#Or just passing strangers if even that is too bold

[laheysdork]

strangers - stiles stilinski

summary: you decided that he’s a stranger to you a long time ago, but what if tragedy strikes and the only person that could help you is him?

word count: 4.8k

warnings: cursing, fights, angst, slight fluff, vomit?, a little violence

a/n: so sorry i have been mia for months, i moved out and am finally living (as in not being stuck in my room all the time) i have this enemies-to-lovers fic siting for the longest time in my draft so hope yall like it! the italic bolded ones are flashbacks in case it gets pretty confusing. and i would like to apologize beforehand 🤠

masterlist

Strangers—they’re not always the people we don’t know. Some of them can be by choice, someone we chose to forget.

Sighing at the thought of another dreadful day at school, you drag your feet towards your first class. Your muscle memory kicking in, you pick the seat at the back corner, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible as you wish you can hide under a huge invisible cloak. After dumping your bag onto the floor next to the table, your body lazily sinks into the chair. Shuffling inside the pocket of your hoodie, you take out your phone and click it on, looking at the time.

7.50 A.M.

For once, you are early. Class starts at 8, so you have an extra 10 minutes to waste. As you begin to think about ways to kill the time, you hear two familiar voices growing louder as they enter the class.

You know those voices by heart. The voices that would always cheer you up when you were sad, the voices that continuously came up with jokes every day, but also the same voices that have shattered the only living soul you have left. How could one bring so much joy but also pain?

“Come on, Stiles. Star Wars? Again? Don’t you have any other movies to watch for our weekly movie nights?” you grumbled irritatedly.

“Last week, Scott picked some lame-ass rom-com and forced us to sit through it so this week it’s MY turn for revenge.” He emphasized the ‘my’ and crossed his arms across his chest, smirking at the thought of his genius evil plan.

“Fine, but next week I’m making you watch Spiderman.”

His curled lips dropped flat instantly. “Spiderman? Y/N, you know I am a DC man. Why would you do this to me?” he whined in disbelief which earned a maniacal laugh from you.

“Well, as you said before Stilinski, that is MY turn for revenge.”

Losing yourself in your thoughts, 10 minutes have long passed as the coach abruptly enters the classroom.

“This is the right class, right? Yeah, I think so.” He mumbles to himself as he places his stuff onto the teacher’s desk and clears his throat.

“Since I’m busy today, you will be doing a pair project.”

And the class goes wild.

“Hey, shut up. I’m not done yet.” Coach yells which gradually silences the class.

“Before all of you got too happy, I will be picking the pairs. Some of you depended on other students too much and that is not good.” He shakes his head, trailing off the subject.

“So, uhm, I’m just going to write the pairs on the board and the instructions. While I’m at it, please for the love of God shut your mouth.”

You are surprised. As a generally unlucky person, today doesn’t seem so bad. You won’t have to sit through coach’s lectures for 2 periods, which you consider as a total win.

However, your triumph does not last long as the words written messily on the board haunt you.

Pair 3: Y/F/N Y/L/N, Stiles Stilinski

Fuck-

“Okay, so all you have to do is collect some general information regarding the market structures and make a mind map. Simple. Now, huddle up with your buddies and get to work.”

Even after everyone starts grouping up with their partners, you are still slumped in the corner, not having any sort of will or energy left to interact with Stiles Stilinski.

Thankfully (or not), Stiles decides to make the first move, his silhouette towering your sitting figure. As you strictly look at your phone, a loud screech filled your ears, Stiles noisily dragging a vacant chair next to your table.

“Y/N,” he called in a tone you can’t quite comprehend.

God.

“Yeah,” you replied bluntly, glancing up.

“I- um, I wanted to say-“

“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you.”

In fact, you actually can. Hell, you even know what he’s about to say. But you do not brace yourself for this. You can barely look at him, let alone talk to him.

“Hey, movie night at 7?” You nudged on Stiles' arms, startling him, busy going through a bunch of papers on his desk.

“Uhh, no. I’m busy tonight.” He glanced to you for a second then proceeds to occupy himself.

“Okay, how about tomorrow?”

Missing your best friends, you were determined to get the band back together. Stiles and Scott had been exceptionally busy for the past few days and you were not quite sure why.

At first, you thought maybe it had something to do with the new girl, Allison. Scott seemed to be all over her. But then there was that creepy peculiar guy, Derek, who was borderline stalking them. They started to ditch you alone, running off to some secret mission, and you were tired of it. Why were they keeping it from you? Did they not trust you enough?

“Also busy,” he muttered, his focus still fully on the pile of paper. Your mouth gaped to come up with something that would get them to spend time with you but was interrupted by the ringing of the bell. In a flash, Stiles stood up, aimlessly gathering his papers, and zoomed out of the class, leaving your deadpanned state unattended.

From the widely-opened door, you could see Stiles rushing over to Scott. He told Scott something inaudible unless you got some sort of super-hearing, but from the look on Scott’s face, it must’ve been urgently distressing. Both of them bolted out of the school together without you, once again.

“I’ll do the monopoly and monopolistic competition and you do perfect competition and oligopoly. I’ll draw the mind map after school,” you state clearly and monotonously, wanting to quickly get this over with.

“Y/N, I-“

“Is it unclear?” you snap, rather cold.

“No, but-“

“Okay, then. You better start reading.” You heavily lift your book out of the bag and drop it on top of your table.

“What the hell just happened? Scott? Stiles?”

Your quizzical eyes darted waveringly between the two jittery boys, confused and infuriated.

Earlier, the boys had invited you, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson to come over and study. For a while there, you were hopeful. You thought that this small gathering could be a step closer to things going back to how it was, but displeasingly, you were absolutely mistaken.

“I don’t know, it’s-“

“What kind of lie are you coming up with now huh, Stiles? I know you know something!” you confronted.

“Y/N, we didn’t-“

“Oh, you think I didn’t notice? That guy Derek? Then both of you suddenly went M.I.A for days? And don’t get me started with the ‘Sorry, Deaton needs me at the clinic’ or ‘Sorry, my dad called me, gotta go’. We’ve been friends since we were 10 for fucks sake!”

Gladly the three of you were left alone because you were furiously shouting at this point. Allison offered to drive Lydia home the moment she sensed the unnerving tension between the three of you.

“And now, even after whatever that thing is just almost killed us, you still think I don’t deserve to know the truth?”

You shot the two boys death glares through your teary eyes which they actively try to avoid. They looked miserably guilty, something you currently want them to feel.

“You know what, I’m done. Don’t bother chasing after me to explain. I can just ask Allison.” And with that bitter statement, you left the two stunned boys standing frozen on the front porch.

Both of you are quietly reading through the materials and highlighting the key points. You silently thank Stiles for not trying to initiate another awkward conversation, which probably is caused by your previous intimidation.

Luckily, time seems to fly as the bell rings, indicating the end of the class. Not wanting to spend another second in this hellhole, you immediately left the class.

Following that incident, Stiles and Scott tried to reach you for days. Your phone would constantly light up once every few hours with either Scott’s or Stiles’ name lighting up the lockscreen.

After a week or so, the calls eventually came to a halt. You were relieved the ongoing calls that you have convinced yourself were bothering you stopped. But deep down all those denials, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that they gave up on you so effortlessly.

At the same time, you couldn’t blame them either. You were pretty ruthless.

Things never went back to normal. You avoided them at all cost, stop sitting at their table, vowing to never speak to them ever again.

You knew that keeping grudges would eventually hurt you more than it should but you were headstrong.

They did not trust you. They lied to you. They have made their bed and now you’re just simply letting them sleep on it.

However, this didn’t stop you from being attentive towards them. From time to time, you tried to keep tabs on them by checking in with Allison. But that was until she passed away.

The news left you completely devastated and heartbroken. Even though you were not on good terms with Scott and Stiles, you were still close with Allison.

She was your best friend. She patiently supported you through the heartache of losing your two best friends, she taught you how to stand strong independently, she gave you hope on the brighter days that had yet to come, but most importantly, she trusted you when Scott and Stiles didn’t.

You were also aware of the whole void situation, which pained you more than you thought it would. The thought of the vibrant, eccentric Stiles going through unspeakable agony and remorse wrecked you.

During Allison’s funeral, you decided that letting your distant facade down just for a day to console the pack won’t kill you.

Approaching them after the reception, a surprised look was painted on each of their faces, especially Scott and Stiles. You gave your condolences to everyone and hugged Stiles and Scott, something you haven’t done in ages. Their bodies stiffen from your unexpected action, but soon they melt into the hug and cling onto you tightly, finally accepting that you were really embracing them.

After pulling apart, you excused Scott to give you and Stiles a moment alone.

“Stiles, I know you’re thinking that this is your fault but listen to me, it is not. You were not in control. You were not you. You did not do this.”

Upon hearing comforting words from his long-lost friend, he let out an excruciating sob. Instinctively, you pulled him into your embrace once again as he squeezed you tighter.

You might not be able to forgive him yet but at least you could be there with him through this disastrous nightmare.

The whole day, you try to steer clear of Stiles or the pack. You know he’s trying to get a hold of you, probably wanting to discuss the unfinished project; but we don’t need to add more to the plate, don’t we?

Once school ended, you quickly rush home. From a distance, you can hear Stiles call out your name. But being the excellent evader you claim to be, you ignore them.

Just as you think the day can’t get any worse, the doorbell in your house chimes, indicating a guest present on your doorsteps. You sigh, knowing who is standing behind that door and this time you can’t dodge it.

So much for being an excellent evader.

“What?” you ask, getting straight to the point.

“We haven’t finished our project. I want to help you do the mind map.” He stares at you innocently, fumbling with his hands.

After all these years and he still got those puppy eyes.

“It’s fine, I can do it myself.” You try closing the door but he beats you to it.

“Come on, Y/N. I don’t want you ratting me out to Coach for forced labor, so please just let me in and we’ll work on it together,” he whines, hand still holding the door open.

Even after everything, you still can’t bring yourself to decline him. You have always had a soft spot for Stiles, which you are planning to terminate because it is starting to be troublesome.

“Fine,” you grunt in defeat.

A favorable grin is plastered on his face as he steps into your house.

Things seemed to change after Allison’s death. You noticed fresh faces joining the pack while familiar ones went away.

But out of the several new members, one had caught your eye the most. Her name’s Malia if you’re not mistaken; a snarky brunette, who’s built like a model too by the way.

From what you could tell from the persistent PDA, she was dating Stiles. Yeah, you weren’t exactly in a position to have a say on it, but you were getting real sketchy vibes from her, or so you thought.

“Stiles, you’re still coming over right?” you heard Malia speak to your ex-best friend as you opened your locker across from them.

“Yeah, definitely. I’ll teach you maths too since you’re so bad at it.” You tried not to overhear their conversation but you just couldn’t help it.

“Thanks. You’re the best!” she cried out as she treaded away from Stiles, a pang striking your chest.

Maybe, you’re just slightly jealous.

Okay, slightly was an understatement.

It seemed like you’re still unable to completely erase your suppressed attraction towards him, even when clearly he had.

To minimize any sort of unnecessary interaction, you try to fully put your focus on the project—which works. For the past 15 minutes, the two of you are settled in your living room in silence, minding your own business.

At least until Stiles decides to be clumsy and drop his plastic cup, water spilling all over the floor. You roll your eyes and grab a cloth from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he curses under his breath as you are drying up the floor.

“It’s fine.”

No actually, it’s not. This situation right here is not fine. You’ve had the shittiest day at school and to make it even worse, Stiles decides to show up uninvitedly at your house which is supposedly your only stress-free zone.

“I’ll help you clean it up.” He squats down, trying to get the cloth from your grip.

“No, you don’t have to.” You don’t want him to cause any more inconvenience, even though you know very well he doesn’t mean it.

“I want to help Y/N, I-“

“What, Stiles? You want to help? Then please for the love of God, leave me alone!” You stand up and snap at him, a bit too loudly. You feel bad for being too hard on him when he’s only trying to help, but you’re unable to extinguish your growing anger.

He straightens up, his once warm face turn into an enraged frown.

“Is this still about what happened back then? Fuck, Y/N. I’ve said sorry, Scott has, thousands of times. But you still don’t want to forgive us. So tell me now Y/N, what should I do, huh?”

The sudden increase in his volume catch you by surprise. He has always been so radiant and carefree, you have never seen him this mad. But despite that, the rage inside of you still does not subdue.

You let out a humorless chuckle.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Stiles. You think that I get to choose not to forgive you, that I’m the evil one and maybe I am at some point. But don’t you dare pull the victim card here.”

Your sight becomes blurry as your eyes start to sting from all the overwhelming emotions but you can care less.

“You lied to me. You left me alone, confused, scared, even after knowing very well how my mom lied to me about my father abandoning me. You know how much I relied on you and Scott, but you still broke my trust. You hurt me. And you think a bunch of “sorry”s will immediately fix that? It’s not that simple, Stiles.”

You’re not screaming as loud as you did before. The tone of your voice softens as a new emotion takes control over your body—pain.

Frustrated, Stiles rummages through his hair while letting out a scoff.

“But it’s not just a bunch of “sorry”s isn’t it? We kept on calling you after that day. We tried approaching you at school. Fuck, I even tried to be nice to you earlier today. But guess what I got in return? Another silent treatment. Why can’t you just fucking move on already? You’re being too overdramatic. No wonder your mom lied to you.”

Bang. His words hit you like a bullet, piercing right through your heart.

Your once agape mouth closes shut, your furrowed eyebrows straighten. Stiles has crossed the line this time.

“Get out,” you spat, emotionless.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to-“

“I SAID GET OUT, STILES,” you yell at the top of your lungs, frightening him. With horror painted all over his face, he immediately picks up his bag and exits your house, too frightened to say anything else.

As the door shuts, more tears start to flow down your cheeks. You are exhausted. Today’s fiascos have drained every ounce of energy you have left, leaving you like a corpse.

After getting your lifeless, sickly self to shower, you directly plop into your bed, curling yourself in the soft quilt of your blanket. Needing an escape from this dreadful reality, you flutter your eyes shut, instantaneously falling asleep.

You wake up to your accustomed alarm, growling at the blaring sound you set. Finally having enough will to get out of bed, you head to your bathroom.

Turning on the lights, your reflection in the mirror stares back at you.

Gosh, you look dead.

Your skin is as pale as a sheet, your eyes are puffy with prominent dark circles forming under them, your hair is messy and icky. You feel disgustingly terrible.

Dabbing a whole lot of concealer on your skin, you get ready for school; deciding to put whatever catastrophe that had happened yesterday behind you.

Fortunately, you only have one class with Stiles for the day. The day goes by pretty fast and to your delight, pretty decent too, probably because you spend a few periods in the infirmary.

But again, the universe seems to find so much pleasure in inflicting pain on you.

Midway through the class, a sharp sting strikes your head. Interrupting Mr. Yukimura, you excuse yourself to leave the class.

As you reach the empty halls, you feel an eerie sensation creeping all over your body. Alarmed for some reason you don’t know, you scan the halls hastily. You can see nothing, but you do hear something. A bug-like, rattling noise gradually fills your ears, followed by a raspy, unearthly wheeze.

What the fuck is happening?

You’re shivering, cold sweats covering your body. Not being able to stand the unknown terrors, you abruptly sprint to the vacant locker room.

Bad idea. Should’ve picked a more crowded room.

Securing yourself in a room alone definitely does not make you feel any safer. The rattling has stopped but the ominous feeling only grew more prominent.

You are about to escape before sudden nausea hits you. Before you knew it, your knees drop to the floor, your throat retching, vomiting a slimy, ink-like substance.

Now you are horrified.

The door to the locker room flies open, showing two familiar figures. Their eyes find your unusually glowing whiskey-colored ones.

“Fuck, she’s one of them,” Stiles spoke, eyes fixated only on you.

Scott rushes over to you as Stiles stands still, trying to let the sight in front of him sink in. While bracing your fragile body to a steady sitting position, Scott checks in on you with a few “are you okay?”s to which you shake your head.

“What is happening to me, Scott?” you question, panic in your eyes.

After hearing a very complicated and detailed explanation about chimeras and the dread doctors, you are left speechless in front of all the members of the pack who came running right away at the bad news a while ago when you were still seated frozen in a shocked haze.

“Okay so, let me summarize everything,” you mutter so softly to the point it sounds like a whisper while standing up, Stiles hands instinctively finding your body to support you.

“I am a chimera, which is a scientifically-made supernatural creature. The dread doctors, the psychos who are behind this, are going to take me away,” you enunciate to the pack—more like to yourself—to prove your understanding of the matter in which Scott nods in return.

He then tries to come up with a plan to save you from being taken, but you’re not really listening.

Even though you look composed, you are actually on edge, occasionally convincing yourself that everything is under control.

From the very little you heard, basically, they plan on keeping you here in the locker room for the rest of the day—something to do with the telluric currents.

After the plan is finalized, everyone departs for their appointed roles, leaving only one person behind to watch over you.

Out of everyone in the pack, why him?

“I have a spare shirt in my locker, do you maybe want to change into them?” Stiles pointed to your now stained white T-shirt.

You are about to refuse the boy’s offer but looking at the matching black splatter on your shirt and the floor makes you feel queasy, so you comply.

“Okay, we’ll go to the boy’s locker room and leave this mess here.”

“We should clean it-“

“No, you’re not in the state to do any work. I’ll ask someone to clean it up later.” He grabs your arm and leads you out the door to the boy’s locker room, which is no different than the girl’s, pretty disappointing.

Stiles rummages his locker for a second before handing his grey shirt to you.

You stare at him, waiting for him to give you some privacy to change your clothes. But it seems like he isn’t getting the memo.

“What?” he blurts so blatantly as you sigh in return.

Oh God has he always been this slow?

“Are you planning on cheating on Malia? Because I’m about to change here and unless you’re blind, you’re going to have to see me pretty much naked.” His jaw drops at your snarky remark. His face growing warmer as it’s tinted with a crimson color.

“O-Oh yeah, of course. I’m no longer dating Malia though but uhh that’s not important. I’ll turn around- Or do you want me to leave the room? I can do that.” He fidgeted, totally taken aback and flustered.

“Don’t leave me alone, please. Just turn around.”

Both of you are astonished by your statement. But it’s the truth. Alone, you were petrified. At least being with Stiles makes you feel a little more secure.

Just a day ago you were shouting for him to leave, but now you practically begged him to stay. How ironic.

After you have changed into his cozy oversized shirt which for the record smells like his aftershave that you liked, you keep away your dirty shirt, sit on the bench beside him, and thank him.

Once again, silence befalls the both of you. The air between you two today has somehow shifted from yesterday. It’s still thick and tensed, but not full of rage and resentment.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he mutters after a while with his head low.

“Stiles-“

“No, I have to say it. You were right. I was so stupid. I should have never blamed you for not being able to trust me. I’ve hurt you, Y/N, and I deserve this.” His regretful honey eyes are fixed deeply into yours.

Despite the guilt building up inside your body, you do not reply to him straight away. You need time to process this.

Are you still mad at him? Yes. But do you feel bad for being mean towards him? Also yes.

As you are contemplating, the door to the locker room swings open, revealing Scott and the others.

Liam is clutching a large navy duffel bag in his hand, its contents still a mystery to you. Lydia and a man who you aren’t familiar with are carrying a bunch of radio transmitters. Malia is holding a steel bat, which later on is passed over to Stiles.

Once they are all inside, they start to get busy. Lydia, Stiles, and the guy—Parrish, according to what you heard the pack calls him—go around the room, placing the equipment all over it. Malia and Liam are near the door, pushing the shelves to cover all the exits except the main one. And Scott is hovering over the duffel bag which was placed earlier on the bench across you.

He slowly zips the bag open, inspecting it. Being your inquisitive self, you lift your head up to get a better view. But before you get a sight of anything, Scott zips it back close and takes it with him.

After everyone’s done with their designated tasks, they all gather to form a small circle, yourself included.

“Okay, Lydia and Parrish, you two stay in the car outside. Malia and Liam, stand by in the halls. Me, Stiles, and Y/N will stay here. Got it?” Scott instructs clearly to which everybody nods and proceed to their assigned areas.

All of them seem so prepared as if they are properly equipped for battle, except you.

Minutes have passed as there is no sign of the dread doctors. You are sitting quietly on the bench, fumbling with your fingers as Stiles and Scott pace around the room.

Your eyes darted from the two mobile boys to the duffel bag resting on the bench in front of you. Now, you’re curious.

When Scott isn’t looking, you swiftly slide to the opposite bench and zip the bag open, uncovering a bunch of weighty chains.

“What are these for?” Your voice echoes through the noiseless room, earning glances from them both.

“I brought them, just in case.” Scott moves closer to where you are.

“In case of what?” You don’t quite understand what he is implying.

“In case we have a chance to catch one of them,” Scott answered composedly.

“What?” Stiles snaps from behind Scott.

“If we can’t make the school a fortress, maybe we can make it a trap.” Scott’s attempt to explain to the two of you only receives a scoff of disbelief from Stiles.

“And you’re making her the bait?” he questions sharply.

“That’s not what I said-“

“Yeah, right.” Stiles rolls his eyes as Scott glances over to you, an apologetic look plastered on his face.

You don’t know what to feel about this situation. Yes, you are hurt that Scott possibly considered you as bait. But rationally, he does have a point. At the same time, you are also impressed at Stiles' initiative to immediately defend you.

“Wait a minute, I hear something. I’ll go out and check it. You two stay here.” Before any of you can protest, Scott fleets out of the room.

And then there’s two. Awkward silence once again engulfs the two of you. But this time, you’re the one who breaks it.

“Thank you, for defending me,” you utter gently as he sat beside you.

“Of course, Y/N. Always. I will always protect you.” He grasps your hands into his, giving you a reassuring smile, relieved that you finally drop your cold exterior.

The long-awaited moment of truce you two are sharing is sadly interrupted by the familiar rattling noise that unexpectedly appeared, causing you to stand up, followed by Stiles.

“Stiles, I hear them,” you quiver, fear rushing through your body.

“Me too. Hey, Scott?” He forms a half-circle using his palms, cupping them around this mouth. He continues to call out his best friend’s name a few more times before he retreats.

“Where the fuck is he?” Exasperated and worried, he restlessly gazes around the room.

“They’re coming, Stiles.” Feeling hopeless and discouraged, you put your hand on his shoulder, trying to calm his agitated body. You have accepted your fate. They’re taking you away.

“No, I’m not letting them take you.” His hands caress the sides of your arms, tears forming in his eyes.

“They will.” Your palms cup his face, thumb wiping away the warm teardrops streaming down his cheeks.

Mirroring your actions, he also cups your cheeks, staring at the little details of your face, memorizing them like it’s the last time he’ll get to be close to you.

Then he tilts his head and leans closer, shutting the distance between your lips. Fluttering your previously widened eyes shut, your lips passionately brushed along his plump ones as your hands fall from his cheeks to his chest, heart pounding loudly, warmth radiating throughout your body.

Just as he initiated it, he pulls away, honey eyes never leaving yours.

“I will find you, okay?” You nod as shadows appear behind Stiles’ figure.

The dread doctors.

He also sensed their presence as he immediately snatches his bat from the bench. He commands you to stay behind him which you obey.

Cowering behind Stiles’ figure, they have the two of you cornered and helpless. He tightens his grip and aggressively swings his bat at one of them but to no avail. Inching closer, they shove him away, grabbing a hold of both your arms.

You’re hysterically crying out for help, vigorously attempting to break free. Forcefully holding you still, they jab a sharp needle to the side of your neck as your limp body dropped to the ground. Your vision turns dark, the last thing you see is Stiles’ unconscious body lying in front of you.

[courtforshort15]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 5,600

Summary:  It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: This one has a fairly graphic description of something towards the end regarding death. 

Masterlist

Chapter Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

The small bookstore looks nothing short of a location where a bomb had been detonated.

It hardly resembles the haven you had run into a little less than an hour ago, dust-covered and shaking, head and body increasingly vulnerable with every second that passed by. When you’d entered the building, numerous bookshelves had been standing throughout the floor space, symmetrically and strategically placed for maximum efficiency and exposure, each one bold and welcoming in the face of new and experienced readers. Rows and rows of colorful books had been placed lovingly on the shelves, every single one of them looking ready and eager for someone to pull it out and bring it home. Displays and racks of reading materials ranging from cook books to self-help guides to religious texts, and it was as if each item was a swift and earnest reminder of New York City’s diverse population and their reading needs and enjoyments.

The small shop had likely belonged to a small business owner, their blood, sweat, and tears shed in its foundation, a testament to their love for the written word and the journeys it could take a person on. 

And it was just…gone.

“Jesus.”

His response is soft. “I know.”

“If you hadn’t pulled us into the bathroom, then we—”

“Let’s not go there, okay?”

Your heart aches as you take in the scene, and your eyes lock onto the lone bookshelf that had somehow endured the chaos. It’s as if it exists solely to offer some sort of twisted and miserable reminder of the way the shop had stood so proudly only minutes before. Books are strewn across the floor, and though some are relatively unharmed, there are others that are burnt with only the spine and a few pages remaining, nothing left but words that have turned into ashes. 

Glass crunches under your shoes as you leave the bathroom and walk slowly into what remains, a soft breeze drifting in from the large hole in the store that had once been wide, clear windows. Heat drifts in, too, the feel of it sweltering, and where it had once been the simple heat of a beautiful spring day, it’s now sticky and bitter and utterly unwelcome. 

Matt walks cautiously ahead of you, hand slowly dropping yours as he makes his way to the front of the store, dark head tilting here and there as if focusing intently on something before deciding to move on. He expertly navigates his way around fallen bookshelves, sidestepping piles of books that have fallen and huddled together, and you follow behind slowly, your feet instinctively taking you through the same path he’s seemingly mapped out for you.

When he reaches the space where the windows had once rested, he stops and situates his body so that he’s angled halfway between you and the street, head once again cocked to the side. He lifts a finger to his lips as if encouraging you to be as quiet as possible, but it’s a hard task to accomplish with the way your heels continue to press into the glass, and each step clinks far too loudly. Your shoe catches on something, and you can’t help the swear word that loudly leaves your mouth as you regain your balance.

Somehow you manage to make your way to his side, cringing as you take in the full view of the street. You don’t have words for the destruction, to be honest. A slowly burning car lies on its side up the block from you, the freshly planted trees and flowers across the street are crumbled and smashed into the sidewalk, buildings are torn apart, gaping holes yawning wide with heaps of glass and brick spilling onto the street. The sight is something you’ve never seen before, and each second you spend staring at it, the further it stains and bleeds into your memory.

You guess you’ve joined the millions of people who have witnessed a New York tragedy. It’s a club you hadn’t ever thought you’d have to join, the kind of club that offers memberships with PTSD as the recurring charge, and it rocks you to your core. 

“This isn’t…this isn’t something we’ll ever heal from.”

Though he only says it in a barely-there whisper, the tone that manages to seep in is solemn and grave. “No. No, it’s not.”

Utterly sick to your stomach, you turn your head to face Matt, needing to see something besides the trauma seeping out onto the road. The cut above his hairline is still bleeding, leaving a small line of red trailing down the side of his forehead, and in this lighting it seems to be more severe than you had maybe thought it was. With a wince, your hand twitches at your side as if you want to wipe it off, but you force yourself to remain still. He had seemed surprised when you’d tried to help earlier, and you don’t want to throw him out of whatever he’s focusing on.

Your eyes shift back to the street reluctantly, and you note that, for some reason, you’ve been instinctively waiting on his go-ahead to begin the arduous journey to the subway station. Opening your mouth, you start to ask him what he’s waiting for, but he interrupts you.

“I think we’re good to go,” he says as his head snaps back towards yours. His mouth is twisted in a grimace, and you can see the glimmer of fear that flashes over a face that’s just as weary and exhausted as yours. “I don’t hear anything nearby.”

You nod immediately, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay. Which way?”

His head swings to the side. “The subway station is a few blocks north and two blocks west, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Matt blows out a loud breath, and you watch as he steels his spine in front of you. “Then we need to go right.”

You don’t question how he knows, instead choosing to gather your strength and wits for a journey that would normally be considered a short walk. But four blocks feels like a marathon away, feels like you’re making the walk between the Shire and Mordor, the trek likely to contain danger and trauma and fire lying in wait at every twist and turn.

The whisper of your name pulls you back to the bookstore, and the tone conveys a softness that is at an extreme clash with everything going on around you. Your head turns so that you’re facing him head on, his body seemingly undaunted and thrumming with an energy you haven’t yet seen on him. It’s almost like he’s taken all the chaos around him and suddenly focused it into something even stronger, something more determined than the things flying around the city like they own it. 

“You ready?” he asks, his voice shockingly calm for someone who is about to leave behind the only semblance of shelter he’s had since this all began. 

It’s your last chance to back out, but you wave it swiftly aside. “Yes.”

His nod is almost curt in its movement, the jerk of his head brusque and determined. Without a single second wasted, he steps over the small wall of brick that had once held up the glass, only a foot or so in height, dress shoes making their way from the carpet of the bookstore to the concrete of the sidewalk easily. He turns back to you before he’s even finished stepping outside, wordlessly offering his hands to you to help you clear the brick as well, fingers grasping yours tightly to help you maintain balance.

Matt lets go of your left hand once you’re settled next to him and swiftly takes a right, pulling you along behind him for a few seconds as if to make sure you’re still by his side, before releasing contact altogether.

You can’t run, not without risking a major fall or sprained ankle, but you trail after him as fast as you can, walking briskly and jogging at random moments to keep up with him. He notices pretty quickly that you’re unable to keep the pace he has set and immediately slows, keeping himself just a few steps ahead of you. He’s somehow able to dip and avoid large pieces of fallen debris that litter the sidewalk, and you once again follow the path he’s all but laid out for you.

His coordination and agility is far beyond what you had anticipated, even far beyond what you would expect from someone who has perfect vision, and you’re left feeling both confused and grateful for his navigation through the wreckage.

There’s a haze that’s settled over the city, one filled with ash and dust that’s been both kicked up from the normally filthy streets and created through the destruction of concrete. You do your best to breathe through it, do your best to see through it, grateful that the lenses of your glasses offer some sort of protection from something getting into your eyes. 

You try your hardest to focus on the mission, focus on the goal of finding shelter, but you can’t help the sheer horror and sadness that hits you whenever you look up long enough to see the level of devastation present. Your heels feel more unstable than ever as you walk, and each step you take is clouded in fear and anxiety, even as you move as swiftly as possible with every ounce of determination you can drag up.

“You with me?”

“Yes,” you quickly reply, fleetingly puzzled, because surely he can hear your heels scraping along the concrete and the way you’d stuttered out the word fuck when a distant crash startled you. It only takes a split second to realize he hadn’t been asking if you were behind him, but rather checking in on you to see how you were doing.

What strikes you, perhaps the most, is how deserted the streets are. Or, at least how deserted these specific blocks are, though, to be fair, you aren't super close to the hole in the sky. It could be a completely different story closer to Stark Tower, which sits a few blocks south and a few blocks east, and you're exceedingly grateful that your little slice of Hell's Kitchen is just far enough away from the main action. But still, even once you turn the corner, there’s no one. You’re not quite sure how it's possible. The island of Manhattan is home to over one million people alone, and the number of people around the city doubles during the work day. It’s a place where people flood into and recede from daily, like some sort of tide that washes up and retreats.

You leave your answer at the yes you had responded with, figuring it’s easier to leave it there rather than explain the way your heart continues to drop with every step you take. You don’t expect to get to the subway station unscathed, there’s too much going on around you, and far too much out there that can cause you harm. 

It’s the city that never sleeps, but even with the crashing and the explosions and the police sirens, it’s never felt more quiet. 

Where the fuck is everyone?

You guess, you hope, that people have found shelter. The opening of whatever portal had appeared over Stark Tower had caused widespread panic, people fleeing for their lives, crashing into and around each other in an effort to get away and get inside. But it doesn’t explain why New York suddenly feels like a ghost town. 

He may not be able to see the streets, but you’re completely positive he can feel the emptiness of them.

You suppose the invasion, if that’s what this should be called (how could one word ever begin to accurately describe the chaos?), had first happened approximately forty five minutes ago, give or take, plenty of time for people to find somewhere to go to wait out the shit storm that’s reigning down. For a quick moment, it makes you suddenly second guess your decision to head towards the subway station when everyone else is staying indoors, and you briefly wonder if Matt is feeling the same way. 

But you don’t know how long this is going to last, and while the bookstore had been a temporary solution, it certainly had not been a sustainable one, and right now the focus needs to be on finding something that could outlast the onslaught for as long as possible. 

The first crosswalk lies not too far ahead, and some part of you slows as you would at any other normal instance, but he keeps moving swiftly, clearly aware that there’s no need to pause for traffic. Cars and vans and trucks have been abandoned and left for fate to decide what will happen to them, many of them already damaged beyond any hope for repair. Most have their driver side doors open, as if the drivers barely had time to exit their vehicles, much less worry about closing the doors. Some vehicles have crashed into others, and you’ll never know if it was purposefully as someone tried to escape, or if cars were thrown into each other from the force of various explosions and blasts.

But all vehicles, or at least the ones you can see, are empty of people. You’re grateful for that, at least, knowing it means that the people on this particular block were able to find relative safety.

It’s a pretty straight shot from one street corner to the one across the intersection, and Matt makes his way across briskly, you hot on his heels, doing your best to keep the pace despite the way your feet are throbbing with each and every step. He’s extremely patient even in the urgency of the moment, somehow knowing every time your foot catches on something, quickly turning around and placing a hand on your arm for balance. 

It happens more often than you care to admit, knowing that each tiny tumble, however miniscule, is delaying the progress to the subway station. 

You’re not too far past the intersection, crossing in front of an alleyway, when he turns abruptly on his heel and pushes you into the gap between the two buildings.

“What–”

But he’s shoving the two of you down behind a giant green dumpster before you can finish your question, and his body twists slightly over yours. You cling to his suit jacket for balance with one hand, and place your wrapped up hand on the brick of the wall for additional support, your quads burning slightly as you hunch over. His form may be covering you slightly, but your face is still turned towards the entrance of the alley, and your eyes are wide as they stare over his shoulder, waiting to see whatever had spooked him. Nothing happens, not for a few seconds at least, and it rattles your nerves, your body already anticipating another round of terror.

Matt abruptly shifts, moving as if to cover you more completely, and it momentarily pulls your attention from the mouth of the alley. But you don’t think his movement succeeds in his goal, largely because your head is still completely exposed, and it certainly doesn’t stop your eyes from suddenly tracking the things that fly past the gap of the buildings, some sixty or so feet above the ground. 

They come out of nowhere, sliding into your vision as quickly as they leave, too far away and too fast for you to get a clear glimpse, but you’re one hundred percent certain that it’s one of the things that had been standing outside of the bookstore when the glass had shattered, stalking down the street looking for people to kill in cold blood, no remorse or empathy for the humans who call Earth home.

“They’re too fast,” he mutters, the sound harsh even in its low volume. “I can’t–I hear them coming, but they get too close way too soon. Not a lot of time to hide.”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss under your breath, twisting your head so that you can see better over Matt’s shoulder. “They’re everywhere.”

Your eyes shift to the face that’s mere inches from yours. “You can hear–? How far away can you hear them from?”

He hesitates for just a brief moment. “Far,” he says before taking a large, shuddering breath. It almost sounds painful, as if his lungs are protesting the sudden intake of oxygen. “But like I said, they’re too fast. I hear them and suddenly they’re right on top of us.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“I…yeah. That about sums it up.”

Matt stands up slowly, bracing his hand against the wall as he reaches up to his full height. You follow the motion, not bothering to cover the quiet groan that escapes you. Your body has been turned and twisted into far too many uncomfortable positions today, and you find yourself internally grumbling about the lack of effort you’ve put into exercise lately. Every muscle in your body hates you right now, and you don’t want to think about how sore you’ll be once the adrenaline has left your system.

“Are they gone?”

Head facing away from you, Matt takes a small step forward, his focus on something you can’t see or hear. You stay where you are, ready to duck back down the dumpster if needed. The ground is filthy, the pieces of trash that hadn’t made it into the dumpster littering the concrete, and you can’t help but allow yourself a moment of disgust. 

“It’s hard to tell” he finally says with a sigh as turns back to face you. His face is hard in its frustration. “They’re–they’re everywhere. Moving too fast to track sometimes, especially with so many of them. I can’t quite…I can’t be completely positive of where they’re at or where they’re going.”

Swallowing, you nod your head as if you understand, but you really don’t. “And you’re–you’re relying on your hearing to tell you where they are? From blocks away?”

“Yes,” he responds simply as he rolls his shoulders. The look he sends your way is as dry as it is nonchalant. “It’s not like I can use my eyes, so…”

You flush. “Right. Stupid question.”

Matt waves it off without much thought and places his hands on his hips. A loud bang sounds off from somewhere in the distance, far too close for your taste, and he flinches at the sound before straightening his shoulders. 

“So,” you say, resting back against the brick wall. Your voice is shaking, just a tiny bit, but the two of you don’t acknowledge it. “I don’t think the coast is ever going to be completely clear.”

He grimaces. “Agreed.”

“And we’re definitely worse off right here than we were at the bookstore. But we’re still a few blocks away. Do you think….? Should we just find somewhere else to go inside?”

“Then we keep heading north,” you confirm with a quick and decisive nod of your head. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face and you hastily wipe it away. “But we need to keep sticking to the side of the buildings. The alleys can help hide us if something comes our way.”

Shaking his head, Matt immediately rejects the idea. “There’s too much glass. And everything–everything seems so vulnerable here. They’re crumbling buildings so easily. We're so lucky that the one we were in didn't collapse completely when that thing landed on it. I still...I really think it’s safest to be underground.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably the best we can do right now.”

“Right. Ok. Let’s go.” You pass by Matt and make your way to the front of the alley entrance fully intending on taking a step back out onto the sidewalk, ready for this to be over and dreading every inch you’ll be walking. He walks up quietly behind you and appears at your shoulder, but somehow he must sense your reluctance because he doesn’t exit the alley.

The frown on his lips isn’t as severe as you’ve seen it so far, but it's definitely pronounced. “You’re hesitating.”

You deny the comment with a shake of your head, even though he’s partly correct. “No, I’m ready. It’s just…it’s a ghost town out here,” you remark almost helplessly, motioning towards the empty streets that he can’t see but can surely hear. “I haven’t seen a single person since we entered the book store. Where is everyone? Where did they go?”

Head cocking slightly, Matt’s quiet for a moment before answering a question that had been kind of rhetorical. “There’s people in the surrounding buildings.”

“What?”

“Yes, everyone has run inside at this point, I think.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but he stops himself. Running an aggravated hand through his hair, he sighs and appears to give into what he was about to say. “But I…I think the glass makes them too vulnerable. People are standing too close to the windows, makes them too much of a target.”

“It’s a long story,” he tells you, and you watch as he sort of folds in on himself as if he’s let go of some sort of large secret he’s still not sure he should have revealed. But it only lasts a moment before he’s standing up tall again, head tilted up and mouth set in determination. “And I…I promise to tell you when we get through this. Alright?”

“How do you even know that?”

When. 

There were so many things to live for, so many things to keep fighting for as hell continues to break loose around you, but you’d be lying if you said that the thought of this man sharing something with you hadn’t just become one of them. You have a feeling it’s not something he’s shared with many, and you have the weird inkling that maybe he needs to tell you just as much as you need to hear it, if only to hold on to the thought that there could possibly be life after whatever the hell is going on in the city.

Not if. 

You stare straight at him, taking in the way he’s somehow managed to expose a vulnerability while also demonstrating his strength and determination. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

The smile he sends you is hesitant, clouded by the heaviness of the situation, but it’s there, and it’s beautiful.

“Deal.”

Things continue to boom and shake, sirens continue to blare, but you follow Matt out of the alley way without question, once again allowing him to navigate and lead you through the piles of debris. He stays a few steps ahead of you, black suit jacket covered in dust and tiny tears that must have been a result of the windows that had shattered. His hands are clenched fists at his side, and the haze that has fallen over the city does its best to pull him in, but you refuse to lose and be lost by him.

The sun is still bright up ahead, even through the smoke and the fear, and the sight of it leads you forward, wanting nothing more than to have the opportunity to live and feel it heat your skin on a day that’s not shrouded by terror.

This block is just as eerie, just as desolate, as the one you’ve already walked down, nothing but random empty cars and scorched pavement, likely from the blast of whatever sort of weaponry these things are firing around with little care as to who or what would be in its path. It reminds you of a post-apocalyptic movie, the kind where there’s nothing left to save except the gas from a gas station or non-perishables from a corner store. 

You do your best to stare straight ahead at Matt’s back rather than the disaster that’s been painted around you, but you can’t help but glance up and down, left and right, mind still struggling to link the peaceful Wednesday afternoon to where you are now. You’re in a constraint state of disbelief, some part of you still on that street corner with your iced coffee in your hand, lip curled as you send Brenda’s call to voicemail, nothing on your mind but your painful shoes, unfinished spreadsheets, and the warmth of a sunny spring day.

The loud screech and following crash from a few blocks over pulls you back into your body with a jolt, and it leaves you feeling bitter and broken. Your skin feels itchy with the dust, your feet throb with every step you take, but you’re here, and you’re alive, and you—

Out of the blue, Matt falters. 

He’s not facing you directly, but you can see that his face has lost its color. 

You almost crash straight into him, the speed of your body nearly too fast to avoid running into his back, but you’re able to swerve at the last moment, coming to a stop just slightly ahead of him. He hadn’t tripped on something on the sidewalk, but he had stumbled, his body briefly losing his coordination as his focus shifted elsewhere.  

“Matt?” you immediately question, alarmed at how pale he’s gone. His name leaving your lips is half a started yelp and half a demand for an explanation.

He whips his head toward yours, seemingly startled at your presence, and you take a quick step forward to rest one of your hands on his shoulders. Shuddering, he leans slightly into the contact, face still far too pale for your liking, and you don’t hesitate to take another step into his space.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, lips open and dragging in a panicked breath. “At the next intersection,” he begins, throat bobbing dramatically, and it sounds like he’s forcing the words out. You wince in pain for him, because whatever he’s trying to say doesn’t sound like it’s coming easily. “Not the one we’re about to cross, but the next one…don’t…don’t look left.”

Confusion floods through you, and your eyes can’t help but narrow. “What? Why not?”

Matt’s mouth opens and closes twice before he speaks again, body once again shuddering even as he tries to reel himself back together in front of you. “You shouldn’t–it’s not…” He swallows, and the motion almost looks painful. The sun hits his glasses just right, and from this angle and distance, you can see the eyes that shift and dance over your face and beyond your shoulder rapidly. “Just try not to look left, if you can help it. Okay?”

You frown, unable to stop the expression. “I’ll try.”

And you’re not lying when you tell him you’d try not to look left at the intersection, but in all honestly, you wish you’d tried harder.

The bus is turned over on its side just a quarter of the way down the block when you take your first few steps into the intersection, and its hulking mass out of the corner of your eye catches your attention unconsciously. Before you’ve even thought it through, before Matt’s suggestion has a chance to repeat itself in your head, your head is turning to look at it.

You shouldn't have. 

You really shouldn’t have.

It's definitely not the only vehicle in the street, definitely not the only one that's been completely destroyed by the disaster, but it stands out, for obvious reasons. The whole thing is covered in flame, dark smoke weaving its ways out of the pores left often by the shattered glass of the windows, twisting higher and higher into the sky. A giant hole is torn into it, leaving parts of the metal hanging by mere scraps, the tires sagging even without the weight of the bus riding on them. 

But the worst part is the sight of the bodies burning inside. Broken, shredded, diminishing.

There’s a scream tearing itself out of your throat, the force of it as scalding as the fire that’s burning not half a block from you, and it’s a sound that belongs in horror movies.

Matt is immediately moving in front of where you’re turned, effectively blocking your view. But it’s too late, the damage is done, and the scene is something that will be in the back of your head for the rest of your life.  “I told you not to look left,” he says in your ear, his voice every bit as broken as yours, layered with the same levels of fear and grief as yours. “You shouldn’t have—”

But you’re pushing past him before he finishes speaking, your mind suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that someone could be in there, someone could be alive, someone could need help, and–

It’s primal, this feeling of urgency to get there, this feeling of urgency to pry apart metal if you need to, scalding your hands until they bled if it meant that you could help someone. But it’s also irrational, because even in the back of your head, you’re completely aware that there’s no one who could have possibly survived whatever ball of fire had been thrown at the bus.

The bus had been full of people on their way to work, teenagers skipping school, men and women on their lunch breaks. It had never stood a chance, not when something had locked on to its location and found it to be a suitable destination for its rage and need to destroy. Something that had once been so full of life was now nothing more than a pile of metal, heat, and burning flesh. 

Before you can get more than five steps away, Matt’s pulling you back into him, body once again coming between you and the scene. You try to step around him again, but he blocks you, his own frame shaky and full of horror as he wraps his hands around your upper arms to keep you from moving forward.

It fills you with a sense of panic, his attempt to keep you from helping those poor innocent people, so you struggle in his hold, ripping your body left and right to help loosen his hands. But he’s far stronger than you, and so even while he keeps his hands loose enough as to not cause any pain, his grip is still firm and you’re unable to move more than a few inches in either direction. “Let me go, Matt.” 

“There’s nothing we can do,” he tells you quickly, and the words seem hazy in your mind, as if your head can’t process and believe he’s telling you to walk away. “We need to leave.”

“What? No!  No, there might be people in there, we can’t leave.”

Matt shakes his head rapidly, and the slow, single tear that trails down his face alarms you as it cuts a severe line through the thin layer of dust that has collected on sweat-soaked skin. “There’s not anyone to…there’s no one we can help.”

“How do you know?” you wail, voice high-pitched and panicked, still trying to pull away. “We have to—”

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer into your space, hand dropping one of your arms and instead coming up to rest on your cheek. The other hand soon follows, completely cupping your face between hands that are every bit as nicked and cut as yours. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes move from the plume of smoke that continues to rise over his shoulder back to his face. “There’s no one to help. I promise.”

“But–”

“I promise,” he repeats slowly, gently, and the words are so full of sadness that you almost need to take a step back. “There’s no one in there that we can save, sweetheart.”

The name doesn’t even register, but the rest of the words do, the clear image of death settling over you, even as gently as they’re said. You bury your head in your hands, the frames of your glasses digging into the skin of your right palm and the tie wrapped around your left, the shock too vicious and blinding even for tears. 

Choking back a dry sob, you squeeze your eyes tightly shut, flinching when the sound of something exploding blocks away reverberates through the city. The sound is startling enough to make you jerk your head out of your hands, and the danger you’re in by simply standing in the middle of the street, nothing hiding you from view and covering your head, sets back in. You take it as some sort of terrifying sign to finally move, nodding your head in a jerky motion and doing your best to compose yourself.

Even so, you can’t help the hiccup that escapes your mouth. “You’re…you’re sure? That there’s no one–”

His head falls forward slightly, his face displaying a sense of devastation that’s no doubt shared by all of the city. “I’m sure.”

Your eyes flutter shut as a shudder of grief wracks your entire body. “Okay,” you whisper in acceptance. It’s a painful acceptance, and a part of you still wants to run to the bus and check for yourself.  “Then we need to–”

“Yes,” he immediately agrees. 

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, one that scalds your lungs as the air moves in and out. You take a shaky step away from him and start walking, suddenly desperate to put as much distance between yourself and the bus that has already imprinted itself harshly in your head, forever scalded into your long term memory. You can’t let yourself stay here, you need to focus on what’s going on ahead of you and keep going, however anguished you feel about it. It wretches at your heart to leave those people so callously behind, knowing they deserve more than someone turning their back on them in their first moments of death. 

But you also know that you need to keep moving if you want to make sure you’re not added to the growing list of casualties, guilty of nothing more than choosing to live in the concrete jungle of New York. There will be a time for mourning, a time to scream and cry and wallow in a misery so large it would swallow you whole, but now is not that time.

And so, with one last look at the twisted kaleidoscope of reds and yellows and oranges bursting up from the overturned vehicle, you finish crossing the street, Matt just a few steps behind you.

[chicksung]

Slippin’ || P.JS

Genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, high school au, skater boy au, PG-15

Pairing: skater boy!jisung x tutor!reader

Word Count: 14.6k

Warnings: lots of swearing, underaged drinking, non explicit details of injury, kissing, she/her pronouns used, inaccuracy about skateboarding (i know nothing bare w me)

Synopsis: Three days a week, two teenage hearts, one boy to tutor and several missing assignments. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since you started tutoring the one and only park jisung, it’s that it’s not just his grades that are slippin

Sophie’s Salutations: OH SHE’S FINALLY HERE!! I am so so sorry for how overdue this fic is 😫 but she is finally here and I couldn’t be more happy to release it! A special thanks go to @lebrookestore​ for helping with formatting, editing and listening to me ramble and rant about this fic. Feedback is highly appreciated! 

playlist

Taglist: @lunaflvms @mora134340 @hanniejisungi @jisunglttlstar @yixingtion @flower-lise @mark-wife-renjun-whore @beemarkie @thesunsfullmoon @grassbutneo @jaeyunverse @lebrookestore @earth-to-that-asian @heartshyuck @jenotapes @fullbitchsun @sunfuls @duolingofanaccount @gyuwrites​ 

Prologue: The One and Only

“Do you know Park Jisung?”

God, at this point, who didn’t?

He was the boy who never said much, never paid too much attention, not even to the girls who gave him goo-goo eyes during class. To him, all that mattered was his bluetooth headphones, his god awful music taste and most of all, his skateboard. He spent more time mastering tricks on that damned piece of wood on wheels than he ever did studying. It would definitely explain his straight D’s on his semesterly report card.

It would also explain why you were asked to stay after class by your English teacher for a quick talk.

“I mean, I know of him. I wouldn’t say that I know him,” You answered, readjusting the strap of your backpack in an effort to dilute the awkwardness. She smiled gently, turning away from you to retrieve a brown folder from her desk. It was labelled in thick bold writing, most likely from a black permanent marker.

‘PARK JISUNG - MISSING ASSIGNMENTS’.

She thrusted the folder towards you and gave you a sad, sympathetic smile.

“Jisung is failing my class. No matter how much I’ve tried to engage him, he won’t listen to me,” she explained, watching you as you flicked through the familiar papers, “I’ve given him the highest grade I possibly could without any of the coursework, but it’s not enough.”

“Miss Barnes, with all due respect, what makes you think that I can help him pass?” You looked up at her, seeing her hopeful expression.

“Trust me, if there is anyone that can help a struggling student like Jisung pass this class, it’s you,” she placed her hand on the folder one last time before she grabbed her keys, “Good luck, Y/N.”

Luck? Yeah, god knows you would need it.

i. Miss Optimistic

“Are you Jisung?” You asked. Considering he was the only student who had their skateboard resting against the desk he had claimed as his own, and the only one who had a fringe long enough to act as a barrier between him and the outside world, you could only assume you had the right person.

He didn’t respond.

With furrowed brows, you repeated your question once again, but to no avail.

You bent over, the covers of your books pressing into your chest, and were met with strands of his hair in front of his partially closed eyes. Had it not been for the slight nodding of his head to a silent beat, you would’ve mistaken him for asleep. From this angle, you could see the dark cups of his headphones and you were going to take that as the reason he couldn’t hear you.

After another failed attempt to get his attention, you knew why it may not be the best first impression, desperate times call for desperate measures. With one swift movement, you yanked his headphones from his head and undoubtedly a few of his hairs too.

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, looking up to you, an unfriendly scowl on his lips. You sighed, only pulling back the seat across from him.

“I did call your name at least three times,” you said emotionlessly, sinking into the plush seat and placing your belongings on the table.

“Whatever,” he said in annoyance, shaking his hair out of his eyes. In a desperate attempt to fix the impression, you held out your hand to him, inviting him for a handshake.

“I’m Y/N, your English tutor,” you introduced, the best expression you could offer him was an awkward lopsided smile. To your unpleasant surprise, Jisung laughed in your face. The mean and sarcastic manner he did only dwindled your hope of helping him.

“Miss Barnes set you up to this, didn’t she?” He ran his tongue over the fronts of his teeth, a possible habit you pondered.

“You seem like a smart girl, so let me give you some advice,” Jisung watched you in amusement as you leaned closer to him. “You’re wasting your time. You want my opinion? Take this back to Miss Barnes and we will never have to deal with each other again,” he pushed the folder back towards you, a smug smile on his face. You, determined not to be discouraged by some boy who cared more about a piece of wood than his grades, slammed the folder back down to prove your point.

“I will not. If I didn’t want to do this, I would’ve told her,” you told him matter-of-factly, opening the folder so the two of you could look at the contents of it.

“And what makes you think I care?” He asked, boredom lacing his words. You realised you weren’t making any progress with him, your mind frantically looking for a way to engage him.

“You know, Miss Barnes said that if you don’t pass her class, you’re gonna be held back a year,” you lied, keeping a cool and composed front, but behind your eyes, you were panicking and hoping he didn’t detect your lie. A long groan left his lips, slowly turning himself back to you.

“Fuck, fine. Fine. I’m listening,” he groaned, his hands raised on either side of his head like he was surrendering to the authorities. “What do I need to do?” Satisfied with how smoothly you managed to trick him, you started pulling out assignments and tests that Jisung had either failed or failed to turn in.

“This is the coursework you need to complete, and depending on whether or not you do well enough, the coursework you need to pass,” you explained, laying out each one on the table. Jisung ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh at the sight of the workload, stress becoming evident on his face. Most papers had been marked with a rather large ‘D’ or ‘D-’ and on the rare occasion, a ‘C-’. They weren’t exactly grades to be proud of, in fact, you found it quite disheartening that Jisung hadn’t even tried to reach out for help, but it was his own choice.

“It seems like a lot, I know, however, there’s still another quarter left until summer break. I’m sure we can get through this,” you offered him a friendly smile, but it was quickly rejected by a scowl.

“Right. Not to burst your bubble, Miss Optimistic, but I’m not exactly a good student, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he leaned forward, the scowl turning into a smirk, “and you expect me to finish this in a matter of weeks? Keep dreaming, sweetheart,” his mocking laughter made your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but this kid was getting on your nerves, and you were convinced he knew it too. Brushing off the pet name, you stared him down.

“If you want to be kept back a year, then that’s your decision, but if I were you, I’d rather not be the laughingstock of my friend group because I couldn’t keep my feet off a piece of wood with wheels. I’m here to help you, and you have a test next week, so you better start paying attention.” Another angsty teenage groan later and he straightened his posture.

“There. Are you happy now?” He complained, and in return, a sarcastic comment of your own.

“Ecstatic.”

ii. A Deal with the Devil™

“D+? Really, Jisung?” You scoffed as you looked over the results of his most recent English test, and it wasn’t exactly the turnaround you were hoping for. The black-haired boy could only shrug in response, obviously not too fussed by the result. “I literally went over these topics with you yesterday. How did you forget so quickly?” Again, you were met with a  shrug. With a groan, you threw the paper to the desk and pressed against the back of the chair.

“What went wrong?” You asked gently, not wanting him to feel guilty for his grade. Yet again, he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just forgot,” he dismissed, his bangs covering his eyes. A long sigh fluttered past your lips as you glanced between Jisung and the test.

“Okay, let’s go over this step by step,” you said, twiddling your pen between your fingers, its nib pointing at the first question, “what is the difference between an adjective and adverb?” Jisung mumbled, but his voice was too deep for you to decipher what he was saying, “Park, speak up and clearly.” He cleared his throat and tried again.

“One describes a word, one describes a verb in particular,” he answered, which satisfied you. However, it was his written answer that disappointed you.

“So why did you explain a proposition instead?” You lost count of how many times he chose a wordless response over actually answering you, but it was better than being ignored. You didn’t understand why he didn’t just provide a reasonable explanation, but upon pondering this, you noticed Jisung wasn’t looking you in the eye. In fact, he wasn’t looking at you at all, and you didn’t have to follow his line of sight to see what he was looking at.

“You went to the skate park instead of studying again, didn’t you?” You deadpanned, biting the tip of your tongue to kill the long string of insults and pent-up frustration from flowing freely. “Jisung, if you want to pass, you can’t keep doing this,” you felt bad at the fact you sounded like a teacher scolding a misbehaving student, but given the situation, you both found yourselves in, it wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

“Please, you think I want to?” He looked away and scoffed, as if he was trying his absolute hardest to stop himself from laughing in your face, “Listen here, sweetheart. Why should I have to suffer through something I find no joy or passion in, just to appease the capitalist views of society?”

His hands comfortably sat within each other, waiting patiently for your answer. His blunt yet pointed response, paired with the nickname that dripped with sarcasm, flustered you and rendered you speechless.

You gaped at him like a fish out of water, desperately trying to breathe again. Amused, he placed his pointer finger underneath your chin and forced your mouth shut, “Didn’t want you to catch flies,” he snickered as you swatted his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed, folding your arms across your chest, “then what? At this rate, we are making no progress. Surely, there is something I can do to engage you.” You admit, your approach was desperate and another teasing opportunity on his end but you were running out of options, and never once was one of them to quit.

“There is actually,” Jisung answered, clicking his fingers as a lightbulb went off in his head, “what is your view on skateboarding?” His question made you roll your eyes, which apparently was enough of an answer for him.

“Good, I know exactly how you can engage me.” He gestured to the skateboard that leaned in its usual spot against the desk, “if I do well on my next test, you come to the skatepark with me, at any given time.” You groaned, your eyes rolling so far back, Jisung was convinced you were looking at your brain.

“Seriously?” Of course, he chose the skatepark, what else would he have said?

“If I have to suffer through something I don’t like, so do you,” he smirked, unclasping his hand to stick one out towards you, “so do we have a deal?” He looked at you expectantly, stifling his laughter at your conflicted expression. Pushing all voices to the back of your mind, you completed the handshake, giving it one firm shake at that.

“Deal.”

What the fuck were you getting yourself into?

iii. only Idiots catch feelings

“He’s so annoying,” you ranted to your best friend as you paced around your room, practically ripping your hair out of your head. “He thinks he’s top shit, like he has this sort of power over me.”

“Well, from the state you’re in, he kinda does,” your best friend Wonyoung commented, having to hide her smile to avoid having a cushion throttled in her direction at a hundred miles an hour. You swiftly turned on your heel, squinting your eyes at her.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” You interrogated, walking towards her. Wonyoung snorted with laughter behind your pillow, her only source of protection.

“Repeat everything you just listed off to me. Everything about him you find irritating,” she prompted, placing the pillow in her lap.

“Well,” you started, a little confused, “he’s never on time, he gets some sort of separation anxiety if his skateboard isn’t within his field of vision, he is constantly listening to this shitty underground artist and thinks it’s the greatest piece of media to grace this planet, he never studies, he always has this stupid smirk on his face, he keeps calling me ‘sweetheart’. The list goes on, what’s your point?” You couldn’t comprehend why Wonyoung was giving you such a strange look, not until she spoke.

“Someone has a little crush,” she teased. You picked up the teddy bear that sat at the end of your bed and threw it at her.

“What the fuck? No! Absolutely not!” You denied loudly, flabbergasted by her outrageous statement.

“Well, do you think he’s cute?” She asked, hugging the teddy close to her body. You froze, her words drowning out your sense of reality.

Jisung wasn’t unattractive, by any definition of the word. He was devilishly handsome, which went hand in hand with his devilish personality. In fact, he was quite popular with the girls at school, and he either flirted with them out of boredom or ignored them completely. Sure, he was cute, but to go as far as to say that you had a crush on him? No way, absolutely not. You scolded yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea.

“Earth to Y/N? You never answered my question,” Wonyoung reeled you out of your thoughts so fast, you swore you felt dizzy. You straightened your posture and folded your arms, ignoring how your heart was hammering in your heart.

“No,” you answered curtly, your voice certain and sharp. She snorted and looked at her phone, the fast tapping on its screen signifying that she was texting someone.

“Sure,” she raised her eyebrows with her unconvinced response, thankfully deciding to abandon teasing you. The conversation may have been over, but her words still swam in your head and mixed your thoughts and feelings into a strange concoction you could only describe as confused. Despite all the mixed feelings and incoherent thoughts, you concluded that you did not like Park Jisung.

Only an idiot would catch feelings for him.

iv. Nerds are NOT morning people

You didn’t understand why Jisung looked so smug when you came in for the first of three tutoring sessions for the week. He adorned his regular black hoodie, black ripped jeans that were more holes than style in your opinion, and white vans with the skeletal structure of a foot painted on them with black paint. The only difference you could pinpoint was his headphones hanging loosely around his neck, translating to he was listening for you, waiting for you. It was a foreign idea, and one you had mixed feelings on.

“You’re here,” he spoke first before you had even sat down.

“It does seem that way,” you quipped, moving to place your pencil case and book on the desk when you noticed a sheet of paper on the table. Curiosity tugged at your heart, your fingers gently pulling it towards you.

“What’s this? Did you put this here?” You questioned him as you picked it up, your heart thumping as you flipped it over. Your eyes focused on two things, his name written surprisingly neatly at the top of the page and the large 72.5% marked at the top of the page. Your jaw dropped dramatically as you stared at the red number, and you could feel Jisung’s eyes boring into you, his smirk undoubtedly growing wider.

“I believe I recall a certain someone promising that she’ll come to the skatepark with me if I passed my next English test,” he spoke, cockiness coating every word he spoke like chocolate-dipped strawberries. You slammed down the paper, your face showing utter disbelief.

“How? How did you-” you stammered and stuttered before Jisung shut you up.

“You told me to study, so I did. Are you pleased?” Pleased would be a stretch. You were beyond ecstatic but you couldn’t properly express it, still trying to get over the shock of the whole situation.

“Jisung, that’s a B grade,” you stated stupidly, your speech granting you the ability to finally able to formulate full sentences. He cocked a singular eyebrow, smirking in amusement.

“Does that mean you’ll come to the skatepark for the whole week?” He pushed, testing your limits. You glared at him.

“What? No? Well, I-Maybe? Fuck, fine!” You knew you might grow to regret your decision but you would come to that consequence when it came around.

“Gimme your phone. You’re gonna need my number in that case.”

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Oh lord. The time had come. You groaned tiredly, rolling over to check the rather loud notifications on your phone.

demon spawn: hey

demon spawn: i’m at the skatepark

demon spawn: i expect u here in 10

You slammed your phone back down onto the nightstand, looking up at the time. 5:41 am. The numbers glared at you in their bright red light. You refrained from throwing a fit in the bed, in fear of waking your family.

You silently resented yourself (and Jisung too) for dragging yourself out of bed at five am on a Saturday because of a stupid bargain you made with a failing student just so he would study. He passes a singular test and thinks he’s on top of the world. Smartass.

“Fucking hell,” you grunted as you pulled on a warm jacket and silently slipped out the front door. You momentarily worried about how you were going to explain yourself to your parents when they realised that their child was not residing within the warm covers of her bed, but eventually abandoned the idea when you started to think about the possible consequences that would be in place. It was still dark outside, and the early morning air was cold, cold enough that it quickly numbed the tip of your nose.

Whilst recounting the last ten minutes of your life, your mind became a forest and you were very, very lost. You walked, and walked, and walked. You would’ve kept walking if it hadn’t been for the voice that called out to you.

“Is the skatepark that hard to spot?” The familiar voice that belonged to the one and only, Park Jisung. Grey beanie, white shirt, the classic ripped jeans, however switching out his regular black for blue, and black Converse, a style you had never seen on him.

“You know, judging from your personality, I never took you like a morning person,” you teased as you rubbed your eyes, an attempt to dispel the last of the sleep from them. Jisung snickered at your remark, stomping on the end of his skateboard to flick it upwards.

“Applying that logic, I never took you as someone who wasn’t. Aren’t nerds, like, supposed to like mornings?” You scoffed at his side smirk, crawling up the skate he was standing on.

Having only seen him hunched over on the cushioned chairs in the library, you hadn’t realised how tall Jisung really was, around 6’, 5’11 at the very least.

“There’s a reason I brought you out so early,” he announced, breaking your train of thought.

“You mean at the ass crack of dawn,” you quipped grumpily but listened closely for his explanation.

“Whatever you wanna call it, drama queen,” he rolled his eyes, shifting his skateboard to the edge of the dip, so his back wheels were touching the silver tube-like barrier, “but I wanted to show you the sunrise over the city. Thought it would be pretty,” he shrugged slightly, his eyes cast back to you.

“Really? You dragged me out of bed at a ridiculous hour of the morning to watch the sunrise?” You huffed, feeling annoyance rise in your chest, yet when he looked at you like that, you couldn’t channel that annoyance towards him.

“Well, and this,” Jisung winked as he placed his left foot at the front of his skateboard and he fell into the bowl. Picking up speed as he whizzed towards the other side of the bowl, he shot his hand out, catching the piping, the other hand holding onto his board as he turned it and his body to you, zipping in the same direction in which he came from. He slid back into the position he originally held next to you as if he weighed nothing as if he had the dynamics of a feather in the wind. You looked up to him, clearly impressed with his stunt.

“Wow,” was all you could muster, making Jisung laugh. Not snicker, not sneer, but genuinely laugh, as if he had just watched a puppy fall over itself from excitement.

“I can do it again if you’d like,” he suggested, which was met with a positive reaction. You sat down, your feet dangling into the bowl as you watched him excitedly skate around the cemented pit. Your eyes followed him, drinking in every trick and stunt he pulled. An unknown smile broke across your lips, one that contained no nasty emotions, hidden by a sickly sweet facade.

Your heart gave a flutter when he skated past you and flicked his hair out of his eyes. Your previous annoyance had evaporated into nothingness and was replaced with something completely new, something different. Due to your nature of order and organisation, you didn’t like different. It threw off your whole balance and it would take a while to rebuild the balance you once had, now with the added weight of whatever ruined everything in the first place. However, this difference felt sweet, it warmed you against the chilly early December air. It felt safe, a homely feeling.

Still intoxicated by this feeling, you glanced to the sky, noticing that the previous deep navy that was littered with tiny stars had been broken up by streaks of burnt orange, pink and white.

“Jisung!” You called to him, pointing to the sky. The boy in question whipped his head around, almost slipping off his skateboard from his lack of concentration on the concrete he was skating along. You stifled a laugh and patted the empty space beside you, inviting him to fill it. He smiled softly, clamouring up the steep bowl and accepting your invitation.

“I understand why you wanted to show me now,” you sighed, shifting all your weight onto the palms of your hands. Jisung nodded wordlessly, mimicking your position. His feet kicked to and fro, an absentminded habit of his as his gaze shifted from the sky to you. He noted every feature of your side profile, specifically how the sunrise gave you a heavenly glow as if you weren’t a mere human being beside him, but in fact an angel. He examined every part of your face that was so uniquely yours.

“It’s so beautiful,” he breathed. You nodded, agreeing with him, but you didn’t see the context he was speaking in. Jisung knew it wouldn’t be long before you caught him, choosing to glance at his watch instead. “It’s nearly 7. We should probably leave before your parents realise you’re missing,” he commented, expertly hiding his reluctance to end this moment. You let out a deep but short sigh.

“Time flew,” you noted, stretching as you stood up, brushing the dust off your backside, “wait, what about your parents?”

“They won’t be out of bed until at least 9. They probably haven’t even noticed that I’m not at home,” he shrugged, tucking his skateboard under his arm, “and because of that, let me walk you home.” The bluntness of his request spooked you. You didn’t think it could even be classified as a request.

“Jisung, that’s not necessary-”

“Nonsense. I dragged you out here, let me at least take you home.” Your heart gave a soft squeeze at his words, and you knew you couldn’t turn him down. You pointed him in the direction of your house and set off down the path together.

You walked in silence, partly awkward, partly not. It was as if you had spent every word in your vocabulary on each other and neither of you had a new word to say. The chill was still by and froze the tips of your ears. Jisung noticed you trying to rub your ears, as you would your hands, to warm them up. Without skipping a beat, he tugged his beanie off his head and offered it out to you.

“Here,” he muttered, his long fingers holding it loosely.

“Oh,” you whispered before breaking into nervous chuckles, “it’s fine. I don’t need it,” you held up your palm to push it back towards him, but he shoved it back.

“I insist,” he declared, his eyebrows raised expectedly. You groaned a small ‘fine’ and snatched the beanie from your hand, pulling it onto your head. Jisung let out a chuckle, tugging at the side so it properly covered your ears. You fell back into the silence and completed the journey to your house. You stopped outside the small wooden gate that allowed access to the front yard and the pretty garden. You turned on your heel and gave Jisung a small lopsided smile.

“Thanks,” you said, stumbling over your words and thoughts to say anything more than that. He nodded and smiled back. You bowed your head to take off his beanie before he stopped you.

“Keep it,” he insisted, “I’ve got plenty more at home. Besides, it looks better on you.” His words heated your cheeks, convincing you that if it were to start snowing right now, the snowflakes that landed on your cheeks would melt at first contact.

“O-Okay. I’ll see you later,” you smiled at him one last time before lifting the latch of the gate and walking towards the front door. Jisung nodded and spun on his heel, impulsively crossing the street towards his best friend Jeno’s house.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, opening up your text messages with Wonyoung.

y/n only: fuck you. you were right. i think i am catching feelings

Satisfied with your sudden declaration to your best friend, you pushed open the front door. No sooner did you step through the threshold, than did you feel your heart stop dead.

“So,” your father started, “do you wanna tell us where you’ve been so early in the morning?”

v. Studying (your face)

You had dodged a bullet with your parents, the only punishment you received was to wash the dishes for the next two weeks without complaint. A single complaint would result in not leaving the house for however long they saw fit. However, you weren’t too distraught about not hanging out with Wonyoung, but more about the tutoring sessions with Jisung.

Ever since that morning in the skatepark, your feelings about the skater had been mixed around and twisted. Sure, he was annoying, and boy, did he make sure to remind you, but it didn’t seem to bother you as much as it used to. You found it charming if you defined charming as the stupidly irritating characteristic someone has that you learn to tolerate.

As ‘charming’ as he may be, he still had assignments that were missing and needed to be done, whether he liked it or not. He still had to hold up his half of the deal.

You shifted from one foot to the other anxiously, waiting for someone inside to answer your timid knock at the door. Your palms felt slick with sweat, why were you so nervous? Maybe it was because Jisung had randomly texted you, asking if you could study at his place instead. His excuse was ‘a change of scenery’ or something like that.

Your ears pricked up at the sound of shuffling behind the door. The door creaked open and revealed a petite middle-aged woman, presumably Jisung’s mother.

“Oh, you must be Jisung’s friend,” she smiled, one that perfectly replicated her son’s.

“Yes. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Park, I assume,” you extended your arm for a handshake, which she graciously returned.

“Yes. It’s so good to meet you too. Jisung doesn’t bring many friends over, aside from Jeno and Chenle. It’s nice to see a new face,” you felt your cheeks heat up over her words and you nodded.

“Speaking of, where is Jisung?” You asked politely, leaving your shoes by the door. Mrs. Park pointed up the staircase, her other hand ghosting over your shoulder.

“Up the stairs, third door on the right. There’s a sign with his name on it if you get lost.” You thanked her and trekked your way upstairs.

The decor was enough to tell anyone that entered the home that the Parks were a happy family. The wall beside the stairs was lined with family photos, ranging from the perfect nuclear family of a mother, father, and two boys; to sporting events, family gatherings, and birthday celebrations. It blended in perfectly with the white paint on the walls, with not a scratch or smudge of dirt in sight.

You reached the top of the stairs and spotted Jisung’s room immediately. A small sign was tacked at eye level to the door that read, unsurprisingly, ‘Jisung’s Room’ in childlike font, a glimmer of his childhood innocence shining through his hard outer appearance.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in,” his voice called from inside. You cracked the door open to see Jisung, one earphone embedded in his ear, a pen in between his fingers, and a small smile curved on his plump lips. “Took your time,” he teased as he paused his music.

“Interrupt study time, did I?” You teased back, placing your bag at his door.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he gave you a sly smile as he tugged the other earphone out and swung his chair around to you.

“Right,” you strung out the sound, paired with a sarcastic nod of your head. You leaned over, doing a quick once over of his desk, disappointed but not surprised when you found Jisung had not been writing out the notes you had set for his homework, but in fact, he had been writing what seemed like poetry on several different pieces of paper.

“Really, Jisung? I gave you one job,” you exasperated, collecting the pages to get a better look at it. Before you had a moment to decipher his almost illegible handwriting, he snatched them out of your hand.

“Don’t look at those!” He squawked, pulling them out of your reach, his cheeks colouring a dark pink. His reaction had caught you off-guard.

“Jisung, they’re just sheets of paper,” Jisung shook his head at your claim.

“To you, maybe,” he corrected curtly.

“What are they, then?” He opened the drawer of his desk, messily shoving the papers inside.

“It’s not important right now,” he dismissed harshly before seating himself on the end of his bed. You occupied his desk chair and cleared a spot to place your book and folder.

“Alright,” you began, retrieving an assignment from the folder, Jisung’s name etched on the paper in his teacher’s handwriting, “this is the next assignment you’ve been set, well reset,” you explained, watching his fingers steal the paper from your fingertips. He skimmed over the task outline, his eyebrows furrowing the more he read.

“Short story task?” He deadpanned, glancing at you over the paper. You shrugged at his apparent annoyance.

“I can give you some ideas,” you suggested, swivelling around to grab your book, accidentally nudging a pencil of sorts off the desk. Cursing under your breath, you leaned down and collected it off the ground. As you went to place it back on the desk, you noticed the gold inscription on it. ‘Salem Black Eyeliner Pencil’. You spun back around to the boy sitting not a metre away from you. You flicked your gaze between Jisung and the pencil. How had you not noticed?

“Are you wearing eyeliner?” You asked, amused. He snapped his neck towards you, seeming just as amused.

“Yes I am. Is there a problem?” He mused, going back to the rubrik in front of him.

“No, just didn’t expect you to wear it,” you admitted, twiddling it between your fingers.

Jisung shrugged, “It makes me look cool.” You cocked an eyebrow at his comment and scoffed.

“News flash, Park. Wearing eyeliner isn’t a personality trait,” you taunted. Jisung laughed quietly, leaning closer to you.

“Have you ever worn it?” He was met with silence, “No? Too much of a goody two shoes?”

“I-It’s not like that-”

“Then let me put it on you.”

You have no idea what compelled you to say yes. Maybe it was the cute way his lips turned up at the thought of you wearing eyeliner. Maybe it was the sparkle in his eye, or maybe it was just because you simply could no longer say no to him. You were now sitting opposite him, your hands resting in your lap and bumping knees with him. His left hand held your jaw to prevent your head from moving too much.

“Keep your eye open and look up,” he instructed, pointing to his roof, helping you notice the twenty or so glow-in-the-dark stars tacked to it. He began his fiddly work, keeping his hand as still as possible so as to not poke you in the eye. Your bottom eyelid spasmed from the sudden contact of the sharp pencil to it.

“Do I really need to tell you to stay still?”

“Sorry.”

Jisung’s finger wiped across his work, smudging and blending it a little, again causing your eye to twitch. He leaned away for a second to study his handiwork. You watched as a grin painted onto his pretty lips. Did you just call his lips pretty?

“Y/N,” your friend breathed, “you’re staring.”

“Am I?” You stuttered, your cheeks heating, clearly embarrassed. Jisung didn’t say anything, choosing to lean in closer. Your noses were millimetres away. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. As if on cue, Jisung’s gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips. Hesitantly, he slipped his hand along your jawline and cupped it gently. You would’ve squeaked had your voice not failed you.

Slowly, your lips touched his in a gentle kiss. It was hesitant, sweet, and filled with teenage exploration. Feeling him kiss back, your hand fell on top of his and added to the sweetness of the kiss. Your lips moved in sync with one another, each movement more heart-fluttering than the one before. Jisung pulled away reluctantly, the sparkle in his eye growing brighter with astonishment.

“Woah,” was all he could manage to say.

“Woah indeed,” you gave a breathless chuckle, your lips stretching into a smile. Jisung nodded before turning back to his paper, now a little crinkled.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting dark and you’re already on thin ice with your parents,” he advised, giving you a tight-lipped smile. Nodding, you climbed off his bed, stacking your belongings on top of each other before pressing them against your chest.

“If you need any help with the assignment, you have my number,” you rattled off as you picked up your bag from the door, “oh, and Jisung?”

He raised his eyebrows at his name, “Hmm?”

“Thank you,” you said bashfully, “for doing my eyeliner and, you know,” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, but he knew the silent words that died on the tip of your tongue.

“Anytime,” he winked and with one last giddy smile from you, you left the room.

Jisung let go of an unknown breath, slumping into his desk chair and opening his drawer. He retrieved the papers he had hastily stuffed away. His eyes lazily glided over the words, thoughts and rhymes messily scribbled onto the page.

He promised himself that he was going to rewrite it in a manner that was readable, but that’s what made it so precious to him. The raw emotion and scrambled thoughts were poorly printed, words crossed out for various reasons, the simple doodles that decorated the white space in between.

He exhaled again, picking up his pencil, searching for a blank space to fill in at least one thought. The scratching of an HB pencil against paper was satisfying to Jisung, but not as satisfying as the sound of the pencil nearly bouncing off the table from how hard he slammed it down. He gave a peaceful smile as he reread what he had written, the words flowing from his lips effortlessly.

“If only you knew how my heart races for you, Y/N.”

vi. Complicated

“Wonyoung, you know I’m not a party person,” you reiterated to your friend. She was begging and pleading for you to accompany her to the seasonal party she attended.

“Please Y/N, Jaemin’s gonna be there and I don’t want to show up by myself. I’ll look like a loser.”

“You’re gonna look like a loser either way,” you teased lightheartedly, tossing your phone to the side.

“Hey, that’s not nice. I’m practically your older sister,” she furrowed her brows at you.

“What’s in it for me?” You groaned, propping yourself up on one elbow to better glare at your friend.

“I heard Jisung might be there,” she gave you a suggestive eyebrow raise, “he’s skating buddies with Jeno, so knows Jaemin by association,” she continued. She was dead set on having you attend this party with her.

“Ugh. You know what? Fine,” you caved, your best friend’s face lighting up like a golden sunrise.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” She squealed, tackling you in a hug.

You snickered, “Only when you get your way.”

“Oh, do not. Now, come on. We need to get ready,” she pranced around the room like a child on Christmas morning and you had to laugh at her ridiculously high energy. The things you do for friendship.

When you pulled up to the address of this party, your jaw hit the floor. The ‘house’ was more like a mansion and was like a sister location to the White House. The outside’s plain exterior was decorated with LED lights, displayed from hidden projectors, and you could already hear the bad EDM music blaring from within.

“W-Whose party is this again?” You asked your friend in a state of shock.

“It’s Donghyuck’s, but Chenle’s parents are out of town for the weekend, so he offered up his place,” you understood why Hyuck wouldn’t pass up on such a gracious offer. You felt like a fish out of the water as you walked along the cobblestone pathway to the entrance. You forgot what made you say yes to this, but you refused to believe that was by the mention of a boy’s name and informing you of his attendance.

Before you could work out what to do, Wonyoung had been dragged away by people who you assumed were friends of hers, leaving you alone at the threshold.

“Congrats on your first party,” you mocked to yourself, a hint of fear behind your words. This is not what you were about. You were all rules and dress codes, expectations, and high grades. Certainly not cramped spaces and sweat, loud music, and underage drinking.

You weaved through the sea of strangers, faces blurring together beyond recognition. You had no idea where you were going, looking around desperately for someone to stand out to you. It wasn’t until you fled to one of the many hallways that you finally did.

Ripped jeans, customised Vans, a silver chain, and a tank top of a band he definitely didn’t listen to. That was Park Jisung to a T. He hadn’t noticed your appearance, wrapped up in a conversation with three girls you didn’t recognise. You assumed they were friends of his. You took note of the phone in his hand, the Mickey Mouse cover confirming that it was undoubtedly his. You pulled out your own and typed out a quick text under his name.

y/n only: look behind you, dummy

You saw him crane his head away from the conversation to check the new notification. He squinted as he read it before turning around, looking around like a lost puppy. His lips curved into a grin that pushed up into his cheeks when his eyes fell on you.

“You were the last person I thought would show up,” he greeted you with a side-on hug, one you reciprocated. You let out a breathy laugh.

“So did I,” you explained, “my friend dragged me here.” He nodded as he tried his best to hear you over the thump of the music, loud enough to resonate in your chest. He hadn’t dropped his arm from around you, somewhat pulling you into him and allowing you to inhale the intoxicating amount of cologne he had. You weren’t going to voice your complaints, it did have a pleasant aroma to it, one that you could get used to.

“Judging by how you dressed, you’ve never been to a party,” he poked fun, looking over it. Embarrassed, you pulled your top down a bit.

“Blame Wonyoung. She convinced me to wear it,” Jisung broke out in a smile, his hand trailing down your arm.

“It’s fine. You look good,” he commented, “did you want a drink?”

Your eyes blew wide. “Jisung! Neither of us is old enough,” you sputtered, shocked beyond words. He couldn’t help but laugh at your naivety.

“Thank you for reminding me,” he said with gentle sarcasm, “it’s really not that bad.” You shook your head.

“My parents would kill me if they found out I’ve been drinking,” you declined, resulting in a snicker from your friend.

“Goody-two-shoes,” he teased.

“Lawbreaker,” you quipped, albeit weakly. Jisung shrugged and looked into the swarm of people.

“I’m gonna grab one. Wait for me, okay?” His hand came up slowly, his index finger gently brushing against your cheek. The small action was enough for butterflies to erupt and flutter in your stomach. He stared at you for a moment longer before dipping his head downwards and pressing his lips against your forehead. You felt like a malfunctioning robot, unable to process and turning you into a giddy mess as he disappeared into the ocean of strangers. Amidst your flustered state, you hadn’t noticed the three girls Jisung had been talking to before he ditched them to talk to you instead. The daggers they stared into the side of your head were sharp, burning hotter than your cheeks. It wasn’t until you heard voices that you saw them, ogling you like three hungry wolves hunting the same rabbit.

“Is that her?” One muttered to the rest of the group. You weren’t sure if they were trying to be discreet, but if they were, it certainly wasn’t working.

“Has to be. Did you see how quickly he left the conversation? He never acts like that towards any of us,” another whined, her arms folded over her chest and her bottom lip jutted out like a spoiled brat who had been told no.

“Right? He saw her and suddenly we didn’t exist,” the third one rolled her eyes, shooting you a side glance, “I don’t know what he sees in her. What does she have that we don’t already offer him?

Your heart hit the floor at her words. You had honestly forgotten how popular Jisung was, especially when it came to the ladies. You remember your friends referring to him and his friends as ‘heartthrobs’ and ‘stupidly attractive’.

With that in mind combined with what you had heard, you reevaluated your social status compared to him. How much higher he was on the social ladder than you, how he was compared to a god on a skateboard, and you were compared to nothing more than dirt under his mostly pristine Vans.

The thought of it all was sickening. Suddenly, your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear, the hallway felt like it was collapsing around you, and the butterflies started to lodge into your throat like bile. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here.

Fragments of thoughts collided in your mind, each one a ridiculous question with no solid explanation. With every person you bumped into, a new thought would project itself into your mind like a lottery, and with every ‘sorry’ you muttered, you would compare that thought to the situation you currently found yourself in.

The atmosphere was suffocating, the heat from the attendants mixed with the amount of sweat in the air made you feel flushed, in some sort of drunken daze, despite not having tasted alcohol in your life. Your sights were set on the door, your one way ticket out of here without having to consider the window as an option.

Between his conversation with Chenle, Jisung caught something moving from the corner of his eye. Normally, he would’ve ignored it, waved it off as someone desperately trying to make it to a bathroom for whatever reason. However, something about it made him turn his head, and his eyes landed on you. You seemed skittish, unwell. He swore he hadn’t been gone more than five minutes.

“Hold that thought, and my drink,” he thrust his aforementioned drink into his best friend’s hands and rushed after you. He shouted your name over the music, his calls falling on deaf ears.

He squeezed and pushed through people in an attempt to catch up to you. Winter’s freezing breeze brushed against his cheeks, the sensation enough to make him shudder.

“Y/N, slow down,” he called after you and you stopped in your tracks.

“I’m going home,” you told him, refusing to look behind you. You couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing that if you did, you would come face to face with the reason those girls had talked about you in the first place.

“I know the first party can be intimidating, but it’s not all that bad. Trust me. I can show you,” he continued, his hand resting on your shoulder. You slapped it away.

“The party? This has nothing to do with the party,” you hissed at him, throwing him a sour look over your shoulder, “this has got everything to do with your little fanclub.” Jisung furrowed his brow in thought, recalling the situation.

“Mina, Hyejung and Yoonah?”

“I’m guessing so. I don’t know who they are,” you swallowed.

“That doesn’t make sense. Sure, they may be a bit thick, but I’m sure they didn’t mean it that way,” he defended, though his tone was gentle.

You scoffed, “I find that hard to believe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He glared through squinted and harsh eyes.

“It’s supposed to mean that they helped me realise something,” you worded it vaguely.

“Care to enlighten me?” Sarcasm dripped from his words as if to hide the toxic venom behind them.

“They made me realise how girls act around you. Pretty girls. Girls who are aware they have a sliver of a chance with you. Girls that aren’t like me,” a singular tear slipped down your face. How cliché of you, “They were right. What do I have that they don’t already? I’m not worthy enough to even stand in your shadow.”

Jisung could only look on as tears fell like falling stars down your cheeks. He hated this. He hated seeing you like this, he hated this cold winter night and even a twinge of hate towards Jeno for convincing him to come along. The feeling was mutual between the both of you.

“I hate you, Park Jisung,” you hissed bitterly before walking up the path you had come from not twenty minutes beforehand.

Jisung silently watched you, the girl he had applied eyeliner to and kissed in his bedroom just days before, walk away from him. He felt empty, void of any and all emotion. The alcohol in his system mixed with the headache-inducing music and what just played out in front of him was enough to make him feel nauseous. He trudged back inside, mood noticeably dampened.

“Hey, what was that about?” Chenle questioned, his concern for his best friend grew when he walked past him and grabbed his skateboard.

“I’m going home. If anyone asks, I’m feeling sick,” his words were rushed, distracted.

“Dude, you can’t just say that and expect me not to be worried,” Chenle’s brows furrowed, spinning Jisung round by his shoulders, “what’s going on?”

“I’ve fucked up, man. I’ve fucked up big time.”

vii. you have one (1) new voicemail

“Hey, this is Y/N! I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m out living my life, but if you leave your name and number, I will get back to you as soon as I can!”

“Hey Y/N. It’s me, Jisung. A-Again. Look, I know you’re still upset at me, but please. Surely we can talk this out. Please call me when you get this. If you pick up and actually listen-or text me! Anything. Please. Bye.”

Jisung’s throat went dry when he heard your voice again. It was happier than it was the last time he encountered you. You hadn’t spoken to him since the party, whether it was at school, or through texts and missed calls.

You had started cancelling tutoring sessions for reasons he described as ‘bullshit’. Feeling unwell, even though he had seen you looking glowing and healthy that very same day, was your most recent excuse. It was one you had used previously, maybe because people tended to sympathise when they find out someone is sick. He didn’t like being lied to, but he can’t say he blamed you. Hell, he’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t used the excuse to get out of things he didn’t want to do.

However, this wasn’t some church activity his mother had signed him up for and he wasn’t eleven years old anymore. He was a high school student, a failing one at that, and his tutor, the girl he liked, refused to speak to him.

“Hey, this is Y/N! I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m out living my life, but if you leave your name and number, I will get back to you as soon as I can!”

“Hey. It’s me again. I wanted to follow up on when our next session will be. I have a test coming up and I’d really love it if you helped me study. Please return my calls or messages. Bye.”

“I know she’s upset, but I just don’t understand,” Jisung confided in his closest friend and partner in crime (sometimes quite literally) Chenle, “I don’t know how to fix it if she doesn’t speak to me.” Chenle nodded, pretending he understood the heartache his friend was going through.

“Have you tried approaching her? Like, at school or something?” Chenle asked, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Jisung shook his head. “What am I supposed to say? ‘I know we’re fighting right now but let’s talk about that’?” Chenle gave him an apologetic smile and gave him the classic “maybe” shoulder shrug, hands positioned out and all.

“Helpful,” he rolled his eyes, falling back into his mattress and gazing at his ceiling.

“What did she say that night?” Chenle questioned, copying Jisung’s actions and laying next to him. His memory worked too quickly than he wanted to admit. The memory was stuck on replay in his mind, and had been for the past two weeks.

“She said something about pretty girls always falling at my feet. Made a comment that she wasn’t part of that category. How she wasn’t ‘worthy of being in my shadow’,” he made the air quotations as he recited his memory. Chenle hummed, the cogs whirring in his brain.

“So she feels unworthy of your attention?” He wanted to make sure he had Jisung’s story straight.

Jisung shrugged, “I guess so. In case you forgot, she hasn’t spoken to me since,” he said sarcastically and exhaled so harshly, his fringe flew upwards and stuck up awkwardly.

“She can’t ignore you forever. Especially if she’s your tutor,” Chenle offered, lifting himself up onto his elbows, now able to make eye contact with his best friend.

The best friend in question only sighed, muttering a ‘yeah’ before pulling his lips in a tight lipped smile, a habit of his.

The hours ticked by. Chenle had long returned home, leaving Jisung to his own thoughts and devices, probably the worst mistake anyone could make right now. His bedroom was completely dark, only the glow of his phone screen and the pale moonlight that shone through his window illuminated the small space.

He was staring at your contact. He hadn’t changed it since the day he logged it into his phone. The same stupid nickname with the same stupid emojis on either side of aforementioned nickname.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him. You were one button click away, and yet he felt butterflies lodge in his throat, knowing the rejection that lay on the other end of the line. Jisung was strong, but temptation’s urges were stronger than anything he had ever encountered. He chewed on his fingernail nervously as the line rang. To no one’s surprise, you did not answer.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m out living my life, but if you leave your name and number, I will get back to you as soon as I can!”

Before he could speak, he was surprised to learn that you had changed your voicemail.

“If this is Jisung…please stop calling me. Just don’t call me.”

viii. F in Feelings

Sunshine bathed the hallway Jisung trudged down, juxtaposing the horrible feeling that sat at the bottom of his stomach. He hadn’t tried to contact you since the last time he tried. That was nearly a week ago, and right now, he was scheduled for a progress meeting with Miss Barnes. He hadn’t done much with his schoolwork.

You kept cancelling sessions in the library, he had passed his English test by the skin of his teeth, and his grades were, once again, slipping.

As he walked, Hyejung and Yoonah appeared at his side.

“Jisungie!” Hyejung squealed, the nickname and pitch of her voice making Jisung grimace, “We haven’t seen you since Donghyuck’s party!”

“Yeah,” he said dismissively, trying to walk away.

“Oh come on, Jisung,” Yoonah whined, grabbing him by the cuff of his jacket, “we should hang out soon. Now, even.”

“I have to get to class,” he hissed, swiftly shaking off Yoonah’s manicured hand. Both girls looked at each other, both confused and shocked.

“Come skip with us, Jisung. Pretty please?” She batted her eyelashes at him, which only repulsed him further.

“I said no, Yoonah,” he reiterated bitterly, readjusting his backpack.

Hyejung scoffed, “What has gotten into you?”

“Yeah, since when have you been like this?” Yoonah added.

Jisung furrowed his brow, “Like what?”

“You’re telling me you actually want to go to class?” Forced laughter rang throughout the hallway, “You’re so funny, Jisung. Did you know that?”

“Like what?” Jisung repeated through gritted teeth.

“Like a nerd! You’re acting like a nerd. Are you trying to suck up to teachers so they’ll fix your grades?” Hyejung went to slap his shoulder in laughter, but he batted it away harshly. She hissed in pain (Jisung knew she was faking it. She just liked his attention) and looked to him, confused.

“What the fuck? Jisung, I-” Jisung cut her off.

“A nerd? Is that what you called Y/N?” That name. It felt heavy on his tongue, foreign even.

The girls looked confused, “Y/N?”

Jisung nodded curtly. “The reason I have been avoiding you lot is that you hurt her. She heard you talking about her and now she won’t talk to me,” he confessed venomously, anger rising quickly in his chest. His chest ached as he thought of you, the hurt expression you wore that night on the cobblestone path. Anger and hurt are a lethal combination.

“For your own selfish gain, you put someone else down, someone else who I care deeply for. How stupid and self-centred do you have to be to act so recklessly?” His words were like bullets, forceful enough to pierce through skin and loud enough to attract the attention of other students going about their day, “you want to do me a favour? Fuck off.”

The two girls stood before him bug-eyed, and with one final warning from him, they scampered away, their tails between their legs.

Jisung readjusted his backpack one last time before continuing down the hall to Miss Barnes’ classroom whilst occasionally throwing warning glares at students who were staring a little too long.

If he wasn’t upset before, he was now seething. The audacity they had was laughable.

Self-centred, airheaded idiots.

He knocked on the door, catching his teacher’s attention.

“Jisung, you’re here,” she smiled brightly and gestured to one of the two chairs placed neatly in front of her desk, “take a seat.” He nodded and accepted her invitation. “Now, we’re just waiting on Y/N,” she announced, plopping down in her chair and starting to remove his assignments from his folder.

“I’m not sure if she’ll come,” Jisung muttered, swallowing thickly. Miss Barnes looked up, concerned and a little confused.

“Whatever do you mean?” He felt his mouth dry out at her confusion. She doesn’t know.

“Ah well, you see, Y/N and I-”

“I heard my name.” Speak of the devil.

“Y/N, so lovely of you to join us,” Miss Barnes smiled, repeating the gesture she made to him when he had first entered the room. You reciprocated the smile and took your place next to Jisung. He swallowed thickly, deciding it best if he didn’t look at you. Did it make him look like a dickhead? Maybe, but he wasn’t ready to turn into a flustered, sobbing mess in front of his teacher.

“So, how has the tutoring been going?” She wasn’t asking him, she was asking you.

You visibly hesitated. What tutoring? There hadn’t been any for weeks, and it was obvious in Jisung’s grades as of recent. Your facade was faltering, and you needed to keep it up for the next few minutes of your life.

“They have been going well. Jisung struggled for a bit, but he was able to fix his study habits, and he has managed to make up most of his missing assignments, as I’m sure you’ve seen.” The most fluid set of lies you’ve ever told, especially to someone with so much authority over you. Sure, you had lied to your parents, who hadn’t? But to the faculty? Never in your life.

“I certainly have, and he’s made quite the improvement,” Miss Barnes agreed, licking the tip of her forefinger before flicking through the stack of assignments on her desk. Jisung reacted repulsively and made a mental note to wash his hands when she hands his assignments back to him.

“Jisung, your short story is absolutely beautiful. I had no idea you were capable of such things,” the compliment felt backhanded, but Jisung simply brushed it off for the time being.

“The development between the characters, the raw emotions between the both of them, the storyline. Everything was so well thought out,” she paused to skim over one of the paragraphs again, “if I’m being completely honest with you, I cried whilst reading it.”

You looked at him. Short story? He had never mentioned a short story to you. Sure, you had discussed that he needed to do it, the night that you both were majorly distracted by one another.

“Thank you, miss,” he mumbled, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“Now, even with all this good work and high grades I can award you with, Jisung,” she said, placing his work on top of the neat stack of papers, “there is one point of concern. Your last test score.”

Chills ran down your spine. You briefly recalled Jisung asking for help with his study for it, and yet his plea fell on deaf ears.

“It’s the first time you’ve received a score like this in quite a number of weeks,” the teacher explained, her face riddled with concern, “I just want to know how this could’ve happened.”

“Oh Jisung, you goose,” you piped up and slid the test paper towards you, “we went over this the week before, don’t you remember?” Lies dripped from your tongue like honey, your voice sickly sweet like it too.

He was absolutely dumbfounded. “What?”

“Come on, Dory. We covered this.” Your lies were multiplying, and doing so rapidly.

“So, he just simply forgot? Could it be to do with your study plan at home, Jisung?”

Jisung shook his head vigorously, “I-It’s not like that-”

“I’m sure these concepts just slipped his mind, miss. I’ll work with him on improving his study routine,” you gave the teacher a pseudo smile and gathered your things, “I have to get to my next class. If you’ll excuse me,” and with that, you were gone.

“Um, I-I have to get to my next class. Thank you for your time, Miss Barnes.” He grabbed his bag, and made a beeline to the door, hot on your heels.

“Wait, Y/N! Wait up,” he chased after you down the hall until you turned around.

Your face was void of any emotion when you swivelled around. No sickly sweet tone, no smile visible on your face. Instead, you looked annoyed that he had to interrupt your day.

“What, Jisung?” The way you said his name made his heart clench and twist to the point of near shattering, and yet, it pissed him off further. Acting like nothing ever happened, like you hadn’t just spouted countless lies to your teacher.

“What the fuck was that?” He pointed back in the direction from whence he had came. You glanced over his shoulder, pretending to look around. A few seconds ticked by and you turned your attention back to him.

“I don’t see what you’re talking about,” you shrugged your shoulders. He clenched his jaw in response.

“I’m not as dumb as I seem,” he spat, venom lacing his tongue, “don’t play it.”

“I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to talk to you,” your arms were folded across your chest, clearly disinterested in the conversation. Jisung’s anger bubbled and rose in his chest. How could you be so nonchalant? How could you act like there was nothing there?

“Now if you’re quite done, I have a class to get to,” and with that, he watched you saunter away, leaving him agape and speechless.

Were things ever gonna get better?

ix. this is what happens when i leave you unsupervised (kiss and make up)

Things were not improving. Not even the faintest glimmer of hope gave Jisung the slightest chance of having you back in the life he was cursed to call his own. He heard the rumours that were chanted in the hallways that the closeness between you and him was for a different reason and the turmoil was due to a disgustingly messy end to whatever students say your official title was.

“Dude, just ignore it. It’ll die down in a couple days. It’s not all that important,” one of his close friends Mark advised. For someone who always boasted about being the eldest and demanding the most respect, he wasn’t very wise, Jisung noted.

Nothing changed. Rumours continued to circulate, tension was high, and once again, his grades were slipping. Jisung was never one to believe in destiny or luck, but in this case, he truly believed that both decided to simultaneously fuck him over and run his senior year of high school into the ground.

His grades fell from a lack. A lack of studying, a lack of attention in class, a lack of tutoring sessions with you. Initially, he thought tutoring sparked the want to learn and improve for him, so he asked Miss Barnes if he could be tutored by someone else after making some excuse about you having picked up after school shifts at a new cafe.

It took him no less than three minutes of sitting at the same table as Shin Ryujin to realise that it wasn’t tutoring itself that sparked his want to study. It was you. The very same person who would evade him in the hallways like he was the carrier of some kind of deadly virus, would pretend there was music blaring in her ears to excuse why she wouldn’t answer when he called her name and didn’t seem affected by the rumours that were spiralling out of control.

He had started to frequent the skatepark more often like the place was a drug and he was an addict. His preferred time of day was in the ungodly hours of the night when the air was the chilliest and the population of the park was one, Park Jisung.

Setting his decorated board down on the ground, he took a deep breath. The week had been terrible, a repeat of the last three weeks and each spookily identical to the point where Jisung had pondered whether or not he was stuck in a time loop.

His heel balanced on the back of the board, the front stuck out over the bowl like a pirate’s plank, that is if a pirate’s plank was covered in stupid stickers and meaningless graffiti.

The euphoric rush of adrenaline was what he craved, the feeling that he was untouchable and free. It was his drug and over these last couple of weeks, he relapsed into his addictive ways in his desperate attempts of escapism. He rolled back and forth in the bowl like it was second nature, occasionally adding a trick into his routine. He felt free, happy, and relieved. Hell, he even felt invincible. However, that analogy was short-lived.

Amidst his impressive moves and tricks, he was gaining speed with no hope of slowing down anytime soon. His vision was blurred by the velocity of his skateboard, the wind whipping past his face and numbing his cheeks from the sensation. He went for another lap around the bowl when his footing on his board slipped, throwing Jisung from his skateboard with a crash.

Wearing pain ripped from his wrist down his arm, crying and hissing in pain. He clutched his wrist tightly and rolled onto his back, continuing to wail into the silent abyss of the night. He was sure that his wrist was broken, or at the very least sprained, but he didn’t have the stomach to look at it.

His phone was within arm's reach from him. Must’ve flown out my pocket when I fell, he thought. Bracing himself for the worst, he momentarily released his wrist to grab my phone. With one hand, he scrolled through his contacts until his eyes caught on one. His thumb hovered idly over the top of it, twitching in hesitation. It was your contact. He hadn’t altered anything about it, not even bothering to edit the emojis he had placed there out of it. He sighed gently, he knew his options were narrowed down to two; you would pick up or you wouldn’t, but the situation was much different than it had been over nearly a month, he thought it would be different. He was injured and he was in desperate need of your attention, medically and physically.

Ring ring! Ring ring! The shrill sound of your ringtone echoed throughout the room and more importantly, rudely interrupted your studying playlist. You glanced at the contact, a pit forming at the bottom of your stomach. You had given up your tally on how many times he had called after 17. It was getting slightly ridiculous, to the point that the sight of his contact sent your blood boiling. How many times did you have to tell him that you didn’t want to talk to him? How thick was he?

Enough was enough. The record had to be set straight between him and you, besides your ringtone was irritating. You made a small mental note on the urgency of changing your ringtone. You tapped the green button, stirring up a thousand nasty sentences on your tongue before he even had time to speak.

“Stop fucking calling me! How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I want nothing to do with you. Seriously, how delusional are you-”

“Y/N,” Jisung interrupted, his voice raspy and quiet. The sound of your name on his tongue sent alarm bells off in your head, something was wrong.

You softened, visibly and verbally, “Jisung, is everything okay?”

A halfhearted chuckle tickled your ear, “Not particularly.”

Your heart rate spiked as you thought about every horrible scenario your brain could conjure up in seconds.

“What’s wrong? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

His silence was telling as if it told a thousand words he couldn’t.

“Are you at the skatepark?”

“Yes,” he muttered, hissing at the pain that was planted in his wrist.

“I’ll be there in five minutes with a first aid kit. Stay put,” you instructed, clicking off the call without a goodbye, and began rushing around to find your coat and the first aid kit your family stored somewhere in the house. You located it quickly (it was under the bathroom sink behind the year’s supply of hair products) and raced to the door. Your parents’ confused demands to know where you were going so late at night fell upon deaf ears. Your priorities were on Jisung and making sure he was safe.

His voice rang in your ears. You recalled the way it broke in certain places like he was trying to mask his pain, his tears. You cursed yourself aloud for letting your damn pride get in between your job and Jisung. There wasn’t a day that slipped by that you didn’t think about the damned boy. Sometimes, you would groan and mumble obscenities when you did, but in others, an ache settled heavy in your heart.

The skatepark grew closer in your peripheral vision. Your legs pumped faster as you raced up the hill and looked into the bowl. There sat the black haired boy, his bangs still covering his eyes just like the first day you had met him. The only difference between that first meeting in the school library and now was he was nursing his wrist against his chest.

“Jisung,” you called to him. He snapped his head in your direction, his eyes softened the moment he saw you.

“You actually came,” he replied, a little astonished. You shuffled down the sides of the bowl in an attempt to not slip and land face first onto the concrete similarly to Jisung.

“Of course I came. You’re hurt. I couldn’t just leave you out here in the cold,” You exaggerated your sigh as you knelt in front of him, plopping the first aid bag beside you and rifling through it to find the equipment you needed to patch up your skater boy.

Your. That word, when associated with Jisung, felt foreign in your mind. Proclaiming the injured boy as yours, pretending that for the last two weeks that you hadn’t been ignoring him, ignoring his calls, his texts, his entire existence.

Yet you picked up his call tonight. You remember the gut-wrenching feeling that set in your stomach like cement when his caller ID flashed across your screen. Something compelled you to pick up the phone, and that ‘something’ was the boy who preferred his skateboard to his textbooks.

You gently touched his wrist, earning a hiss of pain in return. You glanced up at Jisung, whose eyes were glazed over with a thin sheen of tears and he jerked his hand away from you.

“I can’t stop it from hurting if you don’t let me touch it,” you scolded lightly. Jisung it down on his bottom lip in thought for a split second before letting go of his wrist and letting you take a look at his swollen wrist.

Your eyes blew wide. “Well, that’s a sprain if I’ve ever seen one,” you commented, which was met with a blank glare from him.

“Wow, really? I never noticed, Captain Obvious. Thank you for that astute observation,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, making your face fall into a similar expression as his.

“I could leave you here and let your wrist heal incorrectly,” you threatened, turning to pack up the first aid kit. Jisung visibly panicked and shook his head.

“That’s what I thought,” you couldn’t suppress the small smile that graced your lips as you picked a bandage and ice pack out of the bag and pressed it against his wrist. Jisung winced at the cold surface of the ice pack that made you laugh.

“How did you even get yourself into this mess?” You asked as you compressed the pack to his wrist, sounding a little astounded. Jisung snickered and shrugged his shoulders.

“I fell off my skateboard. There’s not much more to it than that,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking as he did. His laugh was like music to your ears, soothing and pretty to listen to. It was a perfectly full sound, like it would play whenever you opened the lid of a child’s music box.

“You never fall off your skateboard,” you crinkled your brows and looked him up and down as you removed the ice pack and picked up the bandage and began to wrap his wrist.

Jisung knew you were right. The last time he had fallen off his skateboard was freshman year, and even then, the biggest injury he sustained was a moderately sized scrape on his knee.

“Distracted, I guess,” he tried to play it off but you were stubborn and adamant.

“Bullshit,” you replied.

“Maybe,” he gave you a small smile.

“So, tell me.”

He swallowed thickly and diverted his eyes from yours, trying to pull his hand away from your touch, however your grip was firmer than he anticipated.

“Why are you acting like this?” Annoyance bubbled inside your chest.

“L-Like what?” He stumbled over his words, shifting his body weight onto his good hand, the uninjured one.

“Like you’re hiding something from me,” Jisung scoffed at your words.

“Why would I be so quick to tell you anything? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks,” he hissed as he attempted to push your hand away, yet was met with yet another fail. His words made you freeze mid-wrap.

“I was selfish, I know-”

“No shit,” he spat. Your heart sank in your chest at the sharpness of his words and the way they plunged deep into you.

“I’m sorry. Really I am,” you apologised gently, your thumb running over the back of his bandaged hand. It was a small gesture but one that meant a great deal to Jisung. It brought back colourful childhood memories of his mother and the caring and gentle ways she would handle situations with him and his older brother.

“You,” Jisung blurted out. You gave him a strange look.

“What? What about me?” You asked, making him shake his head.

“The reason I fell off my skateboard was that I was thinking about you.” His sudden confession took you off-guard, like someone had knocked the wind out of your chest.

“O-Of me?” You swallowed thickly. Had ignoring all of his attempts at conversations, all the chances of reconciliation made you a constant thought? A thought living rent free in his mind, and one that was eating him from the inside out.

“Do you need your hearing checked again? That’s what I said,” there was a teasing tone behind his words, and it lightened your heart.

“Even after everything?” He nodded, seeming a little distant to be thinking about the topic.

“As much as I didn’t want to, you seemed to be the only thing on my mind for weeks. I tried to convince myself that I shouldn’t miss you, but somehow that made me miss you more.”

You sat there, the silence between you growing larger. Somehow, you became hyper aware of how his hand twitched and moved under your touch. Your words sat uncomfortably on your tongue and you swear you could see the twinkle of the stars taking its pretty place in his eyes.

Jisung’s gaze drifted upward and the smallest yet prettiest smile formed across his lips. “You kept my beanie,” he noted aloud. His public observation made you fluster quickly, unintentionally telling yourself to touch the soft woollen hat. You fumbled over your words in a poor attempt to explain yourself, cut off only by his gentle laughter.

“Dork,” he teased, pulling it off your head. You squawked in surprise and swiped at the hat with your free hand to try and grab it. Damn Park Jisung and his long limbs.

“I’m surprised you kept it. I thought you would’ve thrown it out or burned it by now,” he said half jokingly as he admired the hat, swiping the pad of his thumb over the brand patch on the front of the beanie.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do either,” you admitted, shrugging your shoulders and disguising the fact that your heart was beating so erratically you could hear it in your ears. The thought of destroying something that a, didn’t belong to you, and b, belonged to the one and only Park Jisung, was against your moral code.

“Also, stay still, you need to elevate your wrist,” you instructed and lifted his forearm upwards.

Jisung threw the beanie back at you, “It’s cute,” he commented. The conversation fizzled back into silence and fleeting glances. Time froze as he tried to ignore the way your fingers would delicately glide over his like he was made of glass. His mind focused on how your fingers gently curled around the space between his thumb and his index finger.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You asked as you fixed his bandage and tightened it. Jisung nodded wordlessly, ready for whatever question you had.

“Do you think we could…try again?” He picked up on the slight yet unmistakable crack in your voice.

You missed him, and greatly at that. It didn’t matter how many times you ignored his texts or calls or his presence when he walked past you in the corridor, you felt this twinge of pain in your heart. You still had to see his contact pop up in your notifications every time you looked at your phone. Hell, even your voicemails were full because you didn’t have the heart to delete his voicemails. Sure, you were an asshole to Jisung after the party, and you regretted every moment of it, but you missed him. Even right now, when sitting in his presence, you missed him.

“We could,” he said stoutly. His tone didn’t immediately indicate if he was joking around or not, but your gut told you that it held a slight bit of resentment. You swallowed thickly and sighed loudly.

“Would you let us?”

“I might,” he said in the same tone as before. You looked down before shifting on your knees.

“Jisung,” you groaned at his lack of response, and he visibly caved.

“Okay,” he breathed, “we can try again. But no storming out on me at parties,” he teased gently as he watched you tighten his bandage.

“Don’t take me to parties and that won’t be a problem,” you gave him a loose smile, scooting closer towards him. The dark haired boy gave a hearty chuckle, until he jerked his hand in the wrong direction, to which it was sharply cut off by a hiss of pain.

“Alright, maybe we should take you to the ER,” you suggested, “I may have done my best but I’m no doctor.”

Jisung nodded wordlessly, looking over to his skateboard. Dissimilarly to him, it had sustained no injuries.

“Don’t even think about, Park Jisung,” you warned him as you helped him up, trying your best not to worsen his injury, and better yet, get him away from that stupid ass skateboard.

“Well, I can’t just leave it here! I paid good money for that skateboard!”

“You spent $150 for a plank with wheels?”

“And I’m not letting some runny-nosed, sticky-fingered iPad kid get their grubby hands all over it.” He huffed, leaning down to collect his skateboard, “also, it wasn’t $150.”

“Oh really?”

His cheeks tinted pink, “it was 175,” he mumbled. You reprimanded him for wasting such a large sum of money on a piece of driftwood and Jisung only scoffed and rolled his eyes, reminding you that it was a very good piece of ‘driftwood’. Despite your distaste for the activity, you picked up his skateboard and tucked it under your armpit.

“Now no little sticky fingered kid can get their hands on your ridiculously overpriced skateboard. Happy?” Jisung gave you a closed lipped smile, his cheeks causing his eyes to disappear a little.

There was a pause.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You turned to him.

“Yes, Jisung?”

He displayed a small but grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

You reciprocated the smile, and a soft hue coloured your cheeks.

“Don’t mention it.”

The two of you walked together down the path. The air was still freezing and the silence between was just as bitterly cold. Your feelings on Jisung were mixed and stirred, like a drink whose flavour was bittersweet. Yes, you disliked him for the shitstorm of a party incident, but that didn’t stop you from thinking. Thinking about the hours you spent on him, hours of your life you would never get back. Did you really regret those hours? The answer was no. Time flew past before you could conceptualise it, which paled in comparison to how slow these last couple weeks moved for you. Not to mention that Jisung had loosened you up. You felt less tense in strange social settings and admittedly less uptight than you were before. He showed you that your teenage years were still meant to be fun, that you didn’t need to figure out what to do with yourself immediately. Jisung was your guide through a different side of the world you thought you knew.

You looked over at Jisung as you walked. He was nursing his injured wrist against his chest, his other hand helping support it. His bangs were pushed to the side and revealed his eyes and their deep shade of hazelnut brown. Slivers of light shimmered like stars in his irises whenever he passed underneath a streetlamp and swore he had this heavenly glow behind his figure, and you felt a little awestruck just looking at him.

The bright lights of the hospital buzzed quietly as you made your way to the front desk. A middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes and an expression that explained that she needed a cigarette and a nap sat behind it, mindlessly tapping on her keyboards and only drew her attention away from her monitor when the two of you approached.

“Can I help you two lovebirds?” Her comment alone turned the tips of Jisung’s ears pink and he looked away from the receptionist.

“Uh yes. My friend here hurt his wrist while skateboarding and I have reason to believe that it’s sprained,” you calmly explained as you pointed to Jisung’s wrist.

The woman leaned over the desk to get a better look at his bandaged wrist. She briefly raised her eyebrow before plonking herself back into her office chair and sluggishly pulled her keyboard towards her.

“Friend, huh? Is that what you young people call your partners now?” She joked. At least, you hope she was joking, “And does your ‘friend’ have a name?”

“Yes. Uh, Park Jisung,” Jisung spoke before you could. He may not know much but he can at least remember his own name for his medical records. His answer was responded with the obnoxious clacking of her keyboard before she asked for her date of birth, residence and emergency contact.

“Alright, just take a seat over there. We’re not busy tonight, if you couldn’t tell,” she gestured to the empty waiting area, “so the doctor will be with you shortly.”

You and Jisung thanked her before taking seats opposite each other and began to wait. The receptionist was right, they weren’t very busy. Obviously, they didn’t usually get patients who have sprained their wrist because they were trying to skate their feelings away. In fact, this whole situation was laughable. You swore you despised him twelve hours ago, but all it took was one phone call and you were running back to him. Did you even despise him at all?

Ten minutes had passed before the doctor emerged from the main hallway to the waiting area, asking for ‘a Park Jisung’. The boy in question pricked up his ears and twisted his neck in the direction his name was called. The doctor smiled widely.

“Park Jisung?” He said again in a cool voice.

“U-Uh yes, that’s me,” he stammered and scrambled to his feet. He turned to you, looking at you as though he was asking for your permission.

“Go. It’s your wrist that’s fucked, not mine,” a teasing smile displayed on your lips, “Unless you need mommy to hold your hand.”

Jisung scoffed in mock disgust and announced that he’d be back soon. With a final nod of your head, he followed the doctor into another room.

The room was in pristine condition. Every surface seemed to sparkle under the fluorescent lights and he was convinced if he looked at the counter, his own reflection would stare right back. The room was decorated with space related decals that were meant to appeal to young kids; planets and stars strategically placed on the door and wall next to the desk, and an astronaut with a visor that obscured his face and holding a flag that said ‘Dr Lim’. On the other side of the desk was a chair reserved for patients, and that is where Jisung sat himself down.

“So,” Dr Lim started, making Jisung turn his attention to him, “you’ve done something to your wrist?”

Jisung nodded to confirm his theory, lifting up his hurt wrist ever so slightly as to not cause himself more pain. Dr Lim gestured for him to bring his hand closer to him, and once it was in his reach, the doctor began unwrapping his hand.

“Did you wrap your hand yourself or was it the girl you came in with?” The doctor asked, noticing how well done it was.

Jisung shook his head, “Oh no, it was her. I think she did a good job.” Jisung felt flushed just thinking about those brief moments.

Dr Lim nodded, “She did a fantastic job. You’re quite lucky to have a friend like her.”

Jisung was sure that the good doctor hadn’t realised how much those words meant to him, but they made a small giddy smile settle onto his lips and painted the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a dreamy shade of pink.

“Yes, sir. I am extremely lucky to have her.”

[espinosaurusrexex]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

three - I trust you

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader

summary: Bucky and Y/N talk about all the things that have happened so far. Seems like a serous heart-to-heart was just what she needed to feel at ease. Unfortunately, Westview doesn't work that way...

a/n: woooow two chapter in one week, what can I say I felt generous. I really like this chapter and I hope you do too. Please leave some feedback - reblogging and commenting really helps 💕 Repost because something was wrong with the old post.

!Divider is mine. Please give credit when using!

word count: 5.1k

chapter warnings: fake dating, pining, noisy neighbors, fluff, Bucky is just so sweet and soft, a little angst as well - you know me

✶ 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ☾

When Y/N had woken up that morning, Bucky was already up and about, searching through the house, and to his delight, finding a Harley in the garage that needed a little tinkering. He must have gotten home after she went to bed again, and really, all that lingered on her mind that morning was the burning statement he had left unfinished the night before. She knew better than to bug him about it though. Bucky wasn’t that much of a talker, and he already spoke more with her than he did with strangers, so she didn't want to butcher his comfort. He would talk to her if he really needed to, at least that was what she had hoped as she watched him wash his hands over her bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter.

He didn’t tell her all that much about his late-night adventure and quickly changed the topic to his plans for the day. A lazy day is what he called it, but really, Bucky’s version of laziness was already suburbanized as he suggested exploring the city. Exploring... on a lazy day. That was not what Y/N had in mind when she imagined her housewife lifestyle a week ago. It was crazy to see, however, how easily Bucky adjusted to the newly chosen life in Westview and it didn’t fail to put a smile on Y/N’s face that it did. 

Sure enough, though, the pair had found themselves in the midst of the downtown square about an hour later, exploring as Bucky had suggested. They were walking past some stores, letting a comfortable silence wash over them as they watched the buildings and people passing their way. Y/N was deep in thought though. For some reason, the entire arrival had not gone as she had planned. Well, as much as one could plan something like breaking into a magical town, but as per her expectations, it was... weird. She had imagined this whole thing differently and at the same time not at all different from what it really was. And she knew, of course, that the fantasy of family and the hydrangeas were a farfetched dream - too good to be true almost. But then again, this also was too good to be true, magical in a way she had never expected. Because it felt real. The people made it real - Bucky made it real.

Bucky... that was another worry factor she had had in the back of her mind since the phone call in New York. He seemed okay, but ever since that arm incident, she just knew that he could not possibly be. Y/N knew Bucky was a strong soul. He could deal with change, or at least he could play pretend pretty damn well. That didn’t change the fact that she was worried about him. He was a friend. Who was she kidding? He was more than that, even if those perceptions were one-sided. And sure, Y/N had thought about what could possibly happen now that she had actually done the whole ordeal: she had dreamed about it, talked about it, and now she even had the opportunity to just do it. So what was keeping her from just taking it? Maybe she could just pretend for herself a little while longer. Play the housewives with the incredibly attractive husband, that could do for now.

“Would you like to look through this store?” Y/N stopped in front of a shop that had bold ‘M&B Hardware’ written over the door in bold red letters. as she noticed how Bucky’s gaze twitched at the sight of the store window.

“If you don’t mind.” He smiled shyly. 

An honest smile snuck onto her face as she shook her head no. “Not at all.” The slight tint on Bucky’s cheeks was too adorable to deny. 

When they stepped into the store, Bucky’s eyes lit up like a little kid in the candy store. Y/N was happy to have brought that joy to him. Bucky wasn’t the type to treat himself, ever. Maybe this little shopping spree would help him to see what he deserved: a normal and not troublesome life. He was allowed to engage in his hobbies without worrying about what people thought and here in Westview, he actually had the chance to start over. Nobody knew who he was or what he had done. Nobody cared any more than that nosy neighbor Agnes and maybe, just maybe, Bucky would see that that sense of normal could be found in a magical town with his former coworker. 

Y/N stood between two isles as she watched Bucky weigh some screwdrivers in his hands. His eyebrows creased with the way he carefully analyzed each item he picked from the shelf and when he looked up, he smiled at her. His eyes crinkled at the gesture and there was a sparkle in them Y/N had not seen in a long time. Bucky truly looked like he belonged here. With the way his eyes lit up at every item he spotted and with how visibly comfortable he felt between the motor oil and screws. And even if it was just for a couple minutes, Y/N could see him fitting into this town just right - just how she wished for it to be.

The rest of the trip was unexciting. Y/N had seen an adorable dog in the park and when she had talked to the owner about petting it, it ran away. That had been a little disappointing but it wasn’t half bad. Buck had held her hand when she started to look sad. He had squeezed it reassuringly as he had shot a short smile her way. The world seemed fine then. He didn’t let go until they had reached the house again, and the mere touch of his fingers had sent tingles up and down her spine. The stupid grin on her face did not fade.

They had decided to let the evening play out uneventfully. After supper, Bucky opened a couple beers and settled next to Y/N on the couch. She had her legs crossed on the soft cushions and when the laughter of an 80s sitcom played in the background, Y/N’s mind began to wander again. But she didn’t get far. Bucky nudged her knee with his leg, gaining her attention from the brim of her bottle.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N/N?” The smile on his face was sincere, the crinkles in his eyes fading into his skin when he turned his head toward her.

And after debating for a second, in which an unbearable silence overtook the air, Y/N decided to speak. “You’re okay, right?” She reassured herself. Though Bucky had gotten awfully quiet just then. He looked at his bottle as well, his jaw flexing and the muscles jumping beneath his skin. 

“Bucky, you’re okay, right?” His silence was making her nervous and the previous serenity of the moment gradually faded into the distance. 

“I’m not just talking about the...” She trailed off. Mentioning the arm would probably ruin everything right about now. Y/N took a deep breath to collect herself. Thinking back at the whole situation. It was silly, really, thinking about the issues she had to deal with. Other people had car accidents and debt. She just happened to be freaked out by the details of the perfect life she had entered willingly.

“You know what, forget it. I’m just a little freaked out by the whole situation.” Y/N took a swig from her bottle to fill the silence. Bucky just nodded. He didn’t talk, though. He waited, his hand clutched to the bottle and eyes solid on the screen. Y/N knew he listened for her every breath though. The noise of the TV had probably faded into the background for him just as much as it had for her. If she really thought about it, the life she had imagined wasn’t too different from what it was now. She just never thought further than the house and the family. She didn’t think about lazy movie nights and family crisis meetings. She had thought about hydrangeas and company cars. Superficial things, visible to neighbors who had to be impressed as the outsider viewers which Y/N just realized to be in her very own fantasy. 

“It’s weird because in a way it’s as if someone has crafted it out of my mind but at the same time, it’s not like it at all.”

“It’s the details,” Bucky whispered. And Y/N was so surprised by his decision to answer that she didn't comprehend his words.

“What?”

“It’s the people, the accents, the smells, the feelings...” He looked up at her. Y/N wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that but in a way, it made a whole lot more sense than what she had come up with. 

“The details...” She repeated before looking back at him.

“What was the first one you noticed?” Bucky’s eyebrow cocked in confusion. “The first weird thing, I mean.”

He nodded again. 

“The sign.”

“The sign.”

A slight chuckle escaped the pair at the unison. 

“Yeah, that should have been the first red flag.” Bucky wiped the beer from his lips as Y/N leaned back into the couch, relieved at the fading tension of the atmosphere. 

“It’s the house, too.” Her hand motioned around her. “It’s almost too pretty. As though it should not really exist.” 

Bucky agreed with a grumble. “I really like the blue.”

That was another thing. The blue, it was so pretty and Y/N couldn’t place what she connected it with. It was a calming color and along with the white window sills and picket fence it literally looked like a children’s toy, but there was a weird familiarity stuck between the paint particles. 

“What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else did you imagine?” He asked with intrigue, his body shifted a little so it was turned to hers.

The images of her daydream flashed in Y/N’s mind again: The husband, the hydrangeas, the gray company car, the kids. There weren’t a lot of things she could tell him without sounding creepy seeing as most of those things actually came true. And even though a majority of the fantasy had found reality in Westview, there was one thing her heart pulled towards. Y/N wasn’t sure if she should guide the conversation back to seriousness again, but something in Bucky’s presence pushed comfort and safety into the room. He was a safe space, and really, what Y/N needed right now was just that: somewhere to be comfortable.

“Oh, it’s stupid...” She waved off, still tampering with the decision of trading the happy atmosphere for an unknown reaction. 

“We’re living in a magical town. I doubt there’s anything that’s not possible.” His thigh nudged hers again.

She knew Bucky wouldn’t be mean about it. But he would be sorry. People always felt sorry, they couldn’t help it. Something had been taken from her without permission, and if Y/N were entirely honest, if she still had the thing that had been ripped from her, she probably wouldn’t necessarily want it.

“Kids. I imagined kids.” Yup. Kids. The only thing that made a woman useful in this shit-ass society she called hers. That’s why people felt sorry. Oh, you can’t have kids, you can’t be a mom, you can’t be a woman. But that wasn’t true. And Y/N knew that. She wouldn’t want kids now anyway. Her life had no space or safety for them. If it had started differently, then maybe. If she had grown up with a normal family, in a normal house, surrounded by normal people with normal jobs, she might have wanted kids. But that possibility had been taken from her when she was ten and left her with barely any recollection of that normal life she had longed for. It wasn’t a priority and it probably never would have been. She was happy where she was now - with the people she had now, and the life she lived.

“That’s not stupid,” Bucky reassured.

“It is. It’s a silly fantasy. I can’t have kids... the red room... it-” Her lung stopped breathing for a second, awaiting the impeding empathy and dreading it simultaneously.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. That was all Bucky gave her. At least it was better than ‘I’m sorry.’ Because, really, what were people even sorry for? They didn’t have anything to do with the fact that it happened. They did, however, pushed the narrative that her worth depended on it. So ‘Oh’ was totally fine by Y/N - as long as it wasn’t an apology.

“I’m not disappointed. I’m actually quite glad that this is a worry factor we got spared.”

Bucky just nodded with furrowed brows. His foot tapped nervously on the carpet beneath the sofa as he awkwardly rubbed his hands over his thighs.

“What about you?” Y/N asked, semi hoping to not make him any more uncomfortable with that question. But it really intrigued her and if the topic was already laid out, why not pull through with it?

“What about me?”

“Do you want kids?” It suddenly felt really daring to ask that question. As though she was pushing him for an answer she wanted to hear. But Y/N didn’t want him to say ‘no’ to make her feel better, she wanted to get to know him better.

“Old me did.” A smile broke through his frozen features, his eyes staring at the ceiling as if remembering other times - better times. Then he shook his head, the smile never faltered, though. “But new me barely manages himself.”

His eyes met hers again and Y/N took that opportunity to reassure him. “You seem better though.” She smiled sadly, her mind wandering to a younger version of Bucky that ran through the backyard with a child on his shoulders, hanging on to his suspenders for deer life. Y/N always sulked in her own depression concerning her infertility and never considered that Bucky had been stripped off that opportunity as well. Not in the same way of course, but possibly a similarly horrible one. Just as much as Y/N’s body couldn’t promise children to her, Bucky’s mind had the same impact on him. And it pained her to have gained that knowledge.

“I am better.” His motions suggested that there was an explanation to follow, but his mouth stayed silent. 

There it was again: the silence. But it wasn’t awkward or tense this time. It was okay - right where it should be and actually welcome to stay. They both shifted their attention back to the TV screen which had just started showing an episode of ALF. Bucky probably had no clue what was going on, but Y/N quite enjoyed the way his expressions changed in heartfelt laughter at the theme sequence.

“Bucky?” She spoke silently, careful not to destroy the harmony that had settled between them again.

Bucky's eyes remained on the TV. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” His gaze shifted back to her and after a second the smile found its way back to his face. 

“Me, too.” Y/N had to suppress the giddiness bubbling in her chest. She took another sip of her beer and let the distant dialogues consume her thoughts.

After about twenty minutes - the pair had finished dither drinks well before that - the end credits rolled across the screen and Y/N could hide the yawn waiting in her throat anymore.

“I think, I’m gonna go to bed.” She informed him and stood up. Bucky scrambled the bottles from the coffee table after he nodded in agreement. When she was about to head upstairs, he stopped her, though.

“Promise me something, Y/N?” A faint shock went through her fingers at his touch, and when her eyes met his after shifting from their connected hands, there was a sincerity settling within the exchange. 

“Anything,” she whispered back, hanging onto his words like a lifeline. This moment seemed far more intimate than it should have. But she’d never been this close to Bucky - holding hands, making promises that went beyond the instructions shouted over battlefields.

“Please talk to me the second you feel uneasy. I know this is all scary and weird, but I want you to know that we’re in this together.” A squeeze followed his words and the tremor in his voice almost made her eyes water. 

“Only if you’ll do the same.”

“Of course.” He paused. Then he laid his other hand on top of hers. “I trust you.”

Y/N copied his action. “And I trust you.”

A last short smile was exchanged between the two and when Bucky retracted his hands and let Y/N make her way to the bedroom he caught her eyes one last time, watching as she turned and looked back at him from the bottom of the staircase. 

When Y/N lay in bed that night, she just stared at the ceiling, her gaze shifting to the door from time to time, secretly hoping that Bucky would come in again. The situation she was in felt awful when she was alone. Westview wasn’t necessarily the problem, and the days seemed to mask the all-consuming thought that crept their way up to her head at night. Bucky made it better too. But the town seemed to point out everything she could actually never have and made it come true at the same time. As if it was mocking her. The conversation with Bucky that night just confirmed this feeling. Thinking about the situation, This story probably sounded like the beginning of a really bad joke: There are these two people that go to a magical place to have all their wishes come true. Something was ought to happen, right? Even if it was for a stupid punchline. And the dread of the shoe dropping made her heart tighten. 

Y/N tried to distract herself from the misery she slipped into. The evening had been so nice - serene and a glimpse of the life she had always wished for. Getting to experience it with Bucky just added to the pleasure of that fantasy. And with that, Y/N allowed herself to dream a little further. Just for a while, not too much to spoil her reality but enough to distract her for the night. 

She imagined buck getting out of that company car as the sun began to slowly set on the horizon. Or maybe he would be riding his motorcycle. He’d have a bag from her favorite bakery in his hand and he would walk across the lawn straight to her, where she would be planting hydrangeas. Blue, maybe. Just like his eyes. Those beautiful beautiful ocean eyes that consumed her with their magic every time she looked at them. Then he’d kiss her, deep and passionate and so so full of love.

A single tear slipped from her eyes as she closed them, her check buried in the soft pillow on her bed. Ocean blue like the house she was living in...

It was a bright and warm Sunday on Sherwood Drive. Kids were riding their bikes into silver trashcans, dogs barked in the yards of neighboring family homes and the smell of barbecue lingered in the air. Bucky had decided to clean the pool and as Y/N was standing outside by the living room window, watering the plants, she couldn’t help but stare at the overly eye-catching scene unfolding in front of her.

After her sad crying session a couple nights ago, Y/N had decided to focus on the things she could enjoy instead. And... well, that took an unexpected turn as Bucky was pretty much the closest thing she could enjoy that just happened to be incredibly enticing too. The striped shirt adorning his shoulders stretched with every move of his arms, where strong muscles rippled his skin, glistening in the sunlight from the thin sheen of sweat. Y/N had to stop herself from overwatering the flowers to her left every few minutes, and that job proved to be harder than it should have been. Another grunt rumbled from the man in her garden when a leaf slipped from his landing net again. Next flower, Y/N. 

Her focus shifted back to the greenery as she felt the need to shower in the hose water to cool down a bit. Jesus Christ.

“Sweetie, your husband is a sight for sore eyes. Where do I get one of these?” Agnes suddenly stood beside Y/N as if she had appeared through magic. A bright smile on her face - as always - and a humongous sun hat on her head.

Y/N was startled by her neighbor’s sudden appearance, but she tried to keep her face relaxed. “We uh... we met at work.” Focusing on the immensely ugly sunhat seemed like the best option for now.

“Now isn’t that just so lovely?!” Agnes sighed dramatically and then she held a glass of Lemonade up to Y/N with the accompanied question: “Lemonade?” 

Y/N took the refreshment gladly. Sipping on it, they watched as Bucky balanced around the pool, fishing through the water. He was wearing light blue swimming trunks and a short sleeve button-up that had been partly unbuttoned, showing his sweat-glistening chest through the opening as the sun reflected on his skin. He looked hot, with his sunglasses lazily hanging from the shirt pocket, revealing just that much more skin to leave about nothing to the imagination of what was hiding underneath the material.

“He really is a dream,” Y/N muttered against the sticky beverage as she scolded herself for letting her mind wander again. This here was just temporary until they had figured out what to do about their situation, she reminded herself. But Y/N’s heart stung at the thought of it. ‘Where was the harm in enjoying the little fairytale life of a lie that had established ever since stepping into Westview,’ it told her, even though it knew how bad she already had it in for Bucky.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that. My Ralph wouldn’t even dare go near a gym.” She lowered her glasses and eyed Bucky with raised brows.

There was a strange feeling spreading in Y/N’s chest at that. Yes, Bucky was very nice to look at, but knowing that other people saw it that way too, had a wave of jealousy plash onto shore. Y/N had no right to feel that way, though. Bucky wasn’t hers, even if Agnes thought he was, and even if Y/N wished for it to be the same. 

“Oh well, anyways! I don’t wanna bother you I just wanted to ask how you keep your hydrangeas so healthy. Your garden is the most beautiful on the street.”

Y/N’s eyes wandered around to the fence, where a pretty array of bright blue flowers stood proud to the sun. Hydrangeas, holy shit. 

“Ha, wouldn’t you like to know...” She laughed nervously, “I guess I just have a green thumb.” Shaking her head smiling, Y/N watched as Agnes laughed with her.

“Okay then, keep your secrets,” she joked, “but you’re not leaving this town until I know what you’re doing.” 

Y/N gulped nervously. She was joking... right? 

“Have a nice day, Y/N.” Agnes walked backward and pushed her sunglasses up to her nose again. Then she adjusted her hat and it was a flirty ‘bye Bucky,’ she finally turned around and left the garden. Bucky had just waved with a bright smile and the accompanied nod. And even though he had looked incredibly attractive doing so, with his bicep flexing in the wave motion, Y/N couldn’t keep her focus on him.

She was staring at the flowers again. The bright blue spot in the beautiful green of the garden that mixed with red and orange marigolds. Y/N walked across the lawn, straight to the blue greenery placed by the fence in neat spacing. She watched them with her arms crossed before her chest. The hydrangeas were perfect: not one petal out of place, not one flower wilted, not even one leaf snacked on by a bug.

There was something unsettling about the flawlessness presented before her. And then the fact that it was portrayed in the form of hydrangeas seemed like an invasion of privacy. These damn flowers were part of her dream. Hers. And they were just sitting there, perfect, even if her situation seemed far from it.

“Whatcha looking at?” Bucky appeared next to her, taking the glass of Lemonade out of her hand and chugging it. He smelled of sunscreen and Y/N would have probably bitten back a smirk at the thought of the Winter Soldier wearing sun protect spray, but her mind was occupied by the deep blue flowers mocking her from beneath.

“Hydrangeas,” she said steadily, her gaze fixated on the plants.

His eyes wandered from her profile to the flowers as well. From afar they must have looked like two hyper-engaged gardeners who were discussing their next big project, and again, Y/N would have probably laughed about the people they portrayed, but there was no space for that. 

“They’re pretty.” He nodded.

“Yeah...” Too pretty. It was distressing how picture-perfect her yard was. She hadn’t even appreciated it properly when they 'moved in’. The grass was freshly cut, green without a spot of brown. The fence was white and even, the flowers placed with precision in neatly kept beds, and the butterflies landing on them were colorful. Everything added to the picturesque landscape and made the whole town look like a movie set. Agnes had beautiful purple flowers, too. She didn’t seem in need of help in the garden department and she had definitely come to the wrong person if it were that way. Even if ‘The Barnes’s garden didn’t look like it, Y/N had never kept a plant for longer than a month. They always died of too much water or too little sunlight. This here in front of her, was definitely Wanda.

Y/N wrung her hands beneath the dinner table as she sat across Bucky in the Tiffany lamplight. Her nerves ran a mile a minute as she watched Bucky eat the dinner she had prepared with the cookbook she had found in one of the kitchen cabinets.

“So when Agnes came by today...” Bucky watched carefully as he cut his steak on the blue-rimmed plate. “She kinda mentioned something that made me think...”

Y/N took a sip of her water as she struggled to disguise the sheepish smile spreading on her cheeks at the thought, her head grew hot when Bucky put his cutlery to the side, his head slightly tilted.

“She... uhm... Are we-” It seemed foolish to be this embarrassed about a lie like that. A lie she hadn’t even invented herself. She had simply played along to uphold her cover - their cover. She didn’t know how to tell him, because she had no way of knowing how Bucky would react. So she attempted another sentence that she in turn struggled to find the words for again. Bucky just listened to her, his focus completely on her, which didn’t really make it easier. Why could he not just tell her that she should spill it already? That would’ve helped.

“Agnes thinks that...” His head tipped forward as though he was trying to understand her better, but there were no words to hear. His blue eyes twinkled in the warm dining room light as he blinked slowly. “She thinks we’re married.” 

It took all of Y/N’s power to finally say it, and after she took a deep breath and opened her eyes again, she found Bucky smiling over the table. His hands had retread beneath the glass surface and she could see him tapping on his fingers beneath the table set.

“Say something,” she whispered, unable to pin his reaction.

A beat of silence filled the room until he looked up, a slight undertone in his voice. “Is that a bad thing?” 

Was this a test? Of course, it wasn’t a bad thing. Y/N had literally thought about it since before they even came here but hearing it from Agnes had made that dream tangible - like an actual thing that could be broken other than a dream that no one could touch.

“I didn’t want to make it weird.” Y/N cringed at that. Because by not denying the relationship she had made it weird. Bucky just chuckled and Y/N couldn’t believe how little panic was placed on his face. She knew this was an unusual situation: When were you ever able to choose the way you would be perceived? But really, Bucky didn��t seem as though his entire image would be dependent on this decision.

“I think it’s smart to align our stories...”

A hush of pink tainted his cheeks. “Are you sure?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean do you really want to treat this as an undercover mission? This is supposed to be an escape. Real life, not another job.”

“But-“

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Y/N.” She looked at him in disbelief. “Because I feel like people don’t see that there is a bunch of weird shit happening in this town.” That was true. Agnes had not so much as mentioned the magical sign on the lawn and she had treated Y/N’s flowers as if she had been the one planting them.

“Let’s just be married for now,” he said and picked up his fork again. “We’ll figure out the rest along the way.” A weird sense of excitement arose in Y/N’s chest. 

“We met at work.”

“What?”

“I said we met at work.” 

Bucky just smiled at her and then his gaze retreated to his plate. He didn’t eat, though. He just stared down at the food as he seemed to contemplate what had just been said. He almost looked nervous, though that was a rare thing to connect to Bucky, and Y/N almost scolded herself for thinking it. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all. Or maybe Bucky just needed a little more time to figure out what he wanted. Y/N would give it to him. She’d give it all just to hold on to that sliver of a dream in the back of her mind.

𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓

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[ateezreactionsandscenarios]

Ateez as romantic tropes

Hongjoong: Best friend’s brother.

He was your childhood best friend’s brother. Despite always being at his house you never really hung out with him, you’d see him in passing and have a little small talk but for years your relationship was nothing more than that. Everything changed when you saw him in the kitchen one day while you were getting a drink, he had his headphones on and clicking away on his laptop. Being your nosy self you took a glance at his screen seeing that he was editing music by the looks of it. You caught his attention and he let you listen to what he had so far, before you knew it you lost track of how long you’d been with him, your friend coming to find you when she sees you both bouncing ideas off each other and messing with the edit. In that time you really noticed how attractive and sweet he is and he wondered to himself why he never spoke to you like this before. Before you knew it you were finding excuses to hand out with him, even if it was for a little while.

Seonghwa: Strangers to lovers.

He was always someone you’d see around and occasionally bump into but you never got to know him. You often found yourself admiring him from afar when you were in the same place at the same time. You wanted nothing more than to pluck up the courage to go over and talk to him but it was impossible for you to just casually approach a guy that attractive and not make a fool of yourself. He’s been admiring you too, remembering small details about you, like how you have your coffee, how you twirl your hair when you’re concentrating on something and how when you laugh your nose scrunches a little. One day he decides to be bold, seeing you come into the coffee shop just after him he orders your drink for you and slips his number and name to the barista asking them to write it on your cup before they gave it to you.

Yunho: Childhood best friends to lovers.

You and Yunho had always been attached at the hip since you were kids, you only hung out with each other in school and when weekends rolled around you both took it in turns when it came to who’s house you’d hang out at. Hight school and college came along and for years everyone thought you were a couple only for you both to shrug them off with a laugh and endlessly explain how you were just friends. You never realised your feeling towards Yunho were anything more than platonic until he got a girlfriend. The way he talked about her all day and gushed over how pretty she was made a nervous knot form in your stomach and jealousy take over all form of sanity you had left, but unbeknownst to you Yunho was getting into relationships in hopes one day he could let go of his own feeling for you. 

Yeosang: Enemies to lovers (sort of)

 Much to your distaste Yeosang was a regular face in your friend group. It’s not like you wanted to hate him but he gave you no choice, every time you were around him he’d poke fun at you and embarrass you in front of everyone, it was a shame really, you always thought he’d be someone you could fall, since day 1 you thought he was attractive but before you knew it he went out of his way to royally piss you off, the potential was always there if only he treated you like he did the rest of his friends. Little did you know he only acts that way around you because he has no idea how to act any other way around you without stumbling over his words and getting flustered every time you smile and laugh.

San: Everyone can see it but you.

Since the beginning of your friendship with San you’ve always flirted with each other and have always been very clingy. To anyone outside your friendship group you looked like the perfect couple, but to those who knew you it was infuriating, everyone could see how head over heels you were for each other but you were both so oblivious and when anyone would spell it out for you you’d just laugh and say “It’s just how our friendship is.” It’s not until your friends take drastic measures in a game of truth or dare do you finally realise your feelings for each other.

Mingi: First love.

You were Mingi’s first love, the love he carried with him all through high school, the endless heartbreak when he thought you’d never reciprocate his feelings. Over the years he learned to deal with it coming to terms with the fact you’ll only be friends, he was used to seeing you come in and out of relationships, being your shoulder to cry on over boy issues and he always made sure after the tears you were smiling and laughing even if it meant he’d have to make a fool of himself, he’ll just hope one day he’ll have the confidence to tell you how he feels.

Wooyoung: Fwb to lovers.

Wooyoung was the friend that always loved to joke around and playfully flirt with anyone and everyone so it came to no surprise when he started flirting with you. You always took his advances with a pinch of salt knowing deep down he didn’t really mean it, like that time he leaned in to you like he was about to kiss you only to pick an eyelash off your cheek. At a party in a drunken state you slept with Wooyoung, but you didn’t expect it to become a regular thing. It started as a biweekly occurrence but slowly turned into 2-3 times a week, each time with you staying the night with each other. It’s a well known rule with FWB that it’s strictly sex and no feelings but before you knew it the sex went from hungry and needy, almost animalistic, to soft and romantic. You’d both broken the number 1 rule. 

Jongho: Fake dating.

It was holiday season and like every year you had to face your family who you knew were going to dig and dig into your non existent love life. You couldn’t bare the thought of the endless conversation about how you “need to find a nice boy, get married and have kids.” it happened every year. Out of desperation you turn to your friend Jongho and begged him to pretend to be your boyfriend just for the holidays to keep your family off your back. Luckily for you he agreed and the whole plan worked out amazingly, your family didn’t nag you and the majority of the attention was off you. But the facade kept up way past the holidays. Your mother was visiting, Jongho is your boyfriend, you’re hanging out and a family member calls, he’s your boyfriend. Before long the line between your real relationship and your fake one started to blur, you found yourselves acting like a couple when you didn’t need to.

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[queenaryastark]

Arya Stark is her Father's Daughter

Arya doesn't just share the Stark look with Ned. They also share values, insecurities, and abilities. When Ned was teaching Robb and Jon leadership skills, Arya was picking those up as well and we see her implement them throughout her chapters. That's not to say she and her mother don't have similarities. They do. Being similar to her father is not the same as having nothing in common with her mother. She can have similarities with both. But I'll start with one she only shares with Ned.

Insecurities

Arya and her father are both incredibly insecure as a second daughter/son who were overshadowed by their older siblings of the same gender. Interestingly, this is a parallel with Arya that GRRM also gives to Alysanne Targaryen, who he changed in F&B, making her more like Arya. But back to the Starks. Arya was bullied by her older sister and taught that she was inferior to her by the adults around them. Ned's insecurities come from being in the younger brother position for both Brandon and Robert, yet unexpectedly rising to Brandon’s place after his death. Even a decade and a half later, he still feels like he's not enough for the role he has to fill. Similarly, when Ned tells Arya that she will marry a king, she says that's Sansa. We're not in her head in that moment and there's definitely a lot going on on emotional and sociological levels (as well as logically given the current political circumstances), but part of that response is due to her insecurities. Despite factually holding the status of "lady", Arya insists that her mother and sister are ladies, while she is not. This is partly due to her insecurities in "failing" at being who her mother is telling her a lady must be.

Ned's:

"Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King’s Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.” -- Catelyn II, AGOT

has the same feel as:

“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.”

Arya screwed up her face. “No,” she said, “that’s Sansa.” -- Eddard V, AGOT

Both of them either have been or are being set up by the narrative to fill roles they were told were meant for another. Regardless of their shared insecurities over their older siblings, Ned and Arya actually fill the societal aspects of their roles well, even to the point where the North is specifically rising for Arya and willing to fight in winter for Ned's little girl.

Speaking of which...

The Common Touch

An important aspect of ruling is making people want to follow you. That involves gaining their love and respect. Those who are best at this are said to have "the common touch". This is something Ned teaches Arya and that she implements naturally through her friendly and extroverted nature:

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.” At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her “Arya Underfoot,” because he said that was where she always was. – Arya II, AGOT

Catelyn has this ability to engage with the commons to a degree as well. She knows the names of everyone at Winterfell and at Riverrun, even correcting a person who was currently living at Riverrun. She gives the oarsmen who bring her to King's Landing coin with her own hand to make sure their employer doesn't cheat them. She's always polite to servants. As a result, people regard her with respect.

It's worth noting that Arya shares this ability with Margaery and Alysanne, two belived queen consorts.

Leaders Who Do Their Job

Like Ned (and Cat), Arya believes in capital punishment. From her father, she gained the belief that the person who passes the sentence must perform the execution as well:

The Starks were at war with the Lannisters and she was a Stark, so she should kill as many Lannisters as she could, that was what you did in wars. But she didn’t think she should trust Jaqen. I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once. -- Arya VII, ACOK

So, the part of Arya’s story that others vilify her for and think makes her too far gone? You know, executing criminals? That comes from Ned and is actually an aspect of her character that proves she is going to be in a position of leadership in the end. She is already administering justice and dealing with complex choices on what justice actually is. This aspect of taking on hard choices and actions isn't exclusive to execution. Arya also takes up additional risks and duties while leading her pack through a war zone. She uses her privileged education to read maps, gather information including reading letters, and doing extra tasks like doubling back to obscure the tracks they're leaving. And yes, she also executes criminals.

Like Ned, Arya is being set up as a leader who actually does something as opposed to the leaders who distance themselves from the less pleasant parts of their job.

So, yes, Arya is like Ned in many ways that are fundamental to her character. This isn't controversial. It's just canon.

[darkestcorners]

polarity | 04 ( Jungkook’s POV ) Sneak Peak

A/n: surprise ! Just wanted to give u all a little sneak peak of Jungkook’s POV of chapter 4. I’m not sure still when I’ll release it but probably soon. I was thinking posting his POVS after the series finished but I’m deciding against that and maybe I’ll just release this one sooner as a little gift and apology for making y’all wait so long in between my updates in general 😭🙏 We shall see but hope u guys enjoy this little teaser for now. 🫶🥰

——

Jungkook felt his heart shattering the second the words left your lips.

“When will you get it through your head that I will never love you, huh?”

You were frantic, reasonably so and while he expected this sort of reaction from you, he wasn’t prepared for those words. His eyes stung, the waves of hurt were coursing through his chest and making their way up his throat. He didn’t even have time to stop it, the blow was aimed directly at his heart. He blinked rapidly, trying to process what you had just said and the pain kept worsening with each second. He wanted to physically push the words back into your mouth, to make you swallow them back down. His heartbeat quickened, his stomach sunk and it was such a foreign feeling that it only confirmed what he already knew. He had only felt this similar heartbreak one time in his life but this time, it was even worse.

You didn’t mean that, he told himself inside his head in a much more weakened tone than the brave face he was attempting to put on.

“Do you seriously think I’d ever love someone like you? Someone who ruined my life!”

His eyes burned. His chest felt tight.

Stop talking.

Stop talking.

Stop. Talking.

Getting bold didn’t suit you and he didn’t appreciate it when that boldness was directed at him in a threatening manner.

He watches as you rip off the necklace he gave you and shove into his chest. He holds it tightly, restraining himself from lashing out on you and at the audacity you had. He wanted to inch closer, let the real rawness of him make a scene. But he didn’t despite the way he wanted to hurt you right now like you had just hurt him. Despite every instinct of him wanting to fight, to yell, to corner you, to scare you.

“Just because Eunji was a shitty friend doesn’t mean that you’re the good guy.” You seethed and he watches you intently. Cut it out , he begged you internally. He needed you to just stop. To not go off script , to not cross the line that he hadn’t prepared enough to handle. He tries his hardest not seem too taken back but it quickly fails when he feels the wetness on his cheek, a tear slipping out and crumbling his efforts.

He didn’t like the momentary control you had over his heart. He didn’t like how much you were threatening to rip it right out. Not one bit.

The puppet playing the puppet master.

That’s not the way it was supposed to go yet that’s exactly what he felt was happening. You were tugging away from the strings, frantically trying to get away from the stage.

“Leave me the hell alone, okay!? I hate you!”

The wheels on your suitcase are quick to roll against the pavement as you turn your back to him and walk off. Jungkook can feel his jaw start to ache by how hard he was clenching his teeth, it was taking him such incredible effort not to run straight after you and practically drag you back with him.

But that wasn’t smart, that wasn’t his style.

He had an audience. Someone was always watching and he wouldn’t be the one to break and make himself out as the villain. Much like a puppet show, the audience was waiting enticingly for the next act. His eyes drifted slightly, watching as a few stranger passed and eyed him, a few giving him pitying looks that tarnished his ego while others just watched curiously, wishing to know the details of a seemingly dramatic couple quarrel.

However, the looks weren’t enough to completely sidetrack him and his plan. This was still his show.

Fine, he thought to himself.

If you wanted to act like a brat, let’s see how long you would last without his help.

Jungkook loathed the way you had just made him feel, the way you had walked off and let him stand there like a fool. He hated even more how much he was reminded of how he couldn’t stand the thought of his loved one leaving. He couldn’t help but be reminded of that horrible day that he had tried so hard to forget. Those memories came back flooding in one by one, each more insufferable than the other. He hated the loneliness of them, the emptiness that caused him to lose his mind.

He wouldn’t let you make him feel like that again.

You hadn’t even gotten to the end of the sidewalk before the words were already swirling inside his head.

“I hate you!”

You were speaking out of anger, he knew that but he still couldn’t handle it. This wasn’t even the worst of him and you were already throwing that word around so carelessly. So unaware of what he’d do to punish you. He couldn’t help the sense of betrayal that crawled beneath, the feeling of being undeservingly wronged. You were lucky he loved you so much, too much to actually hurt you in ways time could never mend. Did you truly think you could handle this on your own? More importantly, did really think you could handle this without him? He wanted to laugh. You were sheltered, far too incompetent, you weren’t stupid but you lacked so much real life experience that you would convince yourself that you were. Jungkook knew how people like you functioned, he knew that loneliness would eat you up inside just like it ate him up. He knew that you couldn’t be inside your head for long without spiraling. Much like him. You two were not so different but yet your differences set you miles apart.

You would crumble.

And he wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces.

Your strings were getting too loose for his liking and he was about to yank them back to him in the most humiliating manner.

Turn around, his thoughts demanded as he watched your figure distancing more with every second.

Turn around.

Turn around.

As if you could truly hear his mental pleas, he watched as you turned your neck and met his eyes. He saw the hesitation in them, the slight look of regret flashing.

His lips twitched the slightest bit.

That’s my girl.

He had you. If you really didn’t care the slightest bit about him, you wouldn’t have hesitated, you wouldn’t have turned back to look at him.

It was clear that you had expected him to run after you. It was so beautifully clear that deep down, you wanted him to.

For a psychology student, you were so blissfully unaware on how to successfully exhibit body language and how much it could tell about a person. How much a little look could speak so much words. It almost made him pity you a little, knowing how much you overthink everything yet you never seemed to correctly guess any outcome.

That overthinking quality of yours always proved to be his biggest advantage.

So that’s exactly why he didn’t bother to stop the tears from running down his face, he didn’t bother to hide the hurt. He wanted you to see the damage you caused. How much your words had sliced through him because you better than anyone knew how much words could ruin a person.

I’ll play along baby, he thought to himself despite the boiling itch under his skin. He could feel the ticking inside him, singling he needed to get away from here before the familiar ugly guest made its appearance. It could only ever unleash in the safety of his own walls.

He stared down at the necklace in his hands, clenching it tightly as he turns around and starts walking in the opposite direction of you.

—-

[whiskeyswriting]

What If I Missed You? (Part 2)

Read Part 1

😍pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x F!Reader

💭summary: Can two people be lucky in life and have a second chance at love after their respective spouse passed?

⚠️warning: mentions of death and grief; age gap

🎶 Song Inspiration: What If I Missed You by Jesse McCartney

📝A/N #1: This is a work of fiction. Please do not copy or post anywhere else. Feel free to like and reblog but do give credit. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. I do not own any of the photos included in this post. Photos used have been from Pinterest or Tumblr or Instagram. I also don’t own any of the characters mentioned.

📝A/N #2: While no physical description is assigned to reader, she is in a band that does covers of musicals and other songs. Reader is between 29-34.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You’re still in shock at how Emma practically threw you into the arms of a stranger. “Look you’re my best friend and you are a beautiful beautiful queen. You deserve to be wined and dined. Oliver would have wanted that for you. To be happy.”

You nod knowingly. “I know… It’s just… I’m nervous about putting myself out there.”

“And nobody blames you. Stranger danger is real!”

You laugh. “You’re still going with stranger danger!”

Emma nods emphatically. “Do we need to turn to all those true crime podcasts and tv shows!?”

“He did seem… normal… even if he came off as uptight at the beginning. And hi-… I gotta get a hold of myself before the dinner.”

“Date! Your date!” Emma exclaims already running to your closet to help you get an outfit together.

“You’re more excited than I am,” you call out after her laughing.

“Someone had to be!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

All your friends freeze and turn to look at you when there’s a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Emma runs to the door, nearly tripping. “Hi! Hello! She’ll be right out! Oh don’t you look handsome Admiral!”

Beau is taken aback at her bold frankness but then he chuckles. “You’re the best friend, aren’t you? I should be thanking you.”

You decide to free the Admiral from the oncoming inquisitive storm that is Emma. “Hi,” you greet him with a shy smile.

“You look radiant,” he says. “And neither of us is wearing the other’s drink.”

“Awwww,” you hear and both turn to see your friends crowd the hall behind you to see your interaction with Beau.

“Shall we go?”

He nods and offers you his arm to walk you to his car.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Halfway through dinner, your cheeks and side can’t take anymore laughing. “No way! She got the other Admirals in on the prank?”

He nods smiling at the memory of his wife. “She was the best pilot in the class before me so they all knew and loved her. Even in the end when she was sick, she was still up to no good. And I loved every second of it… Your friend Emma reminds me of her. Of that spitfire attitude.”

That little monster of insecurity tries to creep up. You know he’s out on a date with you, but more often than not people inadvertently compare you to Emma and her outgoing personality while you’re more reserved. You like to observe people and listen to their stories.

“Yeah, she’s… She’s truly something special.”

“But you… I can truly comprehend why your husband married you when you were both young,” he says taking your hand in his. “You’re the kind of woman one builds a life with. One that makes coming home the best part of the day… And I know this is very forward and possibly too soon, but one that I could see myself coming home to after a long day at the base.”

You feel him give your hand a squeeze as he looks lovingly at you. His words and the way he’s looking at you, along with how the date has been going, make you want to leave your life behind and stay here in California with Beau.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

🏷 List: @callsign-dragonbaron @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @noirrose21-blog @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @callsignscupcake @abaker74

[touchmetouchmetouchme]

The Damn Lipstick Kiss || Austin!Elvis x Reader

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x f!reader

Words count: 864… really short, sorry. (But it's just a sneak peak, and a short blurb.)

Summary: You and this stranger had these little interactions every Friday, at the same club. It was almost religious the way you two were committed to it, but Elvis was dying to have more. And you'd have been lying if you said you weren't, too.

Warnings: mentions of sex, swearing. Sexual tension, idk??? Maybe the next chapter, if I do write it, will probably include explicit smut.

A/N: Just saying this is more like a blurb that happened after I read a couple of Elvis and Austin!Elvis fanfiction, I really have to watch the film. And I do plan to write more about this universe because I really enjoy the ideas I had. And also, English is not my first language so I'm really sorry if there's any mistakes, or sentences and expressions that don't make much sense, you can always tell and I'll fix it. I'm still perfecting my English soo… and sorry if my writing sucks haha

From the balcony of the bar you had the privileged view of the entry of the club, even though you were well-hidden to anyone who entered the place. It was your little secret place and it gave you such an advantage over your favourite raven stranger, who wouldn't see you and couldn't do any of his tricks, like start kissing your neck before announcing himself. Which happened once and you almost hit him because you thought it was some random creep assaulting you.

It was odd, what you two had. These little provocative interactions on Fridays, but it was so fun and entertaining. Even though you both didn't pass from kisses on the neck and touches in inappropriate places, nothing too rough. But you loved to see him squirm with the little things you did. So did him.

You were normally the one to provoke and tease, but he found the perfect thing to provoke you about. 

His name.

You were dying to know his name, maybe because you couldn't figure it out by yourself, since no name you thought fit him properly.

And when you asked his name, he only said, "I'll tell ya, darlin. But only if ya kiss me." And just left. 

Just. Fucking. Left.

The only thing you could think about all week before Friday came, was him. And how to provoke him more than he did. 

And after thinking, you found the perfect thing. The thing that he wanted just as much as you wanted to know his name.

Your kiss.

While you leisurely drank your drink, He arrived. The perfect black hair falling a bit on his face, the stylish clothes and the so-sure-of-himself walk. 

His eyes brushed the room, looking for you. You grinned while he sat on a table, his back facing you. Perfect.

You finished your drink in one go, before walking to him, quietly and slowly. Even though the music of the place did a good job hiding the sound of your heels on the floor.

When you got pretty close to him, you leaned down, your breath in his neck, where you kissed softly. Your hands went to his shoulders, where you brushed and caressed as your lips mistreated his throat.

"Y/N." He let out, almost a moan; making you grin in his skin. 

One of your hands went to the pocket of your jacket, taking out a napkin and you kissed it, leaving a mark of your red lipstick. 

"What is it, love?" You asked, faking innocence. And then you bit his skin lightly, finally gaining a groan of him.

His hand went up to your hand on his upper arm, which he squeezed tightly. "Y/N." He repeated, almost like your name was a prayer. He turned his head, making eye contact with you.

You stood up, going to his front, so he could see you entirely. You gently settled the napkin on his lap before giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

You bit your lip as he looked at you curiously, his gaze dropping to your lips as you flashed him with a flirtatious smile.

Some bigger boldness flashed in your body and you couldn't but grip his chin gently, making him slowly look up to your eyes, your faces just a few inches away. 

Your smile grew even bigger when you saw him swallow hard as his gaze roamed over your body. Your hands slipped to his jaw and neck from his chin, caressing his cheek with your thumb. You leaned in just a little bit, and he did it too, lips so close that they almost touched.

He stared right into your eyes, the look on his face begging you for so many things at the same time. 

Then his mouth did it, "Please."

Please for you to touch him properly, please for you to kiss him, please for you to fuck him that night. And, God, you wanted it so fucking bad.

But you didn't. 

Instead, you placed a soft peck on his forehead, tapped on the napkin on his lap, almost touching his crotch and turned heel.

Just walked away, giving him the perfect view of your hips swinging in the rhythm of the music of the club.

And when you were almost at the exit door when you glanced at his table again soon enough to catch him reading the napkin. He sighed after saying what you presumed it was a 'fuck' and rested his back on the chair, breathing heavily. 

You giggled while pushing the door, seeing his look come to you again and you sent him a wink right before leaving the place.

He glanced at the napkin that was on his lap once more. Which said: "A kiss from a pretty girl." With that damn lipstick kiss on it.

He took it in his hands, staring at it. Then he flipped it, only to find the rest of the note. "Now, what's your name, stranger?"

He bit his bottom lip and exhaled slowly, driving himself to the image of you, the perfect sexy you. The one that could drive him mad with just a touch.

 He couldn't wait for next Friday.

[gamerwoo]

hansol: the lovers playlist

characters: hansol x female reader 

genre/warnings: idol au, best friends to strangers (to maybe something else???), one-sided pining, angst, this is told from hansol’s pov

word count: 1,122

summary: i know i don't deserve you back; but i'd really like it like that; would you, would you like it too, it too? please be mine

tag list (italics are unable to tag): @anissanightyoung​ @aceofvernons​ @mythicalamphitrite​ @caratluvie​ @juliettechokilo​ @liemwantstosleep​ @rubyreduji​ @ohchangyu​ @mingyublues​ @kamalymaly​ @ru-lin​ @aikisbbq (if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please fill out this form!!!)

perma tag list (italics are unable to tag): @minluvly​ @honeyylin​ @miki-chi​ @heemingyu​ @noraehey​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @floweryjessy​ @woozarts​ @anothershorthuman​ @shuabby1994​ @vernxnsfool​ @ti--red​ @etaerealboy​ @plants-w0rld​ @futuristiccomputerkitten-blog​ @thepencilkorner​ @shmooooo​ @dejavernon​ @slut-for-dabi​ @pussymode @iamxelia​

a/n: things in bold italics are song lyrics and things in plain italics are text messages

previous song | next song | back to playlist

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” was the first thing Wonwoo told him. “Maybe Jungkook isn’t her boyfriend.”

Hansol wasn’t, but he couldn’t help but still wonder if you’d even want him back in his life. Feelings of love and your possible boyfriend aside, would you even let him be your friend again? Could he even be your friend anymore?

‘I told you once, I'll tell you again; You really are my very best friend but I, but I had to go, to go.’

He found himself contemplating as he laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with music softly playing in the background. He didn’t mean to put on something sad that would make him think of you and make his heart hurt, but he had always been the type to listen to music that conveyed how he felt. So it just happened.

And walking passed Hansol’s room, his members could hear it.

‘Every time I think of you now I get so blue somehow ‘cause I, 'cause I still love you, love you.’

Nobody ever truly believed that he had gotten over your friendship ending, but nobody also knew just how deeply he felt for you. Hansol never explicitly told anybody he loved you or gave away any hints. They thought maybe he did from how close the two of you were and your constant hangouts and sleepovers, but then Ivory happened. But after that night, they knew how he felt and they felt awful for him. Everyone wanted to know what had happened; why he didn’t say anything and let you walk away. But they also knew better than to ask now.

‘Please be mine.'

But they also knew that they had to do something. They couldn’t just let Hansol mope around and be sad, could they?

‘Please be mine.'

Nobody had a clue what to do. They couldn’t call you up and beg you to let Hansol back into your life. They knew if it wasn’t him doing himself, there was no way you’d ever accept the offer. But even if it was, they still doubted you’d hear him out.

‘Please be mine.'

But...what did he have to lose? You already hated him. You already shoved him out of your life. What more could you do? How could it get worse than what it was now?

‘Please be mine.'

And if you rejected him, at least he could say he tried.

That was why Hansol suddenly heard a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called quietly, eyes not leaving the ceiling as he laid on his back.

As the leader, Seungcheol took it upon himself to talk to Hansol. But seeing his state: blankly staring at the ceiling, laying on his back, and a sad-sounding song  playing -- it made him feel almost pity.

He didn’t go alone, though. Mingyu tagged along, figuring maybe he could help. But like the older boy, he gave Hansol a sad look when he saw him laying on his bed like that.

‘I can feel the days grow cold; Boy, I'd love a hand to hold; Is yours, is yours still for me, for me?’

“Sol, come on,” Seungcheol spoke up. “You can’t just sulk like this. This isn’t you.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied in a monotone voice. “I just need some time.”

“Were you ever fine after the last time you came home from _____’s place?” Mingyu pointed out. 

Hansol sighed, finally sparing his friends a glance, “Then what do you want me to do?”

‘I know I don't deserve you back but I'd really like it like that; Would you, would you like it too, it too?’

“Reach out,” Seungcheol told him. “At least try if you’re this upset about it. You need to explain yourself or at least just try to be friends again.”

Hansol let out a defeated scoff and looked back to the ceiling, already giving up on the idea, “She said she wants nothing to do with me, and...”

His voice broke at the end, and that broke his friends. They didn’t see Hansol cry much -- if ever -- so the fact he was getting emotional over you made them realize how hurt he was.

He took a deep breath to steady his voice before saying, “She’s happy now... She’s doing so much better. I can’t ruin that...”

Mingyu walked over to his bed and took a seat on the edge, turning to look at Hansol, “So then what do you have to lose?”

Hansol glanced over at him, “What?”

‘Please be mine.'

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Mingyu shrugged. “If she’s over you, she won’t be hurt by you trying to reach out. And the worst thing that could happen is she tells you no.”

Hansol looked beside where Mingyu sat, his phone laying face-down on his bed. It had vibrated a handful of times, but he never lifted it to see what the notification was. Hell, he didn’t even know what time it was.

‘Please be mine.'

He glanced back at Mingyu, “Do you really think I should...? Do you think _____ even still...cares?”

Mingyu’s eyes drifted away for a moment before he looked back at Hansol with a soft smile, “I do. I think she cares more than she might lead on. But...you’ve always known her the best, so you tell us.”

After another moment of contemplation, Hansol sat up enough to grab his phone. He unlocked it with shaky hands and went to your contact before he could chicken out. But in the middle of typing, his eyes flashed up, wide with panic.

“Ivory,” was all he said.

Seungcheol shrugged, “If you want to try with _____, you have to end things, right?”

Hansol nodded slowly, taking a deep breath before slowly letting it out. He looked down at his text he had typed out to you as he weighed everything in his head. He tried to think about every option; every pro and con. He considered every option as he read over his text.

Hey, _____. I should’ve asked you to talk a long time ago, but I’m asking now. If you do want to meet up with me, let me know. If not, that’s totally okay. Either way, I hope you’re doing good.

Seungcheol and Mingyu watched as Hansol dropped his phone on his bed with a long sigh, staring down at his blankets, but he stayed silent. They continued to watch him, waiting for him to break and say something. They had no clue if he sent it or if he gave into his fears.

Finally, he looked up at them, but his expression was unreadable

‘Please be mine.'

“I have to call Ivory.”

[fluffyprettykitty]

Pure Luck

Pairing: Selina Kyle x female reader (no other specifications)

Word Count: 1000 words

Outline: Getting splashed by a car but a beautiful stranger offers you a warm home.

Warnings: dirty talk, pet names, palming, squirting, not beta'ed, all mistakes are my own, if I didn't tag something pls let me know!

Author’s Note: Contains 0 spoilers. Dream scenario, please enjoy!

dividers by @firefly-graphics //​ banners by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist ・❥・Selina Kyle MasterList

NSFW UNDERNEATH THE CUT, MINORS DNI.

“Please make yourself comfortable, and I hope you are not afraid of cats.”

The apartment was so small, with hardly any room for anything to properly fit in. You take a long look around the room examining the things Selina had. You had only met her an hour ago at the edge of the corner street when a car passed by and threw water on you. She came to your rescue pushing you out of the way and getting dirty herself in the process. She ended up offering you a hot shower and a change of clothes.

“Come with me sweetie, follow me.” She motions for your to follow her through the only door in the apartment. It was white and had cute hand-drawn cats on it. A distant meow was heard from the couch, looks like her cat was greeting you. The short woman opened the door leading you inside the even smaller, very blue bathroom.

“Looks like we need to share. Can’t stay dirty, I need to be at work soon." She says with a cheeky smile on her face. Confidently she takes off her shirt keeping her eyes on you studying your moves and the way your breath changed. She then tugs at her shorts and throws them on the floor. You can’t help but look at her, taking her godlike frame.

"You're slow. And very drenched." She takes a step forward and runs her hands over the thin fabric of your shirt before moving to take it off. You slowly nod your head at her and she gives you another smirk. Somehow you felt like you couldn’t move like you were just a little puppet at her mercy.

"Maybe you like it when people do things for you?"

She raises an eyebrow as she throws your shirt on the floor. You shift in your position as you feel a special kind of heat rising up inside you.

"May I continue, baby?"

You can do nothing more than nod your head again when she runs her fingers on your collarbone and shoulders, slowly pushing down your bra straps, moving her hands behind your back to unclasp your bra. She lets it fall on the floor looking at your naked frame while you are silently shallowing. Somehow it didn’t feel like winter anymore.

"Perfection." She comments and then moves to unbutton your pants. Sneaking her hands underneath and slightly cupping your ass before pushing the pants all the way down. You help her then take them off and begin to take off your panties by yourself, pushing them down while staring at her. She was completely and utterly mesmerizing. Selina gives you a warm smile, happy you are taking initiative and she removes her own panties as well, shaking her hips and legs as she does so.

Then she moves on to turn on the water faucet and get in the small shower motioning with two of her fingers to come to follow her. You absolutely do so, getting inside while you are looking at her finding it hard to stop. You were feeling all kinds of different things you weren't expecting to feel. What an interesting turn of events on such a boring rainy Monday. She picks up a sponge and starts to delicately move it on the length of your hand while softly humming.

"We must not waste too much water. The environment and all."

She nods her head and brings the sponge to your chest caressing it slowly.

"Maybe you can find something else to keep us warm then."

You say with a kind of boldness you didn't know you had and lean forward to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. Selina drops the sponge and pushes you against the wall letting her hands touch everything they could find. You openly moan at the kiss, your hands cupping her face to keep her close to you. She continues to move her hands on you, groping at everything they could find.

"Fuck me." You plead on her open mouth staring deep inside her black eyes.

"Say please, princess." She commands in her sweet voice her eyes sparkling. Her hands nevertheless move to your core and she lands a mild slap against your pussy.

"I don't hear anything. Cat got your tongue? " you whimper at the harsh move, feeling yourself getting wetter and much more turned on.

"Yes, please, please, fuck me. Please!" A chanting chorus leaves your lips whimpering and wailing at her touch. She then begins to rub the palm of her hand on your pussy rapidly, moving it up and down its length. All you could do was hang your mouth open, your brain getting fuzzy.

"You like it like that? You like it rough?" You nod your head uncontrollably as she adds more pressure on her hand moving her left arm on your neck. She wraps her hand around your throat, nails digging in your skin. You can't talk anymore, only muffled moans coming out while she stops for a moment to land two slaps on your pussy, squeezing your throat when you try to let out a scream.

"Beg." You look at her and begin to whisper something incoherent while she harshly squeezes your throat going back to rubbing you off. You feel a different sensation, something aching far too much, and before you know you begin to squirt on her palm. Selina's eyes widen looking between your bodies while you are covering her hand in your juices. She loosens the grip on your throat and chuckles.

"Holy shit, baby. Has no one ever fucked you that good?"

"No, no. It’s been a while." You whimper and look at her and then the mess.

"Well looks like I need to clear my schedule for the night, sugar. Gonna make sure you gonna cum till your poor pussy won’t be able to take it anymore."

You eagerly nod your head, your pussy already clenching around nothing.

You would never complain about getting splashed on ever again.

If you want to be notified about my future stories please follow my library blog @fluffyprettykittylibrary and turn on notifications!

[chvnnie]

hi ! for the case 2.5 game can I request lee know with 13 & 3? please ? thank you <33

not me breaking the word count limit I SET-

all i have to say, bestie is…sorry 🧍🏼‍♀️

case 2.5 masterlist/rules

autumn nights

lee minho x reader

genre: smut - MINORS DNI

wc: 1.6k

warnings: strangerish to lovers, soft dom!minho, a lil bit of dry humping, oral (m receiving), female orgasm, light fingering, humiliation, hints of pet play

prompts: 3 & 13 (since prompt 13 is in a text conversation in this fic, the prompt was: “want to keep me company?”) - bold and italicized

There’s something about autumn nights that are heartbreakingly lonely. A cool, early evening breeze creeps through the cracked open window, fluttering the curtains as it goes by. It smells like a bonfire, of weekend nights of the years passed when there were people to see. Things to do. Nights spent with a warm buzz of spiked drinks and the comfort of strangers.

Those weekends soon began to fade; friends moving away or finding new ways to spend the chilly nights, hearts broken by people you would never see again. Before long, weekends on your couch soon became your normal, leaving you with the bittersweet nostalgia of simpler times.

The feeling is makes it hard to focus, a book long forgotten on the coffee table as a movie you’ve never seen before fills the small living room with background noise. You’re curled up in the corner, a fuzzy blanket laid on your lap, scrolling through one mindnumbing social media site after the other. They’ve been refreshed so many times that there’s no new content, leaving you with the same post you looked at moments ago.

God, you’re so bored. So lonely. A void in the center of your chest craving some sort of satisfaction — be it a conversation or the touch of someone’s fingers. Something needs to fill it.

It’s like the universe could hear your pleas. Your phone buzzes in your hand, a text notification filling the top of your screen:

M [21:33]: one attachment

You stare at the notification, the speed of your heart picking up a bit as your thumb hovers over it. Not wanting to seem too eager, you wait for it to disappear. Only to then immediately swipe to the notification screen and open it.

It’s just a silly tiktok. Something light hearted, pulling a little chuckle out of you. That’s most of your conversations with the man; easy, just a funny video or picture every other day. Not too demanding of either of you. There’s nothing to carry on, just spreading a bit of joy to the other.

Dating apps weren’t made to foster conversations like this, but you weren’t upset about it. It was nice, actually. There’s no pressure to make small talk, and if you’re ghosted from sending a meme, it doesn’t hurt as much. That’s what you like about Minho. There’s no attachment.

He doesn’t live too far from you, and you both work in the same area of the city. It shocks you that you haven’t come across each other in real life, the flirtatious friendship strictly through a screen.

Nights like this make you wonder what he’s like in real life.

He replies to your key smash message quickly, almost like he was waiting for you to watch the video. It makes you feel less stressed about how fast you responded, giving you the courage to keep the text chain open. An hour passes, flying by as you’re completely immersed in the little blue and white bubbles on your screen.

M [22:35]: big plans tonight?

You [22:36]: ginormous. in the form of a 400 page book. you?

M [22:36]: oh, so you’re swamped. i am too, netflix really has me in a chokehold.

God, why are you giggling so hard? You’re like a teenage girl, staring at your phone and smitten over a boy you’ve never met before.

You have to change that.

You [22:38]: want to keep me company? it’s so hard to tackle this crazy load alone.

It’s sent before you lose your courage, nervously watching as his text bubble pops up and disappears. Your heart is in your stomach, already trying to come with an excuse if he rejects you. It feels like hours pass by the time the phone buzzes, shaky hands lifting it into view.

M [22:40]: i suppose i can put my show on hold. address?

He’s close enough to walk — five, ten minutes tops. Quickly changing into a new pair of leggings and sweatshirt, you rush to get your apartment as organized as possible before he gets here. Before you can even blink, there’s a knock on your door.

A fresh wave of nerves rushes through you as you approach it. It tingles, laced with excitement and worry. This is someone you’ve been talking to for weeks, finding joy in silly conversations when joy wasn’t found elsewhere. What if you don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like you? What if he’s a catfish? There are so many variables, and even if you want to fight the pessimism, you can’t help but fret a bit.

When you open the door, you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. Minho looks better than the pictures on his profile; sharp nose and jawline, dark hair slicked back to expose his forehead and show off his pretty eyes. He’s only a bit taller than you, but there’s something about the way he looks down at you that makes your stomach flutter, a handsome closed lip smile sending the butterflies flying.

“So. Where’s this monstrosity of a book?”

Dating apps serve a variety of purposes, from actually find a partner to more primal things. You’re reminded of the latter as Minho’s tongue makes around lap around your mouth, kissing you hard enough to send you into a haze of arousal. His jacket, shirt, and your sweatshirt were shed a while ago, the feeling of his bare chest against your own only serving to thicken the haze.

Cupping your face, Minho breaks the kiss to catch his breath. His eyes are lust blown, lips swollen from the heated make out session. You watch as his eyes slowly rake your features, lingering on each part of your face.

“You’re even prettier like this.” He whispers, the tips of his fingers lightly scratching the part of your scalp they meet.

Eyes fluttering back, your body reacts to the feeling with a roll of your hips. He’s rock solid against your core, clothes not hiding how hard his cock is throbbing. It’s a beautiful feeling, the haze making you dizzy as you rock your hips a little harder.

Minho’s chuckle brings your eyes back down, opening to find a smug smile on his face. “Eager, are we? You’re like a little puppy.”

Your reaction to the nickname is almost immediate; the rolls of your hips pause, lip trembling as a barely audible moan slips through. You’re not sure what’s worse — how much you enjoyed it or the look on his face that makes the pleasure more prominent.

“Puppy, hm?” He hums, a thumb landing on your bottom lip. “You have such pretty lips, puppy. I bet they would be even prettier wrapped around my cock.”

Another reaction, this time in the form of a tiny whimper and a slight nod of your head. God, if just his words can make you melt, you’re almost terrified of what else he’s capable of.

“Do you want that? Speak, puppy.”

“Yes-“

“No.” He tuts, pouting his lips in faux disappointment. “Puppies don’t use words, do they?”

Oh. Oh. Minho smiles as the realization hits you. What he wants is so embarrassing, reducing you to something so far beneath him. It’s almost cruel, giving you such an intense shiver that you can’t stop shaking.

And yet, you’re clenching, convinced that he can feel how wet your are through the barrier of your leggings.

His dark eyes widen a bit in surprise when you softly bark. It’s quiet, almost getting lost in the space between your bodies, but it’s enough to satisfy his demands. Useing the hold on your head, he pushed you off his lap, forcing you on your knees in front of him.

Minho groans as he pulls is cock out, finally free from the confines of his sweats. Slightly slouched, he spreads his legs a bit more to let you inch closer. There are so many warnings when it comes to dating apps, but when you look at him, slowly fisting his cock as he brings you in by the nape of your neck, you start to think it’s all bullshit.

“That’s it.” He coos as you take the head of it in your mouth. “Show me how good of a pet you are.”

Slowly, you take every inch of him, choking slightly as your nose hits his pubic bone. You quickly find your rhythm — slow on the way down, fast on the way up. A little sloppy, the sound of your spit making his skin erupt in goosebumps. The weight of his cock on your tongue is enough to make your legs snap shut, a bubble in your lower belly so desperate to pop.

And it does. It’s explosive, making you whimper against Minho’s cock as you cum in your leggings. Untouched. You can feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck; this has never happened before. You weren’t even aware it could, the action bringing hot tears to your eyes.

Noticing almost instantly, Minho eases you off his cock, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong? Do you need a break?”

God no. Fuck no. You quickly shake your head, shifting on your knees as you try to hide the wet spot on the front of your grey leggings.

Minho’s quicker than you.

With a loud laugh, he hauls you back onto the couch, pinning you to it as he climbs on top of you. His lips crash against yours, peeling your ruined bottoms off, not wasting a second before shoving two fingers into you.

“Couldn’t wait your turn, hm? That’s fine — I’ll fuck some manners into you, little pup.”

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - William & Angel friendship headcanons

I don't know why, but I woke up with an intense urge to write something wholesome about these two. So here we go!

TW: A bit NSFT because Angel likes giving the Incubi and Succubi population a run for their money, lol.

On a pleasant evening, after a long day of work, William went to his favourite bakery to treat himself.

The owner immediately greets him warmly as soon as William walks into the store. Happy to see his regular customer. As the Unempowered man gives the Vampire King a rundown of this week's specialities, it begins to shower heavily over the city.

William purchases his favourites and that's when the bakery's door dramatically swings open. Lightning suddenly flashes, followed by thunder - illuminating the figure standing at the entrance for a brief moment. They're drenched from head to toe and eyes feral.

"Please," The mysterious stranger croaks out, perhaps a little desperate too. "Please tell me you still got some buttered croissant left!"

The bakery owner winces sympathetically. "You're out of luck, kiddo. This man here bought the last one."

When those feral eyes land on William, he can't help but clutches his goodie bag close to his chest in some sort of irrational fear.

Lol, but seriously, he's ready to share the baked goods with the stranger while they dry off using the towel provided by the owner. Conversation soon flows easily between them.

William learns that the stranger had the opposite day compared to his. It's been nothing but a string of bad lucks, red lights and spilt coffee on their work clothes and now they're soaking wet for wanting to buy some comfort food. He decided to buy coffee for them; hoping that it would warm them up.

It might be a shitty day for them but Angel left that bakery that night with a new friend.

So that's how their friendship started!

Their friendship dynamic is basically that one art meme where character A is the embodiment of chaos and character B is the normal one who just happens to be the chaos enabler.

William is delightfully taken by Angel's silliness and random bout of wisdom (they make him feel young again whenever they hang out) while Angel is charmed by William's gentle patience and the fact that he's 90% on board with whatever shenanigans they can come up with. That's more than David!

It's crazy how fast these two become instant besties!

"You know what's a power move, Will? Owning up to your fox pass. It's the ultimate - "

The conversations they have is hilarious:

"Wait. Wait. Excuse me?"

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"Uh, power move?"

"No, no. After that."

"Fox pass?"

"... It's pronounced 'foe pa'."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"..."

Cue a quick and impromptu French lesson from an incredulous Vampire King on the word faux pass.

Angel made their life mission to annoy the hell out of William by mispronouncing other various French words.

These two also do lots of activities together! Mainly cooking. Each take turns going to the other's house and messing up the kitchen.

"Does this one look like nine by thirteen inches to you?"

EX: Today's agenda is baking cupcakes. William is holding up a couple of trays with a frown and presents one to a curious Angel.

"Yeah."

"Well, that was quick."

"Look Will, I get nine inched nailed daily. I know when I see one."

Cue Will blue screening for at least fifteen minutes while Angel howls with laughter.

"The youths of today sure are bold..."

Angel also made William hooked on video games. Specifically, fighting games. William surprisingly becomes very competitive whenever they play.

"Oh, no fucking way. Will! Will, dude, is that you!? Oh my gosh, hi! What are you doing here!?"

They exchange bits and pieces of their background before both of their identities are revealed during a Shaw & Solaire Party.

Angel's outburst earns the immediate attention of every attending Vampires and some curious Wolves. Everyone watches as they run up to him.

"Oh my, hello dear. This is a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you're a part of the Empowered world."

"Hey, that should be my line! Is your partner one of the Vampires here?"

(Vincent chokes on his drink while Sam gape.)

"I oversee the Vampires in Dahlia as their King."

William chuckles. Delighted at Angel's misunderstanding.

"You're a Vampire; that's so cool! I have a question - "

"I don't sparkle."

"You're a mind reader too!?"

"No. You're just... very predictable."

Vincent and Lovely furiously whisper that Will has adopted a stray.

Meanwhile, at the sideline, David has no idea that the Mr. Croissant Angel has saved on their phone is William Solaire himself.

[beom1e]

an intimate thing

you could have kept walking and took a seat at the back of the bus, but you didn’t. instead, you found yourself sitting at his side and asking him which song he was listening to. he so willingly handed you his spare earphone and shared his music with you — such an intimate thing.

pairing kai kamal huening x fem! reader

genre pure fluff you’re welcome, ‘strangers’ to lovers

warnings so much awkwardness

as you walked towards a vacant seat, you locked eyes with kai. he smiled politely. you did the same, then tripping over your own feet as you tried to speed past him. you felt his hand wrap around your arm to steady you, and you turned to see he was now standing.

‘are you okay?’ he spoke, looking concerned. the trip was the least of your concerns, the fact that you were even interacting with him was the only thing on your mind in that moment.

‘yeah, i’m fine,’ you nodded assertively. ‘thank you.’

‘it’s no problem,’ he let you go, sitting back in his seat. ‘do you want to sit with me?’

kai was certainly not the bold type. he would never dream of catching a falling stranger and then asking them to sit with him, but the words fell out of his mouth before he could even think. what if you thought he was some sort of creep?

��well, there’s a lot of free seats,’ you looked around to emphasise your point. ‘so… actually, why not?’

stupid, very stupid. so incredibly stupid you felt like slamming your face again the pole you were holding onto, but decided against it when you realised you were still standing there awkwardly. you forced a smile to show just how regular and calm you were feeling about sitting beside him, then took a seat.

‘what’s your name?’ he spoke, smiling. you’d missed him and that smile more than you could ever describe.

‘y/n,’ how had you not gotten up and walked away already? why were you still sitting there while your mind was screaming at you to run? ‘and sorry, i don’t usually fall on people.’

‘well, i don’t usually catch people that fall on me,’ he admitted. did that even make sense? ‘i mean, people don’t usually fall on me so i usually don’t need to catch them. obviously i would try to catch anybody that was about to fall onto me… anyway, i’m kai.’

you laughed shortly, covering your mouth and looking at him apologetically. he was just glad to have made you laugh.

‘what song are you listening to?’ you gestured towards his phone in his left hand. he had one headphone in as the other had been forgotten following the tripping incident.

‘here,’ he searched for the dangling headphone before holding it out to you. you hesitated before taking it and placing it in your ear to tune into the very faint sound of a familiar song. ‘if you don’t like it, you can choose one instead.’

‘no, no, this is fine,’ you waved to brush off the offer. not a single lyric came to mind as you listened to the song, but you were sure that you’d definitely heard it before. ‘is this your playlist?’

‘yeah, kind of,’ he shrugged. ‘it’s a little outdated since i posted it on my band’s page to share with our listeners.’

‘oh, you make music?’ so that’s where you knew the song from. you could still remember the day that each of the boys had posted a personal playlist to their spotify account. it took five hours out of your day to listen to them all, but you were determined to listen to all of them all the way through. ‘anything i would have heard?’

you were passing through dangerous territory now. if he played a song of his own, he would surely realise it wasn’t your first time listening to it. you should have just kept your mouth shut, but it was like you’d lost control of your own decisions.

from smiling back at him to sitting beside him to listening to his playlist, it was and wasn’t your choice at the same time. it was like the half of you that had sense — the one that screamed at you to stop before it’s too late — was battling with the half of you that craved to reignite your past relationship with kai. the half of you lacking sense seemed to be forgetting about the past, and you had to snap yourself out of it just to remember.

‘probably not,’ he shyly looked away from you. ‘we’re not that big.’

you decided not to pry or beg for him to go on, simply listening to the song that was playing as the bus drove smoothly down a busy road. song after song played with no conversation to interrupt. neither of you dared to speak and destroy the peacefulness of the moment. kai tried not to panic or worry whenever a new song played, out of fear you would hate the song and ultimately his taste in music. you tried not to think of the kai you used to know.

your mindless listening to the music was disturbed by kai raising his hand to press the button to stop the bus. right, you forgot that regular people used the bus to travel and that everybody else had a desired location. in fact, you’d completely forgotten why you were even on the bus to begin with.

‘is this your stop?’ you asked, although the answer was obvious. you removed the earphone and held it out to him, smiling.

‘yeah, i guess,’ he awkwardly replied. he watched you stand and step down. ‘where are you going?’

‘this is my stop too,’ you shrugged, continuing your walk towards the exit of the bus. kai struggled to grab his things before stumbling after you and stepping off the bus. the previous heavy rain had transformed into something a lot softer.

you eyed his hand that had became tangled in the wires of his headphones and his other hand that was gripping one strap of his backpack. another amused and unintended laugh followed before you slapped your hand across your mouth to shut yourself up.

he stepped closer after you gestured for him to, and you reached for his hand to untangle the wires. his eyes widened as you did so and he felt his heart rate increase significantly. you held his headphones in your hand and looked up to send him a smile, only to see him staring at you with his wide eyes.

‘uhm, thanks,’ he cleared his throat, focusing his eyes on something across the street instead.

‘here,’ you grabbed his backpack and he let you. for some reason, he felt like he could trust you with his life. you placed the backpack down and grabbed his now empty hand to place his headphones into them. he could only stare as you closed his fingers around the wires. ‘you’re going to have to snap out of it soon because i won’t be able to carry you the whole time.’

‘what?’ he looked up into your eyes, then took an awkward step back when he noticed his stiff posture.

he finally put his phone and his headphones into his pocket and then held his hand out for his backpack. you smiled as you handed it back to him and watched him slip it onto his shoulders.

‘so… where are you headed?’ you rocked back and forth between your heel and your toes.

‘i can’t really remember,’ he narrowed his eyes in thought.

‘that’s no good,’ you chewed your lip nervously. ‘this actually wasn’t my stop and now i’m kind of lost.’

‘are you hungry?’ he questioned, already coming up with a thousand places he would like to take you to in his head. you hummed shortly, accompanied by a nod. ‘they have some great vendors just down the street.’

‘then let’s go,’ you agreed, beginning to walk at his side.

you followed kai down the street without much thought. it was still raining lightly and you brought up a few small topics to discuss along the way, until you were standing at the entrance of a busy, wide alley buzzing with hungry high school students.

your eyes lit up at the sight, the smell of freshly cooked food exciting you. you grabbed kai’s arm and pulled him along to get closer, where you scanned each vendor until you could spot something you craved. kai had never seen somebody so excited over corndogs before, with the way that you jumped and pointed them out. he offered to pay and got the each of you one, before you both continued you walk through the busy alleyway.

‘you know,’ he spoke, catching your attention. ‘that wasn’t my stop either. i kind of panicked sitting so close to you and letting you listen to my playlist, so i just pressed it on a whim.’

‘why would you panic?’ you frowned.

‘i don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘don’t you think it’s an intimate thing to do? sharing music with somebody else?’

‘i’ve never thought of it that way,’ you took another bite of the corndog and waited for him to elaborate.

‘people like songs that they can relate to or that send a message that they agree with,’ he continued. ‘i listen to music for the emotion. you know when you hear a song for the first time and it just brings out all of these emotions you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling? to share a song that made you feel that way… it’s kind of scary.’

‘maybe on the way back we can listen to my playlist,’ you smiled, and he smiled. ‘then it won’t be so scary.’

after the corndogs, you found yourself craving ice cream. you wanted to push away that feeling due to the bitter memories it brought back up, but looking at it from another perspective changed your mind. this was your chance to make up for the lack of interaction you had with kai, and get closer to him. so you asked him if he wanted ice cream, and when he agreed you jumped to pay before he could stop you.

you found a bench just outside of the alley, overlooking the road that say just in front of it. the two of you sat together on the bench, knees touching and neither of you making an effort to move further apart. as you talked about everything and anything under the stars, you inched closer and closer until you found your head dropping into his shoulder and your eyes drooping.

you felt safe and at peace, and weirdly enough so did kai. he didn’t want this moment to end, he didn’t want to remain as just a stranger that you’d almost fell into on the bus. he wanted to see your face everyday, even if the slightest amount of physical affection from you had him choking on his words.

you’d came into his life like an angel, although less graceful that one would expect. he’d got onto that bus feeling down and hopeless but you turned his day around completely, and he knew he couldn’t just lose you now.

if only he knew that you felt the same way.

lonely hearts masterlist

taglist @soobana @frozen-yogurt14 @chillfilms @robin-obsessed @gyuville @fallingforya @yeppeudau @woooooooosh8 @softforqiankun @iyeonjuni @1-800-lixie @gorechoi @fairyofshampgyu

[libraryofloveletters]

Love’s Gonna Get You Killed

Chapter One: I Love You So

Frank Castle x Fem!Reader 

Series Summery:  A life long crush on the boy next door leaves you with unrequited love and regret. You wish you could take back the things that happened, to have him be yours. When you reconnect, is it far too late to fix what’s said and done?

Warnings: school girl crush, getting into a stranger’s car, a singular mention of implied kidnapping, shitty home situation/life, mentions of the death of a sibling.

Word Count: 3,228 words

Author’s Note: this will follow canon but just the major points. this story starts early on in Frank’s life and moves forward. The first 3 chapters will cover the basics including backstory for him and y/n and then move into them getting together. *as for the chunks of frank’s backstory that I didn’t know, I made up forgive me if it wasn't accurate. 

LGGYK taglist // series masterlist

---- 

The boy across the street. His name unknown to you other than the big bold letters on the mailbox at the front of the house  - Castle. 

Mystery man Castle, he peeked your interest your entire life. 

You’ve lived across the street from them from the ages of 3 to 25 and this- this was the story of how you met, mourned and rekindled the love of your life in the blink of an eye. 

Junior Year Of High School 

Frank - who you deemed mystery man Castle was only a year older than you. Even though the two of you grew up across the street from each other, you didn’t meet until your junior year of high school. 

You watch him pull out of his driveway from your bedroom window every morning like clockwork- 8:25 on the dot but you were just waking up at that point, granted that school didn't start until 9:30. 

You always wondered where he went during the extra hour and 5 minutes he had. The high school was a 15 minutes walk or 5 minute drive so why’d he leave so early ? 

Perhaps he has a girlfriend. 

The thought made you sick to your stomach. 

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this guy. Why the hell would you care if he had a girlfriend or not? Maybe he wasn’t even into girls, you'd never know because you never spoke to him. 

You would have kept it that way had you not stayed after school for homework help. It was 5 in the afternoon and it was pouring hell to high-water at this point. You called your dad 4 times and when he didn’t pick up, you decided to buck up and walk home. 

Your backpack pulled over your head, you trudged through the rain and down the street. A car horn startled you, you glanced to your left to see Frank had pulled up beside you. 

He rolled out the window, “get in!” he shouted and you walked up to the car and leaned down to see him better. 

“I don't get into cars with strangers!” you shout over the pouring rain. 

You meant it to be humorous but there was truth to your words. You didn’t know anything about Frank other than the basics - he lived across the street from you, he left his house at 8:25 every morning and that he was on the basketball team. 

“I’ll drive you home! You live across the street, right ?!” he shouts back to you, leaning to unlock the door. You should really walk away but something urges you to get into the car - if it’s trust or curiosity, you’d never know. 

Pushing past your better judgement, you get into the car. “Why are you out in the rain ?” Frank asks, pulling off from the spot. 

“Stayed back for something. Why are you picking up a random girl ?” 

“Why did you get in the car?” he rebuts, you roll your eyes at his obvious reply which earns you a slight smile. The microscopic gesture made your stomach flutter and heart swoon. 

Frank drove in silence, you watched as the raindrops rolled down the window and the buildings passed by. 

The car comes to a stop in front of your house, Frank says nothing to the fact that you aren't getting out of the car. Instead he sits there in silence as you watch the rain on the window. 

He knew something had always been a bit off at your house. 

As long as he could remember, there were two of you and your parents - you and your brother, Micheal. Michael joined the military, he had seen you and your mother saying goodbye to him as your father drove him off to what Frank could only assume was training. 

Micheal seemed to disappear after that point. Frank wasn’t sure when your brother was deployed but he had seen the array of tears between everyone on the front lawn with your brother in his uniform and a bag tossed over his shoulder. 

It was a day much like today, raining and gloomy when Frank arrived home to see the two men on your front step, a sheet of paper and a box in their hands. 

He knew it wasn't good news. 

He sat in the car, watching in the side view mirror as your mother opened the front door. The scream she let out was heard even with the doors and windows shut, the kind of scream that made his blood run cold. 

From that day things changed in the house across the street. The happy family buried their son, their moods permanently dampening as they went with the motions of life purely for the sake of it. 

Frank’s warm hand on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts. “You alright?” 

Nodding, your hand wipes away the one stray tear from your eye before you pull your bag up from between your legs. “Thanks for the ride.” You give him a tight lipped smile. 

“No need to thank me.” he hums, watching as you get out of the car. You slowly walk up to the front door as you hear Frank pull off and into his driveway. 

The car door slammed and he shouts, “hey!” You turn to see him standing in the middle of the driveway. “What's your name?!” “Y/n!” you shout back to him and he nods. 

You thought he was insane. He wanted to know your name ? But seriously, there were a million different ways he could have asked but shouting in the rain was very notebook of him. 

Your brain ran through all the different scenarios that could have happened just moments ago but your favourite one being that he’d tell you you forgot something in his car and he'd come over to return it to you, his hand brushing against yours. Sparks would fly and you’d both feel the tension, ending with a kiss in the rain. 

The thought washed away when you stepped into the house. Your father asleep on the couch, the smoke from his cigarette trailing up. You stub the end into the ashtray before heading upstairs. 

A knock on the door before you look into the bedroom. Your mother’s back turned to you, she was in the same spot you found her in most days. 

“Mom, I’m home.” you call out, there’s no point in waiting as you know she won’t answer. 

The happiness was drained from your home the day your brother died. The home turned into a simple house again - void of love and happiness. 

You quietly shut the door and walk to your room, sitting on the edge of your bed. The rain dripped down the window as your eyes focused on the house across the street, mind wandering to Frank. 

Little did you know that across the street, the same guy that flooded your mind was thinking about you. 

You can only fake happiness for so long he thought. 

There’s a sadness about you that he couldn't help but feel that he could take away from you - he’d make it his mission to do so. 

--- 

8:45 the next morning, you had overslept a bit and stumbled through the house to get ready for school. You didn’t do the usual routine which consisted of debating if you should get out of bed and go to school then followed by cracking your window open for some air - mostly to see Frank pulling out of his driveway. 

Your father had already left for work, your mother still in bed. You decided to skip breakfast and head out. 

9:05 and you’re out the front door. Frank’s across the street, standing outside his car. He reaches through the open window to honk the horn. You look up from shoving your keys into your pocket, your brows furrow when you see the man across the street. 

“Do you need a ride?!” he shouts, watching as you make your way across the street. 

“What is your obsession with picking up random girls?” you stand across from him, watching as he shuffled from one foot to the other. 

“Maybe this is my chance to get to know you. Do you want the ride or not, y/n? You’re welcome to take your chances and walk in the rain.” he glances up at the grey clouds looming over the neighbourhood. 

“God, so pushy.” you grumbled, walking around the car to get into the passenger seat. “For someone who wants to help, you’re so grumpy.” you tell the man as he gets in. 

“Why haven’t you left already? You’re usually gone by 8:25.” “You’re keeping tabs on me?” he looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips before his arm comes over to rest on the back of your headrest, backing out of the driveway. 

“So tell me about yourself.” his eyes focused on the road, awaiting your response. “What’s there to know?” 

“Okay, well since you’re clearly not a talkative person, I'll talk. I’m an only child, just like you-” “I have- had a brother.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” Frank feels like he overstepped with that comment but he wanted to get you to talk. He could only help you if you talked to him.

“It's fine. I don’t really talk about it.” you tell him and on cue, the rain begins to pour much like it did the day before. 

Frank stops at the stop sign at the end of the street. “I know you barely know me but what if you ditched with me today?” 

“What? No, I- there's a math test, I can’t miss it.” 

“Y/n, it’s raining and it’s looking like a shitty day already. Do you really wanna spend the next 8 hours in that stupid place ?” 

“Frank, I can’t-” Frank ignored your requests for him to drive you to school, turning in the opposite direction and driving towards somewhere familiar, somewhere you had been avoiding since Micheal passed. 

He pulled into the parking lot, looking over at you when he parked. “Let's get breakfast.” 

“No.” 

“What ? You've gotta eat.”

“Frank, I'm not going in there. I’m going to school.” you get out of the car, the cold water falling on your arms, soaking your hair and clothes as you walk through the parking lot. 

He gets out of the car, running towards you. Frank’s hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back to him. You’re facing the man now, you’d never noticed how tall he was until he was in front of you, your chest pressed to his as you peer up at him. 

“Why are you so fucking stubborn ?” he spat, blinking away the rain away from his eyes. 

“Why are you so persistent on getting me to spend time with you? We’ve lived across the street from each other our whole lives so why the sudden interest?” 

“Maybe I like you!” “You don't even know me!” 

“You won’t give me the chance!” 

The tension between the two of you bubbling over, the rain pouring down on the two of you much like it was yesterday but this time, there's something different. 

You and Frank spun on two different axles of the earth, like the sun and the moon - star crossed lovers that never seemed to connect, passing each other like ships in the night. 

Frank’s hand moves from your wrist to your hand, interlocking fingers with you. You said nothing, letting him walk in you in the direction of the diner. The door opened and the overwhelming smell of coffee and syrup hit you, it was like you were 10 years old again. 

You let go of Frank’s hand, following the natural path of the booth at the end and sliding into the seat. You lean against the wall, the same way you had seen your brother do it a million times over. Frank sat across from you, his eyes studying you as you watched out the window. 

“Hi, I’m Joan. What can I get you kids?” the older woman asks, a small note pad in her hand. “A hot chocolate and blueberry pancakes.. oh! extra whipped cream on the hot chocolate.” you turn to face the woman with a smile. 

She lets out a small gasp, a grin on her face. “You! I haven’t seen you in years!” She exclaims as you slid out of the booth to give her a hug. Frank watched as Joan gave you a good squeeze. 

“Things have been..” you trail off, Joan rubs your arm. “I know, I’m just glad you’re back. What can I get your boyfriend ?” she glances between you and Frank. 

“Oh he’s not-” “I'll have what she’s having, thanks.” he smiles sweetly at the woman, not bothering to correct her. 

Joan steps away, leaving you to sit with Frank. “How'd you know her?” he breaks the silence. 

You look around the place; the same light blue paint on the wall, chipping and cracking in certain spots, the retro jukebox pushed up against the wall with the pinball machine beside it. 

“It was Micheal’s favourite place. We got breakfast here every weekend after his soccer games.” Frank smiled at the way your face lit up when you spoke about your brother. You notice the hint of confusion when you mention Micheal, seeing that you didn’t say who he was. 

“Micheal’s my brother.” you tell him, looking over at Joan as she returned with two mugs of hot chocolate, overflowing with whipped cream. “Pancakes will be out soon.” She leaves the two of you to your conversation. 

“How about you? Any siblings ?” you change the topic from yourself onto him, Frank shook his head. “Just me. Parents are far too old to make another one.” He jokes. 

Frank was actually funny and surprisingly nice. 

The rest of the day was spent swapping stories of your childhood and you opened up to Frank about your brother. It felt good to actually talk about him. Since his passing, his name had not been mentioned in the house, it upset your mother and aggrieved your father so you kept your feelings to yourself. 

Joan came to check on the two of you after the lunch time rush, it was a bit past one when the rain started to change to a drizzle. “Shouldn't you two be in school?” she asks, a playfully frown on her face. 

“No ma’am, senior skip day.” Frank comes up with an answer quickly. She nods, not buying it but giving the two of you some space. 

“We should head in, we can catch afternoon classes.” You look across the table at Frank who rolls his eyes. 

“You’re a goodie two shoes. Let’s go to the beach or something.” 

“It’s March and it’s raining.” you throw him a glance, he shrugs and sinks back into the leather booth. 

“How about you come over for dinner? My parents would love to have someone to talk an ear off, will your parents mind?” 

“Um- sure why not?” 

Today was a day of spontaneous decisions, not like one more would hurt. A few more hours spent at the diner before Frank drove you back to his home. You called your dad to let him know you'd be having dinner at a friend’s house - he didn’t mind as it saved him from having to make mindless small talk at the dinner table with you. 

Frank’s parents were sweet, they were more than welcoming and kind. Though Frank didn’t show a softer side, you could tell he had one and it came from his mother. 

You offered to help set the table or help his mom finish cooking dinner but she insisted that you sit down seeing that you were a guest. She roped Frank into helping. While Frank’s father made small talk with you, you could hear the shared whispers and giggles between mother and son in the kitchen. 

Dinner was nice and quiet, shared conversation about everyone's day or what upcoming plans they had were being shared. “Oh! Your cousin’s baby shower is this weekend.” Frank’s mom looked across the table at him. 

“I need you to drive me - your father has work.” “Just take the car.” 

The woman sighs, “no, if you drive me then you’ll have to stay.” she smiles at him. “Y/n, why don’t you join us if you’re free?”  

“Oh,” you glance at Frank whose eyes are glued to you - talk about burning holes. “I wouldn't want to intrude.” 

“Nonsense! You’re Frankie’s friend, you’re more than welcome to join us!” she beamed at you, a type of motherly warmth you hadn't felt in a long time. 

“Ma! What did I say about calling me that?” he groans, you pipe up before she gets a chance. 

“Don’t give your mom a hard time.. Frankie.” your lips pressed together to hold back a smile. Frank’s mom smiles at you from across the table. 

Dinner was finished so you decided to help her tidy up before you head home. 

“I've got the dishes, Mrs. Castle.” The woman steps away from the sink with a smile, sliding her ring back into her finger. You catch a glimpse of the rock on her finger, the plain gold band with the emerald cut diamond in the centre. 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” she holds her hand out to you. “My most treasured possession - it’s my engagement ring. It was his mother's ring.” she nods towards her husband who was in the other room. 

You hum, smiling at her as you wash the dishes. You were stacking the plates into the dish rack as she spoke up again. “It was his grandmother’s ring before it went to his mom and now to me - next, to you.”  her words catch you off guard, the plate almost slipping from your hand. 

Shutting off the tap, you wipe your wet hands on the hand towel hanging off the stove handle. “I- what do you mean?” you ask her, the blush creeping up your neck. 

“I see the way he looks at you, sweetheart. Frankie might not see it but I do, he likes you.” The woman says plainly, giving your arm a squeeze.

“Frank! Come down here and walk y/n home!” she shouts from the bottom of the staircase. He had disappeared after you offered to help his mother clean up. 

“It’s fine, it’s just across the road.” you reassure her, not wanting to disturb Frank.

“I won’t have you walking outside all alone during the night, even if it’s just a few seconds’ walk.” Frank appeared at the top of the staircase, making his way down and to the front door. 

“Thank you for having me over, dinner was lovely.” you smile at her and she pulls you in for a hug. “You’re welcome here anytime, darling.” 

Frank opens the door, letting you step out first before following behind you. The two of you walk in silence until you get to your front steps. “You want a ride tomorrow ?” 

“Depends, you gonna make me skip again ?” 

“Depends, you gonna whine about it the whole time?” 

You roll your eyes, earning you a rare smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Frank calls, turning back to see you stepping through the front door. 

“Goodnight, Frank.” you lean against the heavy wooden door as you call out to him. 

---- 

taglist: @halsteadssneakylink​ @valntyne94 @leossmoonn​ @murdockcastleslut​ (<<cause I know you two love frank :)) 

[queenaryastark]

Margaery, Alysanne, and Arya: The People's Queens 👸

I know where you were, the queen thought. Her informers were very good about keeping her apprised of Margaery’s movements. Such a restless girl, our little queen. She seldom let more than three days pass without going off for a ride. Some days they would ride along the Rosby road to hunt for shells and eat beside the sea. Other times she would take her entourage across the river for an afternoon of hawking. The little queen was fond of going out on boats as well, sailing up and down the Blackwater Rush to no particular purpose. When she was feeling pious she would leave the castle to pray at Baelor’s Sept. She gave her custom to a dozen different seamstresses, was well-known amongst the city’s goldsmiths, and had even been known to visit the fish market by the Mud Gate for a look at the day’s catch. Wherever she went, the smallfolk fawned on her, and Lady Margaery did all she could to fan their ardor. She was forever giving alms to beggars, buying hot pies off bakers’ carts, and reining up to speak to common tradesmen.

---

But the king was deaf to sense, thanks to his little queen. “If we mingle with the commons, they will love us better.” -- Cersei VI, AFFC

*****

It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband), praying beside Septon Oswyck.

______

The last years of Alysanne Targaryen were sad and lonely ones. In her youth, Good Queen Alysanne had loved her subjects, lords and commons alike. She had loved her women’s courts, listening, learning, and doing what she could to make the realm a kinder place. -- F&B

*****

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers.

----

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.” At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her “Arya Underfoot,” because he said that was where she always was. She’d liked that a lot better than “Arya Horserace.” -- AGOT