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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

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a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

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artxyra · 3 years ago

Text

The Return of the Premier Chaotique

Marinette was only eight years old when her primary school life changed for the better.

On that fateful day, in Mlle. Gilbertine’s classroom was the introduction of a new transfer student. He introduced himself as Damian; there was no last name. And if there was one, Gilbertine made sure she didn’t say a word of it.

To Marinette, Nino, Chloe, Nathaniel, and Kim, he was an odd boy. Someone that would fit right into their group after a push, as Damian stressed for no social interactions with anyone.

During the early weeks of his stay, Marinette had caught him several times engaging in lonesome activities, whether they were in the classroom or out in the field messing around. Marinette, being the outgoing child that she was, began to plot.

Created from that plotting period was her life’s mission to befriend the emotionless kid.

It was hard at first.

She and the others tried tricking the young man into hopscotch matches, and when that didn’t work, it was a game of red light, green light. Occasionally, Nino and Kim would challenge Damian to dance battles.

Damian was very much against the childish games claiming that they were beneath him, but humored them into defeat.

That was until Marinette decided on a shooting game with water guns and makeshift go-carts out of bike parts. Damian’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Marinette knew right then and there that she finally fulled her goal.

After being soaked from head to toe and laughing amongst friends, Marinette and the others swore Damian into their friend group, thus changing their lives forever.

Soon newer and crazier games began to take over the classroom of Mlle. Gilbertine.

The moment Nino would bring out his portable CD player and the music began to boom out of the speakers, everyone knew what was about to happen.

One day, while the group was in the school’s pool area pretending to be sea monsters attacking each other with kickboards and pool noodles, they were officially dubbed the “Premier Chaotique” cult. As they were youthful and the material they came up with was more chaotic than anything the future Hawkmoth could ever create.

Everyone knew that Marinette and Damian were the leaders. Together they oozed power, as Marinette was their strategist while Damian was the chief.

Chloe was their lawyer and location scout. The blonde knew what areas had cameras and heavy guarding. Kim was their chaotic developer. He knew what methods were more chaotic than the rest. Kim never failed to disappoint. Nino was their sound design and videographer in some cases. His love for filmmaking and DJing started here and continues to grow. Nathaniel was the tagger as he made sure every graffiti they did was perfect.

Nothing could ruin these kids.

Mlle. Gilbertine, bless her soul, was determined to get the Premier Chaotique cult under control, but they were slick and made plans at random. She remembers the day when empty ice cream cups filled her classroom. Every desk was covered, and nothing could explain the appearance of snow sleds in the class.

It was no rumor that the mini cult managed to create their own little snow resort using ice cream and shave ice. It was a pain to clean up.

Marinette remembers the days when the mini cult would paint the city red with flowers and chaotic goodness. Or turning the entire city into a roller skate derby.

It’s a miracle that the cops never brought their parents into the investigation. Then again, with a child as pure as Marinette in the lead, people would fall over when they saw her smile.

Their significant achievement was when the school’s kitchen managed to catch on fire during a lunch period. During the evacuation, the group somehow managed to slip through the adults and back into the cafeteria.

Kim had brought marshmallows that day.

When the firefighters entered to put out the flames, the six children greeted them with wooden sticks eating s’mores and telling scary stories.

That fire had been their last valuable success because they experienced the worst nightmare a couple of days later, Damian had to go back to his home country.

It was heartbreaking for everyone within the cult but groundbreaking for the city.

Marinette fell into depression along with the others. After a month without Damian, they vowed to never speak of the best year of their life unless they were ever to meet Damian again.

It was no secret that Marinette had a crush on the foreign boy, so the cult disassembles along with any memories of Damian and the cult.

Years passed since that day.

Chloe took it upon herself to bully Marinette when they had entered college, as those who knew them in their younger days forgot that they were ever friends. Marinette took up fashion designing and making her seem like the perfect student. Nathaniel started working on comics based on their adventures. Nino stayed friends with all but Chloe and continued with his calling in music production. Kim began busying himself with sports, specifically swimming.

Soon the name that used to strike fear in the hearts of the Paris citizens began to fade away into a false memory.

Little did anyone know, the spirit of the Premier Chaotique cult lives on and would ignite in a blaze of fire.

At sixteen, Marinette works her butt off to make their end-of-the-school-year trip a reality.

The trip was not for the approval of her classmate, which has gone stale but for her sanity. Three years of being Ladybug have put a toll on her, and she plans to take advantage of the lack of akuma attacks going on.

When the acceptance letter landed in her hands, her parents swear they saw a boulder lifted off their daughter’s shoulders. She was smiling more and appeared less stressed than she had ever been since finding out the school board decided to move teachers with their students as a handful of teachers left Paris, some even left France altogether.

Her allies (remaining friends) were the first to know about the trip to Gotham, New Jersey, and they cheered happily for her. Lately, someone else has taken the credits for her work.

The day before the trip, Marinette rundown the patrol routes, and emergency protocols with Luka and Kagami, ensuring the safety of Paris if and when Hawkmoth decided to go active while the rest of the team was away.

She then goes on to convincing Kaalki to come with her to Gotham only to be used as an emergency. Marinette was ready to leave Paris and head to Gotham.

Upon entering the streets of Gotham, a cold chill runs down everyone’s spines aside from the former mini cult members. Too Mme. Bustier, the chill was all too familiar, bringing up memories of the kids that terrorized the streets before Hawkmoth. She looks around to see nothing out of place before promptly calling out her students so they would make it to the hotel.

Everyone who felt that chill had every right to be wary.

On the first day, everything seemed fine, but when you leave nearly all the members of Premier Chaotique alone for a moment, well, chaos was sure to happen.

Chloe and Marinette had put aside their differences during the Lila era of the classroom reign. Even after it was over, they managed to remain friends, rekindling the essence of primary friendship. The boys joined in on them not long afterward.

Plans were made but not yet enforced. It did not feel right, and they knew why– it was because they lacked their chief, the one and only Damian.

~☾★☽~

All Marinette wanted was a cup of coffee, but instead, she got something--someone much more pleasing.

Frozen in place, she calls out a single name, “Dames?” The dark-haired male turned around; she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes soften at the sight of her first crush. He hadn’t changed by much, though he was now taller than her.

“Mars?” That nickname sent the French-Asian teen running into the arms of the Ice Prince himself. Instead of pushing her away, he wraps his arms around her.

Time froze in that café for several reasons, but the main one was definitely because they just witnessed Damian Wayne hugging someone willing.

Their embrace ends with them staring into each other’s eyes. It felt surreal. They couldn’t find the words to say, but they didn’t have to.

Life continues in the cafe as Damian leads Marinette away from the flashes of lights. It wasn’t long before Damian’s phone began to blow up with notifications. He turns his phone off and stuffs it back into his pocket.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Marinette pulls Damian in closer. Lifting herself onto her tip-toes, she whispers, “The others are here too.” into his ear. She steps away to see what she has unleashed, hoping that nearly a decade away from each other hasn’t altered their relationship.

This time it was Damian who smirks, bringing Marinette closer to him. “Mm, shall be bring Gotham to its knees?”

They share a smirk that ends with an explosion, thus, reigniting the Premier Chaotique cult with a burning passion for mayhem.

They decided to meet that night after hours.

Music blared in the streets of Gotham, seemingly close to the classroom’s hotel near Wayne Enterprise.

The members of Premier Chaotique strut down the middle of the streets in inflatable dinosaur suits dancing to the remixes that played from the boombox on one of the dino’s skateboards (Nino’s).

Jamming to Bats @crazyforbats Did anyone else wake up to music and dancing dinos last night?

Bearbe @Bearbe Replying to @crazyforbats THAT WAS REAL!!??? I THOUGHT I WAS HULLACINATING

Krazie Kay @gokaykaer [A one-minute video with various strobe lighting colors flashing around and six dinosaurs doing the Cha-Cha-Slide] I swear I just saw @thebloodwayne for a split second.

Vera Pitts @vera_pitts [A short video of inflatable dinosaurs chaotically dancing to the Harlem Shake.] I thought this trend of over and done *crying emoji*

By the morning, Twitter was blowing up with various videos and gifs of the events that happened the night before. The only people who weren’t affected by the popularity were the people who were a part of it.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce could already feel a migraine coming as his two oldest play the videos repeatedly in the main room.

Damian scoffs at his family members, while Dick complains about why they haven’t thought of that for a family outing. It’s all about class, Dick; it’s all about class.

Alfred, being all-knowing, takes notice of Damian's hidden smirks and recent purchase from his account at a party store. Nothing to worry about in this household. However, Damian asking him about where to find used pocket bikes (mini motorcycles) and wire rope reels was troubling.

The next night began the fears of every Parisian that experienced the reign. Blessed that it wasn't not happening in their city for once.

Per their plan assignments, Chloe and Kim found the buildings necessary for the zip line. Nino was in charge of setting up the equipment with the help of Nathaniel. Damian’s task was to get the bikes and zip line wire. Marinette’s job was to keep the class and others from finding out their plan.

Once everything was ready, the Premier Chaotique entered their playground wearing hooded leotards (or bodysuits) with matching latex masks stretched over their eyes.

Kim went first down the zip line as Damian race down the streets on the bike. Initially, they were going to use the bikes, but the zip line couldn’t hold the weight of the bike and the person on it, so they turned it into a race instead. Of course, they put challenges throughout the route to make it more even.

Their mayhem took a turn for the best when someone had called the cops, causing the for once silent night into a regular night of crime. Instead of stopping, like normal people, the mini cult went on a high-speed race against the GCPD.

Gotham’s Twitter users were having a blast with the events. It was the best and bravest thing to surface since Batman, though some were very vocal with their opposing thoughts.

The GCPD never caught the Premier Chaotique members, and they went on as if nothing happened.

It was during the tour of Wayne Enterprise that the Premier Chaotique members learned Damian’s last name. He was an effing Wayne.

Marinette had asked Damian what his last name was when they were eight, and he replied nonchalantly with something along the lines of not being a Wayne until he was ten. Afterward, they continue hanging out and plotting throughout the tour.

After seeing their younger brother interact with teens his age, Dick specifically begs Bruce to invite the group while the rest stands there in shock. The sight of seeing Damian doing what they thought was impossible needed to go into the history books.

While it was a momentous occasion for Damian’s brothers, it was a reality check for Mme. Bustier. Her screams echo against the halls of WE as buried memories of the chaos awakens.

She stared pointedly at Marinette in denial. There was no way her star student was in the cult that did so much damage all those years ago. When Chloe, Nino, Kim, and quiet Nathaniel joined her, Caline started to feel faint. She immediately excused herself to call her therapist. Her wails for help could reach the lobby.

Bruce unknowingly invited even more chaos into his household that night.

It didn’t take Chloe and Marinette much to convince their teachers to let the five of them stay with Mr. Wayne for the night in hopes of “catching up” with Damian.

After getting the approval from Mr. Wayne and their parents, she agreed, secretly ecstatic that they wouldn’t be in her care for the next several hours.

~☾★☽~

“I’m bored. Let’s play a prank?” Kim randomly shouts, playing catch with himself, when they were all staring out the TV waiting for something good to come on.

“What do you have in mind?” Marinette asks, making her way over to Damian. He pushes her away, knowing that she’ll use him as a throne.

“Hey Dames, do you own go-carts are something of a familiar nature?”

Damian thinks about it for a minute, “Tt, father wouldn’t dare let those things in the house. We can prank my brothers. Scaring them would bring me joy.”

“Well I have a few ideas, we can use.” Chloe states, pulling out the book of mischief from her purse.

They all huddle over the book with smirks on their faces.

-----

A retouch version of Request #9.

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #artxyra one-shots #slight daminette

226 notes · View notes

s-brant · 3 years ago

Text

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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teddy06writes · 4 years ago

Note

sapnap x reader where the readers first language is greek and they confess to him in greek without knowing he speaks it too ? i love ur writing btw !! :)

sapnap x reader

first of all, this is such a cute idea and I love it, second of all, I DO NOT KNOW GREEK, so apologize in advance for anything google translate gets wrong

trigger warnings: some swearing, drinking

(y/n/n)- your nickname

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’d first seen him from across the quad, whilst searching for a distraction from the boring chattering of your mother on the phone, the dirty blonde man also lost in conversation with the brunette who’d walked beside him.

You continued to watched them on their path through the mess of kids on benches or even the ground, tracing his familiarity to one of your lectures on software design.

What surprised you most, was when he looked over, and smiled at you, he’d caught you in the act of staring at him, and smiled.

You smiled back, not to be impolite, and were pulled back to reality by your mothers voice in your ear, “(y/n), είσαι εκεί? ή έχει πετάξει το κεφάλι σου στα σύννεφα;” (Are you there? Or has your head flown off in the clouds?)

“Είμαι εδώ μαμά.” (I’m here mama) you sighed.

The next time you saw him was at a party some frat house on the other side of campus was throwing.

You hadn’t planned on going, seeing as you barley knew the boys in the frat, and your friends, well, at this college anyway, were nonexistent, but hey, free booze.

So that's how you found yourself, leaning against the living room wall, cup in hand, watching the beer pong game happening in the center of the room.

Taking another sip of your drink you did a mental walk of the room, making mental note of the people you knew, and then there he was again, definitely less than sober, calling dibs on playing the loser of the game.

You watched, amused as the game ended, and he quickly took the place of the loser, taunting the other guy loudly.

Three games (and several beers) later he was still winning, loudly yelling that he could beat anyone at the party.

Unable to help yourself you stepped forward, “I’ll have a go then.”

He looked you up and down proclaiming, “Easy win.”

You smirked, moving up to the table.

The game began, and his confidence quickly wore down, as all your shots either landed, or came very close.

The last few were neck and neck, but soon it was down to three left on your side, and only one left on his.

Desperately, his first shot got one of yours and you quickly chugged it down, still smirking at him.

You raised an eyebrow as he lined up his next shot, and his eyes flicked to yours just long enough to cause him to miss.

You bit back a grin, easily sinking the last shot, “I’ve bested the beast.”

The people who had been spectating cheered, and the brunette who you’d seen with him before started to laugh his ass off, “They fucking got you Nick!”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” He sounded all too sober for someone who should’ve been that drunk.

You chuckled, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

A half hour later you were half way out the door, not bothering to pull on your jacket, the relative amount of dinking you had done still making your cheeks feel warm.

“Wait! Wait!” He- Nick, you reminded yourself, came half stumbling down the road, “I wanted to say good game.”

“That was half an hour ago.” You laughed.

“Still- i- sorry, what is your name?”

“(y/n), I’m in your intro to software design.”

“I’ve never seen you in there before,” He looked confused, “Which group do you sit with?”

“I don’t really have friends.” You shrugged.

Nick frowned, quickly holding out his hand for a shake, “Hi, I’m Nick, I’m your friend now.”

You looked at his outstretched hand confused, “Yeah o-kay. Your drunk, I’m tipsy and if I’m lucky you won’t remember this in the morning. I don’t really do friends here.”

He nodded as if paying attention, but then said, “You have an accent.”

You nodded, “Yup, I’m leaving now.”

You didn’t see him again after that, for nearly three weeks, and you were beginning to think he really had forgotten, that is, until he approached out out side of the lecture hall, “Hey!”

“Yeah?”

“(y/n) right? Your the one who beat me at beer pong. And then walked away when I asked about your accent.”

You rolled your eyes, “You didn’t ask you literally just stated I had an accent.”

“Well I’m not wrong! I meant to ask why- well not why- just, are you an exchange student or?”

You adjusted your laptop bag on your shoulder, “This isn’t high school. We don’t have exchange students.”

“Well, are you studying abroad then?”

“I’m an American. I can’t study abroad in my own country.”

He looked slightly confused, “Sorry- it’s just with your accent I assumed.”

“I wasn’t born here if that helps.” You turned and started away, pulling out your phone as it started to ring, “Ναι μαμά; Έχω μαθήματα σύντομα, τι συμβαίνει;” (Yes mama? I have class soon, what's wrong?)

“Why are you always alone all the time?”

You groaned, looking up from the firewall system assignment you’d been testing on your tablet, to see Nick, “I’m working.”

“And I’m asking a question,” He sat down at the otherwise empty table, “Why are you always alone?”

“I told you, I don’t have friends here.” You ran the breaker code again, seeing if it could illuminate any unseen holes.

“You were at the party, surely you knew someone there, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone.”

“σκατά“ You muttered, a new problem in the chain arising, “It was an open house party, I heard about it from people I know.” (shit)

Nick frowned, “Oh, thats-”

“Sad, tragic, depressing? Yeah I’m aware.” You sighed.

You saved the project, shutting off your tablet and looking around the empty cafeteria, “Isn’t it like, wicked late? Why are you here?”

“Why’re you?” he countered.

“World��s asleep.” You muttered, packing up the rest of your stuff, “Why do you keep making such an effort to talk to me?”

“Cause we’re friends remember? Shook on it.”

“I never shook your hand.” You grumbled, standing up.

“You know that I’m right!” Nick exclaimed.

“Maybe! But I don’t want to admit it!”

Over the course of a few month Nick had crawled, kicked and wormed his way into your life, all but forcing you to become his friend, and surprisingly, you didn’t mind all that much.

Now you were sitting out on the roof of your dorm, looking up at the night sky.

“I swear your fucking nocturnal dude! Like an owl! And I willingly give up my sleep to hang out with you!”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden jolt of a realization, and as suddenly as a lighting strike, you were falling in love.

You fumbled to recover, “Well you’re the one who went out of your way to become my friend.”

“I mean, too be fair I was drunk.”

“But still went out of your way to be my friend once you were sober.” You pointed out.

“Hey, drunk me makes good decisions sometimes.” He laughed, looking over at you.

You let out a sigh, watching the white wisps of your breath drift up in the sky, “That’s the thing I’ve never got over.”

“What? Drunk me making interesting decisions?”

“The cold,” You said simply, “I’ve lived here half my life, but the cold still doesn’t make sense to me.”

He laughed, “This is Texas, it’s not nearly as cold as it gets up north. Snow’s much more common for now, up there.”

“I’ve never seen snow. Mama doesn’t like it much,” You laughed, “The first time I really heard about it it sounded so strange.”

Nick smiled, “Lets go up north during winter break then. I know people up there, we can go do winter tourist things.”

“Winter tourist things?”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, “Go ice skating, look at lights, sleigh rides, all that.”

You laughed, “Winter Tourist things.”

A month and a half had passed, your sudden change in feelings toward your only friend on campus had not.

If anything they had just gotten worse, and now, the thing you still couldn’t wrap your head around, you were tossing your suitcase into the back of his car, about to head on your way to the airport, because yes, the Winter Tourist thing stuck.

“Dude, I’m so excited! This is gonna be epic!”

You nodded, “You know, thinking about it, it actually is possible I’ve seen snow, like when I was little. It just never lasted long.”

Nick scrunched up his nose, “Well it’s too late to duck out now!”

“I never said I was ducking out.” You laughed.

The trip had gone pretty well, the snow in the northeast was certainly different than that of Macedonia, but you didn’t think it was all Nick had said it would be.

Still you had enjoyed wandering around the city looking at Christmas lights, attempting to ice skate, and just enjoying each others company.

It seemed like every minute you spent with Nick, you teetered closer to the edge, knowing that by the end of this trip you’d be head over heels for him, if you weren’t already now.

Now you were quietly sitting on the balcony of your hotel room, hands cradled around the warm cup of hot chocolate you’d made, looking out into the swirling darkness above the city.

“You know your gonna freeze if you stay out here.” Nick moved through the door and sat beside you, draping part of a blanket around your shoulders.

“I know.” You sighed.

He looked at you, concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“Νομίζω ότι ερωτεύομαι,” You murmured, a quiet confession, more so to yourself than to him, “και αυτό με τρομάζει.” (I think I’m falling in love with you... and that terrifies me)

You started to sigh as he looked confused, though only for a moment, because “Τι είναι τόσο τρομακτικό για την αγάπη;” He asked softly. (What’s so scary about love?)

You froze, almost dropping your cup, “ε-ε-ε, εσύ- μιλάς ελληνικά;” (uh- y- uh, you- you speak Greek?)

“λίγο,” He smiled, “Είσαι ερωτευμένος μαζί μου;“ (A bit... you’re in love with me?)

“λίγο.” (A bit), you breathed, trying to ignore the small space between you seemingly shrink.

“Νομίζω ότι είμαι λίγο ερωτευμένος και εσένα.” He chuckled. (I think I'm a bit in love with you too)

Your breath hitched, and your quickly bridged the small gap between you to kiss him, smiling into it a bit as he kissed back.

“How long?” He asked softly when you pulled apart.

“When you first brought up the trip. You said that you were willing to lose sleep to hang out with me,” You chuckled nervously, “You?”

“Second week of school, you were on the phone with someone, and you smiled back at me,” Nick grinned, “I saw you from across the quad and knew.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #sapnap x reader #teddy06 #teddy06 writes

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femreader · 4 years ago

Text

Chemoreceptors ➵ Michelle ”MJ” Jones

could i please request some cute flustered mj x reader, maybe mj could be trying to ask them out but she keeps on tripping on her pick up lines and such?

Summary: y/n finally has the guts to ask MJ out, awkwardness ensues

Pairing: Michelle “MJ” Jones x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.5k

A/N: I changed it a little bit but, here you go?

MJ watched as you talked with your friends by your locker, gushing about how one of your friends got a date for the prom coming up. She could see you smiling, happy for your friend while shaking your head when asked if you already had a date. It was rather surprising that you didn't’ have one yet, you were one of the most popular kids in the school. MJ was sure the guys were basically throwing themselves at you. Unlike most of the annoying people who she had to endure eight hours for five days a week, you were actually pretty cool. The “popularity” hadn’t gotten to your head, yet anyway.

“Stop drooling, you look a little creepy”, Peter Parker slid beside her, bumping into the locker next to MJs. He literally was wearing one of those shoes with rollers on the bottom.

MJ rolled her eyes at him and closed her locker after taking out the necessary books. She briefly wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve to make sure she wasn’t actually drooling.

Peter glanced at Y/N who was with her friends and wiggled his eyebrows.

“She doesn’t have a date yet”, he nudged MJ.

“I know”, she answered, annoyed where this conversation was headed already. “Why do you even care?” Her eyebrows furrowed together.

You said goodbyes to your friends and decided to head towards your chem class, passing MJ and Peter. She awkwardly smiled when you greeted her briefly and continued on with your way. MJ looked at Peter warningly when he turned back to her with a smug look.

“MJ’s got a crush--”

“I will hit you with a chair”, MJ said pointedly just as the class bell rang. Peter chuckled at his own sing-song joke, resting his hands on the straps of his back bag.

”Just ask her out man”, he said, looking up at her. ”What’s the worst that could happen?"

”Uh, first of all, you don't get to have any say in this”, MJ mused out loud, knowing just how dead and miserable Parker’s love life was and how he channeled it through other people's business. ”Second, I don’t even care.”

”Pfft, sure”, Peter mumbled, scratching the back of his neck while following her to class.

You were sitting in the cafeteria, talking with few friends of yours about the upcoming algebra exam when Peter Parker slid into your conversation. He plopped down beside you, scaring the life out of you.

”Hi”, you smiled confusedly. You weren’t quite sure what he wanted from you as you weren't too familiar, but his awkwardness was adorable. It made your friends giggle a little.

”Uh, hi okay so a quick survey”, Peter began making random patterns on the table while talking. ”If there happened to be an intelligent girl--woman! An intelligent woman, who's also rather cute but won't admit to anyone because the patriarchy sucks and we all eventually die and happened to also like dogs”, he nodded towards your phone where your cousin’s dog was as your lock screen.

”Like what would be her chances... with you?” He squinted his eyes at you, while yours were wide open.

”Peter, are you talking about MJ?” You freaked a little. You had no idea she might have liked you, you thought you always looked too girly and one of those bimbos in her eyes. Plus you always were so awkward when talking with her. Well, those rare times you got to talk with her. Like that one time the last December before Christmas break, you had complained about the homework in the bathroom while she had stayed mostly quiet.

Peter’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened and closed rapidly like he was a fish. ”I—uh, no! No, not MJ, definitely not—”

”Peter, it’s fine”, You chuckled, still a little overwhelmed by the new found information. Your friends nudged you teasingly, you just shook your head at them. ”I... I kinda like her too. If she likes me, that is.”

”She does!” Peter caught himself saying a bit too loud and he immediately lowered his voice. You bit your lip from excitement. ”I mean, she does... she’s just really bad at talking with people, who's not me.”

”You could see her after school”, one of your friends proposed. You looked at them in thought.

”We have cheer exercise though.”

”After that, behind the bleachers”, your other friend offered. ”I mean that’s where everyone makes out so you’d totally have all the privacy.” The thought made your cheeks heat up a quite bit.

You rolled your lips together in thought before nodding and turning to Peter. ”Can I have her phone number?” The boy scrambled through his pockets to get his phone, nodding feverishly at the same time.

”Hey it’s Y/N, can you see me after school by the bleachers?”

MJ had been pretty sure she had accidentally inhaled something poisonous in chem class when she got the message from you. And When MJ asked Peter how you had even gotten her number, he just shrugged his shoulders the tips of his ears bright red.

”I swear to god if you said anything stupid—”

”I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have to go, Aunt May’s waiting bye!” Peter word vomited after their last class and darted out of the room, leaving MJ deal with the mess by herself. She put the hood over her head and read your text again, not sure what to say so she ended up answering okay.

She grimaced a little how blunt it sounded.

Outside was warm, the summer was quickly approaching with the help of climate change. MJ didn't necessarily dislike the heat, in the summer, she just didn't like the fact that she couldn't seek comfort from her hoodies and long-sleeved clothing anymore.

She had almost forgotten how nervous she was until she saw you, already in your cheer uniform, hair out of your face. You had this gleeful grin on your face you usually had when the cafeteria had your favorite lunch or when you were talking about your weekend plans with your friends. And now it was directed to her!

MJ awkwardly brushed the hair strand in front of her face, glancing around if anyone was at the field yet to see you two. There wasn't anyone.

”Hi”, you breathed out. MJ felt her heart hammer in her chest. She felt like if she opened her mouth to speak she’d accidentally blurt out everything she was thinking.

”So”, you continued when MJ stayed silent, standing there with her hands fiddling by her sides. ”Peter gave me your number”, you began, chuckling when MJ rolled her eyes a little. She made a mental note to sack that loser... or maybe thank him, depending on what this was about.

“Are you going, to the dance?” She asked, wanting to fill the awkward silence. You were a little taken aback by the sudden question, smiling a little baffled.

“Uh, no”, you shook your head. MJ raised her eyebrows a little surprised. She was sure out of everyone you’d go. You probably had a line of guys ready to take you out from the drop of the hat.

“I don’t really like big crowds”, you admitted sheepishly. “And you?”

MJ had been staring at your lips for a second. “Oh, no—I don’t—“ she began stuttering and falling over her words. You nodded understanding her nonetheless. Meanwhile, MJ was cursing herself inside her head for suddenly turning into such a toddler.

“I was thinking”, you began, eyes darting all around you two, too nervous to look at MJ. “And you can totally say no, but like... there’s this apocalypse movie coming up. Well, the first show is on the dance night to be exact and I thought if you’d like to go and see it? With... me..?” You dared to look up at MJ, whose mouth was hanging a little bit open. Normally you would have joked about it, had you not been feeling like throwing up your lunch from the agonizing nervousness.

”I uh—” stupid brain, for once work! MJ stuttered, looking at you like a deer in the headlights because there was no chance that she was being asked out right now? By you of all people. How did people usually react to this? Like, do they nod? Say just yes? Yes seems too plain and stupid.

”Does—does insects have chemoreceptors for taste on their legs?” She clicked her fingers into the universal finger gun motion, awkwardly bouncing on her heels. You furrowed your eyebrows a little in confusion.

”Yes?” You had no idea, but you sure hoped it was the right answer.

”Yeah! Yeah, they do. It’s—It’s actually the hairs... on-on the legs...” MJ kicked herself mentally from the ramble not realizing how adorable you found it to be. She scratched her neck, glancing up into the sky. What would be the odds of lightning striking down st her right now?

”Well, I have to go to practice”, you said, your voice accompanied by a disappointed sigh. ”But I’ll text you after. "Is that... cool?” you awkwardly offered, trying to stop the grin spreading too wide on your face and scaring the girl away.

MJ nodded, barely managing to speak before you already had to go to the field. She watched as you jogged away, hands in her hoodie pockets. Once she was sure she was alone she punched the air slightly.

"Yes", she exclaimed under her breath before turning around to walk back to the school bulding. At least she now had something to think about during her detention.

#mj x reader #mj x you #zendaya

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kasienda · 3 years ago

Text

Right Behind You - Ch 3: Akuma

Chapter 1: Scandal

Chapter 2: Friends

Chapter 3: Akuma

Chat Noir vaulted from one building to the next with the ease that came with almost a decade of practice. Even the explosions that tilted the ground with alarming frequency did nothing to throw off the hero’s balance or progression.

He landed in a crouch overlooking the akuma. The akuma was cemented into the ground with neon blue cannons on both arms, but able to pivot in every direction. Smaller turrets dotted the area in half a dozen concentric circles around the main villain.

It shot off a projectile that split off into six different pieces, each one flying towards a different building. Chat cringed as the missiles found their targets bringing down each building in what looked like controlled demolitions. Seismic waves crashed through the area seconds later.

Definitely not good.

At least it was stationary. But it had enough firepower that getting close would be near impossible.

Maybe he should have dove in immediately, but he didn’t see any evidence of civilians, and he really wanted some backup because explosions sucked. Even if Miraculous Ladybug healed everything after the fact, fighting with broken ribs was not fun. Not remotely. And with the explosives coming at the end of heavy projectiles with homing capabilities, they would have to approach this one cautiously, and probably defensively.

He groaned. He hated laying siege. It was going to take hours.

Carapace landed on the roof beside him. “How ya doing, Kit-Kat?”

Chat Noir smiled in greeting, but his eyes remained laser focused on the akuma. “Honestly? I’ve had better days. You?”

“Same. I got almost no sleep last night. And the alert woke me from the absolute best nap I’ve had in weeks. Now, I’ve got a killer headache instead.”

The rooftop under them shook as a nearby building crashed to the ground in a heap of rubble.

“That is one nasty akuma,” Carapace said.

Chat Noir nodded in agreement as he opened up the extra-dimensional pocket in his baton and pulled out two little white pills. He held them out to his turtle-themed teammate. “I keep some extra strength Tylenol in my baton.”

Carapace’s face lit up as he took the offered medication. “Dude! I could kiss you!”

Chat smirked. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

Carapace barked out a laugh. “I’m sure I could whip up a can of tuna for you, Kit-Kat.”

Chat shook his head playfully. “You’ll have to work harder to win my affections. I’ll have you know this cat has a very refined palette.”

Carapace laughed.

Chat Noir smiled. Maybe an hours-long siege wouldn’t be so bad. Definitely better than staying home alone in his oversized studio obsessing over every missed red flag from his “date” the day prior.

Maybe he should have gone on a date with Carapace instead.

Keep reading on Ao3

“Shouldn’t we be fighting the akuma instead of standing around flirting?”

Chat Noir and Carapace both turned around to see Rena Rouge standing behind them with her eyebrows raised in judgement.

Chat just grinned, sweeping her into a sideways hug. “Rena! It’s been so long!”

“Missed you, too kitty. What’ve we got?” she asked, peering down over the edge of the roof.

“A demolition man?” Carapace observed, as another six buildings crumbled to the ground.

“Isn’t that a movie?” Chat asked. An old movie. Had Nino tried to get him to watch it? Nino loved any and all action flicks - new and old.

“Yup!” Rena confirmed. “My ex subjected me to it. Terrible movie.”

“Lies!” Carapace objected, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to her, Kit-Kat. Definitely worth your time.”

“I will never get those hours of my life back,” Rena said, drolly.

Chat Noir burst out laughing at the appalled expression on Carapace’s face.

“Guys! Let’s focus!” Ladybug’s voice interjected from behind them.

Chat started for a second, and then whirled towards her with a charming smile. “It’s good to see you, m’lady!”

She didn’t smile. “Not tonight, Chaton. Can we just get this over with?”

“Everything alright, boss lady?” Carapace asked, his lips curled downward into a slight frown.

She didn’t spare him a glance either. Instead, she watched the destruction below them without emotion. “I was having a good time with my friends for the first time in forever after an absolutely terrible week. And akumas…”

“Suck,” Carapace filled in.

“Exactly,” Ladybug agreed. “So, let’s get this over with and maybe the day can be salvaged. Chat, you go down the middle, Carapace go left of the building, and I’ll take the right. Rena, we need a ton of decoys. The goal is for all three of us to get there simultaneously and strike at once.”

Chat frowned, glancing away from the akuma and towards his partner. “Are you sure, m’lady? Wouldn’t it be better to huddle up, let Carapace cover us to get close?”

Carapace and Rena Rouge said nothing, both turned to Ladybug waiting for her response, but Ladybug’s face was still flat and impossible even for Chat Noir to read.

“If we split up,” he continued. “We’ll be more likely to get picked off. And the decoys will help, but they can’t replace an almost impenetrable shield against those missiles.”

“Playing this one defensively will take hours,” she said. “Let’s try the offensive strike first, and if it doesn’t work we can pivot quickly and we’ll be in a closer position to set up a shield.”

Adrien did not like it. She was asking him to gamble with their lives, with her life, to save time. Even Carapace and Rena exchanged a frown.

“Please,” Ladybug begged, taking a step forward, her blue eyes darting from one of them to the next, her face finally showing some emotion, and he did not like what he saw. “I really need to avoid an endless siege,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly glassy, threatening tears.

Her distress hit him like a punch to the gut. She clearly wasn’t okay, and hadn’t been for awhile. How had he failed to notice that she was far from okay? Because her tears now had nothing to do with the current akuma. This went deeper and he hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. How long had she been struggling while he ran in circles trying to keep his father happy in between grad school commitments?

He couldn’t remember the last time he had met up with her for a joint patrol or just took her out on a friend date, which had once been a regular thing between them.

He would have to make it up to her, and he could start with making this akuma go away as quickly as possible.

He nodded, and offered her a small smile. “Okay, m’lady. I know that if anyone can pull off a crazy plan, it’s you.”

She offered a watery smile in return and he felt his chest loosen for the first time since the akuma alert had sounded. The day wasn’t wasted if he could help her have a better one.

“Thank you, Chaton,” she said. “I…”

Her words were cut off as the building adjacent to them crashed to the ground in a crumbling free fall.

“Whatever we’re going to do, we should probably do it now,” Rena said.

Ladybug’s soft vulnerable tears disappeared as she turned back to the akuma. Her usual game face - serious and sharp - took its place. And Chat couldn’t help the fond smile that bloomed across his face. Even when she was coming apart at the edges, she had so much strength. So much resilience.

“Rena, I want as many decoys as you can pull off,” Ladybug ordered. Rena nodded. “We’ll charge with a two second delay once the illusion is in place. Carapace, on the left, Chat in the middle, and I’ll take the right. Ready?”

“Aye aye, boss lady,” Carapace acknowledged with a salute.

The familiar sound of the flute rang through the air, and suddenly an army of countless Ladybugs, Carapaces, and Chat Noirs surrounded them protectively on all sides, just far enough apart that he didn’t really have to worry about touching them.

Chat launched himself off the rooftop towards the akuma.

Missiles flew at the decoys, but the illusions dove sideways and away from the projectiles, most of them avoiding the collisions. The missiles were too fast though, and dozens of decoys clipped out of existence.

Chat Noir maintained his forward charge trying not to think about how unprotected he was. How unprotected his lady and Carapace were.

The akuma was right in front of him - just a single vault away, when he stumbled - tripped over an errant piece of debris like a raw beginner who didn’t have nine years of experience under his belt. He took out half a dozen decoys himself as they ran straight through him.

He launched himself up from the cracked sidewalk immediately, but the damage was done. Carapace was stalled, fending off an unlucky aerial assault. Ladybug took the lead and reached the akuma first. But the villain fended her off easily with a backhand that sent her flying. Then fired off five missiles all tracking straight for Chat Noir who had just given away his position.

He dodged around the first one easily enough. The second one, too. But the third cost him his balance, and he barely managed to swerve around the fourth. He ended up helpless on his knees, at the mercy of the fifth.

Every muscle locked, anticipating the blow, when Carapace slammed into him from the side, stealing his breath away. And they both ended sprawled across the unforgiving concrete. Before he could recover, the projectile hit the ground where he had been kneeling seconds prior.

The pavement launched upward, slamming him completely back to the ground. The sound was too loud to be heard, but he definitely felt it rip painfully through his body despite his protective transformation.

His ears - ringing with the aftershock - couldn’t hear anything else. But the protective green glow of Carapace’s shelter bloomed into existence around them, deflecting the worst of the next concussive wave over their heads. The ground remained unsteady beneath them though.

Chat Noir allowed himself one deep breath before he kipped up to his feet and hauled Carapace to his, as his eyes rapidly took in the field on the other side of the green shield that was already cracking from a relentless assault.

“Please tell me this day is almost over,” Carapace growled out.

Most of the decoys had been decimated at this point - only a dozen or so remained, but Rena Rouge couldn’t create more without losing the current ones, which would reveal Ladybug’s position immediately.

Chat laughed. “I wish.”

He knew which one was actually Ladybug, though. It was in her single-minded focus. Every version of her was quick and graceful, able to pivot on the spot, and perform impossible dodges, but Ladybug always landed closer to her target than she started, determined as she was to end this battle.

She truly was in rare form tonight. Her plan would likely have worked amazingly if he hadn’t screwed it up.

The akuma managed to take out another handful of decoys with his latest barrage of missiles. And then the akuma got lucky, and shot towards the real deal.

“Carapace-”

She dove forward under the projectile, and then flipped back to her feet right in front of the akuma.

“-drop the shield.” Chat Noir ordered, already running toward the barrier, not waiting for it to fall.

She snatched a keychain or a dog tag from the akuma’s neck, grinning in victory. She crushed it into pieces with her strengthened hands, but her grin dissolved when no butterfly emerged.

The green shield fell away. Chat put on a burst of speed.

The akuma swung his cannon arm and slammed it into Ladybug’s side. She was thrown sideways, and landed in a terrifyingly still puddle of red and black.

The akuma pointed his rocket launcher towards her.

Chat Noir threw himself forward just as the akuma shot off the missile.

He took the blast square in the back. His suit no doubt offered some protection but this akuma had the power to bring down solid steel super frames.

Chat Noir’s skeletal structure didn’t stand a chance.

Pressure exploded across his spine. The blinding pain came an instant later. It felt like he was being burned alive both inside and out.

He didn’t break his fall, his arms dangling lifeless at his sides. He landed face first, his chin striking the crumbling pavement sending a second wave of agony through his form.

He couldn’t breathe, let alone scream.

Was this what dying felt like?

It had never hurt this bad before.

…

Carapace was still processing what Chat said when he took off like a bullet. Straight for the shield. Carapace frantically dissolved the barrier before his teammate could crash into it. Carapace shot after him, only a few paces behind, but he already knew it wasn’t enough.

His heart jumped up to his throat and time slowed to nothing as he watched Chat Noir take the hit meant for Ladybug, and crash to the ground, both his magical suit and skin torn to shreds, exposing raw bleeding tissue on his back and legs.

Carapace threw himself into a roll to put himself between the akuma and his fallen companion, and landed sprawled against the black cat’s unmoving form, screaming for his shelter once again.

The shield went up not a second too soon, immediately taking hit after hit. The sound of cracking glass echoed overhead reminding him that the shield would only hold for so long against the maelstrom.

He glanced back, hoping he had managed to envelop Ladybug in the protective barrier as well. No such luck. She was just on the other side of the glowing green bubble. At least it was between her and the akuma. They made eye contact, and she jerked her head towards Chat.

She wanted him to take care of her partner - not dive back into the battle.

He nodded acknowledgement.

A second later, she launched herself off the ground and took cover in the growing piles of rubble.

His attention turned to Chat Noir who wasn’t moving.

“Talk to me, Kit Kat!” Carapace shook his shoulder, but there was nothing, not so much as a groan.

Up close, Chat looked even worse - like he had been chewed up and swallowed by a dinosaur, only to be spit back out. Carapace could only imagine how much pain he was in. Carapace had been knocked around more than his fair share in this line of work, but he’d never taken a hit that vaporized the suit away!

He carefully rolled Chat to his side and then to his back, trying not to touch his injuries, which was almost impossible as they covered more than a third of his body. He was completely limp. Carapace leaned his cheek to Chat’s mouth, feeling for any signs of breathing.

There wasn’t any.

Carapace sucked in his own breath, his throat threatening to squeeze shut, and dread twisted his gut like a coiled snake.

Carapace had seen Chat Noir put under mind control, transformed into various inanimate objects, erased or vaporized from existence. But he had never before had to confront a lifeless body.

But surely the ladybugs could bring him back, right?

Another volley of missiles struck the outside of his barrier, the ground underneath them tilting sideways. The shield was holding.

The sound of static buzzing filled the air and Chat’s transformation dropped.

Carapace was completely unprepared. They were adults. They hadn’t timed out in ages. And he jerked his gaze away, but unfortunately, Carapace could recognize his own best friend from just his clothes and shoes.

Especially when he had his face pressed to that shirt not thirty minutes prior.

His gaze whipped back up to the painfully familiar face, now marred with gashes and a rapidly forming bruise on his chiseled chin.

“Opaque!” Carapace yelled. The translucent barrier turned a dark and solid green, though the cracks and fissures remained. He wouldn’t be able to see the battle, but that was better than losing Chat’s identity to all of Paris.

Adrien’s identity.

The same Adrien who befriended him in collège when he had fallen into almost total isolation after his older brother had disappeared, the Adrien who had coaxed him through his first gig, the Adrien who had nursed him through his break up with Alya, who had held his hand through his bisexual awakening, the Adrien who had never failed to be there for him.

The Adrien who was his very best friend who was currently not breathing.

Nino cradled his best friend’s head in his lap as hot burning tears fell onto Adrien’s cheeks.

“Carapace,” Chat’s kwami said. “He’s not okay.”

“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Carapace asked, his eyes never leaving Adrien’s pale and lifeless form. “As soon as Ladybug fixes everything?”

“Probably not,” Plagg said.

The two words struck him like a freight-train. His gut dropped out from underneath him as his heart rose up to his throat. His eyes burned, and the whole world went out of focus. He fell forward, his head pressed against Adrien’s as his sudden grief came out in wracking howls that sounded inhuman even to his own ears.

He rocked back and forth, still holding Adrien close - if Nino held him close enough and hard enough, maybe he wouldn’t leave him.

Nino knew that’s not how this worked. His throat cemented closed, and yet his devastated cries broke past the emotional blockade anyway.

“Carapace! Listen to me!” Plagg flew right into his face. “There’s a chance to save him! I need you to keep his heart going until Ladybug does her thing!”

“W-what?” Nino stammered, staring at the kwami in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Turtle boy!” Plagg barked. “I need you to focus! Hands on his chest! Now! I will not lose this kitten!”

“You mean, like CPR?”

“Yes! Now!”

Nino scrambled to comply, laying Adrien’s prone head gently on the ground, trying to ignore the stains of red on his own arms. He placed his hands on his friend’s chest. With elbows locked, Nino started pressing down hard over and over again.

“Faster!” Plagg directed. “Don’t stop!”

Nino tried to focus on his own hands, and not on the hot tears slipping down over his mask, or the blood seeping on the cement to his knees, or the angry deep cuts that slashed across Adrien’s face, or Adrien’s closed eyes that might never open again.

Nino tried to stamp down on his rising panic, tried to hold back the torrent of grief and tears, but he was failing. His whole form was crumpling in on itself as the wracking sobs kept coming in unrelenting waves despite his best efforts to hold them at bay.

“Don’t stop!” Plagg shouted again, diving towards Adrien’s jean pockets.

Nino swallowed his fear and his devastation, forced it down until his gut swam sickenly. He fought off his desire to fold into a ball and howl to the universe about how this couldn’t happen.

Instead, he forced himself to keep pressing down and up, and then down and up again on Adrien’s chest. It was a drum beat that he had to maintain, he couldn’t stop no matter how much his arms and shoulders burned in complaint.

Because if he stopped, the world might end.

If it hadn’t already.

Plagg reappeared with Adrien’s phone in hand. A minute later he placed the device against Adrien’s bruised chin. A youtube tutorial on CPR was playing. Nino adjusted his rhythm to match the rapid counting in the video. It became mindless at that point, which unfortunately meant he had more ability to think.

It didn’t seem like it was working. Adrien wasn’t responding at all, and he was losing more blood with every thrust of Nino’s arms if the dark pool of red black at his knees was any indicator.

Nino lost his pace for a second overwhelmed with fear. What if it didn’t work?

“Don’t stop!” Plagg shouted.

“He’s bleeding out!” Nino screamed back, syncing up with the video once again. “Aren’t I just making things worse?”

“Probably. I doubt anything is getting to his brain. But you’re not trying to revive him,” the kwami said, dismissively.

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re just trying to keep his soul here until Ladybug defeats the akuma.”

“His s-soul?” Nino stuttered over the word, his desperate sobs now coming in torrents.

His fucking soul? What was Nino supposed to do with that? It was too big and too much, and Nino didn’t know how to wrap his head around any of it.

“P-please, Dri,” Nino begged, his voice cracking on the nickname. “P-please, don’t leave me.”

Nino’s arms kept the rhythm, never losing the pace. Even transformed, his shoulders and triceps were burning in protest, but Nino ignored it. Wayzz would provide all the endurance he needed.

The sound of shattering glass exploded overhead, spiderweb cracks spreading all across the dome.

“Fuck.”

The shield couldn’t take another hit.

“Lose the transformation,” Plagg ordered.

Nino’s eyes whipped toward the cat kwami. “What?! Plagg! I don’t know how long I can do this without enhanced strength.”

“I will destroy anything that gets through until Wayzz has another shield up. You can’t do CPR and replenish our defenses over and over, simultaneously.”

“But… doesn’t a kwami using his power by himself make bad things happen?” ” Carapace objected out of habit, not because he particularly cared at the moment. Nino had never had the opportunity to see Wayzz without the limits of the miraculous.

“Something bad has already happened! This is called damage control! We don’t have time to argue!”

Another splintering crack overhead seemed to punctuate Plagg’s point.

“Wayzz, shell off,” Carapace whispered.

Immediately, his arms and back burned more intensely with the loss of the miraculous’s support, and Nino grunted with effort.

But he wouldn’t stop - not now, not ever. This was Adrien and he didn’t care if his arms fell off. He wasn’t going to give up on him.

“Cataclysm!” Plagg shouted, flying rapidly out of Nino’s line of sight. He didn’t worry about how much of the city block Plagg might take with him in destroying the incoming missiles, trusting the kwami would direct the damage AWAY from them. He didn’t worry about anyone being able to see his or Adrien’s identity. There was so much smoke that it wasn’t possible. And Nino didn’t worry about the fact that they were exposed or vulnerable.

Adrien was already dead. If they got hit, then at least they’d go together.

Black ash rained down around them like some kind of ominous snow.

“Opaque Shelter!” Wayzz called half a second after.

With the shield in place, Plagg whipped back down to Adrien’s shoulder watching intently.

“Come on, Pigtails,” Plagg grumbled. “We’re running out of time.”

Nino’s right arm spasmed in that moment, and he wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or the rising panic caused by Plagg’s words.

“No! We can’t be out of time!” Nino screamed as if Plagg could control when Adrien’s soul was gone. Nino wiped his snot on his own shoulder, and turned his glare on Adrien’s face. “Do you hear me, Dri?!” Nino screamed, unable to wipe the tears dripping from his eyes over his nose to fall on his own now bare hands. “You can’t give up on me! You can’t!”

This wouldn’t be Adrien’s last day on Earth.

It couldn’t be.

Because Nino didn’t know how to face the world without his best friend.

…

Adrien’s entire existence was pain. Everything was on fire - from the top of his head, through his body, to the tips of his fingers. All of it was pulsing in an agonizing rhythm. He thought the internal inferno centered on his chest, but his back felt like he had landed in a pool filled with glass shards. He couldn’t feel his legs at all, which considering how everything else was fairing, might have been a blessing.

But it was his chest that cried out as it was struck again and again without care for his fractured ribs.

Stop, he tried to say, begged from every inch of his mind. But the words would not form on his lips. Please, just let it end.

But the hammers to his chest kept coming, relentless and never ending. He urged his arms to action - to move, but every last bit of strength had been sapped away.

He prayed that it had been worth it - that Ladybug was alive and well - able to defeat the akuma without him.

But his condition suggested otherwise. If Ladybug was okay, he would be too.

Someone was crying hysterically just above him, well on their way to screaming. Their voice was broken and raspy.

It wasn’t Ladybug - the tone was too deep - but it struck a chord in him. He wanted to soothe it just the same.

I’ve survived worse, he wanted to tell the voice, though he had serious doubts if that was true. But being erased from the time continuum had to be worse, right?

“Dri?”

That was Nino. Adrien could only moan in response.

“Shit! Plagg, I think he’s awake.”

Why was Nino talking to Plagg? Plagg knew better.

“Don’t you dare stop!” his kwami ordered.

No. Please stop. It only came out as a whimper.

Something hot and wet fell onto his cheek. “I’m so sorry, du-” Nino’s voice cracked before he finished the word.

Nino was crying.

Adrien had made Nino cry. He hated that.

Adrien opened his eyes only to be assaulted with hard edges and burning lights that were far too bright. None of it made sense. He slammed them shut again, but it didn’t help. His head still wanted to split into halves.

“Dude! Take it easy!”

A warmth settled on his shoulder. Soothing vibrations pulsed through his neck. Like a cat’s purr.

Plagg?

“I know it hurts, kitten.”

Adrien would have laughed had he been able. Hurt did not begin to describe the agony he was in.

“But you will survive.”

The painful beat on his chest - so hard, so deep - like a stampede of gazelles were trampling over him - continued. It never stopped.

Adrien wasn’t sure he wanted to survive.

The sobs from the boy above him - deep cries of pure despair - made him reconsider. Adrien would survive anything - go through any torture - to soothe Nino’s pain.

Mercifully, everything faded.

When Adrien woke up again it was to a miraculously pain-free world. He sighed, his whole body easing in relaxation. The memory of his torture was already fading fast.

He opened his eyes again, but he still couldn’t bring the world into focus. There was a flash of green light of a miraculous transformation, but it was too bright. And Adrien let his eyes fall closed again.

He pressed his hands down for balance, expecting to find debris and jagged fragments on the sidewalk below him. But the cold ground was smooth and undamaged. His hands were bare - he wasn’t transformed. He should have been transformed, shouldn’t he? They had been fighting an akuma.

The ladybugs had healed everything. But then, why did his head still feel like thick fog?

“Dude! Can you hear me?”

He wetted his lips. “Nino?” Adrien asked, recognizing the voice.

There was a beat of silence. “Yeah, it’s me, dude. Can you sit up?”

Adrien attempted to do so, and was surprised at how hesitant his muscles were to respond to his wishes. He managed to prop himself up with Nino was bracing him on both sides. Adrien leaned into the support. What was wrong with his body?

“Why?” The word came out slowly, as if Adrien’s mouth was just remembering how to form the sounds. “Why... is the world spinning?”

Adrien wasn’t often one to complain, but usually, the ladybugs did a way better job.

“You sure he’s okay now?” Nino was asking. But who was he talking to? “Should I take him to a hospital?”

“He’s fine. The ladybugs healed him. The hospital wouldn’t know what to do with him now.”

Was that Plagg? Why was Plagg talking to Nino? Plagg should know better. Adrien clutched the sides of his head, in both hands. Why did nothing make sense?

But the nasally voice continued. “He wasn’t completely gone yet, so they could heal him. He’s physically fine now. Good job, turtle boy.”

“What about mentally?” Nino asked.

Adrien squeezed his eyes closed. They weren’t helping him anyway, only making him dizzy.

“You worry too much. He just needs twelve hours of sleep. He’ll be as perfect as a freshly opened wheel of camembert.”

Adrien snorted out a laugh. And it was surprisingly painless. He found himself smiling sleepily, and leaning into Nino’s chest, which felt a lot… more solid than normal.

“We don’t normally need twelve hours of sleep after a Miraculous Ladybug.” Nino’s voice was hard with frustration. “What’s different?”

“The difference is he died!” Plagg snapped back.

Adrien wanted to ask about that. What was the big deal? He had died countless times before, and it had never mattered before.

But the conversation faded away.

He woke again when he was laid down gently into his own bed. A heavy hand rubbed his shoulder soothingly. There was a beeping sound. A phone. And the hand disappeared.

Adrien whimpered at it’s loss.

“Yeah?” a familiar voice answered. It was still Nino. “LB, calm down. He’s okay. I took him home before anyone could see who he was. Plagg says he’ll be coherent again in twelve hours. I’ll tell him you want to see him for patrol tomorrow?”

And now Nino was talking to Ladybug like they knew each other well. It was like his worlds had smashed together like a meteor crashing onto the Earth’s surface and Adrien had somehow managed to sleep through the world ending collision.

Was any of this real? Was he dreaming?

He tried to sit up, but Nino’s sudden hand on his chest kept him down. Plagg curled up on his shoulder and started purring. Adrien stopped resisting and stayed down.

“Yes, he was healed,” Nino said. “I don’t know. Plagg said it was normal for him to be out of it for a while even with the ladybugs because of… how badly he was hurt.”

There was another pause, as the person on the other side of the conversation - presumably Ladybug - responded.

“I promise he’s okay. Yeah… of course. I’ll be right there.” And the comforting weight on his chest vanished.

“Plagg?” Nino called. “Can you let him know that he has a patrol with Ladybug tomorrow at the normal time? I gotta run.”

Adrien’s chest tightened at that announcement.

“You’ll call me if anything changes?” Nino continued.

“Sure, kid,” Plagg said, still curled up on Adrien’s shoulder.

Adrien tried to sit up again, but his body wasn’t listening to his brain. “N-Ni…no?” he forced the name past his lips. Why was it so hard to speak?

The smooth gloved hand was on his chest again, easing his anxiety. “Just rest, mec.”

But the hand disappeared again too fast and too soon.

“D-don’t… g-go,” Adrien managed to string together.

The comforting presence came back, and this time Adrien pinned Nino’s arm to his chest with both his hands, determined to keep him there this time. “Okay,” Nino reassured, and slid into the bed lying prone alongside him. Adrien’s body finally melted in relief.

“I’ll stay until you go to sleep,” Nino said.

For a beautiful moment all the tension in his body seeped away, and he just let himself drift. But a few seconds later, he processed Nino’s words and his eyes shot open.

Because Adrien didn’t want to sleep. Something was clearly wrong. He looked frantically around at the walls, ceiling, and furniture. Adrien recognized none of it. There were too many lights and colors and none of it made any sense, and it felt like the walls were closing in on him. What the hell was wrong with him?

“N-Nino?” Adrien called, his eyes burned and his throat was closing off. “W-what…?” but he couldn’t get the rest of the words out. And it was hard not to panic. His breathing quickened, and his heart took off like there was a race to be won.

He sucked in air frantically, because he wasn’t getting any. His chest spasmed painfully, and his arms were shaking, and his fingers tingling. The tremors spread to his extremities, the numbness only a second behind. He tried to stop the convulsing, he tried to hold it still, but he couldn’t do it. The pinpricks spread to his head, and his vision spun worse than it already was.

“Dude!” Nino jumped in, clutching Adrien’s head in either hand. His hands were gloved and hard.

Was it really Nino? It didn’t feel like Nino, and Adrien didn’t trust his eyes that were incapable of making sense of anything at the moment.

“You need to stay calm. Breathe with me,” Nino said, their foreheads pressed together, but Nino was wearing some kind of hood - it was hard… like Chat Noir’s armor.

“Dri!”

The exclamation cut through all of Adrien’s panicked thoughts. That was definitely Nino. Whatever he physically felt like, no one else called Adrien that. Nino had come up with the diminutive nickname a few years ago, shortly after he had broken up with Alya. He didn’t use it often - it was usually dude, mec, man, guy, but in the quiet moments, Nino would call him Dri. And Adrien loved it, especially when Nino was the one saying it.

“Can you do that, Dri? Breathe in slowly.”

And Adrien trusted Nino more than anyone, except maybe Ladybug, and even then, he thought it might be a tie.

And so he listened. He breathed in deeply and slowly on a count of four before letting it back out again for another slow count of four from his best friend.

His panic gradually receded. And he just lay there keeping his eyes closed, his hand clinging onto Nino’s - when had he even grabbed Nino’s hand - as if his life depended on it.

Nino was still wearing the thick solid gloves.

Nino didn’t wear gloves. Not ever.

“What happened?” Adrien asked slowly, pleased that the words strung together fully and clearly.

Nino’s grip tightened. “I promise I’ll explain it to you later, Kit-Kat. Plagg says you need rest.”

Had Nino just called him Kit-Kat?

“Plagg always…” Was he seriously talking about Plagg with Nino? This had to be a dream. “Plagg always votes-” Adrien’s sentence was punctuated by a yawn, “-for laziness.”

“I think Plagg may be onto something this time,” Nino said.

Adrien wanted to argue. He hated it when people didn’t explain things. When people kept secrets. And he knew he was the biggest hypocrite on that front, but he would have told Nino everything years ago if it had been his choice.

But his head was growing heavy, and his thoughts were still smothered in a muggy fog, so he didn’t protest.

“I love you, Dri,” Nino whispered. “You have no idea how much. Please. Please, don’t ever do that to me again.”

I love you, too.

…

Chapter 4: Fallout

#adrino #adrinino #friends to lovers #slow burn #Adrien Agreste #Nino Lahiffe #temporary character death #mentions of blood #anxiety #panic attacks #hurt comfort #romance #battle scenes are also hard #right behind you #my own content #miraculous ladybug fan fiction

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catwatcha · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Genre: Angst/fluff/smut

Word count: 2153

Warnings: 18+ smut & cursing & fainting

Authors note: shit goes down in this chapter so eeeeeekkkk

You’re too hard to forget.

It’s been one week without any dreams. I have moments where my eyes are closed and I see flashes of images that look like various hospital rooms. But none of them have Chan. I told Jasey what had happened, I think. Honestly my body felt numb and my head was ringing so I don’t know what exactly I said, but I said enough that she would leave me alone, because I don’t want to think about it.

Unfortunately, it’s all I can think about.

It’s Monday morning again. I walk into school and plaster a smile on my face, knowing that I can take off in just six hours. I can do that, right? Yes, I think. I walk over to Jasey as usual, but stop when I see a familiar face. It’s the boy who I saw outside the coffee shop a couple weeks ago. He seems to recognize me too, because he stares at me with wide eyes. “Uhhh,” I say when I look at him, and thankfully Jasey doesn’t seem to notice and interrupts me. “Y/n! You’re here! This is Minho,” she says, and I can see the blush spread across her cheeks. This is her secret. And apparently, mine too. “I’m Y/n,” I say to him, though I’m looking at my shoes. He hesitates, but introduces himself in a similar way. I silently thank him for not saying anything like, ‘I know you’, or, ‘wait you’re the weirdo who’s friends with my girlfriend?’ We shake hands. He smiles. I smile. And then I turn on my heels, because suddenly I feel dizzy and I’m having flashbacks and if I don’t run, my feet might stay grounded forever, in a state of confusion and shock. “Y/n!” Jasey yells after me, but I keep walking, because I don’t know what else to say. I hear a few whispers behind me, and then I feel a hand gently pulling my arm, stopping my escape plan. I don’t want to turn around in fear of explaining myself to Jasey, but this is worse. The person with a grip on my arm is Minho. I see Jasey on the other side of the courtyard, and she knows something because she’s staying put. Does she know what I told him? Does he even know the depth of what I told him? Right now I don’t care. Because no matter what I told them or told myself, the dreams are gone.

Minho lets go of my arm, but I know he wants to know what’s going on. I speak first. “Sorry, I’m running late and I have English and I’m happy for you and Jasey so anyways I’m gonna get going…” I said. “Y/n, yeah?” he says. I nod, and turn away but he reaches for my arm again. “Wait, I want to talk to you for a minute!” he nods over to a bench, inviting me to sit down. But before I can think, my head is spinning and Minho is there and Jasey is rushing over and there I am. I’m shaking, for reasons I don’t know, and there are so many voices yelling at me from reality as well as from my very own mind. My head hits the concrete, and I pass out.

“I’m okay love.” Chan is in a hospital bed. His hair lies flat, and his skin pale. But he still looks like Chan. My Chan. His eyes shine looking up at me, and his lips form into a smile. I hug him. “Why haven’t I been able to see you?” I ask. It’s been days of waiting, hoping, and wondering if he was okay. They wouldn’t let me in, but I knew I could’ve if he wanted me to. “Why didn’t you let me see you?” I asked as my eyes filled with familiar tears. “Because even though I was hurt, I knew that if you saw me it would hurt you too. And seeing you hurt causes me more pain than anything physical ever could.” I thought about his words, but only for a moment. Because the next thing I know, I’m consumed in a kiss that made my heart stop. I missed him. But he’s okay. It’s us against the world, and I knew nothing would change that. We were back. Chan was going to be okay, and so was I.

I woke up in the nurse’s office. I’ve only been here a few times, usually when I faked a cough to get out of class or when I get migraines. This time though it felt like I was in the middle of some depressing party, held just for me. To my right, Jasey and Minho are standing over me, talking in worried tones. About what, I don’t know. To my left, I see my mom, and that’s when I think this is serious. Then again, She was probably just obligated to be called because of the school phone call I’m sure she received. As if I had pushed some sort of button, the all look at me at the exact same time. Well, I think. This is awkward. Mrs. Amy, our school nurse, is the first to speak. “Y/n, can you hear me? You hit your head pretty hard. Do you want some water?” I shake my head. I don’t want water. I want to go back to bed. Because even though my head is actually pounding, and I’m still a bit nauseous, none of it matters right now. Chan is back. Why now? I look at Minho. He looks at me. When I shook his hand, something felt so familiar. Like he was connected somehow, but no matter. “Thank you.” I say, and I’m smiling like an idiot. He looks at me confused, but I get up and I walk out of the crowded office. And I’m running, because I have so much to do but I have only one place to go right now. I’m going to the coffee shop, and I’m not going to be scared to go in this time. It could be the beginning of the rest of my life if I would just take the extra three steps.

Minho’s P.O.V.

“Minho, I’m so confused right now,” Jasey says to me. “We literally just watched Y/n pass out hard, and then run away like she got a shot of adrenaline.” It was about 9 a.m.now, so I was very late to school. I decided to just skip today in general. This was far more interesting than world history. “I don’t know, Jae. I don’t even know her,” I say. Y/n and I hadn’t even really met that day at the coffee shop. Is this about what she said to me then? I barely remember. I just remember trying to comfort someone who looked a bit shaken up. I never thought she might be broken completely. Maybe this has something to do with that Chan kid? Maybe a breakup, who knows. I love Jasey, but do I have to deal with her friend now? It’s bad enough that Chris is already going through some breakup with a girl he won’t tell me about, and he’s slept at my house every night this week. We play music and he reads and I like that he makes me pizza (that boy can fucking cook, even if it’s just simple things), but I don’t know Y/n. I can’t handle this too. “You should talk to her,” I say to Jasey. “She’s just going through something right now,” she says back, and looks down at her shoes. I think. And then I have a stupid brilliant idea, that could help both me and Jae. We were both so caught up with our friends that we never got much time together. “You know,” I say. “If she’s going through a breakup, I may have an idea. Or even not a breakup, but just rough shit. I know it’s hard and stuff, but I think she should talk to one of my friends. Actually, I think they’d get along really well. They could keep each other company.” I mean, Chris and Y/n. I think they’d be cute. “Calum, that’s never going to happen. I’m sorry baby, but Y/n is taken. I mean, sorta.” She’s laughing, like what I said, it was the dumbest idea in the world. Ouch. “She’ll be okay. I’ll talk to her later,” she says. Oh well. Was worth a shot, if not for Y/n, for Chris at least. I apply her last words to him as well. He’ll be okay. Everything will be fine.

Y/n’s P.O.V.

I’m scared again. Five minutes ago, I told myself to take a deep breath and just walk in. That was after the twenty minutes of standing there, pretending to be on my phone and thinking. I did this so nobody would ask me what’s wrong, like Minho did. Big mistake. But now I’m here and I’m scared. Thinking about Chan always made me feel dizzy because I didn't know what was real and what was a dream. It felt like it had all just become one big blur, dragging myself to and from school, skipping my way to meet Chan and trudging my way to meet Jasey at her place. She knew about the shop, and she knew that I’d never gone in, even though I was there so often. After running out of school this afternoon, she deserved a call from me, at the least. So I called her and went over to her place, and here we are back at the same downtown corner with the smell of coffee and muffins drifting through the air. I was smiling like an idiot, and had told Jasey why I was so adamant about getting out of school. I left out the part about Minho. To me he was just another human on this earth who happened to be dating my best friend, but he had a weird effect on me. I definitely didn’t tell Jasey. She didn’t ask. “Are you ready? Let’s just grab something to go, I’m really thirsty anyways.” I knew I couldn’t stand there like an idiot for any longer. I almost lost Chan once, the worst had already happened. I knew I was ready for anything. I took one last deep breath before bracing myself, and I took my first steps into the nostalgic feeling cafe.

I took in this new feeling, both the physical and mental aspects of it. It was exactly the kind of place that I dreamed of spending hours in, reading books and writing poetry. It had dim lights and a few couches, and wooden tables were scattered around the room. It’s exactly what I knew it would be, aside from a few changes here and there, but I couldn’t help but take it all in with wide eyes. Jasey had left to go order a drink for her and myself, and I went to the table that faces the window, like I had known myself to do many times before, yet never before while conscious. This was a feeling that I was starting to like very fast. At first I couldn’t remember why I was even here, but that was only for a moment. I looked around me, but I saw no sign of a dark haired boy with the eyes that I drowned in every night. There was barely anyone here, actually. I still saw my best friends backside at the counter, waiting for our drinks and striking up a conversation with the barista. A few seats over was a boy who caught my eye.

He had bright blonde hair that was down across his forehead. His shirt was tattered, but in a fashionable way, which he wore with black skinny jeans and dirty black converse. His eyes were piercing right into mine, a dark brown that I wish didn’t scare me as much as they did. I looked down at my hands to see them shaking the smallest bit. There was something about his presence that made me uncomfortable, but at the same time like I belonged even more. He looked out of place, but acted like it didn’t matter. Just like me. I looked up again, surprised to see that he was still staring at me with an unknown emotion in his eyes. He looked confused, almost. He stood up, and I unconsciously held my breath, not knowing why he was walking over to my table. The door was behind me, but he wasn’t looking at the door. He was looking right at me, almost as if he was looking through me. He stood 2 feet from me now at a dead stop. I studied his face, while I’m sure mine had “shock” written all over it.

“Allie?”

#bangchan fluff #bang chan fluff #bang chan #bang chan smut #skz chan #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz bang chan

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wheresmynaya · 3 years ago

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Hate to Date Ch.8 | Brittana

A/N - These next two chapters are probably some of the more difficult ones I've written so far for this story so be gentle LOL. Also, I've noticed readers saying in their reviews lately that these weekly updates are like waiting for a new episode of a fav tv show and I love that. One of the things I miss about Glee or whatever show I’m obsessed with is having something to look forward to each week so I'm really happy this story offers you all that kind of comfort! Hopefully I can keep it up 💙

Before you read on, consider treating your local fav fic writer with a coffee through Ko-Fi!

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

When Saturday rolls around, Santana putters around the apartment attempting to busy herself with meaningless tasks – anything that’ll keep her from anxiously watching the clock. She lounges in her sweatpants and a tank top all day, switching from vegging out on the couch to catching up on some coursework, but it gets harder for her to resist the urge to check the time the later it gets.

No matter what she does, no matter the many distractions she tries piling on – she can’t help but cave.

She can’t help but think about Brittany.

When Puck gets home a little later from hanging out with a couple guys from his team, he finds Santana close to falling asleep on the couch. He takes in the lazy clothes she wears, the messy hair, the sea of snacks that surrounds her and lifts a brow.

“What’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” Santana snarks.

“It looks like you’ve just gone through a rough break up.”

Santana shoots him a look, “I’m clearly having a lazy day.”

He glances from her to the tv screen and back to her again, “Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah,” Santana replies and averts her eyes as she tugs on her blanket. “You can either join or scram.”

Puck rolls his eyes and reaches for the remote. When the screen shuts off, Santana lets out a huff but Puck only crosses his arms.

“What the hell?” She snaps. “I was watching that!”

“So?” Puck challenges.

“So turn it back on.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kick your ass.”

Puck barks out a laugh, “I’d like to see you try. Go ahead.”

Santana doesn’t move, “I don’t have the energy for this.”

“You’re so damn frustrating,” Puck shakes his head.

The comment makes Santana falter a little; it makes her think about Brittany again, it makes her think about how she let her down, it makes her think about how it made her feel to watch the blonde run away.

But Brittany isn’t here, it’s Puck and Santana knows he doesn’t scare off too easily.

“Just leave me alone,” Santana grumbles.

Of course, Puck doesn’t.

“Are you seriously not going tonight?”

Santana clenches her jaw as the anxious feeling returns. It didn’t take much but she’s wavering and she knows it. Puck probably knows it too or else he wouldn’t be here pressing her buttons still.

“I told you I can’t go,” She tells him defiantly. “I’d only ruin her night. She doesn’t need that, no one does. It’s better if I stay here.”

“Bullshit,” Puck disputes. “You don’t know that.”

Santana stays quiet, she can feel her foundation cracking.

“I do know that,” She says. “You saw how pissed she was when she left. I’d just make things worse if I go.”

Puck sighs tiredly, “Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“That,” Puck tries to explain. “It’s just like high school – you’re taking yourself out of the game before you even play it.”

That strikes a nerve with Santana, “That’s not what happened and you know it. This is so much different.”

“You gave up then,” Puck tells her. “And you’re giving up now. Why? I don’t know. This should be way easier for you. There’s no scholarship on the line or this big scary secret you need to help hide. You’re not even in love with the girl this time but here you are sitting on the damn bench.”

Santana shrinks back. She doesn’t want to talk about the past, she doesn’t want it mixing in with her present so she deflects, “Can you stop with the ridiculous sports metaphors?”

“No. Now get your ass up,” Puck huffs as he pulls off the blanket Santana covers herself with.

“Goddamn it, Puckerman! Cut the shit!”

“You first, Lopez!”

This time, Santana rises to her feet. She faces Puck head on and glares. Her fists are tight and her chest aches with rage and something else, something she’s tried so many times to push away.

“You know what you have to do,” Puck says. “Stop with the excuses and just go do it already. Quit being a little punk about it.”

“I’m not being a punk,” Santana grumbles.

Puck laughs as he waves his hand at her mess, “All this because Britt finally called you out on your shit? Come on, you’re better than that.”

Santana tenses her jaw again but Puck only softens as he puts his heavy hands on her shoulders, going into total pep talk mode. Santana tries to squirm away, but Puck steadies her like always.

No one would ever expect that this guy, the one with a ratty mohawk, could be the voice of reason for Santana but he’s never failed her before. Just like her, he doesn’t back down. He sticks by her even when she’s being a stubborn dumbass and if anyone needs someone in their life like that it’s Santana.

“I know you,” He says solemnly. “Going to this thing tonight is a piece of cake, all you have to do is quit selling yourself short and go.”

Santana’s shoulders drop even further as Puck continues.

“Prove yourself wrong and kill it,” He says. “You owe it to yourself and you owe it to Brittany.”

There’s an uneasiness still but Santana can’t lie and say Puck’s words didn’t ignite something within her. It goes without saying that his words have had an impact. She bats off his hands and glances at the time, frowning when she sees how late it has gotten.

“I don’t think I can make it in time,” Santana says. “I can’t get ready in forty minutes. My hair alone takes at least an hour.”

“Well what’s that saying?” Puck questions. “Better late than never?”

Santana sighs through a small smile, “I mean, I do like to make an entrance.”

Puck smirks, “Then you better get going.”

Santana’s used to walking into parties like she owns the place, but she finds herself struggling as she approaches the entrance of the Brainiacs’ Ball. She stares up at the prominent steps flanked by solid columns and has never felt so small in all her life. She’s way out of her comfort zone, but she takes the first step anyway.

Slowly, she puts one foot in front of the other. She can feel the low thrum of the bass from the music inside before she can actually hear it. At least that’s something she’s a little more familiar with and with that in mind, she continues her journey.

Maybe Puck was right? This is a piece of cake!

When she reaches the top and looks back, she finds Puck still waiting at the bottom of the stairs watching on like a proud soccer mom. He catcalls at her loudly and it causes the last of the guests making their way inside to stare.

Santana scrunches her face and waves him away, not wanting to be embarrassed by how he sticks out like a sore thumb in his ripped jeans and jersey. He gets the message though and gives her one last round of thumbs up before heading off.

Though she tries to play it off like she can’t stand his dorkiness, she’s thankful for that little bit of extra support and finds enough courage to walk into the building with her head held high.

She might not feel like she owns the place right now, but that’ll change by the end of the night!

Santana knew it was a black tie affair, but she really didn’t expect such extravagance.

There’s a great crystal chandelier hanging from above casting iridescent shadows across the lobby, spotless marbled floors speckled with flecks of gold, the ruby red carpet leading the way into the grand hall where guests dressed to kill mingle with champagne flutes in their hands.

All that’s missing are the annoying paparazzi and the blinding flashes from their cameras and she’d feel like she was at some gaudy Hollywood party.

It’s like she just walked into one of the parties Maribel’s firm throws for holidays and she so wasn’t expecting that. Although she’s been to many of those, she still feels a little out of place as she makes her way through the double doors.

“Good evening,” The doorman greets politely before extending a gloved had to the party. “Welcome to the Brainiacs’ Ball.”

Santana smiles in return and heads in. She tries to keep an eye out for Brittany all while trying to wrap her head around the fact that all of this is in celebration of a handful of academic decathlon clubs.

Who the hell knew they got down like this? Even their DJ has great music playing! Santana’s so surprised, almost distractingly so but then she spots a familiar someone in the crowd.

Brittany

There’s a sudden sense of relief but it’s soon replaced with a frown as Santana finds that the girl isn’t alone. She’s with some tall guy; Santana can’t really see that far to tell who it is or if she knows him. All she knows is that Brittany is standing with him and she’s laughing.

He’s making her laugh.

Santana’s frown deepens before she squints her eyes, trying to get a better look at the guy. Like the others here, he’s dressed to the nines in a dashing suit with his black hair slicked back.

Okay, whatever – he can clean up well. Santana can too! But the important question is, what’s he doing with Brittany?

She ducks behind a vase of flowers, peering through the gaps in the leaves so Brittany doesn’t spot her. She only briefly thinks about how ridiculous she must look before other guests unknowingly happen to block her view.

Frustrated, she tries ducking and dodging them but even in her stilettos she’s just too short. She’ll need to get closer if she wants to see what this guy’s deal is, but as she makes her way over she can’t help but think: did Brittany really replace her?

Surely not, that would definitely raise suspicion. She wouldn’t do that.

Would she?

Suddenly, a waiter dressed formally in a suit and tie steps in Santana’s path. There’s a silver tray full of champagne flutes atop his hand and he looks to Santana expectantly.

“Champagne?”

Santana takes one last look at Brittany and that guy and goes for a glass.

“Yeah, sure.” She takes one and downs it in two gulps.

The waiter raises his brows in awe and quickly goes to turn away, but Santana stops him.

“Hold up,” She says and puts down her empty glass in favor of taking two more. She smiles sweetly at him in thanks before getting her game face on. She finds herself thinking about what Puck said before and starts to fill with confidence – no more sitting on the sidelines for her!

Santana saunters over to Brittany with determination in her eyes.

It’s go time.

“There you are!” Santana greets cheerfully as she reaches Brittany with a champagne flute in each hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Brittany stops mid-sentence, her face pale as if she’s just seen a ghost.

“You’re here.”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss it,” Santana replies as she hands her the spare flute before pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. She looks up at pretty blue eyes and adds, “I know how important this night is for you.”

Brittany blinks, it’s like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Santana thinks she’s off to a good start so far – naturally – and sizes up the guy Brittany was talking to before she came over.

“And who are you?” She asks with a slight bite to her tone as she wraps her arm around Brittany’s waist.

He falters as he looks back and forth between her and Brittany, “I’m Mike.”

Santana lifts her brow challengingly, but Brittany steps in to add.

“He’s a friend of mine.”

Santana continues to stare at the guy, “Friend.”

“Yeah,” Brittany glances at her with slight confusion but it quickly disappears as she slips into character too. “I was just telling him you weren’t feeling too good and that you probably wouldn’t make it tonight.”

“Right,” Santana replies. Her smile turns devilish, “Well I appreciate the concern but I’m all better now, Mike.”

He looks a little nervous but nods, “That’s good to hear.”

“Mhmm,” Santana brings her glass to her lips. She maintains eye contact with him while she threads her fingers with Brittany’s and sips her champagne slowly.

“Well Britt, I’m gonna go,” He says hesitantly to Brittany before jutting a thumb over his shoulder. “I want to make sure we grab a good seat. I’ll see you over at the table.”

“Okay cool,” Brittany smiles. “See you there.”

“It was nice finally meeting you, Santana,” Mike says kindly to the brunette before disappearing into the crowd.

Santana watches him go as she takes another sip. This Mike character really changed up his tune once Santana was around – all nice and polite. He wasn’t fooling her though! Trying to steal her fake girlfriend, not today!

“He’s gone,” Brittany says gruffly. “You can let go of my hand now.”

“Oh sorry,” Santana pulls away and glances in the direction Mike went. “So he’s attractive…what’s he doing at a place like this?”

Brittany doesn’t even smile, “You know not everyone with a brain looks like Steve Urkel.”

Santana doesn’t notice Brittany’s dismissive tone as she looks around. She’s still mind blown by the atmosphere and the people and everything.

“Clearly,” She replies. “I mean, did you see that man’s jawline? I’m a lesbian, but I can still admire a good looking – “

“What are you doing here, Santana?”

Brittany’s curt tone pulls Santana right back to the other day where they sat together at her tiny dining table and she watched as Brittany grew more and more disappointed in her. There’s a hardness to her, an annoyance, that doesn’t go unnoticed. It makes Santana shrink back, that confidence before taking a big hit, but she stands her ground – even if Brittany makes her feel shaken.

“I’m here to be your arm candy,” Santana says in return – attempting to make this exchange lighthearted.

Brittany’s not having it though as she says bitterly, “I don’t need it.”

“Sure you do.”

“No,” Brittany admonishes. “I don’t so you can leave now.”

Santana slips up out of frustration, “Are you really going to make this difficult for me?”

That sets Brittany off once again, the bitterness intensifying.

“Seriously? You did not just ask me that. After everything you said the other night, after the way you just put your foot down and refused to budge? You want to talk to me about being difficult?” Brittany lets out a dry laugh, “You’ve got some nerve.”

Santana cringes as she takes a subtle look around to make sure no one notices them arguing, but no one pays them any mind. It’s a relief, but it doesn’t offer Santana much comfort with the way Brittany’s still glaring at her.

She was a little prepared for the backlash, she just wasn’t sure how bad Brittany’s words would sting. She isn’t used to the harshness in Brittany’s tone and she kind of hates that she’s the reason for it.

Still, she pushes forward. She’s determined to fix this, no matter how hard Brittany fights her.

“Okay,” Santana’s voice is meek. “So that was a poor choice of words... ”

“You think?” Brittany replies, her tone thick with sarcasm.

Santana’s instincts have her wanting to retreat. She has clearly messed up big time and everything in her is telling her to just listen to Brittany and leave – yet her feet don’t move.

Maybe she’s hardheaded, maybe she’s too damn stubborn for her own good; whatever it is, she continues to stand her ground.

“I’m here now,” Santana says earnestly. “That has to count for something?”

Brittany shakes her head, “It doesn’t.”

Santana lets out a laugh out of aggravation. Who knew the girl could be just as stubborn as her? Talk about grudges, no wonder no one ever gets on Brittany’s bad side! It’s damn near impossible to get off of it! But Santana’s made proving she can be there for Brittany her new mission so she’s not going anywhere just yet.

“What do you want me to do?” Santana asks dejectedly. “Get on my hands and knees? Beg for your forgiveness?”

“Save your breath,” Brittany replies briskly as she sets down her glass. “I don’t want to be here with someone that would rather be elsewhere and I’m tired of trying to force you to care.”

That one surprisingly hurts a little more than Santana expected, but it doesn’t top the feeling that quickly follows as she watches Brittany begin to turn her back on her.

“Brittany,” Santana finds herself calling out. When the blonde doesn’t stop, Santana calls out to her again. “Britt – “

“No,” Brittany pauses as she looks over her shoulder at Santana. “You were right. You’d just ruin my night. Go home, Santana.”

It’s another blow to the chest as the blonde turns to walk away again. Only this time, Santana kicks into gear. She’s got something to prove and she’s not leaving until she does! She quickly sets down her glass too and reaches out, catching Brittany by the wrist before she gets too far.

“Can you just wait?” Santana pleads.

“What?” Brittany snaps back.

Santana softens as she tucks her tail between her legs, “I’m sorry.”

Brittany looks a little taken aback by the relaxing of her tensed jaw, but it only last for a moment as she looks down at Santana’s hand still around her wrist.

“Okay, great,” Brittany says sarcastically. “Now let me go.”

Brittany doesn’t wait for Santana to loosen her grip and instead shakes Santana off of her. The brunette doesn’t try reaching for her again, but she does take a step closer.

“Hold on,” Santana urges again. “I’m not finished.”

Brittany pauses, taking a wary look back her. Santana can see that she’s wearing her down, but who knows how long it’ll last. There’s no reason for Brittany to give her another chance after having so many, so she has to make this count.

“I thought about what you said,” Santana tells her. “Like I really, really thought about it and I think you might be right.”

Brittany remains looking indifferent and that makes Santana nervous, but she continues on.

“You’re right about this being one sided. You’re right about you putting in most of the work and doing things that benefit me,” Santana says. “You’re right about it all – minus one thing.”

Brittany quirks her brow, “What’s that?”

“I’m not selfish.”

“No?” Brittany scoffs. “Then you must not know the meaning of the word because your past actions would say otherwise.”

Santana sighs, “Yeah, I know but I guess that’s why I’m here…to prove that you’re wrong.”

Brittany softens in the slightest as she listens.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Santana explains. “You always go above and beyond. I mean, you climbed through a window for me and you’re learning Spanish to get on Abuela’s good side! Like what the hell? Who does that?” Santana pauses when she realizes she’s veering from her point.

“I know I’m still not on your level when it comes to doing the most,” She continues. “But I figured it’s only fair that I do something that I normally wouldn’t just to show you that all you do isn’t for nothing. By coming here tonight, I’m trying to return the favor. This is my metaphorical window and I want to climb through it for you.”

Santana pauses when she realizes how lame she sounds, but maybe this huge fuck up calls for a little lameness. Maybe a lot; whatever works at this point!

Brittany watches Santana for a moment as if she’s trying to decide whether or not Santana’s words have any weight to them. It isn’t the first time she’s said she’d do better, so it’s no surprise Brittany isn’t as quick to accept her apology.

“I don’t really know if I believe you,” She finally says. Her tone has lost most of its bite but Santana knows she’s not in the clear just yet.

“That’s fine,” Santana replies. She stands a little taller, puffs out her chest and says, “I’ll just have to spend all night trying to convince you. You want a perfect fake girlfriend? Well Britt-Britt, you’ve got one.”

There’s the slightest hint of a smile that graces Brittany’s lips and it makes the dimming beacon of hope in Santana begin to shine a little brighter.

“That is,” Santana adds. “If you want me to. I know this night is important for you. I can go if that’s what you really want.”

She bats her eyelashes for the extra touch – because if after all of that Brittany still makes her leave…well that would just be embarrassing. Surprisingly though, it makes Brittany’s smile grow. Santana can tell she’s fighting to keep it small, fighting to keep from giving in, and she takes that as a personal victory.

“You can stay,” Brittany says after making Santana wait a little longer.

Santana beams, “Okay gre – ”

“For now.”

“Okay,” Santana’s grin softens. “I can handle that.”

“I don’t want to fight with you here,” Brittany tells her firmly. “I only want to have a good time and if you try to mess that up then you’re out of here.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Santana replies.

Brittany holds out her pinky, “Promise?”

Santana eyes her skeptically, “Are you trying to make me pinky promise? What are we twelve?”

“It’s a yes or no question,” Brittany replies flatly – still holding out her pinky.

“Promise,” Santana sighs and curls her pinky around Brittany’s.

Satisfied, Brittany nods and pulls away. While Santana chuckles, she looks over to the direction Mike left.

“So I guess you can go ahead and tell Hot Stuff over there that he doesn’t need to be coming around here anymore too.”

That pulls a genuine laugh out of Brittany who can’t help but smirk at Santana’s comment.

“Shocking; you’re the jealous type.”

Santana lifts her brow, “I’m not. I’m just saying – his assistance as interim date is no longer required if I’m here.”

“I said you can stay for now. I can change my mind at any time.”

Santana’s shoulders droop as she’s once again put back in her place. Brittany notices and smirks.

“He has a date already,” Brittany continues. “His girlfriend. You know her. Tina?”

Santana’s jaw drops a little, “No shit, really?”

“Yeah, they’ve been together for awhile now.”

“Wow, I had no idea. Well good,” Santana lifts her chin. “He can carry his fine ass on over to her and stay there then.”

“You’re really hung up on how people can be both smart and hot,” Brittany points out with a laugh. “Like you and I aren’t also examples of that being a thing.”

“Hold up,” Santana starts to smirk. “Did you just say I’m hot?”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “I mean, you do look nice.”

Santana frowns, “Just nice?”

Brittany eyes her up and down slowly before shrugging, “Yeah, nice. I’m actually surprised you didn’t wear one of your stripper dresses. Guess you won’t be making it rain tonight.”

Santana lets out a laugh. She’s glad Brittany’s back to bantering with her instead of the heavy intensity from before. Maybe they’re not completely back on good terms, but at least it’s better than what it was.

“We’ll see. Those moves are for later,” Santana winks jokingly before giving her compliments. “You clean up pretty good too. I like what you’ve done with your hair. It’s cute.”

Brittany gets a little bashful as she fluffs her softly tussled hair, “Thanks.”

Santana only nods, “Now where’s this elusive open bar I’ve heard so much about? I needs me something other than champagne.”

“Ah, so that’s the real reason you’re here,” Brittany quips.

Santana feels like Brittany’s testing her although her tone remains playful.

“Yeah, but I’m mostly here for you,” Santana replies super sweetly. “I mean, how can I say no to an open bar? I am a broke college student after all.”

Brittany chuckles, “I see your priorities are straight.”

“It’s the only straight thing about me,” Santana jokes before hooking her arm with Brittany’s.

After getting their drinks, the couple roam around the room arm in arm. It’s mostly to keep up appearances; a way to make up for Santana arriving late and to show that Brittany really isn’t here all alone.

She’s surprised by how many come up to greet them – well, greet Brittany. Santana guesses the blonde really is a big deal here after all and everyone happily chats away with her. Who can blame them though? Brittany’s probably the friendliest person Santana knows.

They bump into Mike and Tina again near the giant owl ice sculpture while they make their rounds – because yeah, of course this party has one of those – but the conversation is kept brief with Tina trying to get in as many interviews with everyone before dinner.

Mike tags along after her with a proud smile on his face as he offers to hold her drink and for a second Santana kind of feels a little guilty about having her claws out when they first met. He seems kind, happy to be alongside Tina and Santana finds herself wondering if people get that vibe when she’s with Brittany.

While Santana and Brittany linger by the ice sculpture, Santana notices a small group of people that look a lot like the guys from Brittany’s team. At least the one in the center of it all is for sure. They stick out to her because they’re probably some of the lasts who haven’t come to greet Brittany which seems odd considering she’s their teammate.

Wouldn’t they have been the first to see her? Maybe Santana missed that part since she arrived late, then again judging by how they seemed to shun her at the match they probably haven’t come to say hi on purpose.

Santana quietly watches them though as Brittany chats with another guest about robotics or whatever nerdy talk that goes completely over Santana’s head. She notices how they all gravitate to the one guy in the center and it’s like they hang on his every word. They laugh when he does, they nod when he nods – they’re puppets and he’s the puppet master.

Santana doesn’t realize she’s pulling a face until Brittany bumps her with her elbow.

“Quit it,” Brittany chastises. “People can see you.”

“My bad,” Santana fixes her face and gestures over to the group. “He’s on your team, right? The one in the dusty grandpa sweater.”

Brittany glances in the direction and nods.

Santana wrinkles her nose, “He seems like a tool.”

“He’s not,” Brittany’s quick to defend before softening. “Not really.”

Santana doesn’t looked convinced so Brittany adds.

“He’s a pretty big deal to this community. People say he has one of the most gifted minds in our generation.”

Santana picks up on Brittany’s tone, but she can’t tell whether it’s envy or something entirely different. She knows one thing is for sure though.

“People say that about you too,” Santana tells her honestly. “The whole gifted mind thing.”

Brittany shakes her head and looks to the ground, “No they don’t.”

Her dismissiveness confuses Santana. She’s never not seen Brittany confident in how intelligent she actually is. If there’s one thing Santana knows the blonde is sure about, it’s her smarts. They argue about it all the time! That’s the very foundation of their rivalry, but apparently here that’s not the case.

“Word about his work has travelled all the way to MIT,” Brittany adds. “It’s so impressive.”

“And yet, he never went there. You did,” Santana reminds her as she continues to stare down the guy. She glances to Brittany again skeptically, “Or is he a transfer too?”

“He’s not. But I’m sure he would’ve gotten in easy. His work is…it’s legendary.”

Santana watches Brittany, trying to figure her out. It sounds a lot like admiration rather than envy, but why? How great can this guy possibly be if he has Brittany doubting herself?

“I didn’t know you were such a fan,” Santana comments.

“I just admire him is all,” Brittany says, confirming Santana’s thoughts.

Santana still doesn’t get it though and frowns around the word, “Admire…”

The both of them watch the man chat with the others silently for two very different reasons. The longer Santana stares, the more she kind of wants to punch him. He just has a very punchable face she supposes, especially when he laughs louder than anyone else in the room.

The sound makes Santana grit her teeth while it has the opposite effect on Brittany.

“He’s kind of cute too,” The blonde admits.

“Cute?” Santana raises both brows and laughs. “We looking at the same guy?”

Brittany shrugs, “He’s cute in that boy next door kind of way.”

“Seriously?” Santana snickers. “That Mike guy was kind of cute. Him? He ain’t it.”

Brittany suddenly hardens, “Well it doesn’t matter what you think. Does it?”

Santana’s taken aback.

“It’s not always about looks,” Brittany further chastises. “There’s more to people than that.”

Santana keeps quiet and nods, not wanting to piss Brittany off again. Afterall, her presence is completely dependent on whether or not Brittany wants her around. She can revoke the privilege at any second and Santana would hate to be kicked to the curb because she once again can’t keep her opinions to herself.

“What’d you say his name was again?” She asks a moment later.

“Artie.”

Suddenly something clicks. She remembers the conversation she had with Brittany’s parents at Brittany’s last match and the comment about someone named Artie.

“So that’s who your parents were talking about,” Santana hums.

“Wait what?” Brittany whirls on her. “I’ve mentioned him like twice. What’d they say?”

Santana shrugs, “They said dating me is an upgrade.”

Brittany gives her a look and slumps, “They didn’t say that.”

“No, but it’s true.”

“They clearly don’t know you well enough.”

Santana cringes, “Hey, I’m trying. At least I’m not a tool like that guy.”

“Debatable.”

“Rude.”

They settle into silence again. Santana goes from scanning the crowd to glancing Brittany’s way. She notices how the blonde continues to gravitate towards Artie too, just like one of his puppets. Santana finds it so odd and the curiosity begins to get the better of her.

“So what’s your deal with him?” She asks. “He an ex I need to worry about?”

“No. It’s nothing like that,” Brittany replies.

Santana doesn’t believe that for a second though.

“I sense a story.”

“There isn’t one,” Brittany says with a shrug. “We were friends and now, I don’t know what we are. Things got weird after I was asked to join the robotics team and he wasn’t. We used to study all the time together, but after that happened he kind of kept me at a distance.”

Santana struggles to mask the disdain she has for this guy. He really is a tool if that’s how he acts. But she fights the urge to speak on it, sensing Brittany still has some kind of connection with him.

“Do you like him or something?” Santana wonders.

Brittany shrugs again, “It’s complicated. We’ve got history I guess.”

Santana nods; she can oddly relate to that.

“You know, he was the first friend I made here?” Brittany smiles at the memory. “I was so freaking nervous – you know, new campus and all. I spent extra time trying to get my bearings the day before but I still ended up getting lost on my first day. Artie was the one who took the time to show me around.”

Santana quirks a brow at that, but notices Brittany’s melancholy even more.

“Don’t tell Tina that,” Santana tries to joke. “We’ll have some conflicting stories.”

When Brittany barely gives her a smile, Santana tries again.

“I thought Puck was the one who showed you around?” Santana asks. “That’s how you guys became friends?”

“He was, but Artie was the first.”

“Huh,” Santana glances at the guy and laughs. “He must not have done a very good job then if you still ended up getting lost.”

This time there’s a small that graces Brittany’s lips, but it’s not nearly as big and bright as Santana’s used to. She’ll just have to try harder.

“He also introduced me to the Brainiacs,” Brittany tells her. “It was pretty cool of him. When I was at MIT, it was hard to get into any clubs. Everyone was kind of cliquey, so it was nice to see that things were different here. Everyone on the team was super accepting at first.”

“At first?” Santana questions.

“Yeah,” Brittany starts to frown. “When I first joined, the team was mostly girls and they were really great – super smart and so lovely – but they graduated last year. Now the dynamic’s changed a lot because of all the new people who seem to worship Artie. That’s probably part of the reason for his ego boost.”

Santana turns up her nose at that, but Brittany’s quick to return to the positives.

“But when it’s just us, he’s not so bad. He really looked out for me when I first came to Columbia. He introduced me to the Brainiacs and recommended me for the tutoring gig,” Brittany tells her. “We used to work together all the time until I got into this fake relationship with you.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Santana quips, but Brittany doesn’t really laugh at that. So Santana softens, a little intrigued by Brittany’s past, “So after all that time spent together, nothing ever happened between you two?”

“No,” Brittany replies. “I don’t think it ever would anyway.”

“Because you’re taken or…”

Brittany sighs at the joke, “Like I said, things got weird after I joined the robotics team. It was like the first time I did something for myself without his help or recommendation and I guess it rubbed him the wrong way?”

“You’re friends, aren’t you?” Santana questions. “Why would he feel some type of way about you branching out?”

“I don’t know,” Brittany shrugs. “Maybe I’m looking too much into things? Maybe he really doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

Santana shakes her head and stares at Artie again, “Well it looks like on top of being a tool, he’s an idiot too.”

Then almost as if he was summoned, Artie looks their way.

Santana finds herself straightening up, trying to stand taller, trying to seem more intimidating, but it doesn’t look like it deters the guy as he begins his journey over.

“Brittany,” Artie greets with a nod. “Hi.”

Brittany smiles, “Hey Artie.”

He then looks to Santana and gives her a curious look full of judgement. It has Santana clenching her teeth, trying her hardest to maintain character when all she wants to do is roll the guy into the giant owl ice sculpture.

“Who’s this?” He asks Brittany as if Santana can’t hear.

Santana breaks slightly and scoffs, “You know how I am.”

Artie raises his brow and looks expectantly to Brittany.

“This is my girlfriend, Santana,” Brittany introduces. “I’ve mentioned her to you before.”

“Right,” Artie looks to Santana again. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

Santana stares back challengingly, “I bet your hear that a lot.”

Artie sits back in his chair with this smug look on his face, “Funny. She’s funny.”

“It’s one of my many top notch qualities,” Santana fires back before looking to Brittany. Her arm goes around her waist, “Ain’t that right, babe?”

It takes a moment for Brittany to play along, but then she’s smiling and melting into Santana’s side, “Yeah. Totally.”

Artie only eyes the two though, out of suspicion or jealousy – Santana’s unsure. She’s hoping for the latter, because it seems like no one’s ever put him in his place before. Santana’s just the girl for the job!

“So do you think the team is going to get the top spot, Artie?” Brittany asks, trying to keep things light. “It was a lot of close matches this year, I hope our percentage is enough to pull us through.”

Artie shakes his head, almost like he’s disappointed. “I don’t know. Several of those matches shouldn’t have been that close. You really should’ve spent more time studying.”

Santana’s brows rise, but she remains quiet – looking to Brittany to see her reaction. To her surprise, the blonde looks just as remorseful.

“Yeah, you’re right. I think I was having an off day.”

“I think you had a lot of those,” Artie quips. “Too busy with the robotics team maybe?”

Santana scoffs, “Is he joking?”

But Brittany doesn’t say anything so Santana keeps quiet too.

“Some competitors take a little while to warm up,” Artie continues. “You just aren’t a seasoned contender like I am. You know I hold the record for fastest buzz in during my rookie season?”

“I know.”

“No one’s come close to beating it,” Artie flaunts. “We might’ve made state if you didn’t botch the science round during the last match. Maybe I should’ve taken the turn instead.”

Brittany nods and Santana can tell she’s trying to take his criticism constructively �� only problem is that it’s not constructive at all. It’s completely condescending and uncalled for.

“Hold up, no,” Santana finds herself interrupting which seems to surprise the pair. “Brittany killed it during the finals or whatever you call it. She was buzzing in when no one else on your little team was. Not even you knew those answers, so what I think you need to be doing is thanking her.”

“For what?” Artie challenges.

“For carrying the team obviously. No way you would’ve gotten far if it wasn’t for her.”

Brittany looks a little shocked by the way Santana stands up for her, but Santana barely notices – too busy willing Artie to step out of line again.

And he does, with an arrogant laugh, he brushes Santana off.

“But the time it took her to buzz in is what we lose points for,” Artie explains. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand how academic decathlons work. They’re not like your cheerleading competitions, we actually have to use our brains.”

“Artie,” Brittany chastises but he’s unfazed.

Meanwhile Santana’s eyes are wide with surprise. The nerve, the audacity – it’s unbelievable!

“I’m sorry,” Santana starts to lean forward, getting down on his level. “Are you jealous that you can’t possibly possess both brains and brawn?”

Artie shifts in his chair and tries to evade Santana’s eye, but she’s so close now that he can’t avoid her.

“Or do you feel threatened by it?” Santana presses. “Threatened because this cheerleader’s GPA is something you’ve only dreamt of having and I didn’t have to waste away in a musty old library to get it? Tell me, Wheels, who was it again that was on track to be valedictorian until Brittany came along because I don’t remember seeing your name anywhere on the list.”

Artie’s face goes a little red that time; out of embarrassment or anger, Santana doesn’t care. All she cares about is making sure that he knows he isn’t shit and there’s no way he’ll talk to Brittany like that while she’s around.

There’s only one person in the world that can pick on Brittany and that’s her.

“The keyword is was,” He retorts.

“The keyword is you’re a prick,” Santana bites back just as fiercely.

“Okay,” Brittany cuts in. She gives Santana a little tug until she can curl an arm around her waist, “I think that’s enough of that.”

Artie continues to look shaken, but he does his best to mask it. Trying to be as macho as he can while in that turtleneck sweater he must’ve stolen from his grandfather’s closet. Safe to say it doesn’t fool Santana one bit.

“Well, I can see why you like her, Britt,” Artie comments with a glance in Santana’s direction. “She’s fiery.”

“She’s also this close to going all Lima He– “

“Santana,” Brittany scolds again.

There’s a pleading look in her eye that has Santana softening. She remembers what Brittany said earlier about tonight being fun and not wanting to fight, so Santana let’s Brittany pull her back. She settles, but it feels like it’s only the calm before the storm.

Artie notices too and puts on a smug grin, “Come to think of it, I have heard your name floating around on campus. Santana Lopez; the girl can’t be tied down to save her life.”

“Well Brittany’s changed that,” Santana quips. “Hasn’t she?”

“Hmm,” Artie nods but the stare he gives her is almost analytical. “It’s not really a pairing I would’ve pictured considering your history.” He then looks to Brittany and frowns, “I’m pretty sure you once told me that she couldn’t possibly have any redeeming qualities.”

Santana tries looking unfazed, but she can’t lie and say that comment didn’t sting. One look at Brittany and she can sense the guilt, but she keeps it hidden from Artie. Santana can’t hold it against Brittany though if she did say something like that about her, there’s been many times she’s complained about the blonde to Puck too.

But that was before they got to know each other, that was before they had to work together to emulate this perfect couple.

“Looks like I was wrong about that,” Brittany replies behind a smile that’s directed at Santana. She squeezes a little at the brunette’s waist, “Who would’ve known, opposites really do attract?”

Santana chuckles, remembering saying something similar during a conversation with Tina months ago.

“It sure took me by surprise,” Santana adds before glancing to Artie. “Guess I have some pretty redeeming qualities after all.”

Artie hums again with this contemplative look on his face, but he doesn’t rock the boat any further. He just nods and says, “Well this was fun. I guess I’ll leave you two to enjoy the Ball.”

Santana sneers at him while Brittany bids him goodbye.

“Oh. By the way Britt,” Artie pauses and glances back. “You look really great.”

Santana raises a brow at the compliment.

She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but there’s the slightest little smirk on his dumb face as he says it and it has Santana feeling hot. Even if Brittany isn’t her actual girlfriend, what the hell? Who compliments another person’s date right in front of them? It seems as though Artie knows exactly what he’s doing, but given her promise to Brittany she’ll bite her tongue – for now.

While Brittany ducks her head in thanks, Santana stays quiet – waiting until Artie is out of sight before she can finally let down her guard and say what’s really on her mind.

#hate to date #brittana #brittana fanfiction #enemies to lovers #fake dating au

24 notes · View notes

luzarya · 3 years ago

Text

To Hunt A Creature

twst x Yuu

Summary: Yuu, as all know, came from another world. Not a word about their past however.

Until something from their world arrives, and Yuu deals with it alone.

Ao3 link: here

warnings and tags: some violence, mention of blood, not beta read

word count: 1,910

If it was something that Yuu desperately wanted to leave behind, it was their past. So far, they never once had to explain it, keeping it locked away.

But today was different.

Yuu felt something was amiss in the morning, feeling something that they thought they wouldn’t have felt in this world. It was odd, but it brought a sense of panic to Yuu.

“Grim,” Yuu called out to the sleeping feline, “Hey, Grim.”

Grim mumbled something in his sleep, then finally opened up his eyes, “Eh, what is it?”

Yuu gave a small smile, “I’ll be a bit late to class today, so on without me.”

“Eh? But it’s pretty early? Why are ya gonna be late?”

“I want to shower,” Yuu lied, “I forgot to take one last night and it’s bothering me.”

“Sheesh,” Grim huffed, “You and your long showers. Well…” He paused, “I guess it’s fine, as long as I get some tuna!”

“Of course!”

Yuu never attended class.

It was the afternoon, and it has been a few slow hours tracking down the creature in the forest, the creature that was the cause of it all. It was only because of Yuu’s previous experiences did Yuu ever notice, really.

If the creature isn’t taken down, then it would only grow stronger and stronger, until it no longer can be contained, destroying its surroundings in the process.

Yuu wanted to get rid of it while the creature was young, or at least, before anyone noticed that anything was amiss.

It was calming, to say the least.

Perhaps it was because this life was all that Yuu had known, or perhaps it was because their body sorely needed something like this. Yuu often didn’t get a chance to show their skills, lest anyone would question their entire identity.

Yuu walked slowly, careful to keep quiet. A glance told them that the creature was nearby, fresh prints in the mud. It didn’t take much for Yuu to realize that the creature was likely a little too nearby, faintly able to pick up the breathing of the creature.

It was calm, sounding just like any other animal to anyone else, though to Yuu, they could pick up the slight raggedness of it, too atypical to be that of a normal animal.

Yuu turned ever so slightly, their eyes meeting the figure of the beast that they had been tracking. It startled them for a brief moment, but they quickly calmed. The creature, without a doubt, was from their world.

The creature turned its head, now spotting Yuu. It bellowed out a roar, and then lunged towards them. But Yuu’s muscle memory kicked into action, allowing them to dodge the creature’s attack.

Your movements flowed smoothly, as if you weren’t inactive as a hunter for months on end. Yet, despite this, you could already feel the ache of your muscles, but that feeling was also familiar; thus your body continued despite its protests.

You pulled out a dagger, feeling the cold metal in your hand. With a thrust, you plunged your dagger into the creature’s flesh, blood splattering out and landing on your person.

Thus, a dance began.

The creature would lunge forward, and you would dodge. It would swipe at you, but you were quick enough to go to the side, out of it’s reach, landing another attack on it. This continued, your lungs burning, the creature persistent with its assaults. Few times did the creature managed to wound you, but you didn’t care- you were just. So. Close.

You don’t know how long it lasted, nor did you keep track of the number of times you landed a hit on the creature, and vice versa. But by the time the creature’s body landed on the ground with a loud thud.

But Yuu didn’t rest, no, they instead pulled something from their pouch. It was a vial of holy water, something of which Yuu had to make themselves. They also took out a pair of ear plugs, putting them in, then pouring the holy water onto the creature.

The creature let out an ear-shattering howl, and despite the earplugs, Yuu’s ear still hurt. Yuu took a step back as they saw the holy water melt the creature’s flesh, the creature crawling with much effort, but to no avail. Slowly, it made its way towards Yuu, and by the time it managed to crawl right in front of Yuu, who merely stared at it, the beast let out one last pitiful screech, before its head slumped against Yuu’s shoes, its body no longer moving.

It took only a few minutes for the body to dissolve into nothing but dust, of which was when Yuu knelt, taking out the earplugs and putting them away, clasping their hands together, closing their eyes, whispering out a prayer.

Blades of light appeared, striking down the dust. Somehow, it managed to get all of the dust, completely removing any evidence that the creature ever lived, with a small exception.

A small purple stone remained, glowing brightly, as if asking to be taken.

And Yuu complied, wordlessly picking up the stone, albeit carefully, then standing up. The stone shook in their grasp, puffs of black smoke swirling around Yuu’s arm, but never harming them. Eventually, it shook more and more, as if angry, but after a few minutes of absolutely nothing happening, the stone became still- signifying that it had given up.

Smiling, Yuu pulled out a pouch littered with faded runes and sigils, placing the stone within.

“Heh, guess I still have it in me, huh?” Yuu laughed, putting away the stone.

It was then when Yuu’s actions finally caught up with them.

Yuu’s legs gave out, causing Yuu to fall harshly against the forest floor. Yuu let out a yelp, followed by a string of curses.

It was only lunch, judging by the position of the sun, as far as Yuu could tell, which meant that there was a chance that someone would find them- but Yuu knew that it was unlikely. Grim probably assumed that they were skipping school- which admittedly was technically true.

Yuu quietly cursed again, trying to move their arms. Yuu managed to move them, but not without feeling the pain from all the gashes and wounds they’ve endured from the fight.

A thought came to Yuu.

Weakly, Yuu took out a knife, pulling out the blade. They pressed the tip onto the dirt, and began making an intricate design. They had spent only a few minutes on it, and once they were done, Yuu shifted their arm, the wound parallel to the ground. Yuu then used their free hand and pressed against the wound, forcing the once closing wound to open up, the stream of blood regaining life.

Drops of blood spilt onto the ground, as Yuu began muttering phrases.

It became dark, until it became too dark that Yuu couldn’t see a thing. Yuu became silent, moving their arms so that they laid at their sides. At this point, Yuu could feel the consequences of losing all the blood, and for a moment, Yuu regretted not eating prior to the fight.

Through the midst of the heavy air and silence, a voice rang out.

“So, you’ve called, at last, my dear?”

The darkness dissipated, the forest and its surrounding returning within Yuu’s line of sight- with a new addition.

The owner of the voice stood quite the distance away from Yuu, looking down at them.

“Just come and help me,” Yuu seethed, glaring at the figure, “I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t desperate.”

“I know,” the demoness replied, “I’m just surprised, is all. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Yep. Now, help me.”

“Heh, fine. Just for old time’s sake.”

The demoness, who was dressed in a red suit, the jacket hanging on their shoulders, walked slowly over to Yuu. Once the demoness was just a foot away, they just gave Yuu a glance, stroking their chin.

Then, with a snap of the demoness’ fingers, all of Yuu’s wounds healed. It wasn’t a painless process, however, as Yuu slumped over into the ground, the demoness letting out a small yelp as they jumped back out of Yuu’s way.

It took a moment for Yuu’s wounds to completely heal, and even then, they were still weak.

“Perhaps, it’s been too long,” the demoness muttered, as they went over to Yuu and picked them up, “Now, my darling, show me the way to your new home.”

“It’s over there…”

“Thank you.~”

The demoness then began walking. It would have been more convenient to fly over the forest, and be ‘home’ in an instant, but this was a different land. Unknown. Unseen.

And the demoness didn’t want to take chances in a world in which they were ignorant of its customs and culture- who knows how it would react to someone like her.

So it took a while. By the time the demoness had arrived at the place that Yuu had called ‘home’, there were three figures, from what she could sense. Yuu, at this point, was fast asleep.

Quietly, as they could, they walked over, careful to not be seen. Gently, they propped the sleeping Yuu against the wall. The demoness glanced around- the figures hadn’t noticed yet.

Good.

The demoness then walked away, and once she had deemed that there was enough distance between her and everyone else, she threw a rock.

And another.

Until one of the figures had the brains to investigate.

“The heck? Where are these rocks coming from?”

The demoness hide within the bushes.

Within the demoness’ line of vision, they saw two boys, one with red hair while the other with blue, and a fat dark cat with flames.

“Eh, is that Yuu?” The fat cat grumbles.

“Oh Great Seven,” the blue haired kid exclaimed, “It is!”

The demoness watched as the blue haired boy ran over to Yuu, picking them up with great ease. Naturally, this woke up Yuu, who began to immediately struggle in the boy’s grasp until the boy said something.

Whatever the boy had said, it was enough to calm Yuu down.

“Oh… It’s you, Deuce,” Yuu sighed.

“Geez,” the red haired kid scoffs, “Where were you? All the teachers gave that look of disapproval, y’know.”

“Yea!” The cat replies, “You left me all alone! You said you were just gonna be late! What’s the deal? Why are you wearing different clothes? Why do you smell like blood, huh?”

“Blood? Oh, that’s-”

“Eh?!” Deuce gave Yuu a look-over, “You were bleeding!? We need to get your insides!”

“Deuce, I’m fine-”

“How are you not dead?”

“Ace-”

At this point, the demoness was getting annoyed. A look from Yuu indicated that they felt their annoyance, which didn’t go unchecked by their friends.

“What are ya lookin’ at?” The cat turned to the demoness’ direction. “Is there somethin’ there, eh?”

“No, Grim-”

The demoness let out a sigh, and then revealed themselves. The two boys, Ace and Deuce, and the fat cat named Grim, stared at the demoness.

For a good moment, all was quiet, until someone broke the silence.

“So. This is Aristomache…. But she goes by Mache for short ...” Yuu said, letting out a nervous laugh.

At this, Mache smiled at the teenagers, lifting up her hand, open for a handshake. “Hello, friends of my darling, it’s a pleasure.”

Silence….

…

“...Yuu, what the heck…”

“Oh, shut up.”

#twst x yuu #twst fanfic #luzarya writes things yuh

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avintagekiss24 · 5 years ago

Text

Home > Steve Rogers

|| pairing: 1940′s!steve rogers x black!reader

|| word count: 3,224

|| warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of war, mention of Bucky’s death, canon divergence/canon adjacent

|| challenge: @cake-writes 1940′s challenge: “Loose lips sink ships”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo 2020 O5: Steve’s Compass

|| note: I totally forgot about this challenge, lol. I signed up for it last year and it just totally slipped my mind until today. Which is why I’m posting so late (here in the US anyway) so I can make the due date of today, May 8th. This is canon adjacent? Canon Divergence? I don’t know, lol. All I know is it’s 1945 and Steve never crashes his plane. He goes home to get his girl. The timing might be a little off. I went off the MCU timeline, where he gets injected around 1939? When he’s around 21 years old.

The song reader is singing is Lover Man by Billie Holiday and her outfit is also inspired by Billie. I’m not sure of the gif credit, I got it from google. If you know, or if it’s yours, please let me know so I can credit you! Line credit once again goes to @writeyourmindaway!

Brooklyn. 1945.

“The night is so cold and I’m so all alone. I’d give my soul just to call you my own.”

You sway slowly as you croon into the microphone, the band playing behind you. You scan the small room, packed with bodies, all eyes on you as you sing. They sip on their drinks under the dim lights and there’s a low murmur from the people at the bar, but even they turn and lean against it to watch you, putting their orders on hold for just a few minutes. It’s still amazing to you - a transplant negro girl from Louisiana - having all these faces staring back at you, admiring you. Black faces, white faces, tan faces, it didn’t matter. They were all here for you.

The bar is a small one but word spread fast and within months, not a chair or table or stool could be found empty on a Friday or Saturday night when you were there. The cops don’t even really bother you or Sam, the owner and one of the first people to notice your talent, anymore. Some even stop by for a drink and a quick song.

Your eyes flutter shut, “Got a moon above me but no one to love me. Lover man, oh, where can you be?” You hear the door creak open and close seconds later, but continue to sing, “I’ve heard it said that the thrill of romance can be like a heavenly dream. I got to bed with a prayer that you’ll make love to me.”

There’s a sudden commotion. You pop your eyes open, squinting as you try and make out the dark silhouettes in the corner. A few heads turn at the voices and loud shhhh’s ring out throughout the room. The noise dies away from the door, but the bodies are still crowded around - Jimmy, the bouncer, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, the bartender and maybe Sam, you can’t tell. In the center of them, a mess of blonde hair.

----------

“Steve,” Sam whispers hard, “She doesn’t want you here, you know that.”

Steve’s shoulders slump a little as he takes a deep breath, “I haven’t seen her in six years.” He answers slowly, softly, “Please.”

Sam and Rhodey exchange glances before Sam takes a deep breath. He tosses his eyes back towards the stage to watch as you sing. Quick memories flash back to him from years before. Steve helping, well trying to help, set up the place when Sam first bought it. You and Steve slow dancing together in the middle of the empty floor. The three of you kicking back with ice cold Coca Cola’s, daydreaming about how big this place was going to be one day.

He cuts his eyes back to the tall blonde in front of him. He didn’t believe it at first, when he saw a picture of him in the papers. The sickly, five foot something Brooklyn boy was now a towering six foot man. Rippling muscles, no lingering cough, a straight spine… this wasn’t the Steve Rogers that left for war. This is Captain America standing in front of him now.

“Sam,” Steve starts, “Rhodey, you know me.” He pleads, “Please, just a minute of her time, that’s all I ask.”

Rhodey lets out a breath and throws his hand on his hip, “Just let the boy stay. He gets outta hand, Jimmy’ll throw him out.”

Steve cuts his eyes towards the burly Jimmy. He’s big, but he’s no match for the new, improved Steve Rogers, “I don’t want to hurt you, Jimmy.”

“Shit,” Jimmy swears under his breath, “I’ve read all about you. I don’t want you to hurt me neither.”

“One drink.” Sam warns, his eyes stern, “One drink and you gotta go. I don’t want her getting upset over the likes of you.”

Steve throws up his hands, “One drink.”

“You got it?” Sam asks, turning towards the soft-hearted Rhodey.

“I heard ‘ya. One drink, that’s it.”

Sam turns on his heel and moves off without another word. Rhodey waves Steve with him, walking back behind the bar to grab a tall glass, “Sip it slow, Rogers.”

Steve tips his head towards the older man and accepts the golden liquid that’s slid his way. He brings it to his lips and takes a small, slow sip as he turns to face the stage. His eyes soften immediately at the sight of you. You’re just as beautiful as he remembered, although, a little more grown up now. You’re in a black sequin, form fitting dress - low cut to expose your… one of his favorite parts of you. A large white flower is pushed into your hair and a small smile quirks onto his face. He used to love bringing you flowers.

He closes his eyes so he can hear you, just like he used to. Suddenly, it’s 1935 again. The two of you, with Bucky pulling up the rear (only there for you and Steve’s protection), walk slowly home from school. They’d wait for you everyday, right around the corner of your school, and as soon as the two of you were out of eyeshot of anyone, he’d link his fingers with yours and kiss you right on your cheek. With your fingers laced together, your arms swinging gently, you’d sing some old song, one he’s never heard before, one you’d have to explain to him as an old southern spiritual. Bucky would always know the songs, but he wasn’t as sheltered as Steve. He was worldly already at seventeen.

Steve lets out a slow breath as he lets the words of your song seep into him.

Strange as it seems

Someday we’ll meet and you’ll dry all my tears

Then whisper sweet little things in my ears

He has every intention of doing just that.

----------

“A- huggin’ and a-kissin’, oh, what we’ve been missin’. Lover man, where can you be?”

You smile as the band finishes and the room erupts in applause for you. You thank the band, extending a hand of your own for them before you announce a short intermission for a quick smoke and a drink. Jimmy helps you off the stage and ushers you towards the bar, where you’re met with a large smile and a ready made Manhattan.

“That was beautiful, doll.” Rhodey compliments, handing you a cigarette before striking a match, “Just beautiful.”

“You’re too kind,” you giggle as you lean forward, placing the cigarette to your lips for him to light, “I was a little flat.”

He waves you off, scoffing quickly, and gives you a wink before he moves to another patron. You take a drag of your cigarette and let out the smoke slowly before flicking the butt and bringing your drink to your lips. You hum lightly as the sweetened liquor slides down your throat and settles in your belly, giving you an instant warmth. You swear, you don’t care where you go, Rhodey makes the best damn Manhattan in all of New York.

“You sounded amazing up there.”

You freeze as the voice sounds to your right. Your lips part as the familiar voice swirls around your brain, activating a part that you thought you had left behind. You turn towards the owner and gasp at the person staring back at you. You recognize most of him. His eyes, that wispy blonde hair that he used to sweep away from his forehead, those big ol’ ears. But, that strong jaw, the height, the thickness… you didn’t believe it then - the stories, the pictures - but God, you can’t deny it now.

Doesn’t make you any less mad.

You drop your eyes back to the glass in front of you and take another drag of your cigarette, “Thank you.” You say flatly.

“I always knew you’d make it one day.” Steve says softly, “I knew people would love you.”

“Not the right people apparently.” You snap back.

You close your eyes and rub your temple as the anger you buried six years before starts to resurface. You feel his eyes on you, those same blue eyes that you used to see your forever in. You turn back towards him, blinking quickly. You don’t say anything, you just stare at him while he stares back at you. Anger flashes through you again as he gives you those puppy dog eyes, trying to make you feel bad for him.

“Why are you here?” You ask bluntly, “I told Sam I didn’t want you here.”

“I wanted to see you. I had to.”

“For what? Hmm? To spring something else on me, Steve? You have a wife? A kid on the way?”

He sighs as you practically scream at him, “It’s been six years, you can’t honestly still be this mad at me.”

“A lifetime could pass, and I still wouldn’t want to see your face.” You stand, grabbing your drink, “Give the Germans a message for me, hm? Tell them that if you’re still breathing, they aren’t doing their job so well.”

You turn and push through the crowd of bodies before he can say another word. You finish your set some hour or two later and stay behind for a little attention, after all, you are a single girl. You feel those eyes on you the entire while but you pay him no mind. You laugh, you flirt, you nuzzle in a little closer than you usually would - pull on a few ties. A twenty seven year old girl should be a wife. The man you thought would make you an honest woman decided war was the better option.

It’s almost midnight before you decide to head home. It’s a nice night, the sky clear and full of bright stars, so you wave Sam off when he offers to walk you home. He insists, but you know this neighborhood like that back of your hand. You wouldn’t feel safer in any other place in the world. So, he wraps your fur scarf around your neck and sends you on your way with a quick kiss on the cheek and a smile.

You’re not but ten steps away from the bar when you first notice the presence behind you. You stop to light another cigarette before you call out to him, “I don’t need you to follow me.”

“I’m gonna walk you home.”

“I don’t need you too.” You reinforce.

“I’m going to walk you home anyway. I’ll keep my distance, I promise.”

You sigh heavily. The persistence of him hasn’t changed and the pounding headache you have won’t let you argue. You walk slowly, taking in the fresh air and the calm night as the one and only Captain America follows you home. He keeps his distance, just like he promised. Once you climb the steps to your stoop, you turn again, watching as he stops at the bottom of the steps.

“I’m home now, thank you.” You say flatly again, clearing your throat.

He nods gently, “My pleasure.”

You blink at him, your lips parting as words threaten to fall from them. You open your mouth wider, even inhale to begin to speak, but you can’t. The words just won’t come. The memories of your last night come flooding back to you - the screaming, the tears. If you walk out that door, don’t you ever think about coming back. Do you hear me, Steve? Don’t you ever come near me again!

Your eyes start to water at the thought. You have to turn your head away from him, you have to stare down the street to try and stop the tears from falling. It doesn’t work. You drop your head as a single tear slips down your cheek and splatters on your patent leather pumps. Your chin trembles as you glance back up towards the sky and hold your hand over your mouth.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says, his voice full of emotion, “I can fix it.”

“We had plans, Steve.”

“I know that,” he answers quickly, “You aren’t seeing anyone, are you?”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Loose lips sink ships, Captain.”

He takes a deep breath, “I don’t really care if you or not. Let me fix it - I can fix it.”

“Fix it?” You shout as all of the pent up emotion you’ve held in for all these years comes pouring out onto your cheeks, “Fix it? How are you going to fix it? I’m just supposed to forget that you walked out on me? That you chose killing Germans over starting a life with me?”

“You don’t understand-”

“I don’t need to understand! You and Bucky both, you just -”

Your words come to halt at the mention of his name. Steve drops his head as he swallows hard and has to close his eyes. Bucky’s mother didn’t even have a body to bury. You couldn’t breathe when you heard the news. His sister, Rebecca, came to tell you and you just… you hadn’t ever felt a pain like that. James Buchanan Barnes was good to you - loved you like you were one of his own. Not only had you lost the love of your life, you’d lost your best friend now too.

You clear your throat, “You both just left. No warning, barely a goodbye and poof. Gone.”

“I thought about you everyday,” Steve says, his eyes still closed, “Every damn day. You were the only thing that kept me alive.”

You laugh sarcastically, “Don’t say that. I had nothing to do with keeping you alive, that shit you got pumped into you did.”

He shakes his head emphatically, “You kept my heart beating. That’s what I mean. I was fighting for you, and for Sam, and my mom and dad. I had a duty,” he stresses, his voice breaking under it, “You don’t understand what that meant to me, being able to fight.”

You roll your eyes but he continues anyway, “It had nothing to do with my love for you. I could have done it better, yes. I could’ve communicated with you better, yes, but it had nothing to do with how much I loved you. How much I love you even now… despite you wanting me dead.”

You sigh heavily as your words from earlier in the evening, “I didn’t - I didn’t mean that.” You answer softly.

He flashes a knowing smile, “Yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes again and shrug. You glance back down the street, sniffling softly as you hug yourself. You can’t lie to yourself, you are glad he made it home in one piece. You blink back at him, finding his big, wide, blue eyes on you still. He takes a step closer, resting his hand on the railing. He pulls something from his pocket, running his fingers over the gold cover before he pops it open.

He takes another breath as a small smile spreads on his lips. He turns it towards you and holds it out for you to take. You eye him suspiciously for a few seconds, but you take a step, and then another, and another until you’re within reach of the round object. You take it from his fingers and bring it to your eyes, taking a breath when you see a picture of yourself staring back at you.

“That’s my compass. I used it every day - I saw you every day. You are why I made it home.” He says softly, his watery eyes bouncing between yours, “I’m home now - for good, and that’s how I can fix it. I willingly offer you every day of my life from this minute on. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll get for you. I’ll protect you, I will love you, I will honor and treasure you. I’ll give you every piece of me.”

You hold a hand over your chest, for fear that your heart will leap right out of it. You drag in deep breaths as you shake your head, “I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know you.”

“You know me,” he answers quickly as he pushes up the stairs to meet you, “I’m still me, just in a new body, that’s all.”

“I don’t want this new body. I loved you just as you were.”

He grabs your hands, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips as you cry, “I know you did baby. Give me a chance, baby doll. Please? You’ll like this new body once you see it, I promise.” He smiles.

You don’t. Deep in the back of your mind you want to believe him. You want to fall into his arms and have him kiss your tears away and make love to you until you can’t stand it anymore. You want to wake up in his arms tomorrow and every day after that until you take your dying breath - but it’s not that easy. You were idealistic in highschool and stayed that way right up until the day he left, but you aren’t now. You can’t afford to be. It’s still only 1945. He’s still a white man, you’re still a negro woman. You’re still not able to mix, not that boldly anyway.

“It’s not that easy.” You whisper.

He rests his forehead to yours, “It is that easy,” he whispers back, “Let me prove it to you.”

“No, it’s - they won’t leave us be. You can’t be with me - “

“Don’t you talk like that.” He says sternly, “I dare anybody to say anything to you. I’ll throw ‘em through a goddamn wall.”

“Steve - “

He cuts you off, bringing his finger to your lips. You close your eyes and take a few deep, calming breaths. God knows you want to believe him. You’ve been so angry for so long. He places his large hand to your chest, resting his palm right over your heart.

“I can make you love me again.”

You inhale sharply as you look up at him, “I never stopped loving you, Steve. I never stopped.”

You moan when he crashes his lips to yours. He lifts you from your feet with complete ease, an ease you’ve never seen him display before, and crushes your now much smaller body to his. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as you kiss him back hard, pulling back only to tilt your head before diving back in for more of him. You press your hands to the sides of his face as you catch your breath, his lips moving down to your chin and to your neck, placing kisses on every inch of exposed skin.

You dig into your purse, pulling out your keys. He pulls back - out of breath, his lips flushed red and swollen as he stares up at you. You push your keys into the palm of his hand and wrap your legs around his waist as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. You close your eyes as he holds you tight, cradling an arm underneath your behind before he walks up to the front door of your building. He slips the key inside the lock and twists, pushing the door open, before you direct him to your humble apartment.

You wake up in his arms the next morning, and every day after that until you take your last breath.

#ssb2020 #cake's 1940s challenge #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black!reader #you x steve rogers #reader x steve rogers #steve x you #you x steve #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #captain america fic #marvel #MCU #avintagekiss24

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years ago

Text

The Story, Ch. 5

Previously on The Story

The show was at the largest venue in Bly, an old community center that doubled as town hall, wedding rental, voting station, and almost every other event in between. The bar in the back was composed of tapped kegs in containers of ice and boxes of cheap liquor, while the stage rose only two feet off of the ground on the opposite wall. Old wood beams held up the roof and giant pillars kept all of it standing, solemn and tender as they were, worn soft with age and bodies and heat.

It felt smaller than her elementary school gymnasium, but Dani didn’t mind. The warmth of the bodies that filed in felt safe, as if she could feel every beating heart.

Owen was kind enough to grab the first round, returning with stretched hands full of frothy pint glasses. The lights were dim, just strung up string lights hanging from the rafters, the vents propped open for added fresh air while the ceiling fans wobbled on their stems to keep everyone from roasting. Dani surveyed everything, enjoying how normal it all felt, and how weird it was to be around so many people suddenly. Laughter and conversation boomed and echoed around them, and it, too, was a comfort she hadn’t expected.

There was something different about Jamie, as they sat down at a small, lopsided table in the corner, the whole party oddly anxious all around to be away from the house for the first time in a long time. But Dani picked up on a different kind of anxiety in the gardener. She knew it was about the rarely-seen sibling, but she also didn’t know how to fix that. Something told her she couldn’t help despite her desire to do it. Jamie hadn’t given her enough to be someone that could make this better.

“It’s pretty full. He must be fairly well-known,” Dani offered as Jamie went half in on her drink quickly.

“This is the only thing happening tonight,” she disagreed. “Not much entertainment coming through Bly. They’ll take anything they can get.”

“I’m excited for some music,” Owen decided. “Time to cut a rug and such.”

“I don’t know if I’ll remember how,” Hannah sighed wistfully before taking a demure sip of her beer. “Can’t keep up with the new stuff.”

“What kind of music does he play?” Dani turned to Jamie who stared at the swirling mass of people. “Jamie?”

Startled slightly by the hand on her thigh, Jamie followed the touch up the arm to the au pair’s amused gaze and cleared her throat.

“Oh, he grew up play traditional stuff back home. Kinda branched out all over. He mostly is just in the band. This is his first band where he’s been the lead. Calls himself a Swiss Army knife of a musician. Whatever books him the gig for the next few months.”

“It’s going to be fun,” Dani promised, quieter this time, just fo Jamie. “I’m sure he’s excited to see you.”

“Or he needs a kidney or money.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, squeezing the leg in her palm. “But at least we get a night off.”

The gang relaxed into their spot as the hour ticked on toward show time, while still more locals filled the hall, milling about, drinking and existing for a rush. Jamie, too, relaxed slightly despite her constant looking out over the crowd for familiar faces. Dani moved her hand to take a drink from her glass and didn’t put it back, but the length of their arms rested together, squished at the table. Jamie thought about that a lot.

They were four friends, not coworkers. They were four friends, being themselves, and it was a wonderful feeling for them all.

By the time the band took the stage, their table had the remnants of three rounds of trips to the bar, and while not exceeding drunk, they were laughing more than ever before.

Jamie looked at her brother as he took to the mic for just a minute before turning to the au pair, oddly vulnerable in the moment. She watched Dani stretch her neck to get a better view as the lanky young man put a guitar strap over his shoulder and introduced himself.

“That’s him,” Jamie nodded. “Mikey.”

“You have the same chin,” Dani decided, turning her eyes to the gardener beside her, appraising her, strictly for comparison’s sake. “And... “ she smiled. “The same eyes.”

“Are you blind? His are painfully brown.”

“No, not the color,” she shook her head. “This part.”

Jamie felt her smile falter as finger tips touched just under her eyes and moved around to her brow, causing the furrow to soften. She just watched Dani smile softly with her observation.

“You have eyes like a forest. Sometimes green, sometimes brown, sometimes gold, sometimes all of them at once. It’s oddly fitting. I think you might be made of the woods.”

It knocked her out to hear that. Jamie filed every word, every shape of every syllable to keep to herself and replay all night. The whole thing. The smell of the drinks on their breath. The feeling of the skin on her brow. The fact that Dani was less than a foot from her face and that was the closest they’d ever been. The way the lights overhead made her hair glow white almost, or golden sometimes. And the words. No one ever took the time to say something like that to her, but it was said so factually, so unlike a line, that it felt like maybe it was a fact. That Dani was someone who could make facts true.

“Excuse me--”

Dani looked away before Jamie did. Time didn’t quite matter at that point, because the gardener had forgotten even where she was.

“We already have drinks, thanks,” Dani dismissed the man at the table.

“I already know I’ll strike out with this one,” the stranger nudged his head toward Jamie. “But I was hoping for a dance from her beautiful friend.”

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Jamie slumped back in her chair as the music swirled to a new height, louder than should have been allowed.

“See what I mean?” he teased.

Dani looked to Jamie who just shrugged and relented.

“We play darts at the pub. He’s a shite dancer and darts player.”

“I don’t know,” Dani politely shook her head, bashful suddenly.

“I’m a great dancer,” he promised. “I’ll show you around.”

“First one to dance with the American wins the pot, yeah?” Jamie looked over his shoulder at the table she knew to be the regulars about town. “How much?”

“I’d never partake,” he promised, holding out his hand.

“Go on,” Hannah encouraged the au pair. “Quite a strapping young man.”

“I’ll be coming back for you,” Tommy nodded toward the housekeeper.

With one more glance at the gardener, Dani tentatively took the hand extended to her. She was tugged out to the dance floor, laughing and holding on for dear life, much to Jamie’s chagrin, which she buried deep down as she tried to make herself watch her brother perform.

“I suppose I better get my dance in while I can before that goliath comes back,” Owen stood, offering a hand to the housekeeper.

“I’m all left feet,” Hannah shook her head.

“Perfect. I’m alright.”

The guitar twanged, and drums kept a beat, and the classic noises of their festivals were spun into a modern kind of feeling, alive and new but still with the steps and changes. Whatever the people had expected, this wasn’t it, and perhaps they were surprised and grateful for it. Mikey’s voice was deeper than Jamie remembered, deeper than the sparse phonecalls separated by months. He looked like their mother. He looked like his father more, and that man was a stranger to Jamie.

But for the life of her, she wasn’t sure how he did it-- how he turned the entire place alive.

XXXXXXXXXX

James was tall. Much too tall, Dani realized as they danced together. But he was sweet and polite, careful to ask the basic questions, compliment her enough. He made it to the second song before he was interrupted with a request for her hand by another strapping young man in a stripped shirt.

For some reason, Dani accepted despite the annoyance of being away from her table. When she looked over, she saw Jamie alone, slouched there, but intently watching her brother. From the table, the gardener chanced a look to see the smiling au pair, glowing and effervescent as all hell. Dani kept a distance with her dancing partner, Benny from the grocer down the block.

By the third partner, Jamie was beyond annoyed. She didn’t like the way Dani held their hands, nor did she appreciate how the boys smiled and were so polite and she kept the smile on for them.

Only when James made his pitch to the newest woman in town, did Jamie decide that it was enough, that she couldn’t handle the fearful but polite look of the au pair, that she didn’t want to see anyone else, that she wanted to be the last one dancing with the American.

“May I?”

Dani looked toward the voice as James put some space between them finally. Gallant and cocky, Jamie challenged him to say no. The song swirled around them all in the stand off, outliers in the moving mass.

“Yes, of course,” Dani nodded, dropping her hands and nodding politely to the gentleman caller who took it well enough for her sake.

Satisfied at her handiwork, Jamie gave him a smirk as he rolled his eyes in his defeat. She held onto the victory as best she could, aware that it now meant touching the au pair, and she hadn’t particularly planned on this part of the endeavour.

“Looked like you’d seen a ghost. Thought I might save you if you didn’t mind.”

“He… he looked like…”

“James looks like everyone. That’s his curse, you know? Destined to be a fill-in despite my best coaching to find him a proper bride.”

Dani gave up thinking about it. She didn’t want to anymore as Jamie held her hand and pushed her hip, spinning her out, exaggerated and right on time. By the time she was pulled back, all was gone with the past and what remained was just that second.

“How was my delivery this time?” the gardener asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “I’ve been practicing after my last report card.”

“Much better.”

“I can always call him back over and we can try again, if you’d like to provide notes.”

“That’d ruin the follow through.”

“Ah, right,” she sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep saving you then, if that’s alright? Strictly for revision.”

“Strictly,” Dani nodded, fighting her smile though it burst forth a little.

The song shifted to the next, but neither moved, neither let go. The lights flickered slightly overhead, the ancient electrical system unaccustomed to the weight of the music and the mood. Dani softened in Jamie’s hand. She wasn’t sure how, or where it all came from, but she took a breath and washed away the nagging feeling that she was doing something wrong. She was out with friends and the music was good and the night was happening.

The gardener adjusted their pace, deftly moving them in a way Dani hadn’t expected her to be capable of doing. What was revealed just showed the multitudes that remained hidden, perhaps under lock and key, from the average passerby. But Dani was set to investigate, no matter the cost.

They moved in a comfortable quiet, until Dani realized she was closer than she’d been with anyone all night, and for the first time it hadn’t felt like work. She ran her thumb along the worn fabric of Jamie’s shirt, willing herself to remember just that, just the threadbare feeling and the smell of sawdust and begonia.

“Did he call you a ‘bonnie lass’?” Jamie asked, pressed close. Dani swallowed as a hand moved to her hip. “Try his exaggerated accent and tender Scottish boy routine on you? Call you beautiful beyond compare?”

“How did you know?”

The smirk appeared, only this time Dani was so close she could practically miss it. Her nose nearly touched a dimpled cheek. The heat from the crowded bar and the last vestiges of summer made the moist ends of Jamie’s hair even curlier. The au pair held onto her shoulder and felt a squeeze on her hand as they moved to the pace of the music.

“Taught him everything he knows, Poppins.”

Dani chuckled and shook her head, pushing away slightly though she didn’t make it far, the tight grip of the gardener keeping her still as the song began to close.

“His accent was quite charming.”

“And ye’ don’t like mine?” Again she leaned closer. Dani could smell the sweat and Jamie-like scent on her skin, just beneath the beer and heat and wood of the bar. As the music grew quieter and the applause rose, Dani felt the tickle of breath on her neck. “Do you need someone to tell you how beautiful you are? Do you not know, Dani?”

“I…”

“It has been an absolute pleasure to play our songs for you tonight,” Mikey interrupted the applause. “We have just a few more for you to enjoy. Thought we could do an old favorite, spice it up a bit and really wear down these old floor boards if you’re interested.”

The arms that were holding her up loosened and Dani was left in a daze as Jamie whistled and hooted, so that all the au pair could do was wake from the haze of the bright dance floor and squished bodies and weakly clap as well.

In the middle of the entire group of happy, dancing humans, Dani felt, for an absolute instant, that she was free. Her hand was still on Jamie’s shoulder until she snatched it away, remembering herself. Someone shifted, and she saw Eddie’s face in the crowd for a split second, and the warmth that seemed to emanate from her very core went cold, like water on a fire.

A drowsy guitar chord began, lazy and somewhat more old-fashioned than the previous set. Before Dani could escape it, she was stuck, and a beaming gardener turned to her.

“M’lady,” Jamie held out her hand after a formal and deep bow.

Dani took her hand and looked around to remind herself it wasn’t real.

“I, uh, I don’t know the steps,” Dani whispered, fumbling slightly.

“Good thing it doesn’t matter then,” Jamie promised. “Keep up and find me, yeah?”

“Find you?”

“Aye, you’re the hen in this fox house.”

By the time the drums kicked in, Dani felt herself relax in Jamie’s gentle guiding, the music and her smile infecting her completely. Just as she was getting the hang of it, Mikey’s dulcet tone humming and vibrating the very rafters with the stamping of feet. And despite herself, the warmth came back to Dani as the chorus rang out. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly as she bounded around, completing the steps, stomping the rhythm out.

It was sometime at the beginning of the second verse that Dani felt herself tossed, moved around from dancer to dancer, spun and laughing so loud she thought she wasn’t making a sound because the music drowned it out. She was dipped and spun, with various sized hands on the small of her back, and twisting her hand as she moved from suitor to suitor and with every passing chord she felt free and light, she felt like she was floating. Each caller seemed more eager than the one before, and Dani lost track of time itself.

She lost sight of Jamie in it all, and dismissed Eddie’s visage in the dark corner for a moment as Owen snagged her, carefully tugging her back to the present and maybe the future, his movements no where near as easy and agile as the gardeners despite his best efforts. He lasted about ten seconds before her hips were encircled by strong arms, and Hannah found her a few seconds later, both out of breath and brimming with warmth before Owen spun to her as well.

And it didn’t matter that she hadn’t a partner for a few moments as Dani allowed herself this second, to not catch her breath but rather keep losing it. She felt her cheeks aching from expressing more joy than she had perhaps ever before in her life, right there, on the unsanded and stained old floorboards of the ancient community center. The lights were too bright, too hot, the fans ineffective against August and the bodies who didn’t seem to mind. Dust kicked up and floated around them while the walls seemed to shake and move with them, allowing such jubilee. It was unexpected, to suddenly be alive. Unexpected and confusing and overwhelming.

In the middle of all of the bodies and all of the bliss, Dani found herself trying to remember the last time she’d danced, truly, honestly, painfully, deliriously, deafly danced.

“I thought I told you to find me, Poppins,” a low voice murmured against the shell of her ear.

Jamie was her favorite dancing partner. It was no contest really. The other dancers were great in their own ways, but never quite right; some were too tall, and some too short, some not fast enough, and others were too slow. None of them had the smile. None of them chased away the guilt of being alive. Her smile was infectious and only made Dani’s bigger. The drinks of the evening were coming to a head into a perfect timing of buzzing beneath her skin and feet. It was Jamie who made the magic, and only right there did Dani realize it.

“I can barely see straight,” Dani laughed, her smile poking her own ears, her movements a little more haphazard, but she didn’t care because Jamie met each and every one of them. She knew the steps now and she couldn't be bothered to care.

The music slowed for a moment, but the crowd knew it was just gathering it’s momentum, and Dani inhaled the calm as Jamie spun her and clung, their hips close.

“This is the best part,” the gardener promised, shuffling them along. Chests heaved to catch breath. From beneath her lashes, she looked at Dani and noted the pink of her cheeks and the red of her lips.

Sweat slicked the curls to Jamie’s forehead, the tan of her skin not at all hiding the blush of her chest.

“Am I going to be hunted again?”

“With a face like that? Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Don’t let go then.”

As much as she wanted to freeze time, it wouldn’t, and the song continued, exploding into noise for the finale. A small curl of the guitar grew quicker, prepared to grow louder until the drums came back in. Dani didn’t hear Jamie’s response, but rather felt the grip tighten. And all hell broke loose, bodies ducking and dodging and moving. Dani tossed back her head as Jamie spun her again and again and again until it stopped with no more than a whimper.

As soon as it ended, Dani wobbled before tossing her arms around Jamie’s neck and laughing there. She let herself be spun once again, her dress flowing around her knees as the crowd applauded and cheered, the laughter milling between it all.

“Didn’t know you could move like that,” Jamie chuckled.

“Me neither,” Dani confided, still slightly amazed.

“Seems like you needed it.”

“I did.”

The next song began and with a little less confidence than before, Jamie held out her hand again.

“Unless you’d like a break,” she offered. “I’d go for a pint--”

Dani took her hand and moved closer again. There wasn’t the rumble of the song among the people, there weren’t steps to it, just two people pressed tightly against the rest of the room.

“I don’t want to stop moving,” Dani sighed, resting her cheek on the gardener’s shoulder. “It’s safe here.”

She didn’t get to see the small smile that Jamie had as she stood a little straighter, grateful her brother knew enough to play a slower song after such a commotion.

“I suspect you might have a few attempts to interrupt.”

“Please don’t let go,” Dani shook her head.

“It’s going to get another thumper in a minute.”

“Good.”

“You better hold on tight.”

XXXXXXXXX

The town of Bly was nearly quiet until the bar spilled open and from the large doors, a wave of overheated bodies washed out onto the lane, pouring into every direction as the drinks were cut off and the music finally ended. It was a clear and warm night, with thin clouds occasionally hiding the stars, creating patches that tore at the evening intermittently. The respectable crowd was already in bed, and the rowdy bunch set about slinking home.

With a bit of nerves, Jamie bit at the skin of her thumb as she toed where the dirt met the grass near the fence beneath the old lamps that led back into the town proper. Cars began humming past, kicking up dust as they dispersed despite a few roaming gaggles of drunk and laughing friends.

It’d been nearly a decade since she’d danced so much or had that much fun. It was still swirling in her head as she came back down to earth. The continual spinning could only be attributed to the au pair and her laugh, how it bounced around the room, better than the music, and how carefree she looked, moving with such freedom it betrayed all of her power walking through the manor. It was entirely a new problem, Jamie realized, to see such a tightly wound thing break away because she was perfect before, and now it was… it was…

She sighed and dug for the smushed pack of cigarettes in her back pocket. She just wasn’t going to think about any of it and blame everything on the stiff drinks and mixture of alcohol and music. It worked for the puritans.

“Your brother was pretty good,” Dani offered, taking a seat on the fence. “He got all of the talent then?”

“I’d like to see him grow three varieties of orchids,” the gardener murmured as she stuck a cigarette between her lips and began the curious search for her lighter.

“I meant musically. You are clearly a talented dancer and botanist and camper and trainer of young men in the art of flirting.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she met Dani’s eyes during that list. She fiddled with the cigarette, wiggling it between her teeth as she leaned against the fence. Her shoulder touched Dani’s leg, where the hem of her dress fell on bare knees.

“Must be from the other half of his genetics.”

The flick of the lighter effectively ended the conversation, or at least she hoped, shielding it from the nearly non-existent breeze out of practiced habit. She took a long drag and tilted her head up to add to the flimsy collection of clouds hidden in the dark behind the streetlight.

“Thank you for tonight,” Dani offered amidst the quiet.

“I didn’t do anything but bring you to a lowbrow night at the opera. Not sure it’s in need of any gratefulness.”

With another drag, Jamie shook her head and crossed her arm over her middle. Dani reached over and pulled the cigarette from her fingers before taking a deep drag herself. Elegantly, like a professional, she fiddled with it, furrowing at the burning end. Jamie hadn’t ever thought to imagine such a sight from the tight pony tail in human form. But now that she had seen it, she didn’t want to imagine anything else.

“Thank you for tonight,” she repeated, handing it back.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for… thanks for coming.”

“I want to dance more.”

“Lucky for you, I know a guy who can pluck a fine tune,” Jamie stood a little taller. “I’ll go fire up the band again.”

“No no, stop,” the au pair laughed, tugging Jamie’s arm back from her faux errand. “I meant in general. I need more moments to feel… to not see… for--” Despite the smile on her face, Dani struggled to find the right way to say what mattered. Helplessly, amused at it all, she looked to the gardener.

“To feel invincible.”

“Yeah, that.”

In almost quiet they passed the cigarette back and forth until Jamie tossed it to the ground, snubbing it with the toe of her shoe.

“I should go find Hannah and Owen, get a ride back to the Manor.”

“I was-- I could take you.”

“Enjoy some time with your brother,” Dani reminded her as she hopped down, her hand firm on Jamie’s shoulder for support with the maneuver. “It’ll probably be another six years before you see him again.”

“I’ll see you around then.”

“Seems bound to happen at some point. “

Still brimming and smiling, Dani twirled as she made her way toward the car and Hannah’s form waving in the distance.

“Night,” Jamie offered weakly, sure it never reached the target who was humming and dancing her way across the field that acted as a parking lot. She leaned over the fence and folded her arms, waiting and watching.

“And thank you for being my fox tonight,” Dani called, turning back again and bowing, exaggerated as Jamie had on the dance floor.

Her laugh trailed off, wafting along in the breeze, dipping and winding its way between the branches and leaves and gone, evaporated into the night and among the clouds and the smoke they’d shared.

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moyaxhi · 4 years ago

Text

high on loving you [renga]

summary:

“Someone is here for you, his name is Kyan Reki?”

“My boyfriend?” Or: langa gets his wisdom tooth pulled out and reki is tasked with picking him up from the dentist. langa introduces reki as his boyfriend, but they’re not exactly boyfriends yet.

[ao3]

It was three months ago when Langa complains that there’s soreness on his gums. Now, Langa has always had a track record for having great teeth. He’s never gotten his teeth filled (his mom made sure that his teeth were sparkly clean, practically drilled it in him when he was young), never had to get braces (there was a time where he really wanted them, even begged for braces, and his dentist, the traitor, had said that there was no need for them.), he’s never even had gingivitis.

Langa has always had perfect teeth.

It was quite alarming that his teeth were feeling sore. It happened while he and Reki were together–when are they ever not these days. Reki had been showing him some of the local sweets around. A kind older woman had flagged them over while they were skating.

“Hi Reki!” She calls out enthusiastically. Reki came to a stop in front of a house and held his board in between his hips. Langa followed and stopped as well. The older woman was wiping her hands with her apron. She wore a soft pink ruffled apron as well as a matching bandana. There was a smell of something sweet that filled the air. It smelled familiar like fresh pancakes he would have as a child back when they were in Canada, like the ones his own grandmother would make for him.

She was smiling brightly, this was the thing in Okinawa that he noticed, everyone was smiling. They were familiar and so close to each other.

She turned her attention to the both of them, “Wait here boys, I have something to give to you.”

“Oh!” Reki exclaims excited, “Thank you Grandma Iki!”

She waves her hand in dismissal. When she came out, she was holding five bags filled with sugar-coated peanuts.

“Just made these peanut brittles today!” She handed one to Langa and gave the rest to Reki, “Make sure you share some with your sisters and your boyfriend!”

Langa blushed at that, he spared a look at Reki, who for the most part laughed it off.

She was already walking away, not waiting for a reply, the two of them bowed and yelled ‘thank you’.

On their way home, the two of them were munching on the peanut brittle. Langa bit into it and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sweets, but it had been uncomfortable.

“Ouch,” He mumbled, holding on to his cheek. Instead of biting into the brittle, he started sucking on it.

Reki looked him over, “What’s wrong?”

“I think,” Langa sucks air tiding away another painful throb in his jaw, “I think it’s my tooth?”

“Huh,” Reki walks over in front of him. Too close. He can feel Reki’s breath on his skin. He was an inch taller than Reki but now, it felt like Reki was towering over him with how he scrutinised every inch of Langa’s face.

Langa feels a blush make its way to his cheeks, his ears, his neck. God he wishes Reki wouldn’t notice.

Instead because whoever was up there had mercy on him, his best friend and current crush replies with, “You sunburnt again?”

And Langa exhales mentally and shakes his head externally.

Reki sighs. He taps on Langa’s jaw, “Did your filling happen to chip?”

Langa shakes his head, “I don’t have any.”

“What?! For real?” Reki cups Langa’s cheeks trying to pry his mouth open. Okay, totally not invasive at all.

Slurred, Langa tried to say, “Yeah, I’ve never had to need them.”

It all came out gibberish, but because he and Reki happened to share a brain cell, Reki was able to understand all of it.

“You lucky bastard,” Reki’s eyes are still solely focused on him whilst letting go of Langa’s cheeks. Langa, feeling shy, has to avert his eyes elsewhere, “If I even forget to brush my teeth once, my teeth start to decay.”

Reki backs away and walks forward. Langa follows and the two of them settle into a comfortable silence. The sun was setting and it coloured Okinawa in an orange-red hue. The air was cooler these days. Summer was ending soon it seemed.

Langa kept running his tongue on the back of his left molar. The gum line, even if he couldn’t see it right now seemed to be swollen.

Guess that meant a trip to the dentist.

---

“It’s an impacting wisdom tooth.” The dentist says.

His mother was still at work and Langa came to the dentist office by himself. His mother had offered to drive, but he was quick to shoot it down saying that he would skate to the office.

“We’ll need to take it out,” Langa’s mouth is wide open as the dentist probed on his gums gently, “It’s going to be a quick surgery. Do you have anyone with you right now?”

The dentist took out his dental probe. Langa shook his head, “No, I’m alone.”

“We’ll have to get consent from your guardian.”

Langa sighs and calls his mother mentally apologising for calling her at this hour knowing that she would be busy with work.

“Hello?” She answers, “Langa?”

“Hi mom,” He says, “I need your consent.”

“Oh!” She perks up, “What for sweetie?”

Langa sighs, “The dentist says I have an impacting wisdom tooth. So, they need to perform emergency surgery.”

There was the sound of rustling papers on the other line. His mother must be busy in the lab then.

“Oh of course!” She replies more rustling, “Have them send over the forms and I’ll sign them immediately with our insurance policy.”

“Okay.”

With that, he hangs up.

Seventeen years of not having a single cavity and here he is having to tide over an impacting wisdom tooth. Just his luck.

Well, at least he has a free pass for school today.

---

Langa is really hazy.

The room is spinning. He thinks this is what it might feel like to be drunk. He’s so nauseous that he might actually puke.

He blinks a couple of times but the lights around him are so offending he wants to hurl something at it.

There are voices, but for the life of him, he can’t understand. His brain is short-circuiting for sure. Is this what it feels like to sit on a marshmallow? It’s so soft and warm, but also everything is displaced and it keeps spinning.

“ I’m gonna puke, ” He says in English .

Immediately, there’s the cool feel of metal as a trash bin is pushed to his hands. He puts his head in it, but then it’s too dark and he sleeps so well in the dark, so he just ends up staring into nothingness, huh, that feels really nice, he might fall asleep–

“Langa,” someone, he’s not sure who nudges him, “Langa, it’s Dr Sawada, can you hear me?”

“Huh?” He intelligently replies, his brain has not caught up, and it takes a minute for him to comprehend that he’s speaking in Japanese.

Right.

He’s in Japan right now, he moved with his mom half a year ago. He met this red head, no scratch that, the love of his life here, oh and the love of his life doesn’t know, he skates, that’s right, oh and where is he right now?

“ Where am I? ” He says in English before he remembers; Japanese, he has to speak Japanese. And so he repeats, “Where am I?”

The Doctor, he’s going to call him Doctor with a capital ‘D’ because he can’t remember the doctor’s name all he remembers is Reki and who he wants to get the–

Oh. Reki. Yeah. That’s right.

With his red hair, his nice fingers, his cute freckles, what Langa would do to kiss each of the freckles on his face. What Langa would kill for to kiss Reki.

Oh yeah, wait the Doctor is saying something, “You’re at the dental clinic right now.”

Huh.

But he could have sworn he was on a marshmallow, “Okay.”

“We had to give you some anesthesia.”

“Not good?”

Doctor Doctor laughs, “Someone is here for you, his name is Reki Kyan?”

“My boyfriend?”

“Sure.” Doctor Doctor walks out of the room with a smile on his face.

Oh my god, his boyfriend Reki is here to pick him up. He could cry. What a good boyfriend. His boyfriend .

Reki comes in yellow hoodie and all, red hair, he’s so beautiful Langa could cry, “Langa, hey, your mom called me to pick you up.”

That’s when Langa cries because Reki came to pick him up, he’s the best boyfriend Langa has ever had.

Langa has fat tears coming down from his face and he groans covering his eyes with his arm.

“Langa?” Reki’s voice is panicked and he reaches over to touch his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

More tears come down, it’s a waterfall at this point, he’s just so overwhelmed with everything. Reki, his boyfriend, is here to pick him up and he can’t stand up from the marshmallow, and Doctor Doctor is nowhere to be found.

“Uh,” He can hear Reki coming closer trying to pry his arms out of his face, “I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s gonna be out of it for a couple of hours because of the anaesthesia, but he’s going to be okay.” Oh, that’s where Doctor Doctor is.

“Oh,” Reki says because he’s so good, he’s the best Langa knows, “That’s fine. Alright buddy, come on.”

As gently as he can, Reki is pulling him up to stand up, but his legs, oh my god where are his legs?

He cries even harder, “My legs!”

“What? What’s wrong with your legs?”

“It’s gone!” Langa wails, “It’s gone and I can’t find them.”

Reki laughs. It sounds like the best thing Langa has ever heard, but this is hardly the time to be laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Langa protests, ��A good boyfriend would help me find my legs.”

“Boyfriend?” Reki asks like it’s news to him, they’ve been boyfriends since Langa woke up and that felt like ages ago, years even. Langa has it in good account that they have been destined for each other, he knows this because he said so, “If this is your way of asking me out then it sucks.”

His boyfriend thinks he sucks.

“You what sucks even more?” Reki says his face so close. Oh my god Reki has a freckle under his nose, it’s so cute, he could kiss it, “Is that you won’t kiss me.”

That does suck.

He has to fix that.

He’s the worst boyfriend ever.

He cries even harder.

“I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”

Reki laughs and pulls Langa’s arm around his shoulder, “Yeah you are. You better ask me out again when you can remember.”

That strikes a chord into Langa’s whole being. He turns to face Reki and as serious as he can get, he wanted to say that he won’t ever forget about Reki but all that comes out is, “I won’t remember.”

Nailed it.

---

He will know a little bit later that he did not, in fact, nail it.

---

It’s not like he forgets about the whole thing.

In fact, he remembers the whole thing in clear picturesque quality, like 1080p 4K quality.

Langa remembers Doctor Doctor (now Doctor Sawada), remembers the marshmallow, and how he has made a fool out of himself in front of Reki.

He’s in his room, covered in his black and blue striped blanket and all he can do is duck further into his bed and scream as loud as he can into his pillow.

He also remembers that Reki technically told him to give him a kiss.

---

It happens like this.

All of them are at ‘S’.

Miya, Shadow, Cherry, and Joe all witness as Langa challenges Reki to an ‘S’.

“Terms?” Reki says leaning onto the wall of the ramp.

“If you win, I get to kiss you.” Langa says and he calls it a triumphant win as he witnesses Reki turn as red as his hair, “If I win, I get to take you on a date.”

“This is all too one-sided.” Reki counters without any real bite to his words. There’s a blush sploshed on his face, “It’s a win-win for you.”

“It’s a win-win for the both of us.” Langa says.

“Why can’t you two be normal for once and just do things normally?” Miya, his face contorted in disgust.

Reki laughs, “You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

Despite this, they gear up to get ready for the starting point.

At the end of the night, it didn’t really matter who won (Joe says it was Reki).

At the end of the night, both he and Reki were holding hands.

At the end of the night, Langa has given Reki about ten kisses.

---

Reki never lives Langa’s wisdom tooth extraction story down.

“And that’s how he asked me out, he’s so lame.”

---

#renga #sk8 the infinity #sk8 #langa hasegawa #reki kyan #purely fluff and humor #nina's writing #the one where langa gets his wisdom tooth pulled out

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ownworldresident · 4 years ago

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We Are Our Own Heroes. Chapter 9: Faith

Book: The Royal Romance, seven years post-TRR

Premise: Six years after a tragic loss, Liam and his adopted daughter meet Cassandra, an artist with her own troubled past, and the three find in each other the friend they never knew they needed.

Disclaimer: Setting and some characters belong to Pixelberry. I am just borrowing them and will return them when they feel better.

Themes: found family, (power of) friendship, healing

Content Warning: death mention

The Master Masterlist (link)| Our Own Heroes Masterlist (link)

Cassandra

Cassandra woke well before her alarm and was out of bed before she realised the time. She didn’t need that to realise the day. The cold ache in her heart was enough.

Cordonia itself felt devoid of life in the cool autumn morning. The weather was reminiscent to the point of the worst type of nostalgia, without the misplaced excitement or fateful future plans.

Dark thoughts followed her through a zombie-like routine and out the door to the predawn world. A sweet relief of no busy minds was the clearest feeling. She was fully awake. Then the feeling faded, and she was fully aware.

No one was on the road save a few unfortunate shift workers, but she remained as diligent as if it were peak traffic. A short, humourless laugh escaped her behind the wheel. What a cruel twist of irony to repeat the event. She hadn’t delayed this time.

At the junction taking her from the city she opted a familiar route, and the false dawn breached where sky met sea as she pulled up beside the shore. The only one here. She escaped her car, planted her feet on the rocks before it, and stared at the overcast sky.

“If you’re there,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

But no matter how many times she said it, the words were not enough. Cassie’s eyes drew back to the drivers side of her Golf for a moment before she squeezed them shut, her fists with them, and looked out to the dawn following its friend.

The first regret was there was no friend now. A second later she realised there was.

----

At the first reasonable hour she drove up, and the staff directed Cassie to the breakfast room on the upper level, far from Liam’s apartments and somewhere Cassie had only been once, when Emily showed her around. She pulled the cuff of her sleeves over her palms and pressed them against her damp eyes, hoping to at least appear composed when she found him.

Clearing her throat as softly as she could, Cassie stared at the door, which stood slightly ajar. It was bright inside, the room faced west, and she hoped the sun was now high enough that he wouldn’t see exactly how hard it was for her to breathe.

“Liam?” she asked as she entered the room, spotting him after a moment as he paced before the windows. He interrupted the sunlight whenever he moved across them, but stopped in shadow.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. Cassie flinched and resisted the urge to step back.

“I came to see you.” Her voice was the soft opposite to his. She could make out his features as her eyes adjusted. Liam’s expression was tight, his body so tense he stood statuesque, and his eyes were just as hard.

“To rub in your success?” he asked, then frowned deeper. “How much did they offer you? Enough to buy your studio? Move overseas? Pay whatever debt you have?”

“What are you talking about?” Cassie’s concern became confusion in her voice. She sidelined her reason for coming. There were no events she could think of that would cause such a reaction.

“Don’t be daft.” Liam grabbed a newspaper from the table between them and thrust it toward her. He paced again as she took it up.

An intentionally dark picture took half the cover; a bare, neglected room with a cradle at the far corner, a huge, oddly shaped blotch on old carpet, and what looked like a gun beside it. And superimposed was a head shot: a smiling young woman with striking blonde hair, a thin round face, and familiar pale eyes. She didn’t need to ask, because below the image and in the description, was her name: Anna. The stain was blood.

Cassie cupped a hand over her mouth, nearly dropping the paper as bile rolled up her throat. She swallowed the acidic taste, coughed, then read the title again. ‘How She Really Died’, with the subtitle: ‘A Horror Behind Red Tape’.

The news had apparently gone to print this morning. She had been nowhere but her home or her car since before dawn.

“Why did you do it?”

Cassie looked up and flinched to find Liam much closer, just out of her space. The anger in his eyes was a thin mask for the suffering that wound deep. She knew that pain was in his very soul because it lived in her as well.

“Why would you think I would do this?” she breathed, croaked rather, and cleared her throat again. Her mind shifted. “Does Emily know?”

“I’ve called her school, they’ll contact me if she wishes to come back.”

“Good. God, I hope she’s… are you okay?” She wanted to help him, comfort him, and pressed a hand over her heart to stem her own heavy ache. Liam shook his head.

“Cassie stop. Stop pretending. You got behind my defences, I should have known better than to let you, and you told them the first chance you had.” Liam’s words held so much certainty. Cassie wondered how long he’d been firm in the belief that she was capable of such a betrayal. Her other hand tightened around the newspaper.

“You don’t actually think I would tell anyone?”

“Honestly? I have no idea what to think. I know you are the second person I have ever told and two days later—this.” He pointed to the paper in her grip.

“And so you took the first possible explanation and stopped there.” Cassie’s voice cooled as she comprehended his narrow thought process. “With no consideration for how I’ve acted in the past. I have a lot of regrets, but betraying a friend will never be one of them.”

Liam searched her eyes, then closed his and looked away. “There is no other logical option.”

“Really? You’ve never had anything happen to you that you couldn’t explain in minutes? What a glorious life that must be.” Cassie threw the newspaper down.

“You have no idea what this is like.” He shook his head dismissively. Heat rushed through Cassie’s body at the callous words. There was so much hurt in his voice, but it didn’t touch her now.

“Yes, I do.” She blinked back tears. “I lost my best friend a year ago today. I had hoped to find one here, but apparently that faith was misplaced.”

Liam’s eyes widened a fraction. His mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came. The silence settled and stretched, then Cassie released a breath, and the ache in her chest sunk deeper. Maybe this had always been inevitable. Maybe Liam wasn’t prepared or yet able to work through his past. When it was clear she would get no reply, she left.

Liam

Liam heard her footsteps retreat down the hall as he stared through the open door. A choked sound travelled back to him and tightened around his heart. He barely drew breath, willing himself to move. ‘You have no idea what this is like’ He was ashamed of the words, and they would ring in her mind. He followed her out.

“Cassie, stop,” he called, hurrying after her. She reached the landing and paused. Liam stopped a few strides away. His heart pounded as he waited for her to turn around, and hoped there was something, anything, that could undo his words.

Cassandra corrected her posture and turned stiffly to face him again.

“What?”

“I—” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know about your friend.”

Cassie stared at him, her brow pulling tight, then said quietly, “That shouldn’t matter.”

Liam’s mind spun with thoughts he couldn’t grasp, and he struggled to find one that wouldn’t dig a deeper pit. The heat in the back of his ears didn’t help. He exhaled and tried to see the conversation from her perspective.

“No, it shouldn’t,” he conceded. “It was a stupid thing to say. I don’t…”

“Don’t what, Liam? Don’t have a conclusion already? You didn’t discover the ‘logical option’? What a fresh world this must be for you.” Cassie grit her teeth and took a deliberate step toward him, her face streaked with tears. “You are so busy trying to judge people’s intentions you never stopped to ask, and this is why you’re alone here, why you’ll always be alone. It’s not so damn frightening to consider someone other than yourself. I thought of all people you would know that.

“All I wanted was friendship,” she continued, “all I asked for was trust, but you couldn’t even give me that.” Cassie looked away from him for just a moment, but when he tried to answer she held up a hand and stepped backward. “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Liam, but I can’t do this one sided anymore, so this is goodbye. Give my love to Emily, and you make damn sure to remember how lucky you are to have her.”

There was nothing Liam could say to stop her walking away again. The back of his throat ached along with the rest of him, and he ran a hand over his mouth as he stared at the point where she had vanished around the corner. He wanted to collapse there, in the middle of the hall, or maybe scream. Of his own failure he compounded one pain with another. And now she was gone. He didn’t love Cassie like he had loved Anna, but the loss added to what he had felt every day for six years.

After some indeterminate time, he pulled himself up and exhaled. There were things he needed to do, tasks he could distract himself with. Liam swung round to return to the room he had come from and discovered he was not alone.

“That uh… looked rough,” said Drake, scratching the back of his head and glancing up the hall where Cassie had disappeared, then back to Liam.

He sighed, breath shaking, and cleared his throat. It did nothing to release the ache. Not that anything ever did. “How much did you see?”

“See? Not much. Heard?” Drake winced and folded his arms, appearing a little guilty. “Voices carry. Everything since you came into the hall.”

Liam’s ears burned again, and he glanced over his shoulder at the memory of Cassie’s anger. It wasn’t something he wanted everyone to know, but Drake wasn’t the worst person to overhear.

“Are you um… are you okay?” Drake asked.

“I just…” Liam drew in a choking breath and released an audible sigh. “Need some space.” Need a friend. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t need to look at this friend to know Drake’s expression was a mix of doubt and guilt and pity. It was one of the reasons they didn’t talk about Anna, and why he wasn’t the friend Liam needed right now. The one he needed was gone.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket a minute later on his way down the hall, and he pulled back all of the heaviness to the back of his mind, and focused on the external again. It was the school.

Emily needed him.

——–

Our Own Heroes list: @blackcatkita @kingliam2019 @mom2000aggie @texaskitten30 @missameliep @princess-geek @zoehanji @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @ladyangel70 @whenyourheartskipsabeat @bebepac @iaminlovewithtrr

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist :)

#trr fandom #trr fanfic #trr liam #trr drake #choices trr #trr au #king liam #drake walker #we are our own heroes #choices the royal romance #liam and cassie

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kaistarus · 5 years ago

Text

UA’s Freaky Friday

Pairings: Bakugou X Reader

Words: 3.4K

Summary: You and Bakugou switch bodies because of a quirk. Antics ensue and feelings make it awkward

Notes: This idea has been haunting me for months, so I just needed to get it out. I hope somebody enjoys it lol

Masterlist // Ko-fi

At first, when Bakugou made the offer for you to join him on his morning workouts you flat out denied him. It didn’t matter how much your heart fluttered when he walked into the room, you were not built to walk up before 7 am. However, after some coercion from Mina—endless lectures and threats of ending weekly movie nights—you found yourself agreeing to his awful proposal. Which was why you were now curled into a fetal position on uncomfortably dewy grass beside a track.

“Are you just going to fucking lay there all morning?” Bakugou asked, seated on the asphalt to stretch out his legs. “Get up and start stretching.”

You whined pathetically and rolled into a half-assed sitting position, laying on your leg and flimsily holding your foot, imagining yourself tucked into the warmth of your bed. You were definitely going to get back at Mina for convincing you this was worth alone time with Bakugou.

Bakugou started a lecture about the importance of building endurance and running or something you were trying to tune out when you heard what sounded like a kid crying nearby. You were the only two outside this early, and there shouldn’t be any children near the dorms.

“Do you hear that?”

Bakugou furrowed his brows, crossing his arms in irritation at being interrupted. “What?”

You spotted a young boy walking towards the end of the track and you stood quickly. “That.”

You weren’t sure if Bakugou was behind you, your focus was on the child wandering around UA’s school grounds—a place that’s impossible for anyone to enter besides staff and students. You leaned before the sniffling boy with a wide smile.

“Hello,” you said soothingly. “You look like your lost?”

The boy shrunk away, eyeing you cautiously before nodding his head.

“Well, this is an awfully strange place for you to end up.” You laughed and outstretched your hand. “How about we find someone who can help?”

The young boy, who appeared no older than six, sniffled once more before reaching to grab your hand.

“What the fuck is a brat like this doing in the middle of the schoolyard?”

The little boy’s eyes welled up and he pulled his hand away from you, once again curling up onto himself. You whipped around and glared daggers at Bakugou standing defiantly above you.

“You’re scaring him.”

“I didn’t do shit.” Bakugou rolled his eyes and you puffed your cheeks in frustration.

“I’m trying to get him inside,” you said through gritted teeth. “I was calming him down.”

“Well, you did a piss poor job. He’s fucking crying.”

“I was doing just fine until you came and—"

A bright light illuminated behind you and you spun to see the boy had begun to glow a neon orange. You put your hand out, but before you could try to calm the child you were surrounded by a strange static. A buzz coursed through you for several seconds before the weird sensation was lifted and the boy returned to normal. The momentary response without pain made you think it was just an uncontrollable reaction from a kid who didn’t have a grasp on their quirk yet, so you just smiled in relief.

That was, until you looked beside you to check on Bakugou and your jaw dropped.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“There has to be something you can do,” you paced around the infirmary, gripping the spiky ash-blonde locks that shouldn’t be on your head. Your now scarlet eyes flickered around the room as if an answer would come from the various medicinal materials lying about. “I can’t stay like this.”

“You can’t stay like this?” Bakugou shouted, his voice several pitches higher than normal, making you cringe. “You should be so fucking lucky to look like that. Look at me!”

You stomped the combat boot you now adorned offended as he gestured wildly towards himself. His new appearance was familiar in the worst way. It wasn’t what you were used to seeing on him, but features you’d memorized since a child, years of looking in mirrors.

“As if looks are my main concern. You’ll ruin my reputation,” You groaned, palming your eyes before pulling your hands back with a gag. “Why are my hands so gross?”

“’Cause your cutesy ass won’t ruin my reputation?” Bakugou growled, attempting a lackluster version of his usual sneer that was hardly intimidating with your softer features. “And it’s from my fucking quirk, dumb ass.”

“Well, I didn’t realize your quirk made you so gross.” You snorted, waving your obnoxiously sweaty hands in Bakugou’s face snootily. Bakugou opened his—your—mouth to yell, but you were interrupted by Aizawa clearing his throat.

“Well… sorry to interrupt, but I have both good and bad news.” Recovery Girl walked to her desk and hopped onto her chair. “It appears that there is nothing I can do to reverse the effects of the quirk; however, the quirk is rather weak considering it’s from a child. It should last no longer than 24 hours.”

“24 hours?” Bakugou shouted, mumbling strings of curses as he stomped around the room. You just stared blankly at an eye chart against the wall, unable to process the information as you watched Bakugou continue to throw a fit in your body. You were getting nauseous.

“Unfortunately, the child wandered off this morning. We were studying his quirk, but we weren’t aware of how early he’d wake up.” Aizawa rubbed the back of his neck. “The school takes full responsibility for the situation.”

“If you’re lucky, the earliest it could be done is the end of the day.” Recovery Girl smiled.

You narrowed your eyes at Aizawa. You had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to just the boy sneaking off, and it probably had something to do with the huge cup of coffee in his hands. The way Bakugou was glaring at him made you think he was on a similar thought process.

“Well, as unfortunate as this situation is there is nothing we can do.” Recovery Girl hopped off her stool easily ignoring Bakugou’s threats as she sauntered to the door with the assistance of her needle-like cane. “I suggest you both set some boundaries while you’re together.”

You felt your face begin to burn and your stomach drop as the situation began to sort itself out. A lot would happen in 24 hours. Bakugou was eyeing daggers through the door Recovery Girl and Aizawa exited, and you were just hoping for the sweet release of death.

“Okay,” you looked away when Bakugou turned to you. It was too freaky seeing yourself sneer at you. “Obviously there should be no unnecessary clothes changing. And if you have to go to the bathroom just hold it as long as possible.”

The room fell deafeningly silent and you glanced up to see if he had even heard you. He was turned toward the door, but you saw the tinted red ears. You were glad because it meant Bakugou heard you but frustrated because it meant people could easily notice when you were embarrassed.

“I think… we’ll be fine.” You mumbled, staring at his shoes that were fitted to you. “I trust you.”

He glanced back to you with wide eyes, but quickly turned away. “Same. Or whatever.”

You bit your—his—lip and nodded to yourself as he walked out of the room. This wouldn’t be terrible, you told yourself. It was just one day. All you had to do was survive it.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“No way!” Kaminari snickered, leaning into Bakugou’s face as he growled in your smaller body. Bakugou pushed Kaminari’s face away, and instead of it striking its usual fear with the help of explosions Kaminari just swatted the hand away and giggled. “This is so great!”

“Fuck you!” Bakugou shouted, raising his hand to strike again. A mist of light blue began to form around Bakugou’s hand and panic shot through you. You leaped over a desk and grabbed his smaller wrist, forcing it downwards. “What the hell, let go of me!”

“You were using my quirk!” You pointed out lifting the hand that was still glowing. He blinked a few times then furrowed his brow in concentration until it stopped.

“This is so weird.” Mina narrowed her eyes at you. “Is that really you in there?”

“Yep,” you chuckled, gesturing up and down at the gym uniform you couldn’t change out of. “In the gross and sweaty flesh.”

“I told you that’s my fucking quirk.” Bakugou growled while Kaminari and Kirishima burst into laughter. He tried to swing at them both, but Kirishima easily blocked the strikes.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not gross.” You shook your hands that were now literally dripping sweat. Bakugou picked one up with a grimace.

“They haven’t been like this since I was five.”

“Well, I haven’t had twelve years to learn how to not be sweaty.” You wiped your hands on Bakugou’s pants.

“Better not light those up.” Bakugou warned and you froze mid-action before holding your hands out as far as possible.

“What?” You said weakly as Aizawa walked into the room. “Your clothes explode?”

“My sweat explodes, idiot. And now it’s on my clothes, so watch where you set off my explosions.” Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“You don’t make your clothes, like, explosion-proof?”

“Oh sure, let me just walk down to the fucking explosive-sweat-proof clothing store for some quality apparel. I hope they have compression shorts.” You puffed up your cheeks in frustration and heard half the room choke. “Get that look off my face!”

“I can’t change how I make faces!” You threw your hands up. “I’m not going to scowl all day.”

Bakugou crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat annoyed. It’s not like you enjoyed seeing yourself look so pissed off, at this rate Bakugou was going to give you premature wrinkles after just one day. You leaned your forehead onto your desk as Aizawa started his first lecture.

This was the worst day ever.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

This was the best day ever.

“Say it again,” Kaminari said, leaning over the lunch table with pleading eyes. You smirked evilly.

“Kaminari, I think you’re a hilarious meme god and I respect you.” You said while placing a hand on Kaminari’s head. His eyes started to well up and he sniffled.

“I think I’m going to cry.” Kaminari clutched his chest at the spot over his heart and smacked his forehead against the lunch table. Bakugou went off with Midoriya somewhere after the bell rang, which gave you and Mina ample time for scheming. When Kaminari first asked you to give him a compliment it made you laugh, then you and Mina gave each other an evil look at the same time and five minutes later you were in business.

The current deal was $5 dollars per Bakugou statement. Mina was collecting the cash and all you had to do was speak a sentence or two. The best part, Bakugou was none the wiser. You two would make off with a shit ton of cash and spend it before he even knows what hit him. You two were true geniuses.

You made $20 off Kaminari alone.

“Don’t you think it’s a little… morally wrong to do this?” Kirishima asked as you collected $5 from Iida to say you respected him as a class rep.

“I mean, maybe, but it would be a crime to not use this opportunity at all, right?” You narrowed your eyes. “My best friend Kirishima whose hair I think is awesome as fuck.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “If he asks, I saw nothing.”

You saluted the boy in acknowledgment and was a little surprised when Todoroki walked up to your table, handing you a slip of paper on top of $5. You read it a couple times and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Todoroki you are my friend.”

Todoroki nodded with a straight face before walking back to his usual table without ever speaking a word. You and Mina gave each other confused looks but shrugged it off. Somebody tapped your shoulder and without looking back you stuck your hand out.

“You know the drill. $5, buddy.”

“Fucking what?”

You blinked at the sound of your voice and slowly turned around. Apparently, Bakugou had gotten pretty good at sneers throughout the day because you were almost too impressed to be nervous. Almost.

“Hey, there.” You chuckled awkwardly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making serious bank.” Mina started fanning out the obnoxious amount of cash you’d collected so far.

“I was planning on giving you half.” You lied while Mina gasped beside you. You tried signaling her to shush in hopes she wouldn’t blow the cover, but Bakugou seemingly didn’t care either way.

“You’re dead.”

“On the contrary, I’ve never felt more alive.” You winked. Uraraka skipped up to the table completely ignoring Bakugou staring her down, and she gave Mina $5 and you a slip of paper. You read it several times, glancing between Bakugou and Uraraka’s mischievous smile as she stared directly at him.

“I am a big bitch baby. The biggest little whiny bitch baby. I could never beat Uraraka in a fight cause I’m just that much of a big… stupid… bitch…” You looked up at Bakugou who was absolutely fuming. “…baby.”

Uraraka was flipping Bakugou off and he lunged at her before she ran away giggling. They started a chase around the cafeteria, and you watched amazed at how fast you could apparently run. After that, you and Mina decided it was, unfortunately, time to shut down the business. Lunch was almost over anyway.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

You tapped your foot on the ceramic floor of the locker room and sighed dramatically. You were trying to be a decent human being and get Bakugou’s things from his locker, but the asshole wasn’t texting you back his combination. He also had school shoes in there, and if this did continue until tomorrow you both needed those.

You were typing out another dramatic text when someone came barreling into the locker area.

“Bakugou! You’re still here.”

You’re tilted your head at Tetsutetsu leaning against the lockers out of breath. Since when were these two friends?

“Well, I’m actually not—”

“Look, Kirishima let it slip that you have a crush on (Y/N), so I just wanted to check if that was true.” Tetsutetsu was standing defensively as if expecting an attack at any moment, but you were frozen. Your jaw had gone slack, and your phone that started to vibrate slid out of your hands.

“What?”

“Before you kill him it was completely my fault, so you can fight me later.” Tetsutetsu continued. “I was planning on asking her out this weekend, but if you like her, I don’t stand a chance since I think she’s kind of into you.”

Your eyes widened and you felt a weird tickling sensation on your palms. You glanced down and realized that they were beginning to spark, so you held them out at an awkward distance. “I—I don’t know.”

“So, it’s fine that I ask her out?”

“What? No.” You shook your hands trying to snuff out the explosions. Tetsutetsu raised an eyebrow at you. “I just—go away. I’ll do… something. Don’t ask her out.”

“Okay…” Tetsutetsu’s shoulders sunk. If it wasn’t for the fact that your hands were literal bombs, you’d feel more guilty about whatever had just happened. When the sparks died down you picked your phone back up and saw the three grumpy texts from Bakugou and several missed calls from Kirishima. You ran a sweaty hand through spiked hair.

Tetsutetsu had a crush on you? Except Kirishima told him Bakugou had a crush on you? And he thought you had a crush on Bakugou? Well, you kind of did… so that wasn’t new information, but the rest of it? You took a deep breath and left for the dorms.

Could Bakugou really have a crush on you? Sure, Mina and the others always made jokes about him looking at you during class or treating you differently than the rest of them. You guys bicker a lot, but you know it’s playful and you’re usually laughing at the end of it. He offers to train with you when you don’t need it or walk you into town when there’s no reasonable threat. If you were being honest, it wasn’t an unreasonable idea.

You just never wanted to get your hopes up.

Without realizing it you had arrived at the building and were mindlessly standing outside the entrance.

“What are you doing?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You looked over your shoulder to see yourself slouching with hands deep in your pockets. It was so bizarre to see someone identical to you, but with mannerisms so unlike yourself. It made you dizzy. Or maybe it was all the life processing you’ve been doing in the last few minutes.

“I don’t know.”

He raised a brow. “Did you grab my stuff?”

You looked down at your empty hands realizing that after making a big deal over the combination you didn’t even use it. You glanced back up at him. It was probably because he adorned the face you were so used to giving you pep talks in the mirror that instead of an apology your mouth leaked out.

“Do you like me?”

His shoulders shot to his ears. “What the fuck?”

You chewed your lip and dug the toe of his boot into the concrete. “Apparently, Kirishima let it slip that you have a crush on me…” You figured the least you could do was cut Tetsutetsu some slack since you basically shut him down without him realizing it. Bakugou would go easy on Kirishima, but he’d destroy Tetsutetsu.

“Fucking Shitty Hair….” Bakugou growled, clenching his fists and scowling at the overcast sky. You glanced upwards, finding nothing of importance. “I… maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Okay? Fuck, this isn’t—” He threw his hands up and stomped in a small circle. “This is fucking weird. You’re supposed to be you and I’m supposed to be me. This isn’t what I wanted.”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back laughter. “Honestly, I kind of figured this might turn you on.”

“Fuck off.” He stated, but you saw the smile creeping onto his face.

“I like you too,” you muttered, barely above a whisper. “The me you. Not you me.”

Bakugou sighed exasperated and palmed at his—your—eyes. You stared at him with a fond smile. “Stop looking at me like that.” He scowled, pointing a finger accusingly.

“I can’t I’m happy.” You said, cupping your cheeks with sweaty hands.

“Well, stop being happy as me.”

“But you’re happy too!” You sing-songed leaning over to poke his cheek. He swatted your hand away and pouted.

“No, I’m fucking not…” He rolled his eyes, but the soft smile proved otherwise. “We’re doing this over. When things go back to normal.”

“A redo?”

He nodded his head. He scolded you for skipping after him into the dorm building, and again for humming happy tunes during dinner. You couldn’t help it though. You were excited. It wasn’t until you were both going your separate ways for the night that you felt the tingle spread throughout you again. When you looked down to see your own body, your dry hands you could touch things with, and your own voice that, although a bit scratchy from Bakugou’s yelling, was familiar and comforting. You’ve never been happier to be you.

Bakugou was quick to appear in your hallway to check that you made it back okay and your heart skyrocketed at seeing him across from you. Before he could get a word out you flung your arms around him in a celebratory hug, unable to contain your excitement and giggles. In that moment, you weren’t sure things could get any better. Until you pulled back and Bakugou was leaning down to press his lips against yours did you realize just how much greater things could become.

“That’s more how I pictured it.” He said, leaning back with a smirk.

“That… that was nice.” You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. He snorted at your response and pulled you closer.

You couldn’t say you were grateful for the experience you had to go through today, but without it, you wouldn’t be kissing Bakugou goodnight now. So, maybe you’d have to figure out who that little boy was and thank him. The risk had definitely been worth the reward.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha imagines #boku no hero academia #this has been haunting me #i haven't been able to focus #so now it exists and i dont know how i feel #yet here we are #lol

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