look like you could use it...no offense.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m familiar with the dickhead who owns Soul.” Luce replied as she made her way down the sidewalk, her feet stumbling slightly as she walked. It was fine. This was fine. The way the world was rotating around her, the way the pavement seemed to rise and fall like cresting waves? Totally fucking fine. She was good. So fucking good. Just another fucking day. “You’re a bartender. Tips. More people, more tips. I know half the guys in that bar and they tip just fine when I work on them.” She said, the words coming out in more of an innuendo than she intended. “Tattoos.” She explained, gesturing to the dark ink that covered both of her arms. “I do tattoos.”

As they entered the diner, Luce looked around at the place-- it wasn’t all that busy, which was good in its own way. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She growled before deliberately walking over to the counter and settling down there. Across the way, Luce heard a startled cough and, before she knew what was going on, a young man had tossed a twenty on the counter and was hurrying out of the door. She spun around in the plastic seat, scrutinizing the man as he hurried away. The light of the diner caught on his face as he opened the door of his car and Luce’s stomach lurched. Will. One of the members of the coven-- her mom’s coven, the coven that had… “Fuck.” She muttered, shaking her head doggedly. She wished she was back at the bar. As the waitress cast a skeptical look at her, Luce quirked a crooked smile. “I’d like a number five. Extra fries. And a large water, please.” As the bartender sat next to her, Luce cast him a long look. “I’m paying for this myself.” She didn’t need his charity.

Frank grinned, but his laughter remained stifled, the only hint of its existence was in the silent vibration of his entire frame. Tips. At Soul on the Rocks. Now that was a joke. “Right, see…Soul is known for a lot of things, but never for their generosity, especially when it comes to tipping their bartenders.” This was not entirely fair. Of course Frank could, as she did, work on them. Being what he was, he could have probably completed the task with even greater success, and with the profits to prove it. Alas, that was never Frank’s style. In his short time working there, he had already created an image of himself as the grumpy new bartender that would sooner bite your hand off than shake it. This was not an accurate assessment of his character by half, though it had more truth in it than Frank pretending to be pleasant and charming. He was bad at it, and he didn’t have the taste for it to try and be better. He turned to her arm as she gestured toward it. “It looks nice.”

Her sharp demand elicited an amused grin as she pushed past him toward the counter. He might have said something, a smart ass reply already half way formed on his tongue, were it not for another stealing his attention. A young man, his plate and drink unfinished, tossed some notes on the counter and hurried out. Strange. More interesting still was the woman’s reaction. They knew each other, more than that, there was a history there. Very strange. Alas, Frank said nothing on this, but noted it quietly as he pulled up a seat next to her (respectably distanced, of course). “She’s paying for herself, and I’ll have a black coffee. Thank you.” He said, handing over what he owed. The waitress accepted it with a very pretty smile. Frank acknowledged this with a single nod and did not notice the string of numbers scribbled on the back of the receipt, and what was most likely her name followed by the letter ‘x’. The coffee was the first to arrive, blissfully hot. He took a ginger sip, not because he was bothered by the heat, but normal humans weren’t usually as tolerant to scalding hot coffee as he was. “Odd reaction,” he murmured around the rim of the cup. His head tilted ever so slightly in the direction of the waitress who was just now collecting the bill left behind by the mysterious man. Or perhaps not so mysterious if the woman’s reaction was anything to go by, “a friend of yours?” He paused for a moment, “or maybe not so friendly?”

As the man explained his situation, Luce nodded in thanks as the waitress set a large glass of water in front of her. Forgoing the straw, she took a long drink of ice water, the temperature soberingly cold. Well, not sobering, she thought to herself as she regarded the slightly slanting walls of the diner. “You could always go for the ‘grin and bear it’ tactic.” She said, pressing her finger into her cheek and twisting it, offering a fake smile she reserved for her mother and particularly stupid clients. “You could try asking the boss-man to throw on a “Hey, if I’m gonna be an extra bouncer, pay me like one” bonus. Or don’t, whatever. It’s your wallet on the line.” At his comment about her tattoos, she nodded. “I know. I designed them.” It wasn’t a brag, not really, just statement of fact. She did her own shit and she was good at it. That was her whole MO, right? She stayed in her lane and did what she was good at.

Watching the way the girl cast a bright, beaming smile, Luce rolled her eyes. Did this guy think he was some kind of player? But, if he was, he didn’t comment on the receipt. He didn’t even really talk about it. Instead, he gestured towards the seat the Will had previously been sitting at. Scowling at the ice cubes in her glass, Luce’s knuckles flexed around the glass. “Family friend. Bit of a shit, but that’s how it goes.” She muttered, thinking back to August. He’d been a family friend, before he’d decided to come for her sisters. And now, he wasn’t much of anything at all. She could still remember the way he’d fallen to his knees, how he’d willingly submitted himself to Lydia’s commands. A shudder ran down her spine and she took another drink from her glass. “What’s your deal, huh? You like being some kinda… bartender Superman or something?” She asked, glancing over at him.

The twisted smile that warped around her mouth, strangely enough, inspired a more genuine one to shape around his own. “Yeah, the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing isn’t really my m-o.” Sure he could be reserved and withdrawn—cold and severe were a few more of the choice descriptors that people often had assigned to Frank. He could be a lot of bad things but one could never say that Frank was ever disingenuous. As much as he might speak ill of his work, which he does when he was ever in the rare position of wanting to speak at all, he’d rather it be him than another person who might be more liberal in using the end of their own knuckles to finish a fist fight. Even, as she rightfully pointed out, if it was his wallet on the line.

Her knuckles tightened around the glass, and her words bit into an old memory—an old wound. A small gesture, a small shift in tone, but neither went past Frank’s notice. Probably best if he kept that particular observation to himself, and he does. “Right. That’s how it goes.” Translation: sore subjection, duly noted. She sought comfort in her glass of water, and he continued to nurse the heat out of his cup of coffee, looking up only when she spoke again. An amused smile flitted across his lips, half hidden by the mug as he lifted it to his mouth, as he mentally traded his wings for a red cape, and his jacket for a blue costume with a giant S on it. He looked fucking ridiculous. “I don’t like being anything, I just want to do my job, get paid, and get the fuck home. Frankly if your standard for Superman is breaking up drunk bar fights, then it is tragically low. Besides,” he took another drink of his coffee and put it back down. It formed a wet brown ring around the receipt, he noticed for the first time black ink stains peering through the damp ring, but didn't bother investigating further, instead returned to the thought at hand, “you’re the one sitting next to me, what does that say about you?”

“You do you. Like I said, it’s your paycheck.” Luce shrugged. She didn’t give a shit, it was this guy’s loss either way. Didn’t affect her any, as long as he kept pouring her drinks. And, given how many she’d had at Soul, he didn’t seem to have a problem with that. The waitress slid her plate in front of her, a large burger with a mountain of fries on the side. “Thanks. Could I get more water, please? ‘preciate it.” Luce said before taking a large bite from her burger. As fucked up as she was, she wasn’t gonna be a fucking dick to people who were just trying to do their job. Which meant the waitress. But, Superman here? Different story. He at least had the sense to drop the fucking topic of Will. “Mhm.”

Glancing over at him, she raised an eyebrow. Swallowing her mouthful of food, Luce replied thickly, “That’s bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” She pointed at him with a fry. “You just wanna do your job and go home? Unless you’re working double shifts between here and Soul, this,” She gestured to the two of them, “seems pretty fucking off the clock to me.” Luce said before popping the fry in her mouth. Lifting her now full glass of water to her lips, she shook her head. “It says I’m drunk on a Wednesday night and I need more carbs. Needed.” She deflected, looking at her already half-empty plate. “I guess you were right about the burger.”

Frank took a sip from his coffee, his eyebrow cocked up from behind the mug in a silent answer to her accusation. He didn’t say anything for a moment, mostly because he wasn’t sure how to, which probably meant that to a certain degree, she was right. Of course, just because he knew she was right, didn’t mean that he also knew the answer to why he did the things he did. Why he warned her against that seventh shot, why he invited her out for a smoke, why he would’ve probably paid for her burger too had she let him. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to find answers tonight. That was what he paid his shrink to figure out and then tell him about it so he could ignore it completely. Because caring for someone else was just too fucking hard sometimes. Caring for himself infinitely so. “Mhm.” Another sip from his coffee.

“I know.” She had positively tore through her burger. Frank exhaled a short, barely formed, chuckle. “I’m really good at my job.” She was also not the first drunk he’s had to deal with. Although, speaking of jobs, he also had his actual job to return to. Someone was bound to have noticed his absence by now…or not. It was Soul they were talking about after all. He finished the last of his coffee, scrunched up the napkin with the receipt and then dropped it into the now empty mug. He took out his phone from his pocket, pushed it across the space between them and drew his hand back. “Do yourself a favour, call a cab. Spare yourself that eighth shot and call it a night. If you’re lucky you might even hate yourself a little less in the morning.”

“Sounds like it.” Luce said as her eating began to slow, picking at her fries. Grudgingly, she had to admit that this guy had a point. He’d called her out on how fucked up she was. And, though the room still shifted around her, was still fuzzy at the edges, it was better than it had been. The water and food was making all the difference. As the waitress left her receipt on the counter, Luce glanced over at the tall bartender. Soul wasn’t a nametag kind of establishment and she hadn’t bothered to ask his name when she’d rolled up to the bar and ordered shot after shot. “What’s your name, anyways? I’m Luce.” She said, sticking out her hand. At his advice, Luce let out a small snort. A cab? What, and go back to Bea’s house? The house her sister hardly even stayed in any more? With all of it’s baggage and it’s memories and quiet, cold stillness? No fucking thanks. She was gonna crash on the couch at Ink Inc and call it a night there. But, Mr. Superman Bartender Bro didn’t need to know that. “You’re not wrong about calling it a night. Jury's still out on the hating myself bit.” She mused, the last sentence coming out of her mouth without her intending to.

“Frank.” He said, but didn’t take her hand. He almost did. The smoke and the coffee had offered some relief but it did little to distract from the fact that she was still very very warm, and never once did the awareness of her heat escape his notice. His hand hung awkwardly for a split second, unable to touch her but unwilling to pull away. He let his hand fall in the end, but by then the split second was a split second too long, though he managed to cover it by pushing the phone further toward her, as if he was meant to do that all along. He drew his hand back very quickly, and wrapped it around his coffee mug, clinging to any heat that may still be lingering. Jesus H, he always fucking hungry.

Frank could sense that her thoughts were not meant to have formed into words, and even as she said them, it didn’t look as if she realised that she did. That the guard that she had maintained through harsh words and sarcasm had cracks in them, and tender thoughts were slipping through, and she didn’t notice. Perhaps she was more drunk than he thought. Alternatively, maybe she was sobering up, and sobriety was a tiring thing to have to deal with. Frank doesn’t say anything, but he noticed. And now, she wasn’t just some drunk woman he would have sent home on a cab and forgotten about until the next night she came stumbling back into Soul (the way she spoke about it, it was obvious that she was a regular), she had a name. Names were powerful things, and terribly intimate. Frank squeezed his eyes shut, ran a hand over his face. “Or…I could drop you off. If you would like.”

“Frank.” Luce repeated. The name suited him. Short, to the point, and… well, frank. For a second, he left her hanging, as though he didn’t want to touch her hand but then seemed to think better of it. He nudged his phone closer to her which was fucking… Weird. He couldn’t just hand it to her like a normal fucking person. Shaking her head, she pulled her hand back from his and pushed it into her jacket pocket, pulling out her own phone. “It’s not the 90’s, I’ve got a phone of my own. I don’t need you to call anyone.” She growled, though the words lacked their usual bite. At this point, she was just tired. Tired of this town, tired of the well-intentioned people who kept trying to help her, and tired of the fact that she couldn’t do anything to change any of that. As he offered to drop her off, Luce scowled at him as she tossed a bill onto the counter. He really was trying to play that “Knight in shining armor” card, wasn’t he? First his phone, now a ride?

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Luce stood up from the counter. “I think the fuck not. Listen, you seem like a decent enough guy, which is why I’m just gonna say, you’re barking up the wrong tree here.” She said, shaking her head. “Trust me, this is nicer treatment than what Jake got when he made a move on me the first time.”

Luce’s reaction was not an uncommon one. The registering of rejection as they realised he would not answer their offer of a handshake with his own, the confusion that inevitably followed because what person was that much of a dick to refuse a simple handshake? Sometimes even outright offence because who the fuck does he think he is? The corner of Frank’s mouth twitched. Perhaps he should attempt an encouraging smile. Jesus H. He had done this a hundred times before yet it never became any less tedious. For his efforts it seemed, rather predictably if her prior behaviour around him was of any indication, she seemed to follow the ‘outright offense’ route as she growled her reply. He thought it wisest to not add acid to fire and opted to silently pocket his phone instead, wondering all the while why he even tried in the first place. Why he kept trying.

She stood up. Very suddenly. He’d thought he was being kind, but clearly Frank wasn’t very good at it. He was silent at first and then, with a start, the weight of what she’d said came flying back to him. “Oh! Ohhh…no. I mean—” He stifled a laugh and it came out as a choked cough. Frank pressed a hand to his face and shook his head, a smile visible between his fingers as his shoulders quivered through a silent laugh. He should be offended that she had made the comparison with him to Jake of all people, but it seemed fatigue had imbued the whole misunderstanding with a strange sort of amusement where there usually wouldn’t be any. “Yes ma'am,” he said once he had recovered some degree of solemnity, “duly noted.”

#p: tc #p: frank mulloy #chatzy #wickedswriting #alcoholism tw #//just to be safe rather than sorry given luces drinking habits are not... healthy

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