#I also just think that they’re bored teenagers with a TON of time on their hands so they like to just live it up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleepyparalysisdmon · 9 days ago

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Orbit - Act One

Y/N has a little problem and it’s that she’s literally never alone. She hasn’t known what a little peace and quiet is for nearly a decade. When her therapist suggests a wellness retreat, she expects to be bored to death and just maybe learn to like meditation a little bit. She does not expect to meet someone that she has an insane connection with. Too bad it might be too good to be true.

You can find the masterlist here.

Genre: medium au, a hint of soulmate au, heavy on the angst

Pairing: Minghao x reader (featuring therapist!Jeonghan, best friend!Junhui, and ghost!Vernon, with a tiny bit of coworker!Seungkwan)

TW/CW: *deep breath* a lot of discussion of death and moving on (or not) afterwards, grief, trauma (specifically regarding a car accident), therapy, meditation, hypnosis, sleep disturbances, psychic abilities, discussion of mental illness and treatments, and explicit smut. MDNI.

There are some difficult topics in this story and they are handled as delicately as possible, but proceed with caution if anything here might be upsetting.

Word count: 13k

The headphones aren’t working today.

They’re charged. You made sure of it before you left your apartment today. They’re also connected. You can hear the music just fine. However, you can hear everything else. So much for noise canceling, you think, huffing as you crank the volume.

The subway is busy this morning. It was your mistake, really. You usually catch the earlier pickup on this line, but you’re running late and so is everyone else it seems. Some passengers sleepily doze off. The man across from you has his face hiding behind a newspaper but you can tell his head keeps dipping and then sharply snapping back up.

Next to you, there’s a chatty group of teenagers, seemingly on the way to school from the looks of their uniforms. You’re only in your late 20s, but you can’t fathom having the energy they have at 7:30 in the morning without a single drop of caffeine. They chat animatedly. One slides a skateboard back and forth under his feet while he’s seated, and it bumps into your boot on occasion, not that he notices. The one standing to face them is probably only doing that because he’s gesticulating wildly as he tells a story. The punchline must be good because it brings the others to riotous laughter that earns glares from sleepy passengers, including the old guy eyeing them disapprovingly over his newspaper. You aren’t even annoyed by them, honestly.

It’s actually the Joseon era soldier next to you that’s annoying you. You swallow another sigh when he pokes you for the dozenth time since sitting down. Noise cancelling headphones can’t do much about a ghost trying to speak directly into your mind. Apple, Bose, Sony, Raycon, Beats, as well as a ton of lesser known brands - not a single one of them could truly help you with that and you’d tried them all.

You do your best to not show any reaction to the next jab of his boney finger in your arm. You’ve found it’s better this way. Most of them eventually go away. If you give any indication that you can hear or see them, they may never leave. That’s how you’ve acquired a few stragglers over the years.

This guy is persistent, though. Some of them have a good sense that you can see them, no matter how good your poker face is. “I know you can hear me,” he prods again. You don’t so much as blink, years of practice having prepared you for this painfully long ride to work.

Blessedly, the tin can you’re zooming in squeaks to a stop and you’re the first one to stand and get to the door. You don’t know if the soldier follows you, and you don’t look back lest you give away that you could see him. Life is much easier when you don’t give such a secret away.

The walk to your office building is short, only a few blocks and you make it just in time. Seungkwan raises an eyebrow from his desk. “You were almost late,” he says, like you don’t know. You have a love-hate relationship with him. He’s been your teammate for years now and neither of you sugar coat your conversations anymore.

“Almost. Cut me some slack,” you huff, tossing off your coat and grabbing your laptop from your bag. Seungkwan stands to meet you, since you both are starting the day with a meeting.

“I don’t cut anyone slack,” Seungkwan snorts. Though you can tell he’s just giving you a hard time, you give a look that must be a little sobering. “Rough morning?” He asks with a tiny bit of sympathy.

“Something like that,” you mumble, stepping into the elevator. “Let’s get this over with so I can have some coffee.”

You weren’t always like this. Until the age of 19, you were perfectly normal. You weren’t super outgoing, but you had a number of friends despite your spells of shyness. You had hobbies and played sports and were a good student. ‘Well adjusted’, is what your therapist called it when you had described all of this.

Then, there was the accident. You can’t think about it much. When you told your therapist, Jeonghan, that, he had just raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s hard to think about?”

His question wasn’t unkind, but you’d not grown used to his somewhat blunt technique in therapy yet, so it made you feel defensive. “No, because I literally don’t remember it. There’s a blank space of time from when I was driving and everything was fine to when I woke up in the hospital. Everything was normal, and then suddenly it wasn’t.”

Jeonghan had pursed his lips thoughtfully, drumming his pen on his notebook every now and then. “Do you lose spaces of time like that often?”

You’d sucked in a breath, trying to stifle the panic crawling up your throat. You didn’t want to be here anyway, didn’t truly believe in the power of therapy at the time and felt like this was a waste of time and money. You didn’t want him to scribble down a bunch of notes like a death sentence, or tell you you’re crazy and prescribe mind-numbing medication for you, or, if you were really honest about the things you had been experiencing, send you to a psych ward for an involuntary hold. You know you’d sound crazy and you didn’t know how quickly and severely Jeonghan would react to it. He was relatively new to practicing as a therapist at the time, but he was sharp.

So you’d shrugged, swallowing the panic and said, “Occasionally, but nothing like the accident.”

Jeonghan had, thankfully, just nodded and not clicked his pen to write anything. He changed the subject and you’d been thankful to hang onto your secret for a while longer.

The accident itself was straightforward, though you can’t remember it. At least, that’s what everyone told you. Your parents, the police, the nurses and doctors. All of them said it was just a tragic accident. You were driving home from college for winter break, your sedan packed to the brim with luggage for the month you’d be home, as well as presents, already wrapped with bows neatly tied around them. It was late at night and the road was coated in a full sheet of snow and maybe even a little bit of ice. Ultimately, it was the other car that slid first, according to police, but it doesn’t matter because it could have just as easily been you. Both cars ended up in a ditch and there were injuries on both sides. You heard there was also a death associated with the accident, but no information was ever released about the specifics.

But, devastating as all of that was, it was really the least of your worries. One minute you were driving with music blasting and another minute you were waking up, blinking up at the speckled tile ceiling of your hospital room. Your parents were frantic, asking you how you felt and what you needed. You remember feeling dazed as you try to make your eyes focus because nothing makes sense. Not the light because it was dark the last time you remember, not your parents’ panicked eyes, not the multiple IVs in your arm and the ache in your body, and not the old woman in a hospital gown standing just inside your open door.

You remember she looked sad, which is perhaps not an unusual thing for a hospital, but you remember tilting your sore head while you looked at her, ignoring the prodding and soothing that your parents were doing. She wasn’t asking for help. She didn’t look lost, exactly. Your eyes widen when a nurse walks in and totally ignores her, even though it seemed to you that she practically bumped into her as she breezed in. The nurse approaches you with a sweet smile, asking you how you are.

You remember narrowing your eyes at the nurse, anger simmering because the woman obviously needed something and it was rude to ignore her. “You should help her first,” you say, pointing to the old woman. The old woman shakes her head at you, and you start to understand why when your parents and the nurse turn and glance around the room, before looking back at you, confused.

“Who, sweetie?” Your father asks gently.

“The woman, right there,” you say, pointing to the figure.

Your parents look between each other, concerned, but the nurse shakes her head gently with a smile. “It’s probably the morphine. This happens all the time.” The nurse starts peppering you with questions. How do you feel? What hurts and how much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten? You answer all of these questions with a dry mouth because the old woman is still standing in the edge of the room, watching. She’s still there when the nurse gives you another dose of morphine and you eventually doze off again.

And it wasn’t just that one old woman. There were no less than ten mysterious visitors in just a few days in the hospital. You tried to talk to some of them, and some talked back, but most moved through the hospital aimlessly. You saw them in your room, much like the old woman. You saw them when you went for a walk around the floor. You saw them when you were wheeled down to the basement for an X-ray. You saw them on your way out to the car after you were discharged. Your parents would regularly ask you what you were looking at, like they didn’t see them too. And of course they didn’t. You just hadn’t come to terms with that so soon, head still cloudy from all of it.

After that, you were never really alone. Not really, anyway. Not even in your dreams could you be by yourself. You had to take a couple semesters off of school just to get a grasp on this new reality - to be able to sort out who was alive around you and what wasn’t. Or what emotions were yours and what wasn’t. Or what physical pain was yours and what wasn’t. There was often no rhyme or reason to it and you coped by yourself for the most part. You stopped mentioning things to your parents out of fear of worrying them, because you knew somewhere deep down in your soul that no doctor they took you to could really help. You kind of thought that not even a psych ward could save you. When you went back to school, you were antisocial, if only because you could never quite be sure that the person that was talking to you was alive.

That antisocial behavior carried into every other part of your life too, which is why, last year, your parents encouraged you to try therapy. They said it was okay to have a tight knit group of friends, but that a single friend wasn’t quite what they had in mind when they said that. Not that they didn’t love Junhui, but even they were aware that Junhui was only around still because he had the patience of a saint, despite your apparent 180 in personality. They thought you’d been flirting with depression or perhaps some other disorder that was causing this antisocial behavior.

You couldn’t tell them that you had a couple other friends too throughout the years, mostly because they were dead. So you took their suggestion and made an appointment, if only to be able to say you’d given it a shot.

You drag into Jeonghan’s office, plopping down on his couch, grabbing a pillow to hug to your body. He calls this your defensive position, and maybe it is, but you tell him that he should decorate his office so it doesn’t feel so cold. Then maybe you wouldn’t be so defensive.

Jeonghan gives you a wry smile over his computer monitor. “One minute,” he says. Jeonghan is not your typical therapist by a long shot, which is the only reason you still keep your weekly appointment. He doesn’t do the stuffy button down shirts, or the glasses he can peer over at you, or the ‘how does that make you feel’ bullshit. He wears jeans and a baggy t-shirt or hoodie every day, only wears glasses as a fashion statement, and just straight up tells you how he thinks you feel, encouraging you to correct him. You never thought you’d threaten to throw hands at a therapist, but you also never thought that a therapist would laugh when you said such a thing.

Jeonghan grabs his notebook and pen, plopping down into the couch opposite you. “So, how’s it going?” He says casually.

You shrug. “Okay, business as usual really.”

He nods but you can tell by the way his eyes sharpen that he doesn’t believe you and wants to be convinced. You see that look regularly from him. “Tell me about it. How was work? What’d you do this weekend? All that stuff.”

You sigh, because this is the part of therapy that you especially hate - the chit chat. “Fine. Just meetings and working on some projects. Nothing exciting. And this weekend, I ended up hanging out with Junhui.”

Jeonghan nods. “Good,” he says, mostly because he’s probably glad you didn’t self-isolate the moment you got off work on Friday. “What did you and Junhui do?”

“Just ordered dinner, watched some movies.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “What happened to going out this weekend? I thought we agreed.”

You raise a hand in defense. “That was all Jun’s idea! Not mine!” You had agreed to make an attempt to go out somewhere this weekend, just to get out of the house. But Jun had just shown up and made himself comfortable on your couch, and the night seemed to be decided. Could you have mentioned that you should go out? Yes, and Jun would have done it in a heartbeat. But you didn’t because you just didn’t want to.

Jeonghan adopts a smirk. “You’re feisty today. Tell me why.” You groan because you hate when he says that, but he’s waving you off. “Have you been eating like normal?” You nod. “Have you had any stressors, more than normal?” You shake your head. “Have you been sleeping?” You stall out before you can think of a good lie and your silence is deafening. Jeonghan’s smirk deepens. “Gotcha!” His smirk clears though and he’s serious. “What’s been going on there?”

You shrug, defeated. “The usual? Can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep.”

“Thoughts are too loud,” he muses, because he’s heard the excuse before from you. “What were you toiling over?” You don’t know what to say, so you purse your lips, blinking at him. Jeonghan lets a few beats pass and then sighs, putting his pen down and looking at his watch. “This is an early shut down, even for you.” Jeonghan stares at you for a second and this might be the first time that you’ve ever seen him hesitate to say something. Finally he says, “You know, you get out of therapy what you put in. If you don’t give me anything to work with, I can’t help you untangle anything. So what makes you constantly bite your tongue here?”

You snort humorlessly, because you can’t help it really. “I don’t know. You calling me crazy. You giving me medication. You sending me to the psych ward.”

Jeonghan blinks a few times and then puts his notepad and pen aside - a sign that this part of the conversation is sort of ‘off the record’. “I would not call you crazy, ever. It’s an unprofessional term in my career path. I can’t prescribe medications since I’m not a psychiatrist, so all I can do is refer you. And the only thing that warrants a visit to the psych ward is if you might be a danger to yourself or others, in which case I’d encourage you to ask for help.”

You blink at him, looking for any signs of deception but there are none. He looks incredibly patient and serious. He doesn’t even have a snarky reminder that the clock (and your bill) is ticking.

You think about how your parents worry about you. How Jun tries to ease you into social situations every chance he gets. How you don’t spend as much time speaking to living people as you should because you’re too busy trying to ignore non-living people. How you can tell that you come off as rude all the time, and it stings when someone says something about it because you truly don’t know how else to be. You wet your lips even though it doesn’t really help because your mouth has gone dry. You want a fix and Jeonghan is offering to help.

You squeeze your eyes closed as your mouth moves before you really know what you’re going to say. “Not to quote a movie from the 90s, but I see dead people.”

There are a few long beats of silence. You open your eyes to see Jeonghan’s widen slightly as he nods. A slow smile comes across his face. “Now, that’s something I haven’t heard before here.”

You raise a finger at him, pointing angrily. “I swear to god, Yoon Jeonghan, if you have me committed, I’ll be so mad.”

He nods with a smile at your threat, settling deeper into his chair. “No need for any of that. I can’t ask for a seance in the psych ward.” You screech and pelt the pillow at him. He deflects it, letting it roll into the floor, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine, sorry! Start from the beginning.”

And you do, or you try to anyway. He lets the timer run over and cancels his next appointment, saying that a breakthrough like this is worth it.

You’ve barely been asleep for an hour and you hear a little ‘pssst’ in your ear. Your eyes squint tightly, willing yourself not to respond. A little poke on your shoulder accompanies the next ‘pssst’. You sigh and hear the person chuckle. “I know you’re awake.”

You roll so your face is buried into the pillow, grumbling. “You are the most annoying dead person I think I’ve ever met.”

“I prefer the term ‘lost soul’. ‘Dead person’ sounds so serious,” Vernon says, plopping down to lay across the foot of your bed.

“I just got to sleep, you asshole,” you huff, curling up tighter into the blanket.

“You weren’t sleeping,” Vernon said simply. “You were working again.”

You sigh into your pillow. You’re working all the time, it seems.

You met Vernon in the hospital - surgery gone wrong, he said. But he got curious after he’d seen you getting wheeled out of the hospital to the car and tested it out himself. He found that he could leave the hospital, unlike a lot of other souls apparently, and didn’t like the term ‘dead’ very much if only because in a lot of ways, he’d kept on living life. He rode the subway often. He poked around in record shops. He liked to hang out in cafes if only to smell the coffee, though he couldn’t exactly consume it anymore.

Oh, and he’d followed you home to your parents’ house after you were discharged. You’d hobbled into your room late at night to find him lounging on your bed. He’d looked up at you from the book he’d claimed from your bookshelf and said, “nice room.” And when you’d moved into your own place, he’d let himself in there too.

He wasn’t there all the time, naturally, what with the wandering he liked to do. But he’d drop in with regularity. Sometimes Junhui would be over, none the wiser that Vernon was sitting in the arm chair in the corner watching TV with them. If anyone was going to hang out forever like this, Vernon was a good one to have because he didn’t make your life hard. He didn’t confuse you in social settings. He didn’t knock things over to alarm others around you. And he did give you privacy to be by yourself - or for you to try to be by yourself, anyway.

One night, a couple months after your accident, you’d woken up with a start in the middle of the night and Vernon was looking at you from your desk, concerned, Netflix still playing quietly in the background. “I think you were moving people on in your sleep,” he explains. He said he was in some sort of limbo and couldn’t see it exactly, but he could feel it. He said it was like a line out of the door when you dozed off, waiting to ask your open, relaxed mind for help. “You need to lock that down or they’ll bleed you dry.”

But you were helpless to do that when you were asleep, so Vernon had taken to calling it ‘working’. Over the years, he’d started to wake you up when he felt that others were taking too much from you. You weren’t getting valuable rest either way, but when you were awake you could protect yourself.

Still, you grumbled some more into the pillow. “My therapist told me to ignore you, you know?”

Vernon snorts. “You can ignore the others, but I’m special.” Vernon paused, quirking an eyebrow. “Since when did he know about your little gift?”

“Yesterday,” you sigh, rolling onto your back and propping up against the headboard. You’re resigned to not sleeping at this point, so you might as well look at Vernon while you talk.

“And he told you to ignore us?” Vernon asked curiously, looking at you from the foot of the bed.

You shrug. “For now. He’s going to do some research and see what techniques I can try. It’s not like I know anyone else that has this so-called gift that can give me advice. So, therapist it is.”

Vernon hums. “Gotta start somewhere, I guess. I’m glad you’re asking for help. I worry about you.”

You frown, because he’s said it before, and he’s not the only one. “I know. I just wish I could go back to what it was like before sometimes - when I was normal.”

Vernon seems to be thinking hard. “I don’t know. I’d like to think things happen for a reason.”

“But there’s no good reason.” Frustration bleeds into your words. “I got into an accident in the middle of a snow storm and now I’m some psychic freak that can’t determine what’s real and what’s not most of the time.”

Your foot gets tugged sharply. “Stop talking about yourself like that,” Vernon scolds. “Besides, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s not ‘real or not’. It’s ‘seen and unseen’. You just happen to see a lot more than the average person.”

Your eyes prick with tears and you throw the blanket over your head. Jeonghan calls you a professional bottler. You don’t like to react with emotion to much of anything because if you let something trickle out it will become a flood when the dam breaks. It feels like there would be no way to turn off the flow once you start to let it drip. Vernon has seen enough of your struggles so you don’t want to burden him with it tonight. Still, he pats your foot a few times in a ‘there, there’ motion, like he knows.

From underneath the blanket, you sniffle. “Are you sleeping down there tonight?”

Vernon takes the hint and you feel the bed dip next to you. He stays on his side like always, never encroaching on your space or making you uncomfortable. You wish you could be alone, but if you have to be with someone, Vernon is a good person to be with. He lets you doze off and only wakes you up one more time throughout the night when the line out of the door gets out of hand.

“This isn’t working,” you mumble sleepily.

“We’ve barely started,” Jeonghan says patiently from his chair. It’s been nearly two months since you’d finally told him your big secret, and he really had tried to hold up of his end of the bargain. He’d given you a laundry list of things to try, and urged to you to really put some effort in. His exact words for each instruction was, “Don’t half ass it, please.”

You have to admit, some of it you did half ass. The yoga and tai-chi bored you to death after only a couple sessions each. Jeonghan did refer you to a psychiatrist to discuss your sleep issues and this psychiatrist had provided some medication - which had been used a couple times and then stuffed into your medicine cabinet because you didn’t like how it made you feel. Journaling had been okay, at least in the beginning. You’d felt relieved to get the whole thing on the page at first, but the relief was short-lived and you hadn’t picked the notebook up in nearly a week.

Today’s experiment was meditation. Jeonghan had gone to a training for it and wanted to see if you’d respond at all to it. He turned the lights off, only a little sunshine peeking through the blinds, and had talked you into a ‘meditative state’. You’d snorted when he said that was the first step, but he pinned you with a look that said, ‘come on, work with me here’. So you’d laid down on the couch and closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing like he said. But, you were thinking that maybe you had only relaxed because it was dark and the couch was comfy and you were sleep deprived - aka nothing to do with his guided meditation.

“Tell me what you feel. Do a body scan.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch because his voice sounds soft and small and you don’t really know what he means by that. “What do you mean? Like physically, emotionally, mentally?”

“Any of it. What sticks out?” Jeonghan gently prompts.

You sigh. “I don’t know. It’s loud in here.” You’ve grown comfortable admitting things like that to Jeonghan because he’s really not treated you like you’re crazy a single time. When you make comments like that, he doesn’t look around or pause to see if he can hear it too.

“Sort through the noise, if you can. Get to you, not the others.” This frustrates you and you feel your body begin to tense up again. You haven’t been alone in your head since you were 19. You don’t know how to fucking sort through the noise. If you had, you would have already done it. “Y/N, breathe,” Jeonghan reminds. You follow the command, remembering that he’d asked you to trust the process. “Let’s focus on the physical for now. What do you feel? Pain, pressure, weakness, anything of the sort.”

Your eyebrows are pinched again because his voice is getting softer and you can’t figure out why. His office isn’t that big and you wonder why he’s whispering. Your mouth kind of moves before you realize it. “Neck hurts.”

“Is that you? Or is that someone else?” His voice is so quiet that you have to strain to hear it.

“Me, I think. It doesn’t feel like a… wound. Just an ache, like I slept on it wrong.”

“Okay,” he mumbles. “What about emotionally?”

“Confused,” you mumble. Jeonghan hums distantly, questioning your answer. “You sound really far away.”

There’s silence for a while and then finally, he says, “And mentally?”

Your breath catches, even in your relaxed state. It’s… quiet. Not silent because there’s still a low murmur, like there are people talking behind a closed door, but it’s so blissful that your eyes prick with tears behind your eyelids. Jeonghan calls your name again, asking for an answer. “Quiet.” You can hear your own voice for once and it sounds totally foreign to you. But you can hear it and it makes the tears pour.

You don’t realize that the light has clicked back on until Jeonghan shakes your shoulder lightly a few times. “Y/N, come back.”

It feels like you’re slamming back into your body and the rush of sound and sensation is overwhelming. You pop up and cover your ears with your hands. Jeonghan eases you to sit up, leaning your head between your knees. You’re a snotty, teary-eyed mess when you sit up. “What the fuck was that?” You don’t hear your own voice anymore, but you can tell it doesn’t come out right based on the scratch in your throat. Jeonghan silently hands you a wad of tissues from where he’s squatting next to you. “Jeonghan.” You press, wiping your nose.

Jeonghan looks pensive, maybe even a little bit anxious. It’s an unsettling sight to see on your therapist of all people. “This might be above my pay grade for now. But I have an idea and I need you to hear me out.”

You watch him stand, going to his desk and picking up a folded paper, handing it to you when he comes back. You sniffle, glancing up at him suspiciously when you take it. You open it and scoff, putting your head in your hand, crinkling the paper slightly in the other fist. “Why the fuck would I do that after what just happened?”

Jeonghan is sitting back down in his seat across from you, albeit on the edge of it, arms propped up on his knees. “I didn’t expect you to respond at all to meditation. A lot of people don’t, at least not the way you just did. If anything, most people get sleepy. But you… drifted.” He doesn’t seem to like that he doesn’t know how to describe it, like it doesn’t fit cleanly into any diagnostic criteria he’s familiar with. He nods to the paper. “Give it a shot. If you can’t get anything out of it, we go back to the drawing board.”

“Say you didn’t believe me until now,” you snap through the exhaustion, avoiding committing to the flyer in your hand.

“I didn’t. Not really, anyway,” he bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He sighs like he’s hesitant to say anything more, but his exasperation is clear. “I was actually thinking about a schizophrenia diagnosis but wasn’t ready to mention it. You started presenting symptoms around the age that I’d expect - the voices, the visions, the breaks from time and reality. It was all checking out and I was starting to think the accident really didn’t have much to do with it. But that,” he points to where your head just was on the couch a few minutes ago, “was not schizophrenia. That was something they don’t teach in a psychology program. At least, not with any sort of seriousness. It’s all talk therapy for the most part.”

You hide your face in your hands - you did the moment he mentioned such a diagnosis. It’s not that you’d be ashamed per se because it would be nice to put a name to whatever this is, but you recognize the stigma around it if only because of how you responded to the suggestion. “I don’t want meds and I don’t want a psych ward,” you stress through gritted teeth. “And I’m not a danger to myself or others. But you probably think I’m crazy.”

“No, Y/N, I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re sound of mind in literally every other way,” Jeonghan insists sternly. “No meds if you don’t want them, and no psych ward unless something changes pretty dramatically. Just… humor me and let me research a few things while you’re gone, okay? I’m not giving up on you yet.”

You recognize that he’s teasing you, trying to get you to laugh, but you can’t find it in yourself to crack a smile when the timer goes off and you grab your things. “Don’t cancel on me,” he calls as you leave the office, but you think he might kind of mean it.

You land in Jeju at approximately 4pm a week and a half later. You can’t really believe you’ve agreed to do this, but the plane tickets had been purchased and the hotel had been booked, and you didn’t have a good reason not to hear Jeonghan out. You’d left his office a week and a half ago, totally shaken, tossing the wrinkled flyer onto the kitchen counter when you got home.

But Junhui had come over that night, somehow sensing that you might need some company when he called. He’d been throwing out the takeout boxes after dinner when he came across the flyer. “A wellness retreat?” He asked quizzically, peering out of the kitchen.

You’d grumbled from the couch. “Yeah, my therapist thinks I should give it a shot.”

Junhui had come back to the living room with the flyer, reading over it. Then he shrugged, tossing it onto your coffee table. “Maybe you should. Might end up being lame, but it’s worth a try, right?” You’d huffed when you talked to Vernon the next night and he’d said pretty much the same thing.

So, you’d taken off of work for the week, booked your travel and lodgings, and started packing. And you felt so stupid about it as you walked into the ocean side resort. You always felt like this kind of stuff was such woo-woo bullshit that you couldn’t take it seriously. But here you are, stuck here having paid for the retreat for the next week. It would cost an arm and a leg to change your flight back home if this turned out as badly as you thought it would. When you whined about this on the way to the airport, Jun had shrugged about that too, telling you to enjoy the beach while you were there then. It was a vacation either way.

So, you checked into your hotel and crashed for the night. There was great irony in the fact that such a spiritualist event would be hosted at a haunted hotel, because it certainly was that. You got very little sleep. Maybe it was because you were ‘working’, but Vernon wasn’t here to wake you up and tell you. He wasn’t sure how far he could ‘travel’ and you didn’t dare ask. He liked his daily habits too much anyway to follow you here.

Early the next morning, you drag out of bed, pulling on some comfortable clothes. The kickoff for this retreat was early, starting with a guided meditation on the beach at sunrise. You’d snorted at the thought back home, but the air was kind of nice when you stepped out on the beach in the dark. Others were already there, some congregating, while some claimed a spot for the meditation starting in a few minutes. You found space in the back, if only to ensure that you could sneak away if you felt like it.

The instructor was a frail woman, a total hippie with an airy, zen-like voice that made your eye twitch. She started the guided meditation with things like ‘settle in’ and ‘feel the waves wash over you’. You roll your eyes behind your eyelids, simply trying to sit still for the next twenty minutes. When the instructor releases everyone and tells them to take their time, you’re the first one up, brushing off the sand. You hear a soft laugh from beside you.

“Didn’t like this meditation?”

You blink. The man next to you is cast in low light since the sun has only started to rise and it’s entirely unfair how ethereal he looks when he smiles lightly up at you. You frown down at him where he’s still sitting. “Would it be offensive if I said no?”

He chuckles again, standing up. He’s taller than you now, and you crane your neck up rather than down to see him. He’s got a lean, muscular build, all angles that are crazy attractive. But the soft brown eyes are truly the killer. You want to laugh because how could you ever ‘clear your mind’ around a guy like this. Maybe that’s why the meditation didn’t work. “Maybe don’t say it in front of the instructor. She’s sort of an expert in the field. I’ve been to a few of her sessions before.”

“Oh,” you say lamely, glancing to the crowd that’s beginning to stand and congregate, hoping that no one overheard you.

He smiles warmly. “I’m Minghao.”

“Y/N. I take it you come to these often then?” It occurs to you how weird it is that you’re seeking out a conversation with this guy, because you haven’t done that in years. But he has this air about him that is sort of magnetic. You feel lame when that word crosses your mind, but you don’t have a better word for it and you’ll never utter any of that aloud anyway.

Minghao shrugs. “On occasion. Mostly, I practice by myself though.” He tilts his head when he gives you an amused look. “Am I wrong to guess you’re pretty new to this?”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms. You aren’t sure if the defensive pose is because of how weird you feel about this conversation or that you’d left your sweater in your room. “What gave it away?”

“Well, you squirmed the whole time, and then jumped up as soon as she said she was done. It’s kind of a sign that it didn’t work for you.” The crowd is starting to move back to the hotel, and the sleepy vibe is gone, replaced by some excited chatter. You remember that very few people here are probably quite as skeptical as you are. Minghao watches you watch the crowd for a minute, before speaking up again. “Wanna have breakfast with me? It’s nice to have someone to chat with at these sort of things, since you spend so much time at things like this in your own head.”

You want to laugh, because you are never alone and could only dream of what that feels like now, but between that stupid magnetism that he has and the fact that it would be rude to turn his offer down, you nod. “Sure.” He gestures in an ‘after you’ sort of motion and you both trail behind the crowd into the hotel.

You both find a seat in the corner of the hotel restaurant and order. He doesn’t bat an eye when you don’t order the traditionally healthy stuff at a wellness retreat of all places. You’re even a little relieved when he simply asks for the same, ignoring the judging look from the fitness guru of a woman sitting at the table next to you two.

Once you both have some coffee in front of you, he gives you an entertained look. “So, can I ask why you came to a retreat like this if you don’t buy into any of it?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Who said I don’t believe in it?” He gives you a dry look that makes you scoff, even though you aren’t all that annoyed. “You’re right, I’m new to it. I’m just seeing if it’s something that will actually work for me.”

He hums, nodding between sips of coffee. “Any luck yet? Outside of this retreat, I mean.”

You resist squirming in your seat, thinking about Jeonghan’s little experiment last week. “Yes and no?”

Minghao nods, his smile turning wry. “You don’t like the small talk, huh?”

This makes you snort out a laugh, earning another glare from the woman at the table next to you both that you ignore. “No, I’m not great at it.”

“I can work with that,” he says simply. Behind him something catches your eye. A man trudges in, totally soaked. Your first thought is a mishap too close to the shore, because he’s dripping small puddles throughout the restaurant hall as he shuffles. But you quickly realize what you’re seeing and that no one else is seeing it. A waiter breezes right past the man and doesn’t so much as slip in the puddles he’s creating. You don’t feel anything from this guy exactly, but it’s not hard to figure it out. He’s dead, probably a drowning victim.

A hand waves in front of you and you snap to attention. Minghao’s face is some sort of mixture of confused and concerned. “Are you okay? What is it?”

You blink at him, trying to focus on him, rather than the man that’s still trudging through the hall and into the kitchen behind Minghao, leaving a trail of water behind him. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Minghao just looks at you curiously and the look is only broken when the waitress brings your food and offers more coffee.

Minghao becomes your guide for the day. Workshops start at 9am and when a staff member for the retreat hands out a flyer for today’s options at breakfast, you’re kind of surprised when Minghao asks what you want to do for the day. You must have looked confused because he just gives you a little entertained look and says, “unless you want to go on your own.” You didn’t. So you let him talk you through some of the options. Admittedly, you aren’t too impressed by the sound of any of them, but he correctly assumes you’re a beginner and picks some that he thinks will work for you.

9am is a lecture called ‘Getting out of your own way’. It’s another super zen instructor and you cross your arms and lean back in your seat when he starts. But by the end of it, you’re squirming because this feels like some kind of therapy shit that hits too close to home. You even feel a slice of anger sometimes because it’s not you that’s in your way - it’s everyone else, namely the dead. You can’t imagine how Jeonghan or anyone here would love to dissect such a blame-shifting, defensive response, so you bite your tongue until it bleeds. You regret coming by the time the session ends at 10:30.

The 11:15 session is called ‘Trust your intuition’. There’s a short lecture, but then there’s an experiment to do with the partner next to you at each table. Each pair is handed a deck of cards. Minghao shuffles them well and then slides the top card to you, face down. The rule is that you can’t peek, but you can touch the top of the card if you’d like. When Minghao slides the first one to you, you look at him incredulously and say “I’m not a mind reader.” You recognize that that’s not quite the truth, but you have no clue which card is sitting in front of you.

Minghao wears a sort of secretive smile, looking highly entertained. “It’s not meant to be a quiz to stress about. Just try it. Close your eyes and touch the top of the card.” When you don’t move, he nods again. “Humor me, Y/N. You don’t have to be good at it, just try it.”

You’d scoffed, closing your eyes and placing your finger tips on the card. Nothing comes to you so you sigh, throwing your other hand up in exasperation. “Jack of diamonds,” falls out of your mouth as a guess.

“Okay, turn it over,” Minghao says encouragingly. You expect to have picked quite literally any of the 51 other cards, but when you flip it over, a jack of diamonds greets you. You freeze, face pinched in confusion, because how in the fuck did you do that? Mingaho raises an eyebrow, a flash of excitement on his face. “How about another one?” Ten cards and ten correct guess later, you feel your eyes water from something akin to shock. Minghao must notice that you need a break and he slides you the deck. “My turn.”

After lunch, the 2pm session is ‘Facing your fears’. The hotel has allowed the retreat to take over the courtyard, setting up ropes and a climbing wall. You’d never been particularly afraid of heights and you’d once been quite athletic, so you breeze through this. So does Minghao, though you aren’t surprised based on his physique. You do your best not to focus on his arms or the way his shirtless back flexes when it’s his turn to climb. You aren’t one to be enamored by someone’s appearance like this often, so you squash the thought. He’s been nice, and patient more than most people ever try to be with you, but he does not need to know that you think anymore than that. You’ve known him for a whopping eight hours.

At 3:30, the session is actually a fair that has been set up in one of the event halls at the hotel. There are tons of booths for all kinds of metaphysical stuff. Crystals of all kinds, body products meant to relax and rejuvenate, incense, teas, tinctures, and ritual items. Minghao spends a long time looking at the teas, purchasing a number of them. You bite back the smile at how kid-like he is about it, eyes full of excitement when he has you smell one and tells you about it. You tease that he might as well be selling the tea himself.

You linger on a few items, all of which are labeled with the word ‘protection’. First, it was a set of crystals that are supposedly meant to clear negative energy. Then it was a box of incense labeled ‘spiritual protection’. Then there was an anointing oil labeled for protection magic.

Minghao watches you pick up each of these items, before putting them back and turn like you’re ready to go. You are ready to go because you’re truly so far out of your depth with any of this. You feel like you’re playing with fire, risking any of these things making your problems worse. On the third time, he doesn’t budge when you’re ready to leave the booth. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite decipher. Maybe it’s because you don’t really know him that well, but you wonder if you could ever read a look like that because it’s so layered. “If you’re interested in protection, you should try out those things. At worst, they don’t do anything for you.”

The woman that runs this booth clears her throat behind him, like she’s offended at the implication that her wares don’t work. But Minghao still doesn’t budge and you look back down at the little bottle of anointing oil, picking it up and rolling it in your hand. This feels like another ‘trust the process’ moment and you can afford it, so after a few beats you decide to buy it. Minghao guides you back to the booths that had the crystal set and the incense so you can purchase those as well. You’re kind of relieved that he doesn’t ask why you’re interested in this sort of thing, though you wonder if that question might come before the retreat is over.

Dinner comes and goes, and then later that night, there is a campfire on the beach. You admittedly aren’t into the drumming circle that comes first, but you are very into the marshmallows that are handed out to make s’mores. You and Minghao make half a dozen together, one of you holding the graham crackers and chocolate and the other roasting the marshmallow. This earns a few more glares from some of the more hardcore attendees who sneer when the bag of marshmallows comes around to them. You’re discovering that Minghao isn’t fazed by much, and it’s an attitude that you can appreciate. You wish you could be like that.

You crawl into bed a little after 11pm and drift off.

Just after 2am, you slide open the door to your balcony. The view in front of you is dark, but you can hear and smell the waves, and the breeze is cool. You’ll need the sweater you brought out with you in a bit, but not right now while you’re dripping sweat.

Sometimes, when you’re ‘working’ in your sleep, you meet someone demanding. Most of the time, you don’t even remember or realize what you’re doing. There are no flashes of the supposed line out of the door to assist in moving on. No unfamiliar faces that you remember when you wake up.

But on occasion, someone is desperate to move on and you assume that their urgency wakes you up. Jeonghan says the clinical term is sleep paralysis. The mind wakes up before the body is released from its frozen state. Your eyes are open and you’re aware of what you’re seeing, but you can’t do anything about it. A lot of people experience it, apparently, but Jeonghan says that most of these things are hallucinations - a demon or an old hag hovering over you. Even Jeonghan admits now that your situation is a little different, because yours might not quite be a traditional hallucination. He was hesitant to call it something real, but doesn’t utter what you expect, which is the accusatory phrase, ‘you think it’s real’.

So naturally, seeing the drowned guy from earlier, hovering over you with panicked eyes made your heart beat out of your chest. You have no clue how long it really was, but it seemed like an eternity that you were frozen, watching him gasp for air and try to beg for help. But as it happens sometimes, the moment you’re released from your frozen state, the man is gone in a blink of an eye. You have no idea if you moved him on, or if he’s still lingering, desperate for help. These are the worst nights, and you know you won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. In fact, you can’t stay in bed for a second longer, least of all in the dark. Your first step after getting out of bed is to turn on all of the lights.

You settle in the wicker chair on the balcony, propping your feet up on the ottoman in front of you, breathing deeply. You’re frustrated. You’d hoped you’d show up to something like this and find all the answers to your questions. Maybe it was a high expectation, but a place like this should have had all of the solutions to your problems - after all, they’re the spiritual experts. You feel the frustrated tears flow, but you don’t bother wiping them away, just leaning your head back. Your eyes drift closed, though you aren’t the least bit tired right now, too wired from what happened a few minutes ago.

With your eyes closed, you miss the light in the neighboring room flicking on, but your head does snap up when a sliding door opens nearby. Footsteps echo on the balcony next to you and you rush to wipe your face. You’re not in the mood for conversation, least of all any questions, and you’re hoping that your neighbor just wants some peace and quiet like you.

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps again, this time to look to the neighboring balcony. Minghao is peering around, looking a little concerned. You didn’t know that he was your neighbor. He’d stayed back to talk to someone at the campfire hours ago, so you’d walked up to your room alone.

“Are you okay?” He asks, pulling your attention back.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Minghao stares at you for a few beats, like he’s trying to read your mind, before he finally says, “No, you didn’t. I was up reading.” He leans on the railing, looking you over. From this position, his arms have you sweating again and you feel stupid for it. You’ve never reacted to a man like this. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You laugh, and you wish it held even a little bit of humor. “No, it’s not very ‘wellness retreat’ of me to share what I’m thinking. It would most definitely kill the vibes. Don’t worry about it.”

Minghao shrugs, that flash of humor that he’d had all day on his face again. “I’d say a wellness retreat is kind of the perfect place for that. You know, healing and relaxation, all that jazz.” Still, he falls silent, sitting in his own wicker chair only six feet from you, separated by the railing of your balconies.

You have no idea how much time passes when you finally speak up. “How are you so good at all of this?”

You see him look at you through the railing. It’s a look that’s open and says a lot, but the problem is that you can’t really decipher any of it. “I’m not good at it,” he finally says. “I’m just open to it.” You look away from him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Please don’t take offense to this, but it seems like maybe you’re not open to it. You seem to resist a lot of it.”

“I have a lot of practice with that,” you muse, but your expression feels a little off when you look at him again. Like you don’t know how to just slap on a smile and let it go.

He nods understandingly. “It’s easy to deny. It’s much harder to just let it be. Painful, even.” He hesitates for a second then finally says, “what are you trying to ‘let it be’?”

You give him a rueful smile through the railing. “That’s a pretty soul-baring question.” He shrugs good-naturedly, looking at the dark view in front of you both, seemingly not expecting an answer. You follow his gaze. “It would make me sound crazy.”

“Try me.”

There’s something so painfully genuine and secure about his tone. When you look back at him through the railing, he’s already looking at you and his expression matches his tone. You feel ridiculous and maybe even a little naive when your eyes water because you can’t remember someone ever looking at you like that. You don’t let a lot of people in, especially total strangers. But there’s something about him that makes you want to start peeling back the layers that you hide behind. You may never see him again after this retreat, and that might be okay because being soul-baring is scary.

You start with the first layer, even though it’s a big one. “I see ghosts.”

The next morning starts at 7am. The recommended solo activity for this morning is reflection and journaling. You debate on skipping it because you’re running on just a few hours of sleep, but Minghao knocks on your door at 6:45am, urging you to get dressed and join him.

After you spilled your secret last night, Minghao had just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. You’d blanched at his lack of reaction. “Why are being so casual about this?” You’d asked, anger flooding your voice.

But his easy tone had squashed any anger. “I kind of suspected something. There have been quite a few signs today.”

At around 4am, he’d sent you to bed to get a few hours of sleep, resolving that he’d help you get the most out of the rest of the retreat if you’d let him. You guess this was step one of letting him.

After a shower, Minghao lets you into his hotel room. He also appears to be freshly showered and you brush off any thoughts of how good he smells when you walk past him in the doorway. He gestures to the little table by the sliding glass door for you to have a seat. You do, watching him come back with mugs of hot water and tea bags. You recognize the smell when he hands it to you. It’s one of the kinds that he bought yesterday.

The rest of the hour passes in relative silence. You’ve filled pages by then, and when you come up for air you realize that your tea is cold and Minghao’s page is nearly blank, save for a couple things. “Not into journaling?”

He shrugged, smiling at you. “I do it every day. Some days there just isn’t much to write.” You finish the tea as not to waste it and go with him to breakfast.

Minghao doesn’t tell you what he has on tap for you today, simply telling you to trust him as he leads you out to the beach. You suppress a groan, following him to a couple mats that are placed in the back. He gives you an amused smile, like he knows you aren’t into this. He turns to you on his mat, and you begrudgingly do the same.

“You’re going to hear the typical ‘clear your mind’ mantras. Don’t bother.” You raise an eyebrow at him to continue. “You’re beyond being able to just clear your mind. Do the movements, sure. But focus on the breathing and finding your own voice. Learn to filter the noise. Once you can filter, you can try to tune them out.”

You’re frustrated by how simple he makes it sound and he must be able to tell. “Don’t try to be a perfectionist here. Just use the time to be by yourself.”

You feel the frustration fade, replaced by an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, but it has stupid tears pricking your eyes because not even Jeonghan or Vernon has matched this sort of understanding. If Minghao notices the emotion, he doesn’t say anything about it. When the yoga instructor shows up, you mindlessly follow along with what she says, more focused on trying to do what Minghao said. The filtering is… hard. You aren’t even sure what your voice sounds like.

You’re so focused on the task, that you must miss the end of the session. You’re in a child pose when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You snap up and the hand squeezes, curving around your shoulder maybe attempting to comfort you. Most of the crowd has dissipated, only a few people still lingering with the instructor. It’s not the time loss or the way that you’d ‘drifted’ as Jeonghan had described it that bothers you.

You look up at Minghao, totally aware at how vulnerable you probably look. It’s because everything is quiet. Not even a murmur, like there had been when you tried Jeonghan’s little experiment last week. It’s silent and it had only started when Minghao touched your shoulder. It’s like he pressed the mute button.

“Are you okay? Too much?” He asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“What?” You ask, feeling a little numb with shock.

Minghao reaches out to wipe your face, gentle fingers grazing your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. “Too much, got it.” He stands up, hands leaving you. The noise rushes back and you fold into yourself, forehead hitting the mat again. “Y/N?” His hand lands on your back and the mute button is hit again. It makes your breath catch. He’s rubbing your back lightly, crouched next to you when you come up again. You’re more prepared when his hand leaves you again and the rush of noise comes back. He stands, holding his hand out to help you up. He doesn’t drop it when you’re standing next to him. “Come on. We have a break until 11:15 and I think you need it.”

You needed more than the 45 minute break between sessions. He must sense that you need some privacy to deal with things so he guides you back up to his hotel room where he gives you cups of tea, one after another. He asks questions but they aren’t pressing. You’re relieved by that because you don’t know what to tell him. You just say something happened, but you aren’t sure what. With you being new to all this, it must be an acceptable answer.

You both skip the next session and take a long lunch, showing up for the 2pm session. This one is ‘Developing your own spiritual practices’. You look at the little flyer that the instructor hands out when you guys take a seat in the back row and then look up at Minghao helplessly, still feeling pretty raw from earlier. “I don’t think any of this will help me.”

“That’s fine,” he simply, voice like honey to you. “This is just to get some ideas. A lot of this is trial and error for everyone, not just you.”

You listen to this instructor with bated breath because you need solutions fast. The silence earlier was blissful in a way that makes you want to weep if you think about it for too long. You need to be able to shut it off like that anytime. Whatever Minghao has to do with it is a mystery, but he won’t be around forever - only for a few more days. You aren’t sure what to do with any of what the instructor says, but you make notes on the back of the flyer and pocket them for later to research.

The 4pm session is ‘emotional clearing’. You feel overwhelmed by the concept and it must show because Minghao places his hand on top of yours in your lap once you both are seated. The hush falls over your mind again. “Remember what I said. Just get some ideas.” You feel like you need this session more than anything else you’ve experienced at this retreat so far and you’re desperate to focus, so you impulsively grip Minghao’s hand when he starts to slip away into his own space again. He lets you, keeping his hand locked with yours for the whole session.

There’s a similar pattern to the next couple of days. He has you try swimming, which you aren’t a huge fan of and don’t find particularly relaxing, but he sticks with you. Reiki interests you more than you’d expect and you think about searching it out later when you’re back home. On the last full day of the retreat, you give Minghao an amused look when he walks you to a session for ‘Messages from above’. He just gives you an amused look back.

“Hear me out. I know yours aren’t exactly from above, but maybe you can get something out of this.”

And he’s right, you do get something out of it. Perhaps they aren’t tools to help you, but you do feel a little less crazy when you hear how many people in the room believe in their own abilities, and even appear confident in them. You come away not wanting to totally get rid of this little gift of yours, but maybe to one day control it.

After dinner, you both go on a walk along the beach. It’s borderline romantic in a way that makes you feel silly. Your nineteen year old self would have loved something like this. But the thing about Minghao is that he doesn’t let you feel silly for long. He’s just so… safe. You don’t feel like a freak with him. You feel human. You feel okay, even when he’s not touching you, which you’ve avoided for the most part since that morning yoga session and holding his hand during one of the lectures.

A lot of your time together passes in comfortable silence. You find that so few words are really necessary to understand each other. You’ve walked from one pier to the other now and are on your way back when you stop in your tracks. Minghao stops with you, looking in the direction that you are.

“What do you see?” Minghao asks. Your bottom lip trembles because he didn’t ask ‘what are you looking at’. The distinction is something that you can’t spend a lot of time on because what you’re seeing is… bad. It’s the man that you saw on your first morning here in the hotel restaurant. The same one that woke you up the other night. You must not have moved him on successfully because he’s there, struggling in the waves. He washes up and he’s still. You exhale hard at the sight. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a replay of death, but it makes your gut twist every time.

Minghao’s hand lands on your back and you can’t even blink when the man on the shore disappears like he might as well have gone up in a cloud of smoke. Your jaw drops a bit because that’s new. Usually, these horrible visions linger. “Y/N,” he says gently. You glance up to him, feeling a little devastated in a way that only this little ‘gift’ can do. The look he’s giving you is crushing in its own way too. It’s one full of sympathy without an ounce of patronization. He’s quiet for a long time. “Why don’t we go up for the night and settle in?”

You let him guide you by the hand up to your hotel room, where he lets you go in alone.

You’re up again, sitting out on the balcony at a little after 1am. Your bags are mostly packed to leave tomorrow - or today, rather. You aren’t totally surprised when the neighboring sliding door opens and Minghao steps out. He leans on the railing next to you, peering over. “I saw the light click on a while ago. Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you ever sleep?” You tease, looking up at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “I think I could ask you the same thing.” In the dim lighting, your mouth waters a bit looking at him. Given the location and weather, he’s abandoned a shirt a lot of the time, just like now. A pair of sweatpants hang low on his hips. You’re getting the full picture of the toned arms and chest, the abs and the tapered waist. It’s totally unfair because if he’s aware of how just looking at him drives you a little crazy, he doesn’t let on. His smile is fairly innocent. “Could I interest you in a cup of tea?”

Your time with someone like him is limited, what with a plane departure looming tomorrow afternoon. So you smile, standing up. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He lets you in, telling you to make yourself comfortable. But this time, he gestures to the bed instead of the table. The covers are rumpled like he’d attempted to sleep tonight. He makes the tea, handing you a mug and sitting on the other side of the bed. The TV is on some kind of late night cartoon that you watch blindly. The silence stretches but it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s almost 1:45 when you set the empty mug on the bedside table and curl your legs into your chest. “Y/N?” You look over and Minghao’s giving you that exposed look that you can’t decipher again. He takes a breath that is perhaps deeper than normal, like he’s steeling himself. “The other day, at the yoga session, what happened?”

You purse your lips, scanning his face. He’s so handsome, and has shown you more understanding than anyone else you’ve ever met, and�� he’s really a total stranger. You just met him four days ago. This connection is scary, if only because it will be gone tomorrow afternoon. You lean your head back against the headboard and he tracks the movement carefully. No wonder he doesn’t really miss anything. “It’s hard to explain,” you find yourself whispering.

“Try me.”

You can’t tell him about the power he seems to have over you. You can’t depend on him. But you decide that you can tell him the rest. You bite your lip and see how his gaze dips down for a split second. It sends a little shock for your system to even consider that this attraction might be mutual. You realize he’s looking at your eyes again, waiting for an answer.

“It did something. It was hard and frustrating to start filtering. But… I think it started to work.”

He doesn’t respond right away but he doesn’t look surprised. He sort of looks like he’s battling with something. Finally, he must come to a decision. “That’s not quite what I meant, Y/N. I meant your reaction when I touched you.” You try to squash your reaction now, but his eyes drill into you and you’re sure he noticed how your eyes widened for a second. “I’m just… concerned that I did something wrong. The look on your face is something I’ll never forget, and I’m not sure if it was even a good or a bad thing. It’s been eating at me for days.”

Minghao lets you stare at him for a while and it feels kind of like falling of a cliff to answer him. But you can’t let him think he did anything wrong. Not when he’s given you moments of blissful silence. Your voice doesn’t sound quite right, even through the din in your head. “It was good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looks a little relieved at your answer, shoulders relaxing a little bit. But then he’s battling with something again before speaking. “At the risk of sounding inappropriate, is it just that you liked when I touched you? Or was there something else?”

You feel your brows pinch together, frowning at him. “Does it matter?”

“I guess it does, so I know whether I should ask to kiss you.”

You feel your breath catch at his words. You scan him for any signs of bad intentions, but you find none. After all, you’ve already been in this room with him before. You’ve spent the last four days with him by your side from sun up to sun down, and a little bit after that too. And he’s asking for permission, giving you an opportunity to shut him down and go to your own room. You’ll both get on separate flights and go home and probably never see each other again.

“You can. Kiss me, I mean,” you blurt. A little smile creeps up on his face and he moves closer to you, hand meeting your cheek. Your eyes drift closed because of the silence his touch brings, and you feel his breath wash over your lips as he closes in.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, before his lips press to yours. They’re soft, light, lingering pecks at first, getting longer when you reach out to hold him close by his own cheek. A little swipe of his tongue at the seam of your lips makes you sigh, hand sliding into his hair. All of it is so soft that you barely feel it when he has you slide down to lay on your back in bed. You’re absolute putty in his hands as he hovers halfway over you, lips still advancing and retreating as his hand crawls up your shirt to lay flat against your stomach. Your hands are doing their own wandering over his bare chest and back, tight muscle underneath your finger tips.

He pulls away from your lips ever so slightly, hand tugging lightly on the hem of your shirt. “May I?” When you nod, he gently peels the fabric up over your head. You didn’t bother with a bra because you should have been sleeping, but you don’t have a split second to feel weird about that because his hand is grazing your breast lightly, then cupping it. You sigh at the feeling and it’s like you’re calling him back to you with the sound because his lips are back on yours again.

It feels like forever but also a blink of an eye when you’ve both lost all of your clothes and he’s gently spreading your legs to kneel between them. “Are you sure?” His tone is a sweet whisper and you think you can identify the look he’s been giving you all week. It’s soul-baring, like he has nothing to hide from you. So you nod, hoping your expression even comes close to his.

Minghao leans down, pressing soft kisses to your lips again as he runs the head of his cock into your folds. The feeling as you both hissing a bit. When he notches into your entrance and starts pushing in, you sigh, nails biting into his back. Once all the way in, he stays still, fully buried inside of you while he kisses you into oblivion. You kind of forget that the goal of this for most people would be sex because you think you’d let him stay like this forever. Between the warmth of his touch and the silence it brings, you feel like this rivals heaven.

When you both are breathless, he pulls back, propping up on his forearms over you. His hand grazes the top of your head softly. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you both are still whispering, but it just adds to the intimate air that you both have, like this is just for the both of you. You feel silly when you think that, because of course it is, but you can’t think long about it, because he’s just feeding this little bubble you both are in with kisses to your cheek.

“Want me to move?” You nod, his lips dancing along your cheek still. “Okay, baobei.” He pulls away, enough to reach for your legs that are spread wide. His fingers gently grip your ankles, pulling them to wrap around his lower back. Then he’s back down, hovering closely to kiss you as he slides out and slides back in with a gentle rock of his hips. The feeling has you whimpering against his lips and it seems to feed something for him. It’s not like you’re incredibly experienced, but something about being with him is so… softly passionate that it’s overwhelming. He’s barely moved or touched you and you feel like you’re already falling apart.

He backs away from your lips to look down at you as he picks up the pace and your eyes drift closed. His hand grazes the side of your face, long fingers combing into your hairline. “Look at me.” The command is still oddly sweet and you follow instructions. The look he’s giving you has your heart jumping out of your chest. You reach to grip his wrist and he simply intertwines your fingers together and rests your linked hands on the bed above your head.

The strokes get deeper and you feel something building. Tears prick your eyes because he’s still looking down at you like you’re the center of the universe. Like he didn’t just meet you four days ago. His other hand intertwines with your other hand and then both of your arms are above your head. You kind of feel like your surrendering to him in a way and you can’t imagine why you would ever say no to something like this because you haven’t even came yet and you know this will change your life in a way that sex shouldn’t.

Minghao’s hips move with just a little more force, and he hits a spot that has you seeing stars, jaw dropping. He groans softly above you, pressing a kiss to your cheek again. “You are heaven,” he sighs against your skin. You wonder if he said it wrong, that he meant that you felt like heaven, but you think he might have meant it the way he said it and it turns you to mush. The heat is building to something that makes you feel like you’ll burst into flames and your voice is weak when you say his name. His head pops up to look down at you again. “You’re close,” he says. It’s not a question and the fact that he just knows makes you keen. Like he knows all of your tells already, knows the ins and outs of your body already. “Look at me, baobei.”

You do and it only takes a few long seconds before the heat explodes, becoming unbearable. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore, fingers gripping his tightly, legs spasming around his waist. You hear a groan in your ear that makes the orgasm linger because you think you could hear him make that sound forever. It doesn’t take long before he’s jumping up, pulling out of you, and releasing across your stomach. You’re dazed, watching the whole thing, particularly the expression on his face, and the only thing anchoring you right now is his hand gripping your hip. Otherwise, you think you’d float away because you haven’t felt this light in nearly a decade.

When he comes down, his hand leaves your hip, grazing your thigh gently. The other hand is cleaned on the bed sheets before it lands on your cheek softly. He kisses you long and soft without a single care for the mess he’s laying across when he presses his body against you. “Okay?” He asks eventually when he pulls away. You nod and he pecks your lips one more time. “How about a shower?”

You feel clingy in that shower in a way that you’ve never been with anyone before. Not even as a naive teenager that was half in love with the first boy that gave you the tiniest bit of attention. He lets you cling under the warm water, rubbing your back gently and pressing kisses to the top of your head. You feel stupid for so many reasons.

You don’t know him. Not really, anyway. You don’t know his last name. You don’t know where he’s from or where he lives. You don’t know what he does for a living. And you feel stupid for knowing that you know none of that but that it doesn’t really matter. You can’t imagine ever feeling like this again. This connection is unparalleled, something that you’d only read about or seen on TV before. You’d laughed about those things, making fun of them, but now you dread the morning. You dread getting on a plane to go home somewhere that he won’t be.

You dread finding out that he doesn’t feel the connection that you do.

When the water starts to get chilly, Minghao urges you under the stream, washing your hair for you. You both wrap up the shower, drying off and pulling on clothes. It’s just past 4am when Minghao guides you back into bed, pulling you close. You lay across his chest, listening to his heartbeat under your ear. You feel the tears pour because you can actually hear it, paired with the sound of both of you breathing. Nothing else. He must feel the tears on his bare chest because he rubs your back until you fall into a dreamless sleep. You’re out cold when he kisses the top of your head and mumbles, “it’s okay, we’ll find each other again.”

#minghao #xu minghao #the8 #minghao x reader #xu Minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #smut

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diltonsstrangescience · 4 months ago

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So there’s this one comic where Dilton is absolutely FLIPPING OUT over how much Jughead annoys him. It’s really crazy. I’ve never seen him that emotional about ANYTHING. He looks like he’s going to murder someone. It’s one of my favorite comics.

I had wondered, before reading this, what a direct interaction between my two favorite characters would be like. This comic reveals the obvious fact that the two are polar opposites. The overachiever and the slacker. Of course they’d be at odds.

I’m going to completely overthink this comic, and write entirely too many paragraphs about my headcanons for it. You have been warned.

The first thing I glean from this comic is that Dilton has a serious control-freak streak. “Some people just aren’t happy unless everyone else is just the way they want ‘em to be.” I will Remember This Detail. I must collect characters’ flaws for future reference. Dilton gets pushy with other people when he thinks they should be different. It’s not enough for him to follow a strict set of rules, everyone else should too, or it irritates him to the point of cartoonish fury. (If anyone thinks they’re above the desire to change others, try being the only person in a group project who does any work, and see if you’re still willing to live and let live. I can definitely relate to Dilt here, to some degree.)

The second takeaway is that I headcanon exactly what led to the ending panel where Dilton’s been converted to Jughead’s way of life, instead of the other way around. I want to make a comic about it. Dilton’s been harassing Jughead for days about how he should change every aspect of his lifestyle. Jug asks why his lifestyle is so bad, and Dilt again lists off the things Jug does that he thinks are wrong. Jug then sort of disproves these claims, not denying them, but denying that they’re problems.

Sure he sleeps in class a lot, but that’s because class can be boring (surely gifted student Dilton understands this?). Jughead still gets mostly good grades, so he must be doing something right. He pays attention when he needs to. And maybe Dilton thinks his clothes are stupid, but who cares what he chooses to wear? How is that Dilton’s problem? And as far as “cluttering the landscape” by sleeping at the park, and eating a ton at the Chocklit Shoppe—seriously? He’s just existing in public places, doing completely legitimate things to do in those places. He’s minding his own business. Gluttony and sloth aren’t crimes unless they actually affect someone else’s life. And these actions shouldn’t be. So why are they affecting Dilton so much?

There are plenty of other reckless teenagers to try to reform, ones with way worse actions and way worse grades. So why Jughead? What makes him specifically the object of Dilton’s fury? Is it because he gets away with it all? Is it because—look, I’m gonna skip to my point. Dilton’s so bothered by Jughead specifically because he’s jealous of him.

He’s jealous that Jughead sleeps through boring classes because he already understands the material—Dilt is also sick of sitting through repetitive or easy lessons, but he wants to keep up appearances as the “responsible smart kid,” so he has to look alert even when he feels his time is being wasted. Dilton is jealous that Jughead finds it so easy to relax, napping in plain view of any passerby—Dilton cares too much about how other people see him, and he’s terribly afraid of appearing lazy or wasting time, and anyway he’s always too anxious to relax properly. Dilton is even sort of jealous of Jughead’s unabashed gluttony, because it displays a lack of shame that Dilton finds unattainable. Jughead doesn’t worry if the things he likes are “good” or “bad”, he just does what he wants. And it almost always works out for him.

To put the situation simply, Jughead is like the kid who speed-writes his essay the class period before it’s due, and still somehow gets an A. To someone who spent a week researching and revising theirs, this is infuriating. It feels so unfair. Sure, Jughead’s metaphorical A doesn’t do anything to remove Dilton’s A. Whether or not Jug succeeds, it doesn’t affect Dilton. Except it does, because it doesn’t feel fair that Dilton spends so much time anxious and planning and monitoring his behavior in an attempt to be perfect, and Jughead can just skate on through life without worry and be doing basically just as well. Because if there aren’t serious consequences for laziness and indulgence and nonchalance, then that means Dilton’s been putting himself through all this stress for nothing. If Dilton’s way of life is equivalent but less efficient, then it’s wrong, and Dilton is not used to being wrong about anything. It’s not something he handles well.

So yes, he’s flipping out. Because he needs Jughead’s actions to be objectively wrong and in need of correction. Or else he’s got to reevaluate pretty much everything about himself.

Probably Dilton’s not even aware that all of this stems from jealousy. He won’t admit it to himself. He feels far too self-righteous to examine his motivations. But at some point while he’s chasing Jughead all over Riverdale, he’s going to slip up and yell something that reveals basically everything I just wrote up there (but more concisely). He’s going to reveal (and realize for the first time) that this whole thing is just a desperate attempt to justify his own anxieties. After two weeks of this “reform Jughead” nonsense, they say something like:

J: [at the end of his rope] “I just don’t get why you hate me so much!”

D: [also at the end of his rope] “Hate you? I WISH I could BE you! It’s not fair!”

Jughead is completely shocked by this, and Dilton starts rambling about how hard he tries to be perfect and how he wishes he didn’t care what people thought of him and how Jughead can relax but he just can’t and how Jug has to be doing something wrong because if he’s not than Dilton’s wrong and he’s failed at life and that’s literally the worst thing that can happen and—

And Jughead immediately responds by saying that’s waaaay too much to worry about. (Because it really is. That doesn’t make it easy to get rid of though.) Jughead says okay, if you’re so jealous of me, then let’s flip the script. You stop trying to turn me into a teacher’s pet, and I’ll start teaching you how to enjoy life a little more. How to care less about what people think of you. How to worry less, and know which things are actually worth worrying about. How to be a little lazy and waste a little time without feeling like you’re committing some sort of crime. I am going to teach you to be like me, for the sake of your sanity. Because if that stressed mess you just said is what the inside of your head looks like all the time, there’s no way you can keep going like that for long without imploding. (Boy, he thinks, I always thought the brainiac students had the least worries out of anyone. If being on top makes you this paranoid, then don’t sign me up.)

So that’s how you get from point A to Dilton wearing a matching sweater and whoopee cap and asking for burgers. He’s learning through imitation. (Probably too strictly exact of an imitation, but those instruction-following instincts get drilled in deep.) The original joke is that he just spent too long around Jug and sort of absorbed his vibes, I guess, instead of the other way around. But my explanation makes more sense to me. It’s not like Dilt’s being brainwashed, he’s making the choice to act like this. And why? Because he really needs to be less hard on himself, and he finally understands that. Look at him at the start of the comic: wound up and melting down over this tiny little issue that’s not even his problem. Look at him at the end: relaxed, hanging out with his friend, going to do something purely recreational. Sure it’s funny that he’s dressed like Jughead’s mirror image, but when you think about it, this is clearly a good change for him (in all ways but the twinning outfit).

I really do think Jughead needs to impart his wisdom onto Dilton. Needs to teach him to calm down and do things not for a grade or an award or a reputation, but just for his own well-being. To go out to restaurants. To take naps in the park. To worry less about school. To exist in the world outside of his strict framework of self-imposed rules. He needs to teach Dilton to choose imperfection, and to be proud of it.

Because I need him to teach me that.

As always, this entire thing is 100% completely projecting.

#yeah I know there may not be a lot of textual support for these headcanons #but I feel it in my heart that they are true #this is the essence of Jug and Dilton’s relationship #this is why they clash and this is how they bond #archie comics #dilton doiley #jughead jones #more writing than anyone cares to read #just think to yourself… WWJD? then go eat a snack and be at peace with the world #also I love that dilton’s glasses frames are blue #that’s a detail I see fairly often and it makes me smile

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amor-immortalem · 2 years ago

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I really love your Azalea fics. I read your Mammon economy fic and another one shot and they were chef's kiss. I want to thank you for writing such wonderful angst. It always brings me great comfort. I was wondering if it was possible to make a masterlist just for her stories? I found one miraculously in my feed and I have read like 4 overall, but they were all out of order. I checked your masterlist from 1-4 but I was a bit lost. I'm new to tumblr but I apologize for being a dumb ass 😅 Also, I'm an only child, but I could still feel her pain. I always ended in tears from the few fics I read. I know Azalea ain't a saint, but Mammon's attitude is very frustrating. Every time they take a positive step forward, he always messes it up. Arella was frustrating too, but in I think I'm okay she finally seemed to understand the situation better. Since I haven't read everything, I may be missing details, but it's very frustrating how Mammon always remembers everything that has to do with their sons. Cyrus is understandable of course. But even so, he defends them when they don't have time to for example, babysit Mahlon, but of course Azalea is a brat for not wanting to because she has nothing important to do 🙃 Do you have plans for more Azalea fics? Will Mammon finally get his shit together and stop making excuses for forgetting his promises to his daughter and treat her equally like he does with his sons? I hope he does. I was a bit hopeful after reading 30 miles north but our dumb ass demon never seems to learn 😭 Sorry for going on a rant. I'm very passionate about family bonds especially in angst settings 😂

Honestly I don’t mind the ranting and I’m absolutely chuffed that you loved her fics that much.

Funfact: Azalea was the first out of the next gen characters that I ever made and even some of her mother’s traits came out of that initial draft for Azalea’s design. Idk if you could tell but she immediately became my favorite to write for out of the lot of them as her character is far more fleshed than any of her brothers or cousins.

As for the masterlist, it’ll be under the cut and the links are in chronological order for when they’re happening in her life and it’ll be updated as I upload more fics for her.

Character Masterlist: Azalea

Azalea gets summoned (a comic in which Azalea meets Max)

Everything Undesired epilogue (while not a fic about Azalea, the epilogue gives some insight into the issues that were building up with Azalea just prior to Cyrus’ return and it kind of sets up the whole arc between Cyrus and Azalea)

I Think I’m OKAY

Part 1

Part 2

30 Miles North

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Body Image Issues ( this was more so focused on Asmo’s daughter Zulima but it was about Azalea’s own body image problems so I’m including it here)

Part 1

Part 2

Of Horrible Parenting and Stubborn Teenagers (oneshot)

The Final Straw (oneshot)

Razorblades and Rubberbands

Part 1

I think that’s everything. Unfortunately I had stopped writing angst for her for a time even though she’s in damn near every next gen fic in on way or another due to me feeling that writing about her issues was getting boring for readers so I think I only have those four fics about her that you read, but I have 2 or 3 (maybe 4 even) WIPs of angst for her that I never posted that maybe I’ll be motivated to finish now. And tons more to write about.

Can I have your @ so I can tag you in new stories for her? (If not that’s okay too)

As far as the rest of your ask goes especially in regards to Mammon and his treatment of his daughter. I want to write their relationship getting better due to my own need to have that parent-child reconciliation but because I currently have and have always had a shitty relationship with my own father, it just never seems like a genuine resolution and feels… fake-for lack of a better term.

You know what they say, write from experience, or something along those lines

Also i do want to kinda clarify that Mammon’s not solely responsible for how he treats Azalea over her brothers as she doesn’t communicate her own schedule with him since she just doesn’t trust her father- and to a certain extent her mother- with that information anymore. Like he’ll text her to find out what’s going on in her life and she’ll just straight up leave him on read. Mammon and Arella can’t plan around or take into consideration a schedule they don’t know and that’s where alot of this comes from.

#character masterlist #azalea #answered asks

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gayymomgod · 4 months ago

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i made a zine while back with a short story for andres and sebastian! after doing a local art fest, i finally decided to post it publically on here! story under the read me ^_^

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uncharted feelings

publically shared September 3rd, 2024!

3,164 words!

It’s an ordinary day, honestly. It’s only the beginning of fall. Leaves are starting to turn red and orange and frankly, in the Midwest, it’s quite a lovely sight. The end of 2015 is coming around soon, and even though it’s still further away, knowing that this is their second to final year of high school only seems to emphasize that. It’s a little scary. ------ Two teenagers have a heart to heart.

(also avaliable on my website! there's also an accompanying playlist for this short story!)

Quiet murmurs of a once focused class start to heighten in volume when the final bell rings. People chatting and scurrying away, another school day has finished. Sebastián, who hadn’t realized the time, started to hurriedly pack their items. Andrés is waiting, and the last thing they want to do is keep them waiting.

Saying goodbye to the teacher while putting on their backpack, they finally properly leave class.

It’s a little scary.

That’s beside the point, though. Their current goal was to now make their way to Andrés and get out of here. It’s unbelievably crowded, and as much as they love keeping up with their academics, they just want to be with Andrés right now.

And that they get; after pushing through crowds of people trying to leave, they finally reach their designated little corner where both them and Andrés meet up. Andrés, who was standing against the wall keeping an eye out for the other, finally caught sight of Sebastián, straightening up.

“Sebas!” Andrés greeted, walking up to the other as their smile slowly grew. “So, we ready to head out?”

The other nodded, running their hand through their hair. “Yeah. I’m so ready to get out of here.”

“Alright! Let’s get goin’ then.” They started to lead the way to their usual exit, making sure that Sebastián was following beside them while not crashing into anyone.

As they exit, they continue to hold onto each other as they walk home together. Andrés breaks the small silence. “How’d your day go?”

“Ah, it was fine.” They responded. “Same as usual, I guess? Did my work, kept up my good grades, got a little bored. You already know how math class goes for me, though.”

“We literally have the same class.”

“Exactly, haha. So, it was just... Okay.” They shrugged. “Nothing of importance. How was class on your end?”

“Meh.” They visibly shrugged. “Boooring. Snuck in my mp3 player in English class, I don’t think my teacher cared.”

“You still have that? I thought you were going to get like... A proper smartphone this year.”

“Nah, still have it. My parents still don’t want to give me one, which I mean... I get it. They’re pretty expensive, my mom has better do with her money.”

“Didn’t your mom get herself a phone a while back?”

“Yeah. Whatever, I guess. I already have issues with them, I’m not starting shit because of some smartphone.”

Sebastián sighs. “Yeah no, same here. It’d be awesome to get it someday though.”

“I’d message you a fuckton while in class.”

“As if you don’t message me a ton outside of class already.”

They both giggle amongst themselves. The traffic near the school quiets down as they continue to make significant distance away from their school. No longer holding onto each other, Andrés spots the park they always walk past as they go home.

“Oh! Sebastián!” They turn to the other, tugging on their sweater. “Let's go chill out at the park together, yeah? It’d be fun to be able to hang out.”

“Ah, uhm,” Sebastián looks at their watch, checking the time. “Uh... I don’t... think I can. I’ll get in trouble with my parents, and I’ve got homework to do...”

“Oh.” Andrés’s smile lessens, letting go of their sweater. They shrug regardless. “Oh well, that’s alright. I’m not gonna force you, I know how your parents are.”

A silence falls between the two as they continue walking. But Sebastián slows down, looking at the park.

“Sebas?”

“You know what?” They look at Andrés. “Maybe hanging out a bit won’t hurt...” They did miss them, after all. They’re not going to say that outloud, however.

But it doesn’t seem like they need to. Andrés’s eyes lighten up, doing a small little dance. “GOD yes. I’ve missed you sooo much, it feels like school is eating me UP I need my Sebas and Andrés time before I EXPLODE!!!” They say hurriedly, grabbing onto Sebastián’s sweater and immediately pulling them towards the park. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

Sebastián stumbles along, laughing. “Okay, okay! I’m going!”

They both make their way to a small playground. It’s nothing too big, it’s obviously intended for younger children, but it’s also a nice place to just hang out. There aren’t any children around, the wind isn’t too cold, and the nearby pond is nice to watch.

Sitting down on an empty bench near the pond, Andrés places their backpack next to themself, taking their mp3 player and little earbuds out of the front pocket. Sebastián places their backpack on the ground.

“You wanna listen to some music? An earbud for you and one for me? I downloaded more shit.”

“Oh. Sure. Only if you skip any of the Julia Brown albums and Teen Suicide, it’s a little depressing for my taste right now.”

“Cool, I can do that.”

Sebastián’s gaze made its way towards the pond and the way it glistens in the sunlight, all while Andrés sets up their mp3 player with their little playlist, just for them two.

“What music did you add on?” Asked Sebastián, their focus back on Andrés.

“Some songs that one artist I found on Bandcamp a while back, if you remember. Car Seat Headrest.”

“Oh yeah, I remember.”

“Yeah, found some songs I think you might like, dunno. I also found out about another artist, Starry Cat. By the same guy who did Julia Brown, I think. It’s as depressive I guess, so we can listen to those some other time. A bunch of shit from other artists too,” Andrés clicked through their songs, “Erica Western Teleport, Are You Kissing Anyone, It’s Only Sex, that one’s by Car Seat Headrest, Alive…”

“We can start with that one by Car Seat Headrest.”

“It’s Only Sex?”

“Yeah.”

“Good choice,” they say in a silly manner, smiling at the other. Andrés clicked onto the song, placing their own earbud into their ear while Sebastián did the same. Pressing play, Andrés leans on Sebastián’s shoulder, relaxing into their friend’s arm while the song plays. “Man.” They start, “I’ve missed you a fuckton, lately. I barely see you anymore.”

“Sorry,” Sebastián apologizes, leaning their head onto the other. “Parents are getting on my ass about my grades.”

“Whaaat?? Dude, all you do is like...School. That’s like your whole life.”

“I know, but shit’s been slipping lately and it’s…” They sink into the bench, sighing. “I feel like I can’t keep up anymore, I don’t know. I think they’re catching on and have been a lot more… irritable lately.” Sebastián picks at their sweater, their gaze avoiding Andrés’s. “They’re worried about me not being able to get into a good college, especially since senior year is literally next year. Classes feel like they’re getting harder, the world feels like it's getting louder.” They now look at the pond, “All while I’ve had some… stuff on my mind.”

Andrés slightly tilts their head to the side. “Stuff? What kind of stuff?”

“... Is it alright if I talk about some kind of personal shit with you?”

“Yeah dude, anything.”

“Just don’t make fun of me.”

“I won’t, Sebas. Lay it on me.”

Sebastián looks at the other nervously, before looking back down, now fidgeting with their sweater’s drawstrings. “I’m entrusting you with this, especially since you know about this more than I do.” They didn’t notice the song's volume lowered at all until now. Andrés is even sitting up now, looks like they’ve got Andrés’s full attention. “So- like, listening to this song it sorta reminded me, uhm… I’ve been thinking about what you’ve told me. Regarding sexuality and whatever, right? Mainly in which one applies to me.”

“Right.”

“So, like… I just… feel lost, I guess… Gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual… none of them apply to me. At least, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like- I just don’t feel anything. I don’t think I ever remember having a crush on anyone growing up. I’ve never dated, I’ve never had interest doing so, but I always chalked it up to having no time to do so. Thinking about it now though, it no longer feels like that. I can’t imagine myself with someone, with anyone. Romantically or sexually, I mean. I’m not feeling what I’m supposed to, I think. My parents expect me to get a girlfriend, get married, settle down, have a good job and have some kids. But when I watch other people our age date or whatever it’s like…” They let go of their sweater’s drawstrings. “I don’t want that. I never have. Is that- is that possible? To just… not want to date or shit?” Sebastián now looks at Andrés. “There’s so much focus on dating and romance that it feels like it isn’t.”

Pouring their heart out to Andrés does make Sebastián feel better about this whole ordeal, even if they haven’t gotten a reaction yet. They haven’t been able to share this with anyone, and nobody’s as understanding as Andrés, so finally being able to verbalize this, feels… relieving. Less lonely.

“Damn Sebas,” Andrés starts, “It sounds like you’ve been holding this in for a while.”

“I’m- I’m sorry. I’d meant to share sooner but…” They shrug. “I got scared.”

“Hey, you’ve nothing to apologize for. I get it, it takes a shitton of time to put this kind of shit into words, I get it.” They smile warmly at Sebastián, placing their hand on top of the other’s own. “You know I’m here for you. Plus, you’ve been very accepting of my own shit.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess it’s just… I’m scared of not reaching my parents’ expectations. They’re already getting upset at me for not doing well in school anymore. They’re upset I won’t be able to go to college and get a good paying job, especially which like- I get. I mean, they immigrated here for a reason. I should be able to give them that. But if I can’t give them that, if I’m not able to settle down and have kids and have the life they expected of me then… I don’t know. I feel like I’m disappointing them.”

“Sebas,” Andrés reaches out for Sebastián’s face, their hand now warmly on their cheek as they guide the other to look at them. “It’s your own life. I know we’ve talked about this before, but it really is. I mean, hell! My parents do the same! But they came here to give me an opportunity for a better life and this,” They gestured to themself, "Is the better life I want. Being queer is the life I want. And-” They sigh. “I know it’s harder for you to break away from since you’re such a rule follower but… you should be able to choose what you want to do with that. Even if it means breaking away from their expectations. Even if it means not settling down and shit.”

There’s a small silence that falls between the two. Andrés now scooches over closer to Sebastián, leaning slighting on the other. It’s a comfortable silence, almost as if everything that had been said was just being slowly taken in.

“Oh and, Sebas?”

“...Yeah?”

“I think I know what might be able to help you with your shit from earlier. I’ve a label that might fit, if that’s what you want.”

“It… might.”

“You should look into what aromantic and asexual are. I just found out about those two not too long ago. I found out about them through some blog post.”

“Aromantic and asexual…? I can kind of assume what they mean, probably, but… can you share with me? Maybe?”

“Yeah, of course!” Andrés sits up, “Okay so I’m going to do my best to keep it simple. Aromantic means experiencing little to no romantic attraction and asexual means experiencing little to no sexual attraction, from what I remember. There are like… other labels that go within the two, but we can figure that out together another time. So, with you saying you don’t feel either romantic or sexual attraction, or something like that, you might really like aromantic and asexual. Or as some call it, aroace.” They say that last part quite proudly, in a silly, fun way. “So, you’re not gay, bi, straight or whatever the fuck. You’re not alloromantic or allosexual. Which uhm- alloromantic means anyone who isn’t aromantic and allosexual means anyone who isn’t asexual if that… makes sense.”

“...huh.”

“So, someone can be biromantic and asexual, which makes them alloromantic. Or someone else can be aromantic and homosexual. That’d make them allosexual. Which that’s… I think that’s called the sexual attraction model. Not everyone uses that though.”

Sebastián sits in silence as they take it all in, thinking about it further. Is this label for them? Can they actually be aroace, as Andrés put it? Are they not the only one? Andrés looks at them still with that warm, patient smile. They know that Sebastián takes a while to think about this, especially if this has been something that’s been weighing on their heart.

The wind blows. The trees sway slightly.

“Is it… really okay?”

“Yeah, of course it is!”

“How do you… how do you know all of this?”

“Like I said, I found it through some blog post. I was actually questioning it myself. Recently found out that I’m aromantic and asexual.”

Sebastián looks at the other with a bit of a surprised expression. “Really?”

“Yeah. Made a whole lot of shit make sense. Why I never found myself crushing on boys. Or even girls, really. Not anyone. Why I always felt so isolated when talking about romance or sex or whatever. It never clicked for me. I don’t want any of that.”

“Does that… not upset you?”

“Why would it?”

“I don’t know. I guess there’s just so much focus on romance and crap that it’s like- it’s impossible to escape. We’re expected to be in love and have sex. Everyone our age is doing that. It’s what everyone focuses on. It feels like I’m missing out on something I should have.”

“No, it doesn’t upset me. I honestly don’t really care about what others want out of me; I’m allowed to do the shit I want to do. I already don’t identify as a girl. Why would I let others dictate my romantic and sexual shit? That’s up to me.”

Andrés looks at the other, who is now looking awfully shy and- ashamed. Ah. Their hand reaches out to hold Sebastián’s own.

“...Look, I know I don’t care about what others think, but that’s me. I’m just like that. I know you do care, though. I know you care a lot so-” They sigh. “It might be hard. Just… take your time with it, okay? Don’t let me tell you who you are, either. Think about it. And if you decide to identify as nothing at all, that’s fine too.”

“It’s not that,” Sebastián starts, “I want to not care, the way you do. Aromantic and asexual do seem to be for me but it’s just… that means I won’t live up to what my parents want. And that- that gives me a whole lot of anxiety.”

Looking out onto the pond, Andrés squeezes Sebastián’s hand. “It’s your life. I’ve already been unafraid of being myself, but it’s fine if you’re not. It takes time.”

“Are you- are you really okay with the idea of not having a romantic relationship? I mean- you’re always so chismoso, especially in regard to people’s relationships I just sorta thought…” They trail off.

Andrés shrugs. “I’m just nosey as fuck. I don’t want to be in a relationship myself. Plus, I have you.”

“Is that even enough?”

“More than enough. It is to me.”

And with final response, they both fall into another silence. It’s longer this time, but warmly content. Andrés’s words seem to ring in Sebastián’s head, a fuzzy feeling growing in their chest knowing that this is enough for the other. That they’re enough for Andrés. And…perhaps…this is enough for Sebastián, too.

The music continues playing in their earbuds, listening to songs about love and sex, knowing that’s something outside of their reach. Well- they’ll still have love, just not the kind these songs are talking about. But that's not so bad, maybe. With the sky gradually becoming more orange by the hour, Sebastián looks down at their watch. It’s been a few hours since school ended. Oh goodness.

“Hey, Andrés?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s getting late. I think we both should be heading home.”

Andrés groans dramatically, laying down on Sebastián’s lap. “Noooo! God, not yet!”

Giggling at their friend’s reaction, Sebastián runs their fingers through the other’s hair. “Come on Andrés, I have homework I need to do, and I’m sure you do, too. I don’t wanna get in trouble right now, either.”

Andrés sighs, resigning as they sit up. “Fine. I don’t want you getting in trouble. I think I’ve kept you here long enough.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. I just miss you.”

Andrés takes their earbuds and puts them away, all while pausing the music and turning off their mp3 player. Sebastián grabs their backpack from the ground, now standing up. The other zips up their backpack, and finally gets up, as well.

“I hope this talk helped you out, Sebas.”

“It did. It… it makes things make sense.” They say, now reaching out to hold the other’s hand. “It might take a while for me to fully accept though.”

“That’s fine. There’s plenty of time in this world anyway.”

Sebastián giggles. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Plus,” Continues Andrés, “You can always message me if you need to. I can send you those blog posts I was talking about.”

“That would be helpful, actually. I would love that. Thank you, Andrés.” They both start to walk slowly together. “I really don’t know what I’d be doing without you. You’ve been so accepting of me despite… everything.”

“It’s nothing, Sebas. You’re just as accepting of me! It’s a lot less scary and more fun to do shit with other people. And to know you have those people.” They point out, smiling warmly at Sebastián. “It’s nice knowing I have you.”

Sebastián smiles fondly, nodding in agreement. “It’s nice knowing I have you, too.” They squeeze Andrés’s hand softly, lovingly.

“Okay now let’s go hooome! I’m gonna send you a shitton of messages, you have to help me do my homework! I’m not gonna know SHIT!” Andrés now pulls Sebastián along, giggling.

“Gah! Okay!” Laughs Sebastián, happily following Andrés home.

#esmé sillies #aroace #aromantic #asexual #sebastian and andres #oc #oc short story #short story #3k+ words

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suchagallabitch · 2 years ago

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but we can patch it up good

therapy notes & journals over the span of Ian, Mickey and their children's life. Inspired by the fic 'The Good Part' by @doodlevich

CW: bipolar disorder, anxiety, mentions of childhood abuse

March 7th, 2022 - IAN

I can practically hear Mickey’s snicker about how I’m like a twelve-year-old girl writing in her diary. He’s … probably right but fuck it. Dr Grayson said I should write my feelings down, that it's easier to find patterns in episodes and when they're coming so I guess the whole journaling won’t be that bad. I did once, a long time ago. A fucking lifetime ago. It was a good outlet then, so probably will be now too. Just hope have to make sure my mind isn’t going everywhere this time. Clear head, clear thoughts. Plus, Mick always says I’m full of shit because I think we should have more hobbies than all we do is sit around and smoke all day which - i’d like to defend is a great hobby. But what’s one more - This counts as a hobby right? It should this feels like shit ton of work already. I don’t know what I’m supposed to write, I feel like that’s coming more clear with every sentence I write… Grayson said to write a full page. Why is this fucking paper so long. Ummmmm. Today’s Sunday. Pretty decent week, boring. Maybe boring is good. Mick and I signed on another farm to our schedule, they’re paying us pretty good considering they’re kinda far. They’re giving us fruit too. Like organic fresh fruit. I know is kinda trivial but I mean it’s something right? OH Lip, Tami Freddie and Robbie came down from Milwaukee Friday. The kids are getting so big. Last time I saw Tami she was pregnant and now Robbie can hold his head up. Time fucking flies. Anyway, I’m glad Lip’s back, missed him. He, Carl, Mickey, and I are supposed to go to this axe-throwing thing Carl found. Sounds like it's gonna be a shitshow but I think it’s also gonna be fun. Fuck maybe Mick was right I do kinda feel like a teenage girl right now.

Whatever. Ian fucking focus. I’m supposed to write how I’m feeling. I feel good. Better than I think I ever had. That’s a fucking crazy thought. Shit. A large part of that is Mickey. He’s in the kitchen right now, I can hear him curing at our pots and pans. Think he’s trying to figure out how to use the oven. Dumbass. We have our problems, and probably always will but that's okay. I should probably stop my fucking diary time -fucker’s in my ear- and help him before he blows our apartment up.

Final thoughts: It’s good. Life’s good. He’s good great

How am I feeling today: Good, Hopeful, Content.

[read the rest on AO3!]

#gallavich #gallavich fanfic #shameless us #ian and mickey #gallavich oneshot #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #mickey milkovich #elle writes #bipolar disorder #ruby 🐝#autumn 🍂

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shouyouwrites · 4 years ago

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Hey so this is my first ever request... like ever and I’m choosing you so... Congratulations! Aight so I’m asking for a a head cannon of Kuroo, Akaashi, and Bokuto with a s/o that fell asleep in the car and so they have to carry her into the house and CUDDLES AND A SHIZ TON OF FLUff. Thanks in advance.💕💓💖💕

hi sweetie!! thank you for your request, it was so cute! i’m sorry this took so long and also, i wasn’t really sure how to go about this?? but i hope you’ll like these, i had so much fun writing them! these take place after the time skip, since they’re driving a car and then carrying the reader home and all, it feels weird for them to be teenagers haha and i assumed they lived with the reader when writing this so ;) hope you enjoy!! 💕💕

♡ Kuroo Tetsurou ♡

He expects it. When he sees how often you yawn and close your eyes, when he notices how hard it is for you to keep them open, he realizes that the possibility of you falling asleep in the car is quite high.

He even jokes to you about it at some point, telling you that it’s okay for you to rest a bit if you want, that you still have a long time before you reach your house, but you say you aren’t tired and that you can definitely stay awake, and so he drops the subject.

At some point during the ride, he's doing most of the talking and you're just humming or offering a short comment here and there to indicate you’re listening to him.

When your comments and hums stop and he glances at you only to find out you've finally closed your eyes and leaned your head against the window, he shakes his head and smiles to himself.

He stays especially quiet during the rest of the ride, trying his best not to wake you, and he curses a bit when his phone rings and almost wakes you up. Kenma finds it extremely amusing that he's not just talking quietly but literally whispering so as not to bother you, and he tells you so the next time you see him.

When you reach your house, he carefully unbuckles your seat belt and takes you in his arms. When he reaches the front door of the house, he realizes he should’ve opened it before he picked you up, and so he does the most logical thing he can think of at that moment. He turns around, walks back to the car and places you on your seat again, as gently as he can or you’ll wake up and all of this would’ve been for nothing, then he turns around and unlocks the front door, walks all the way back to the car again, picks you up and carries you upstairs to your guys’ bedroom.

He's so proud of himself for it. He knows how tired you must be and he’s glad he hasn’t ruined whatever dream you may be having. He goes to lock the car and bring your things inside, but then he comes into your bedroom again only to find out you aren’t on the bed, and he just laughs because he really could have just woken you up instead of doing all that, but that’s alright.

He slips inside the covers and waits until you get out of the bathroom.

After lying down beside him, you wrap an arm around his waist, and even though you're tired and can’t really think properly, you manage to ask him if he carried you there.

He says yes, and when you tell him a quiet yet honest ‘thank you’, his heart swells with so much pride and happiness that he feels like the luckiest person in the whole world.

♡ Akaashi Keiji ♡

This sweet boy panicks a little bit when you don’t reply at first, thinking that maybe something's wrong or that something happened and he didn’t notice, but when he looks at you and realizes you've just fallen asleep, he lets out a sigh and relaxes.

He’s a bit lost at the beginning, taking the time inside his head to decide if he should wake you or let you rest. He knows you must have been really tired to fall asleep in the car and so it would be normal for him to let you be, but at the same time he doesn’t want you to wake up sore or with neck pain or shoulder pain or anything along those lines, so he thinks long and hard about whether he should nudge you awake or not.

He ends up deciding to let you rest and wake you up when you two get home.

The rest of the ride is silent and it almost feels like he's driving alone, but the sound of your breathing and the fact that he can sense your presence beside him are both so comforting to him, and he’s glad you’re with him even if you’re asleep.

Again, his plan was to wake you up as soon as you guys reached your house, but things don’t really end up that way.

Because when you do get home he simply can’t bring himself to wake you up. You look so calm and peaceful, even serene in a way, definitely very relaxed for someone who’s literally sleeping in a car leaning against the window, and he can’t find it in himself to bother you when you’re wearing such a soft smile, and so he carries you home.

You mumble something when you two are covered in blankets and he smiles as he wraps his arms around you.

How you can be this cute without even realizing it, he doesn't know.

♡ Bokuto Koutarou ♡

He’s actually so energetic that he talks to you the whole way, and he gets a bit carried away so doesn’t really notice whether you’re paying attention to him or not, except when he wants you to tell him he’s right about something or that he’s wrong about something or just remind him something he doesn’t remember.

So when he asks you a question and waits, very very patiently —for a couple of seconds— and you don’t answer, he’s so confused, because did something happen, or could you really be ignoring him? But then he looks at you and sees you’re asleep and suddenly it all clicks into place.

He laughs a bit, thinking back on how you told him earlier that you were still as full of energy as always, but here you are, sleeping in the car. He thinks it’s adorable and he keeps sending you glances here and there and smiling to himself.

Some time after you fall asleep he realizes he really prefers it much more when you’re awake, because you’re there with him and he can talk to you and listen to your voice and without all that the ride feels dull in a way and so uninteresting.

At some point he’ll do something like mumble “Y/N, you’re really sleeping, aren’t you?” and when no answer comes, he’ll smile even brighter, because now it’s his chance to take care of you, it’s his chance to shine, you know? You always make sure he comes home safe when you two go out, so now it is his chance to take care of you!

He is determined not to let it go to waste, because how cool would it be if he carried you home, and then made sure you were all warm and cozy and took care of you and did all these things you always did for him so effortlessly? He loves making you happy and taking care of you and he is ready to do it this time too!

He ends up waking you up by accident and apologizing like he’s done the most horrible thing in the world, but when you tell him it’s fine, he tells you he’s glad you’re awake because the ride without you being awake was unbelievably boring, and the way he says he was almost lonely without you talking to him makes you so unbelievably happy even when you’re tired.

When you get home, he insists you cuddle with him, and who are you really to refuse?

thank you for reading sweeties!! requests are closed right now, but hopefully they will be open again soon! here are my rules and masterlist! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

taglist: @haajiime @yams046 ily angels ♡ (let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist or removed from it lovelies!)

#moon writes #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader

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n0bamak1s · 3 years ago

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lazy days - maki zenin x reader

request: “Could you maybe do a maki x reader fluff? Like maybe just a lazy day playing video games or something like that.” - @mvddison99

summary: after you shut off her alarm clock so she can get some rest, maki reluctantly agrees to a lazy day with you, and ends up enjoying it much more than expected. (genre: domestic-ish fluff, slice of life)

warnings: some swearing but it’s mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i did NOT plan to make it this long lol i’m just a sucker for writing maki! i didn’t really explicitly state what the reader and maki’s relationship is so it can be read as an established relationship or not depending on what you like! i had a ton of fun writing this so hopefully y’all like it! :)

maki zenin doesn’t do ‘lazy days’. not willingly, at least.

when you’d told inumaki of your plan to shut off her alarm clock to get her to sleep in and take a day off, he couldn’t help thinking you must have some kind of death wish to do that. you’d argue that you were staging an intervention in the name of self care. he knew the reason you’d gone to him with your idea was because he couldn’t talk any sense into you.

he also knew that you actually just wanted maki to take a day off so you’d have an excuse to hang out with her in your pajamas all day.

despite the countless times gojo would use a day off as an incentive during your missions, when you finished you’d always be greeted by the same sheepish smile and excuse as to why your day off would be pushed back. for a grown man, he sure was childish when it came to planning stuff. in contrast to the groans of disappointment that came in response from you, inumaki and panda, maki never seemed phased by the extra days you’d spend sparring in the blistering sun. while gojo moved his hands wildly as he apologized, she’d simply shrug and swing her weapon of choice over her shoulder with a bored expression on her face. gojo always seemed relieved when she’d interrupt his plea for forgiveness to a group of teenagers to ask him when the next mission was.

over the past two weeks or so, you’d begun to notice the semblance of exhaustion around maki, one you weren’t even sure she was aware of. her glasses emphasized the purple tinted bags lining her eyes, and her nose was dusted with a sunburn that was oddly reminiscent of that momo girl from kyoto. they were subtle changes in the way she carried herself as well, in the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly when she rested the wooden ends of her weapons on them. it was such a slight difference that it seemed only you could know so quickly.

so it’s not hard to imagine the joy that flashed across your face when you realized your plan in unplugging her school issued alarm clock had been successful. before then, you’d only woken up before maki once, due to an early morning mission with inumaki. that day, when surprise flashed across your face at the sight of maki awake at just 6 a.m on a saturday, now seemed a contrast to your current state. the clock read 10 a.m as you were interrupted from mulling over your breakfast with inumaki and paves with the sound of steps shuffling against the floor, followed not soon after by maki, clad in baggy plaid pants and a loose fitting tee shirt. you watched as she stretched her arms above her head, making her shirt ride up slightly from the waistband of her pants. a part of you felt as if you’d gotten lucky to see her in that moment, with her green hair cascading past her shoulders, and her yet to be brushed bangs messy as they slightly masqueraded her eyes like a sheepdog overdue for a trim. as she rubbed her eyes into focus, her gaze landed on you, clearly trying to stifle a smile for whatever reason.

“what’re you so happy about?” her voice was raspy as she straightened her posture.

oh, you were definitely lucky to see her like this.

“sleep well?” you raised an eyebrow with a teasing tone. she could practically hear the smug grin threatening to stretch across your face. had it not already been obvious who the culprit was, that would’ve been a dead giveaway of the way her stolen batteries from her alarm clock were collecting dust on your bedside table. she sent a lazy glare your way, but there was clearly no malice behind it.

“if i say i did, will you leave me alone?” her tone was almost playful as she stepped towards you, bending her knees to be at eye level with you while you sat. she probably didn’t notice that she wasn’t nearly as intimidating with her old pajamas and messy hair.

“no can do.” you no longer held shame in the catlike grin on your face. “gojo is finally letting us have that day off he always promises, and i’m not letting you use some excuse about being ‘too busy with training.’” those last few words were spoken with a monotone infliction in a weak attempt to poke fun at her almost robotic training schedule.

a roll of her eyes, but she made no point to move from her position. when she crouched down to your sitting form, her eyes remained focused on you despite the sleepiness still swimming in them. your noses were mere inches apart.

“and if i do?”

“i already told gojo to lock up the weapons, plus everyone else is occupied with relaxation.” you feigned sheepishness.

“oh noooo, i’m sure it’d be impossible to make it past his advanced security system.” her voice oozed of sarcasm and her head tilted slightly, a smirk daring to sneak past her lips.

the staring match you were unaware you’d been putting so much effort into was interrupted by a groan from inumaki. he made a face of disgust in your direction as you both turned to face him. if he could, you were sure he’d mutter something annoyedly about you two needing to get a room. your face contorted to send some sort of distorted glare his way as he got up to leave the room.

maki cleared her throat awkwardly, now acutely aware of the distance (or lack thereof) between your faces, courtesy of inumaki.

“by the way, if you don’t take a break, gojo says he’ll just make you take one during our next mission!” the grin on your face stretched almost cartoonishly at the dejected look in response to your declaration.

she was standing now. “i’ll do it, but only because you’ve already set my day back by a few hours, and so i don’t miss anything important later.” though you didn’t miss the corners of her mouth turning up as she averted her gaze.

to her surprise, you let out a soft sigh of relief in response. “thank god, my last resort would have been to make you go to training with the kyoto students instead.” she cringed wordlessly in response as she pulled a cup of yogurt from the fridge.

“what do you want to do so bad that’s got you so pushy anyways?” she sat with her legs spread apart as she ate her breakfast.

a mischievous gleam danced across your face. “well i was cleaning out my dorm the other day, and i may or may not have found my copy of mario kart.” your voice was triumphant, as if you’d just found the cure to a disease.

she looked thoroughly unimpressed in contrast to you holding down heaps of excitement. “never played it.”

your gasp of shock felt as if it could have woken up the whole school.

“maki…” your voice sounded accusatory, like a parent saying that they’re not mad, ‘just disappointed.’

“well it’s not like the zenin clan is exactly known for their expertise on video games, are they now?” she spoke matter-of-factly.

“and they’re clearly not known for having fun either, now you’d better eat up so i can beat your ass.” your competitive tone seemed to awaken a rivalry within maki, whose eyes suddenly became sharper with determination. you stifled a chuckle at the drive that came from your simple teasing.

“i wouldn’t get so confident just yet, no offense but i don’t think you’d be that hard to beat.” she teased, matching the mischievousness in your eyes, as she finished her cup of yogurt.

“oh it’s on maki!”

as you bounced down the hall to your dorm with maki in tow following breakfast, you took note of panda walking by, who seemed to do a double take of maki. she met his gaze, once again trying to look threatening despite her cozy attire. panda seemed unaffected by her glare, simply sending you a sneaky thumbs up, not going unnoticed by her.

“did everyone know about your little plan?”

“not everyone, per say. if i told megumi he’d have been a total buzzkill and told you.”

“oh how tragic that would have been.” without looking over your shoulder, you could tell she was rolling her eyes, but she did a bad job at concealing the smile that was evident in her voice.

“i know, where would you be without me?” you wiped fake tears from your eyes dramatically as you swung open the door to your dorm.

“not playing mario kart, that’s for sure.” she shrugged, feigning exasperation as she slumped on your bed. it was oddly domestic, this side of maki. it was the side of her with her hair undone, with her usual stiff uniform swapped for baggy pajamas, with her back flat against your rock solid dorm bed as she stared at the ceiling, eyes glazed over. it crossed your mind that you’d like to see her like this more.

but in case you didn’t get that chance, you were determined to make this moment last.

after a few moments of annoyance at how slow your wii loaded, and annoyance from maki at your complaining about it, considering that thing was clearly on its last legs, you were met with the flashing of the mario kart title screen. maki sat up to be met with your face brightening into a smile, making it hard for her to stop the matching one on her face. she found it hard not to get excited from the enthusiasm you had about this game, it gave her a sense of comfort that made her feel like she’d never have to worry about battling a curse again.

you handed her a controller, your fingertips brushing against her hand as you did so. her eyes flickered to yours with an impish delight to them.

“you’re going down.”

“oh?” you raised an eyebrow as you turned to click through character selections, shamelessly feeding into her competitive streak. after scrolling through the characters just long enough to annoy maki, you decided you’d play yoshi. she let out an over exaggerated sigh of relief when you’d finally decided, before turning her attention to do the exact same thing.

“rosalina, huh?”

maki glanced at you, before averting her eyes back to the screen. “what can i say? she’s hot.”

you put a hand to your heart dramatically. “oh maki, how you wound me. sorry i can't be her.” your little act was eerily similar to how the first years would act whenever there was even the possibility of megumi interacting with a girl.

“you’ve been spending too much time around gojo.” she scoffed at your antics while you waited for the crappy old wii to load the selection screen for tracks.

should i choose rainbow road just to fuck with her?

spoiler alert: you absolutely did choose rainbow road just to fuck with her.

you knew she’d never played before, so even if you did win, it’s mostly because you chose the most difficult track. but the competitive side of you didn’t seem to care. before starting the game, you moved so you sat next to maki on the bed, parallel to the tv screen. you guys sat shoulder to shoulder, yet maki still seemed totally relaxed.

“you’re going down.” she smirked, turning to face you, the second time that day her face was just inches from yours.

“i’d like to see you try and beat me, newbie.” you tilted your head towards her, a smug look painting your face as you leaned over to place your hands over hers, instructing her of the basics as you guided them over the buttons and joysticks of the controller. after all, it would be just cruel to make her go in completely clueless.

“thanks.” her eyes remained focused on her hands a few seconds after you’d removed yours from atop them, before her gaze travelled to meet yours. there was an uncharacteristically soft look on her face for just a moment, before she looked back to the screen. “but you’re gonna regret this when you eat my dust.”

“whatever you say, maki.” you muttered as the screen began to flash a countdown.

3…

2…

1…

START!!!

forget all that soft shit, you were gonna beat her ass.

your dorm room was filled with the sounds of the wii controller buttons being mashed, along with the background music of the game.

“SHIT!” you didn’t have to glance at her screen to know she’d swerved off the road and fallen, so you just smiled triumphantly in response.

when she was on the road again, you could feel her lean against your shoulder slightly as she turned. in your peripheral, you noticed how a few strands of green hair brushed against your shoulder as if it were yours. maki, on the other hand, seemed completely focused on winning the game, making her ignorant to how she practically leaned into you.

you were confident enough to know that you pretty much had this game in the bag as you kept your lead peacefully for quite a bit, that was until a certain smug looking girl next to you managed to score a blue shell.

“DAMN IT.” you watched as yoshi spun helplessly after being hit. “look at how sad he looks, you monster.” you glared ludicrously at her, to which she just snickered, but your feigned anger was quickly interrupted by the sound of the music speeding up.

FINAL LAP.

“already?” you were exasperated to see how close maki had gotten to you. looking to her, she remained with a determined look on her face, funnily enough, it was similar to the one she’d have while sparring.

you didn’t want to have to play dirty but…

ah, who were you kidding, you totally wanted to play dirty!

“hey, maki.” your voice was husky from strain of your cries of distress when you fell behind. you leaned into maki the same way she had earlier, with your leg practically on top of hers, and your head leaning oh so casually on her shoulder. she seemed to stiffen for a moment.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

jackpot.

swerving with your controller, you’d managed to knock her rosalina straight off the track, giving you a clear path to the finish line. you knew that making her all flustered just to get ahead had to be some kind of cheating, but you couldn’t deny it was so worth it to see the way her face flushed from a mix of embarrassment and anger at losing.

when you reached the finish line, it was hard to contain the laughter that came bubbling up out of you. before you could help it, the repressed giggles turned into a full on belly laugh as you leaned onto her shoulder for support.

“you should’ve seen your face maki!” you managed to get out between laughs. she simply pushed you off of her, though it was clearly as soft as possible. she held onto your shoulder so you were forced to be at eye level with her.

she opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, you lifted your head to make eye contact, your mouth in a tight line as you tried to hold back more laughs.

“you’re pretty good for a newbie though, you know.” you leaned into her touch, too focused on her to tease her over the animation of yoshi with his gold trophy playing on the screen.

“yeah and you’re pretty good for a cheater.” she scoffed, but it only elicited more laughter from you, gripping on the hands she had on your shoulder for support.

she wanted to keep up her front of mock seriousness, but the way you melted into her in this moment left her no room for her mock anger.

it was rare that you saw maki zenin laugh, but in this moment, it just felt so natural to you. it seemed to rise up out of her, like a soda can being shaken up before opening, it came out unrestrained as her shoulders shook ever so slightly.

you’d have to make a note to get maki to laugh more often.

“so…” you finally composed yourself, leaning your head on her shoulder, she looked at you without an ounce of the surprise she held earlier, as if you guys did this all the time. “do you wanna play again?”

she grinned wolfishly. “hell yeah.”

#maki zenin x reader #maki zenin #zenin maki x reader #zenin maki #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines

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tricktster · 5 years ago

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the twilight series suddenly makes 100% more sense if you read them under a specific premise that, i contend, is heavily supported by the text:

Much like Amy’s diary in Gone Girl, the books in the Twilight Saga are verbatim reproductions of in-universe diary entries carefully and deliberately created and curated by badass unreliable narrator Bella Swan as a means to achieve immortality.

Prerequisite assumptions:

1) Bella actively and persistently wants to become a vampire, both diagetically and (I contend) non-diagetically. The average vampire novel format often fails to capture realistic human behavior in one highly specific area: the protagonists are frequently mortals who grapple with the choice of whether to become a vampire. This is stupid, because being a vampire would obviously be dope as hell; particularly in the Twilight Universe, where vampires are not required to take a human life to survive, and indeed, have the capacity to live full and rewarding lives while integrated* into the human community.

(*integrated-ish; see Assumption 6)

2. There are too many coincidences for Bella to have encountered the Cullens by sheer chance, only to be the ONE person that Edward can’t live without (due largely to the novelty factor of not being able to read her ding-dang thoughts.)

3. Diagetically, the Volturi don’t even know Bella’s psyonic gifts until New Moon, but we also know that the Volturi scour the globe for recruits to enlist into the protection of their governing body.

4. Nobody wants to be a voiceless cog in a bureaucracy.

5. Nobody, and especially nobody in high school, wants to be a high school student forever.

6. Vampires in twilight are, as a group, cartoonishly terrible at disguising their true nature.

7. Forks is a backwater town approximately 3.5 hours away from the biotech hub of Seattle.

7. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney can eat my farts and they deserve to be preserved in this snapshot of an innocent author’s mind slowly unraveling.

Proposed timeline:

In 1993, there is a key system meltdown at a improvised biohacking startup in Seattle, rendering all innovative genetic modification experiments into a puddle of brown sludge that nobody can figure out how to dispose of per Federal regs, since they don’t even know what it is.

The broke founder of the startup, who for the purposes of this timeline I will call Jeff Bezos because that’s who it was, eventually grows tired of all the discussion about what to do, and just pops it in a barrel, drives a few hours out of town, and dumps it in a pond.

Bella Swan, a small child, is hanging out at a park with her family friend Jacob Black (and a ton of his friends) when they all decide to wade in a slightly murky pond. Thereafter, they are transformed.

Bella grows up as a normal, highly powerful mutant with a +20 to deception checks and wisdom saves. She lives in Arizona, but up until 2002, summers in Forks. While in Forks, she picks up on the local lore about a family of vampires who don’t eat people.

Because Forks (population: 17 + Charlie’s mustache) is boring, Bella bones up on the only interesting thing about it, i.e. Vampire Hometown baybeeeee.

In 2000, George W. Bush gets elected president, and his evangelical politics and general bumbling ineptitude informs Bella’s opinions on authoritative governmental entities.

In 2001, the Cullens make their intention to move back to Forks known, but they take a while because they need to pack all their stupid graduation hats and volvos, etc.

Later in 2001, a psychic Volturi scout rolls through Forks to ensure that nobody within living memory recalls the Cullens, and notices an anomaly in the psychic field.

The scout goes to confront Bella about joining the Volturi, and Bella immediately clocks him as a vampire, because vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human. This leaves the scout in a bind: she’s too valuable to kill, but she’s a pre-teen, and therefore too young to be transformed per Volturi authority.

The scout warns her he’ll have to kill her if she discusses the existence of vampires with any human. He then tells her he’ll be back in five years, and begins to sweet talk her on how good life will be when she’s a vampire, beautiful, immortal, powerful, etc. Bella asks if she has to kill, and dude says “nah, actually there’s a bunch of vegetarian vampires who are moving back here soon. Fucking nerds, but otherwise they’re doing well.” Bella is all about becoming a vampire, because Bella is a rational actor.

Bella moves to Arizona, and as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are unjustifiedly initiated, she recognizes that while she DOES want to be a vampire, she does NOT want to be a foot soldier in any war that she can’t support. She needs a plan.

In 2004, Bella is watching her step-dad’s minor league baseball game when it occurs to her. On her own, she’s a target for the Volturi, but if she had some people to watch her back, she might be okay. Of course, nobody fucks with the Volturi on behalf of some rando human. She’ll need to con her way into a coven who’ll have her back and also give her that +10 to constitution via vampiric transformation, which she desperately wants because she’s a rational actor. And where are the non-volturi vampires that might have her back? Fucking Forks.

Bella moves to Forks in 2004, and upon seeing the Cullens, she immediately clocks them as vampires even though they left their “we’re all vampires” booty shorts at home, because, as previously discussed, vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human.

Bella notes that all the vampires but one are paired off in heterosexual bliss, and takes note of the straggler as a potential vehicle to vampyrdom.

Bella figures out that Eddie can read everyone’s mind but hers, because Edward Cullen fucking sucks at looking/acting like a human who can’t read minds. Bella further observes that Eddie has a huge undead boner for her.

She’s found her mark. Now she just needs to convince him that she’s better off as part of the coven than on her own. Problem: Eddie’s a self-pitying insufferably guilt-striken perpetual adolescent who keeps himself busy by feeling sorry for himself because he’s a vampire, angst angst angst etc etc. Also, I think he’s Catholic, so add some more guilt in. She’ll have to win him over by convincing him that they’re destined to be soulmates.

What does a vampire used to having complete insight into everyone’s mind but his crush’s want? A method to know what she really thinks of him. Bella begins writing a “diary” knowing that there’s no way in hell Eddie won’t sneak in and read it. So she Gone Girls it, and begins to lay a trap to lure him in. That first diary? Twilight.

This was just in the movie but a stoner chases her around with a worm on a stick. Nothing to do with this theory, I just like that part of the movie. Where’s my spinoff about that guy?

Eddie won’t give Bella what she wants (eternal life) by the end of book 1, even though she asks him to EXTREMELY POLITELY. Time to hit the diary with some more promises of undying love.

Bella reconnects with her old friend Jacob and the rest of the Mutated By Jeff Bezos Boys. Alas, they cannot turn her into a physically powerful sexy immortal with a bite, so she’s still stuck with plan A) win over a whole family of vampires with big Mormon energy. It’s the long con.

Edward’s angst abruptly takes a swing towards terminal. He’s absolutely your classic sadboy, perhaps because Bella now has one (1) friend that he knows about.

When Eddie begins to drift away on account of Angst, Bella conjurs up a secondary love interest who, coincidentally, is ALSO a sexy supernatural entity, and is much less coincidentally just Jacob.

We should establish here that Edward is like a 107 year old white dude and so even though Diary!Bella pretends not to see it, Metatextual Frame Story!Bella knows that dude is super racist.

Jacob Black is three things: 1. Like Bella, a mutant (although one with shapeshifting abilities), 2.one of Bella’s oldest and most trusted confidants, and 3. down to clown on an elderly teenage vampire who keeps stereotyping him. Sure, says Jacob, I’ll take the form of a werewolf. He seriously thinks we’re all just beastmen, huh? Hey look at me now, I’m Regis Philbin because this is 2005 and Who Wants to be a Millionaire is still sort of relevant. Sick.

Edward does not like that Bella has one (1) other friend. Bella and Jacob plot to use this to their advantage and lure Edward back on the wings of jealousy.

Eddie gets himself into trouble on account of Angst and poor communication, so Bella has to go rescue him from himself/the Volturi.

Aro finally meets her and gets to test her powers, which impress him. Now she’s back on the fucking radar.

I forget everything that happens in Eclipse, so i have chosen to omit that part.

Eventually she extracts a quid pro quo from Eddie; i’ll marry you if you turn me into a dracula.

We don’t really call ourselves that, Wet Blanket Cullen replies, entirely earnestly.

Bella gets married at 18 in 2006, and Eddie starts to backtrack his promise about changing her. This won’t stand.

Well, look, he’s an elderly guilty catholic/mormon teen who probably still uses super racist terms, but she’s stuck on honeymoon island, he has certain angles that work for him, and seriously what are they gonna do but fuck? Bella’s alternative is listening to her “husband” drone on about his interests, which are almost certainly Car, How Do I Post a Minion Picture on Facebook, and Licorice Used To Be a Lot Cheaper in the Good Old Days.

Whoops a fetus.

Bella recognizes that she’s GOT to have this baby: time’s running out, and Bella knows that at least two of the Vamps in her coven will cut ties if she terminates or otherwise fails to carry this baby to term because of the conservative religious subtext. She’s going to have to stick it out for 9 months, even though it’s a risky call.

Bella gets what she wants after giving birth. “My time as a human is over, but I've never felt more alive. I was born to be a vampire.” That’s a direct quote. Except now she’s got a (pretty cute and easy) baby that she desperately wants to protect from Turning Into A Vaguely Religious Cullen Dressed Head To Toe In Cream Colored Wool.

Bella decides to fake her own death and escape with the kid and Jake so they can form i guess a detective agency. Bella will get “killed” by the Volturi, move to Sydney, and open up shop, and Jake will take the kid after her a few months later.

They’re gonna need a reason why Jake gets the kid though, and there’s only one reason to do anything amongst the Cullens: a heterosexual love interest with a super problematic age gap.

Jesus, Jake sighs, is Eddie really going to believe I’m in romantic love with your actual infant? Does he really think that little of me?

Yup.

Bella tries to draw the Volturi’s attention.

Works too well.

The Cullens call up all their vague acquaintances, who are at least kind of fun. Particularly that one dude who keeps getting angry about British conduct during the American Revolution.

Well, fuck, now the Volturi are bringing an army to fight their ragtag army of Vampires Who Are Cool And Interesting Enough That We Can Safely Presume They Are All Definitely Gay. Bella can’t let those guys die, they’re the first actually compelling vampires she’s ever talked to.

Bella saves the day because she’s OP.

All the Cool Vamps start packing up to leave and Bellz almost goes with them, but the Cullens would just keep sending missionaries after her if they knew.

Bella finishes her fourth journal with the vague warning that the Volturi are still out there somewhere and they miiiight just try and get her.

Two days later, she stages a scuffle and gets the fork out of Fucks. Her journals are the only clue.

Sirius Black and baby nessie follow once edward has stopped sobbing into his cream colored sweater and moved on to Extended Power Pouting.

Bella recruits her own army of fledglings.

Bella stages a coup against the Volturi and succeeds.

Bella sits on the iron throne with a hot lady vampire on each knee and they all kiss and stuff.

Nessie I guess forms a post punk band?

Edward dies from aspiration of a brussel sprout that he ate because he just wanted to feel something.

Charlie and Billy get married.

Charlie’s mustache develops a cult instagram following, providing them with a modest retirement income.

Jacob shapeshifts into Bill Murray and is always crashing weddings.

Bella’s stepdad is off in the B plot this whole time winning the world series with the help of a kooky angel.

There. Fixed. My soul is at rest.

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itsonlystrange · 4 years ago

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Okay I’m just saying..do you guys realize what a cultural reset canon byler would be?

Like it would trend on Twitter, 100%. People who have never seen the show before would become interested in it, ESPECIALLY people who are looking for queer representation in shows.

Byler is a good slow burn that’s INTERESTING. It’s not your stereotypical gay guys who obviously like eachother and are only there for comic relief and pushed to the back so that the het ships can get the spotlight. It has DEVELOPMENT. And it’s rare you come across stuff like that.

Neither mike nor will are stereotypically “gay”. They are just regular teenage boys who happen to not be straight. Usually gay ships portrayed in TV and Film are used as comedic relief. Or the overly flamboyant gay guy and the super macho gay guy getting together in the last 10 seconds the show.

Yes, there are a TON of good shows out there that have queer representation however a LOT of them get thrown under the radar or are overshadowed by the more heterosexual ships or shows.

So imagine, a show as big as stranger things, having its two boys be in a canon relationship. Like the internet would BLOW UP. It’d be the topic of every interview. Finn and Noah would be the topic of every interview. Stranger Things would have relevancy again.

Obviously, ST is still relevant however with this whole hiatus it’s falling off the radar easily and people are becoming bored. But this...this would blow it up again.

Obviously queer ships are NOT there to make a show relevant again, at all. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, imagine all the lgbtq+ kids that watch ST. The lgbtq+ BOYS that watch ST.

Often, when queer relationships are portrayed in film or television, it isn’t portrayed accurately. And it’s often shown as “if you don’t come out this way then you’re invalid.” Or “if you have internalized homophobia you’re invalid” and a thousand other things. Hell, I remember being much younger absolutely hating myself or not “picking a side” and being so confused with my self and wondering why I was even bisexual in the first place.

But then you have byler, which portrays a much more accurate relationship between two closer than normal boys. It portrays the internalized homophobia, the abuse and bullying people back in the 80’s (and still now) would endure. And yeah, it’s not the most accurate depiction but it’s FAR better than some other popular show’s queer relationships.

Millions of people watch this show, an abundance of them being lgbtq+. And imagine them having a ship to look up to. A ship that doesn’t portray gay relationships as a “joke”. And even better, Mike and Will are teenagers!!

Often, in film and television, queer ships are usually based around two adults. In fact, a lot of times they portray young teenagers being in a gay relationship as “gross.” They say that it’s too “mature”. That having a partner that’s the same gender as you is wrong, and that you need to be a little bit “older” because apparently being in a queer relationship is only for adults because queer relationships are just too “inappropriate.”

But then you have Mike and Will who are two 14 year old boys. Who aren’t stereotypically “gay” as the movies portray. They’re just normal teenage boys. And that’s how it SHOULD be portrayed. We need to stop portraying Lgbtq+ ships as “inappropriate” or “weird”. They’re just two teenage boys in love.

Remember when everyone found out Robin was lesbian after being straight baited? Yeah. The internet blew up. So take that and times it by ten thousand. That would be canon byler.

It’d be a huge step for the media. Unfortunately, we haven’t come that far with queer ships. It’s gotten better but there’s still a lot of steps to take. But having a huge show like stranger things have their two man boys be in a canon relationship and have it portrayed regularly, guys!! That would be huge!!

Imagine all the little kids getting to grow up with that. Or all the teenagers that are Mike and Will’s age struggling with their sexuality seeing these two boys who aren’t stereotypically anything be canonically in love. Like, that would be huge.

I know that if I grew up with a canon byler I would definitely have felt a lot more sure of my sexuality earlier on. So many kids would have a wonderful ship to look up to that isn’t fetishized or treated like it’s “weird.”

And the fact that it’d be the topic of every interview. Noah and Finn wouldn’t see the end of it. People would talk about it non stop. It’d be advertised on social media accounts, the duffers would talk about it, the stranger writers would talk about it. I mean, it’d be big!!

And yeah, it’s sad that a gay ship becoming canon would be revolutionary, but that’s just how the world is. We still haven’t progressed past that yet. And it’ll take awhile before having a gay shop isn’t a big thing.

I often see people say “if byler became canon then everybody would stop watching” which just ISN’T true.

They’d gain so many viewers. It’d be more popular than Mileven ever had been. Yes, Mileven has their cute moments, however at the end of the day, Milevens dynamic has been done before. Thats not to say bylers hasn’t, obviously a canon byler wouldn’t be the first. But it’d be the first big canon queer ship in awhile. Straight ships with mileven’s dynamic happen all the time.

And at the end of the day, ST isn’t a romance show. If Mileven didn’t end up being end game I don’t think many people would care. It wouldn’t be as big as people say it is. I feel like the fandom likes to think that Mileven rakes in all the money but that simply isn’t true. It’s a science fiction show at its core and the core viewers don’t watch for romance. If Mileven is what raked in all their viewers then season 2 wouldn’t have been as successful as it was, considering mike and el don’t even interact until the last episode of season 2. So I really think the fandom is just overreacting on that part. Yeah, people are gonna leave the fandom. Just how people left when stancy wasn’t endgame or when their favorite chatacter died or when something happened that they didn’t like. That’s just how life works. They’re gonna lose viewers regardless of what happens because not everyone will be happy with how season four plays out. But at the end of the day, it’s hot like ST is going to lose 25 million viewers because two 14 year olds weren’t endgame. It’s often easy to forget that the fandom doesn’t reflect ST’s viewership. The fandom takes up only a small percentage OF their viewership. So yeah, some fan accounts may deactivate, just like how a lot of bylers left the fandom after season 3. But it’s not like nobody’s going to watch the show, that’s absurd. Mileven isn’t their main cash cow. It isn’t even on the leader board of st’s main cash cows. If anything, Steve dying would make st lose more viewers than Mileven not being end game. And it’s been made more clear recently that a lot of people prefer Jopper over Mileven, especially with the ending of season 3. We gotta remember that, the FANDOM is mainly teenagers however stranger things main demographic and viewership is ADULTS. And I don’t see many 21+ year olds not watching the show because a ship almost 10 years younger than them wasnt end game. Most of st’s viewers don’t care about the romance

TLDR: canon byler would be huge for stranger things and would probably blow up the internet. It’d also be good commercially and financially for stranger things. Also having byler he canon would be so helpful to all the kids and teens and even adults out their struggling with their sexuality and would make so many lgbtq+ kids, teens, and adults feel seen and feel loved and feel validated. Over all, canon byler would do more GOOD then bad.

#byler #gay mike wheeler #gay will byers #stranger things #stranger things 4 #will byers #mike wheeler

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1engele · 4 years ago

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daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 2. math

Previous | Next

[warnings: cursing, mention of smoking, mention of household abuse of a teenager]

"what a plot twist you were."

—

The next day, you'd wakened with dry lungs and an even drier mouth.

It was true that smoking was bad for you—but it hadn't been as horrible as you'd thought. You'd try it again, but you couldn't see yourself becoming addicted.

Your mother wasn't home, again. You were quick to understand that she worked longer shifts now and you wouldn't see her a whole lot.

Not like you cared. Michelle never really liked you all that well. You'd probably have been dumped on the street a long time ago had your father not legally obligated to pay child support.

You'd never known him. You weren't sure if you wanted to.

She doesn't use child support for your well-being. Probably uses it to continuously feed her crippling gambling addiction and buy more pointless flowers for the apartment.

You were nervous about today. You'd never been the new girl before—and you didn't know what to expect about these kids. You doubted they were as cool as people as Larry and Sal.

You showered and put on your boyfriend jeans—which had holes in the knees, but you couldn't bother to concern yourself whether or not that conflicted with the dress code or not— and your light grey hoodie. You added a flannel on top of that which was a little too big for you. Don't forget the white sneakers which you should probably replace.

You pocketed your flip phone and slung your bag over your shoulder. Stopping in front of the mirror, you passed a hand through your hair, decided it was adequate, and walked into the kitchen. You grabbed an apple—you never really found yourself hungry in the mornings. Besides, it wasn't like your mother was around to make sure you were fed—and left the apartment.

You locked the door behind you and shoved the keys into the front pocket of your bag afterward.

You met with Sal and Larry at the foot of the front steps of the apartments, like you'd agreed the day prior. You couldn't help but feel a little nervous as you opened the door and walked down the three stairs.

"Hey!" Larry greets you first.

"Hey, Larry," you smile weakly, as you're not fully awake yet, but it still means as much as a smile you'd give him when you were awake. You turn your eyes to Sal, waving shortly. You were momentarily startled when you realized he'd already been looking at you. "Hi, Sal."

"Hey," he says your name pleasantly. "How are you feeling?"

It was sweet that he was concerned about your well-being. "Alright. My lungs hurt."

He hooked a thumb around the strap of his bag and slid it up and down. His hands were pale and veiny. His nails were painted black and the polish was chipped in a few places. "Yeah. You did a shit-ton of coughing."

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can he meets your eyes. His head is inclined slightly downward, tilted a bit. He peers at you through the shadows of the mask. Lash-fringed, blue angel eyes bore through yours.

His eyes are opalescent. It's almost as if every time you look at them they were a different shade of blue.

You're sure your gazes hadn't connected for more than 3 seconds but the feeling that spawns inside of you from that short contact is slightly jarring. You don't necessarily comprehend what is stirring in your gut and you don't have time to because Larry's speaking breaks through your reverie.

He begins to talk about the chaos the first day of school would be. You quickly forget what had happened before.

But nothing had happened. It was nothing.

When you'd arrived at school after a little bit of walking, you, Larry, and Sal received your schedules together.

"Fuck me," you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you look down at your paper. "Math is first. This always happens to me."

Larry laughs loudly. "Yeah. That does suck. Mrs. Packerton looks like a walking corpse."

Sal jerks his head upward from his schedule. "That's fucked, Larry. She's an old lady."

"I don't care. Pretty sure she's secretly evil anyway."

Sal looks as though he's done reasoning with how harshly true Larry is most of the time. He shakes his head and looks back at you. "Well, if it's any consolation—I've also got math first. So, you know. We could go together," he pauses. "If you want."

You grin. "Yeah. Sure. At least I'll know someone there."

Larry flicks his eyes between the both of you before stopping them on Sal. "Hopefully you won't have Travis again," His eyebrows twitch. "He always has math first."

"Travis?" You echo curiously.

The two boys exchange a glance.

"Just a guy we know who-" Sal starts, hurrying to finish the sentence.

He was rushing so Larry wouldn't cut in and say something but it happened before he even had a chance. "He's a little fucker we know who gives Sal shit. 24/7. He makes my blood boil."

You furrow your eyebrows. "What- why? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Sal replies. "Pretty sure he's really troubled. Not unlike the rest of us."

"Doesn't mean he should take it out on other people." Larry scoffs. "I know it bothers you, dude."

Sal doesn't reply—seems as though he's growing uncomfortable speaking about all of it.

"Hey, guys!"

A voice calls, having grown closer halfway through her sentence. You all turn towards it. A girl, leggy and taller than both you and Sal, with long locks and eyes greener than a spring clover. There was something homey in the way her chocolate brown hair brought warmth to her features.

A boy is beside her, with ginger hair with eyes a deep shade of the richest earth. His skin is pale and freckled. He carries himself with an air of bluntness and just a little bit awkwardly—his facial expression is very blank, you note.

"Hey, Ash. Shocked you aren't late," Larry grins.

"Ash" rolls her eyes at him and mirrors his expression. "You know Todd would never let that happen."

"No, I wouldn't." Todd deadpans.

Ash turns toward you after laughing enough to flash the white gleam of her teeth and a slight dimple in her cheek. "Hey!" She then says your name prettily and juts out her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ashley."

You don't ask her how she knows your name. Instead, you sincerely smile, take her hand and shake it. "Nice to meet you," you return, and then turn toward Todd. "You, too."

Todd is already an interesting character. He doesn't smile but his expression is cordial. "Welcome to Nockfell."

Your smile widens.

"Have you guys gotten your schedules yet?" Sal speaks up after having been quiet for a moment. He must've been reading over his schedule to himself.

"Oh! Yeah," Ashley opened her other hand, the one she hadn't shaken your hand with, and unfolded a now very crumpled piece of paper. She passed summer green over the list. "I've got biology."

Todd didn't even look at his list. "I have history."

Sal looks at you. His gaze easily levels with yours. "Looks like it's just me and you then."

Your face feels hot. "Haha," you suddenly feel nervous. "You're right. Sit beside me, okay?"

His eyebrows jump—that much you can tell by the way his eyes move. Tucking a strand of loose blue hair behind his ear, he replies: "Will do."

His ears are double pierced.

The bell's shrill ringing floods the halls. You wince, and you and Sal's eye contact is broken. Before that happens, though, you see Larry grinning to himself.

Weirdo, you think lightheartedly.

Everyone parts after that. Larry and Ash walk away together. They must both have biology, you thought. Todd leaves by himself to his respective class and you and Sal head towards math.

For a moment, the silence is unbearable. You've never been alone with a boy. Well, you weren't alone, just not in a group with other people. The noiselessness begins to bother you so you fleetingly think of something to say and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

"The piercings," you say suddenly.

He turns his head toward you. You look up to him before looking straight. "What?"

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, you thought. All I do is make a mockery of myself.

"I like them!" you add, hurriedly. "They're pierced twice. That's really cool. Looks good on you."

He laughs shyly. "Thanks. I like your shoes."

"My shoes?" You look down and laugh. They were so worn. "Why?" You continue to giggle. "They're falling apart at the seams, haha."

"That's the best kind of shoe," he retorts. He jerks his chin towards his sneakers, a muted shade of cornflower blue. "Look at mine. They barely fit and they're- like, super constricting. Also super ratty—but I can't seem to get rid of them."

You laugh with him. "They look better than mine, at least."

You're glad the ice was broken so fast. You liked him.

The class was boring and uninteresting as any math class would be. You do work. You glance over at Sal a few times throughout the class—not to cheat, just to see how he was fairing—and he was writing answers down with a quick response time and humble confidence within the drawl of his handwriting.

Alright, so he was smart. Not much of a surprise there. You could tell just how perceptive of a boy he was.

You stared hopelessly at an answer on your sheet you'd yet to fill out and twirled the pencil around in your fingers.

Suddenly, a pale hand with black nails has nimbly reached over and hastily circled what you assume was the correct answer to the question with his pencil. You look up to Sal in surprise and appreciation, who's already back in his seat as if nothing had happened.

You giggle before you can stop yourself when he raises a hand and raises a finger in front of the prosthetic's mouth, to tell you "shh."

Mrs. Packerton slowly pivots away from the chalkboard and passes her eyes over the class. You and Sal quickly break eye contact and look down on your papers. Sal's shoulders shake in your peripheral vision and you press your knuckles to your lips and force a bored expression on your paper.

Before the bell rang, you noticed a blond boy with tan skin and caramel eyes in front of you and Sal, occasionally shooting your friend bitter looks. It left a sour taste in your mouth, but you didn't mention it.

You find Ash and Larry before your next class. You think you've burst a blood vessel from how hard you'd laughed when you left the classroom.

"I thought I'd cracked a rib," Sal states over your laughter. as you walked up to Larry and Ashley.

Larry and Ashley exchange a look. Larry is the first to state the obvious. "What the hell happened to you two?"

You and Sal look toward each other and make eye contact. That's the last straw. You cover your mouth and try and hold it in.

"I-" Sal inhales. "It doesn't matter," he breathes out, an amused lilt in his tone. "How was class?"

"Bad," Larry and Ashley reply, in synchronization.

"Really?" You ask, surprised. "Biology can be fun."

"This biology isn't," Ashley sighs. "Not when you're just staring at cells and organisms for 20 minutes and then being expected to do work on it and understand what's happening."

"Well, math wasn't any better," you reply. "If it's any consolation—I don't think I got any answers right except for the one Sal did for me."

"I thought math was fine," Sal chimes in.

"That's because you're fucking Albert Einstein reincarnate," Larry squints. "Please have mercy on our mortal souls, Math God."

"Oh my god," Sal looks down. "Please don't make this into another nickname."

"I like it!" Ashley grins.

You know they're teasing but you can't find it in you to join in after he helped you out in class. Instead, you resign into silence and watch as countless students filter through the halls, bumping into each other as they pass and chatting with their peers.

Through the crowd, at the far end of the hall, you see him. The blond boy who'd been eying Sal in class. He was looking at him in the same way he had been then, with threat and resent shadowing his polished amber eyes.

It looks as if he's readying himself to approach.

You glance toward Larry, Sal, and Ashley. They seem occupied well enough, so you slip into the crowd and head towards who you've now pieced together to be: "Travis," you state, as you stand in front of him. "That's you, right?"

He regards you with distaste. "Do I know you?"

You suck your teeth. "No," you tell him your name. "I came to ask you something."

Despite himself and his embitterment, his eyes shine with hesitant curiosity. You take that as your answer. In spite of his stance over you and his general advantage of being bigger, you hold his gaze with blunt intent.

"What were you planning on doing when you walked over?"

"Why do you fucking care what I do?"

You shrug. "I don't know, Travis. I just think you need to learn how to pick your battles."

"Pick my fucking battles.. you know what? I think I will go over there-"

As he takes a step forward, you raise your hand and your palm roughly hits his chest, stopping him in his tracks—not because of strength (he's at an advantage, and he could easily walk right through) but because of the views he had, or rather—the views pushed upon him.

You saw the golden cross swinging off of his neck as soon as you approached. You'd also seen the gnarly black eye he wore on his face.

It was safe to assume he was being beaten at home and by a parent. And, most of the time.. when an adult is religious they will use several methods to further push it upon their child. Like sinner's guilt. And abuse.

If Travis' extremely religious guardian were to ever find out he'd harmed a girl, especially under the eyes of many others—it wouldn't turn out very well for him.

Yes, maybe you were being manipulative. But you were being manipulative for the good of both Sal and Travis.

"Step down," you advised. "This won't go very well."

You steadily meet his eyes. The stare between the two of you lasts for an even amount of time. Finally, he breaks that contact, jerks away with you, huffs, and walks his way around you and down the hall.

After that, you returned with the excuse of exchanging books from your locker, after Larry had asked you where you had wandered off to. No one seemed to have noticed Travis standing ominously at the end of the hall or your altercation with him.

At the end of school, you were beat. You said goodbye to both Ashley and Todd. Afterward, you, Larry, and Sal head for Addison's Apartments.

"You know, we don't have to go home yet," you say.

The boys turn to you curiously, as you kick a pebble as you walk along the side of the road. The beginnings of the sunset blossom in the sky—orange and fruity like tangerine jelly and amaranth pink like homemade strawberry frosting. like home. It fills you up inside and makes you feel so sweet.

"You guys wanna see a movie?"

Larry grins. "We don't have money."

"Who says we need money?"

When you'd arrived at the movie theater, all three of you had circled to the side exit. After a few moments of waiting suspiciously, an older couple exited through the doors. Larry caught the handle before it closed, and you brushed past them and quickly entered the theater. Before the doors closed, you heard them mumbling about "pesky children," or something.

Once you'd gotten in, you scanned each screening room and what movie the doors said it was playing.

You and Sal decided on a scary movie. Larry was not amused. Whatsoever. Apparently, horror is not his thing.

Before you entered, you frowned.

"We have no popcorn.."

In moments, Larry was reaching into a nearby trash can and pulling out an empty bucket that improbably had popcorn inside of it at some point in time. He then walked away, holding this empty popcorn bucket. It was so bizarre and you would have laughed had not been extremely confused.

"What.." Sal murmured, looking to you. "You think he'll come back?"

"I don't know where he would even be coming back from," You admitted.

It wasn't very long until he'd returned, with the empty bucket he'd taken from the trash now full of popcorn.

"Mandatory free refills," He said to your baffled face, pointing toward the poster on the wall above the trash can which read exactly what he'd just said. "You can never forget the hustle, kids."

"Oh my god," Sal mumbled and you barely heard him beneath Larry's laughter.

The movie was horribly made, and it still somehow scared the shit out of Larry. It may as well have been a comedy with how hard you'd laughed. Multiple other people in the theater had told you to shut Larry up but that was impossible when he was screaming every time a shadow would come on screen or the scene would change.

You, being between Larry and Sal, originally thought you'd had the best seat. You were wrong. Not only was Larry cowering into you and screaming directly in your ear, but Sal had simultaneously begun to throw popcorn at Larry's face to shut him up. That only resulted in popcorn. All over.

Needless to say, you left before the movie ended because of the fear of being escorted out by the employees.

"I'm never seeing a movie with you again," Sal squinted towards Larry. The three of you were now on the way back to the apartments. The night was thick and pearly moonlight bounced off old the white of his prosthetic face. "I think my eardrums are bleeding."

"It's the horror movies! This isn't my fault. Both of you ganged up on me and chose it."

You giggled to yourself.

Sal, beside you, suddenly stopped. "Wait, Y/N."

You stopped, and Larry halted a few feet away, as he'd been walking a bit ahead. Sal leaned forward and reached toward your face. Your body felt as though it had been zapped and you stood still.

He reached into your hair and pulled out a piece of popcorn.

"Huh." You said, dumbly. "How'd that get there?"

Larry's approaching footsteps were fast and leggy. He reached into Sal's hand, plucked the piece of popcorn between his fingers and fucking ate it.

"Jesus Christ, I can't do this anymore," Sal shook his head.

"What? It looked okay."

Recovering quickly from whatever had happened to you, you laughed.

You also inwardly denied what your body was feeling because you knew it was much too soon.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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