#also blame the months long radio silence on college | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honsoolie · 4 years ago

Text

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04.

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame.

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing.

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music.

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi?

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now.

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class.

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead.

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you.

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard?

Why do I care so much?

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions.

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that.

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic.

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way.

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before.

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt.

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet.

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers.

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?”

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else?

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

Is this really happening right now?

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now.

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious?

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs.

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it.

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again.

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same.

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?”

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought.

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you.

“What kind of favor?”

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift.

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer.

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings.

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time.

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool.

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer.

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.”

“Don’t you need the space?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again.

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past.

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that.

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know.

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy.

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again.

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming.

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play.

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago.

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder.

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel.

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay.

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before.

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again.

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence.

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away.

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real.

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself.

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you.

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot.

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize.

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe.

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?”

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.”

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh.

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.)

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative.

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer.

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back.

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily.

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm.

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh.

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest.

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you?

How had the two of you come so far?

And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry?

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his?

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least.

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward?

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet.

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach.

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise.

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now.

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that.

And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room?

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts.

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me?

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know?

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon

The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard.

Fuck… what have I done.

You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay?

You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?

Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you?

You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough.

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you.

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair.

You want to take him apart.

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective.

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long.

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup.

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it.

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you.

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup.

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time.

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now.

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out.

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…”

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?”

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave.

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.”

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in.

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.”

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.”

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.”

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more.

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful.

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.”

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter.

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there.

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart.

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours.

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else.

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide?

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–”

“Serendipity?”

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now.

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer.

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.”

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now.

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep.

“I like you�� I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft.

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand.

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.”

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy.

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock.

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes.

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?”

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi.

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward.

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice .

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap.

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi.

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated.

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing.

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words.

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before.

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening.

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless.

“Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot.

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper.

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore.

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes.

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon.

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.”

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification.

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow.

And again, and again, and again.

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again.

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench.

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are.

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?”

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works.

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him.

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips.

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?”

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want.

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?” He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are.

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards.

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite.

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point.

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button.

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy.

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control.

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.”

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take?

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on.

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely.

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask.

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.”

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him.

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.”

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand.

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you?

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him.

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase.

“Fuck, Yoongi…”

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger.

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes.

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?”

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much.

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.”

“Why?”

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck.

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly.

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact.

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room.

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit.

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants.

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi.

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.”

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.”

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.”

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel.

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost.

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.”

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture.

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to.

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again.

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…”

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder.

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring.

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need.

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job.

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again.

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again.

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission.

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care.

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to.

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further.

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly.

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers.

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised.

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg.

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night.

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach.

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed.

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break.

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable.

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room.

It’s… Jungkook?

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook?

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do.

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk.

“Hyung, who’s that?”

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader

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growup-thatbeautiful · 3 years ago

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drive is out now!! It’s a Post Season Harringrove Hurt/Comfort and I’m pretty proud of it. Read it on ao3 here or below the cut. Likes and comments are very very much appreciated :))

Billy doesn’t drive after starcourt. Something about being behind the wheel makes him sick with memories that he can’t understand. They’re abstract and totally unreliable.

But it’s kind of always been like that for him. He's used to having gaps in his memories, except most of the time it’s because of trauma. Or that’s what Joyce tells him and the rest of them whenever they have nightmares about things they don’t remember happening.

He's been living with the Byers and El. He tries to be useful around the house, doing whatever he can because he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s hard, though. It seems like everything he does, he does wrong. He never had to learn how to fold sheets or clean dishes. Not only was neil hargrove terribly homophobic, but also misogynistic, which is a word joyce taught him because she teaches all her kids that stuff. And he’s one of her kids now. So, yeah. Neil never had Billy do the chores because “he’s not a true man, but he sure as shit isn’t a woman.”

It's alarming how quickly this odd family replaces his old one. Neil seems miles away. Neil doesn’t try to look for Billy, and that’s fine as far as Billy's concerned. He's got scars to cover up the ones Neil made. no need to dwell on that when he has so much other trauma to process., right? Kind of.

He does check up on max. Asks her if neils pulling any of the shit he used to get from his dad. double checks for bruises hidden under makeup or long sleeves, and never finds any. Good.

Joyce is good. great, even. She doesn’t blame him when he breaks a dish because he heard a noise. She listens when he says he needs some alone time, and she knows when he’s just saying that. She gives good hugs and has no problem giving him Jonathan's old room to stay in while he’s off at college. leaving Hawkins behind him, calling every night anxiously awaiting the return of It. Nothing happens, and eventually they relax. Or they try to. That part of billy’s been broken for a long time, though.

So Joyce starts fading into memories of his mom, and he tries not to blame her.

Again. He's never had a great memory anyway. He does remember his mom telling him that boys don’t marry other boys when he was five and told her he wanted to marry his best friend. Then she told him never to tell his dad. It's strange, because he can’t remember her saying that she loved him, even though he’s sure she did. Did she? Huh.

At least the painful memories he gets to keep. Neil beating’s. Beating up on Harrington that night he didn’t know what was going on. The car crash before his mind was taken from him. Max’s terrible scream of “Billy” mixed in with the ear-ringing pain. Waking up in a hospital with starburst scars across his body. Skin that isn’t his. They remind him not to get to comfortable, remind him that the kindness he’s being shown isn’t well earned.

Because Billy knows he wasn’t worth those hospital bills and sleepless nights. All he’s done to the people here is hurt and scar and he’s seen them with the deepest kind of fear in their eyes. Fear because of him.

Everytime he goes down a path like this, he tries to stay clear of everyone. Because. They all tried to hide how much hurt he’s caused. They don’t blame him like they should.

He didn’t know any of them well before. But he knows El didn’t always carry around that police badge or look up at every siren, praying for a familiar face only to be disappointed and try not to show it. Because if Billy survived, couldn’t the more-deserving Hopper? Apparently not.

He knows Joyce didn’t always search for Will in every setting and have those folded up pictures of the two men that died because of all the shitty things that happened. Because she can’t stand to forget their faces or not carry that burden for just a second.

Will didn’t always get quiet every time a draft went through the room or refuse to go out that front door first. Because so many things have been ruined for him.

The rest of the kids didn’t always jump at every noise or bunch together for every corner, carrying lucky momentous and items. Because God forbid they have a break.

He doesn’t see them a lot, but Nancy and Jonathan definitely didn’t carry around an emergency kit everywhere they went, packed with medical supplies and Nancy’s choice gun. Because they’re going to be there to help if anything tries to take another person they loves away.

Some part of Billy reasons that it’s not all his fault. He wasn’t one of those scientists or government agents that started the whole thing.

But he did enough. Enough to warrant all the shit that he’s going through. It’s not the healthiest way of thinking, he’s aware of that, but it helps him get by.

No matter how hard he tries, though, there’s always someone at the house that finds him. Curled up into a ball, dry hitching sobs and no tears because “Hargrove men don’t cry.” Billy gets damn close sometimes, but the fear that Neil’s going to come out from the cracks in the wall and kick him where he lays is too real.

There are usually soft words.

“We don’t blame your here, honey. That wasn’t you, that did all that stuff. And I’m not going to let anything else bad happen to the people under this roof.” Joyce’s strong and sure voice, only breaking at the edges.

“I know what it’s like to have him control you like that. I know better than anyone else, and I know how scary it is. Mom says it’s over now, though, and I can’t feel It anymore. I would tell you first if It came back.” Will never says anything more than that, which is comforting in itself. It’s nice to have someone else.

“They lost. You’re here. I’m here. Will’s here. It is safe.” El’s statement is simple, but she makes it easy to believe.

He believes them until he gets another new memory of what he did. The Mayors blood on the floor. Heather’s petrified screams. Standing before that thing and feeling nothing but a perverse sense of but awe and, buried beneath that, a screaming sense of horror and the constant feeling of slipping in the sand.

There are times, like right now, when he doesn’t want someone to make him feel better. He wants someone who can drive him away from here and sit in an empty parking lot and smoke away the thoughts. Someone like Steve.

He would do it himself. He would. But he can’t. Can’t get over that fucking gas pedal. So he calls Steve.

They’ve done this enough times for it to make sense for Billy to have Steve’s number memorized. And his work schedule. And to know when he with Dustin or Robin or any of the others on one of those group outings Billy can’t bring himself to go to. There are too many sad faces, too many broken homes.

It doesn’t matter what he wears. It’s just Steve, and they’ve gotten past the point of caring about things like that.

Which. Is obvious to anyone who looks at Billy, not that he sees anyone. He’s lost a lot of weight. Muscles that used to be defined are gone, replaced by scars. He can’t get them back yet, because he’s not strong enough to lift any of them. And because muscles like that can hurt and hit. His eyes are surrounded by heavy bags, bloodshot and tired. The new callouses on his hands are mostly scars from anxiety ridden breakages, and the pained nails are because El wanted to try the new dark blue out. His hair is greasy and flat, nowhere near what it used to be. It hangs around his shoulders in curled waves, so far from where he used to be.

He doesn’t even try to smile to the sad reflection in the mirror.

Steve doesn’t honk when he arrives. The first time he did that and the noise sent Billy spiraling, and Steve had felt terrible, cussing up a storm that actually helped Billy out of it. Luckily, it was just Billy home and no one else was there to witness they’re collective train wreck.

Before he leaves, Billy grabs something from the bathroom and stuffs it in with the rest of the random shit he brings.

Billy slides into the passenger seat, leans his head back against the headrest, and says, “So, Harrington, how you been?”

Steve, mercifully, looks the same as always. He looks good, the asshole. It’s a relief that he’s still able to feel that fire Steve lights up. Different than all the other King’s from California. A few more scars, but they all have that. His shades are pushed through his hair, brown strands flopping over lazily.

“Same as usual, so fairly shitty and on the brink of breakdown. You?” It would be a normal conversation if Steve wasn’t completely serious, corners of his mouth only ticking up when Billy reaches over and bats at the band-aid charm hanging from the mirror. A joke from Billy to say sorry for, you know, almost beating him to death for no real reason.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t need to say more for Steve to get the idea. It’s the same way they’ve been feeling for months now.

“Yeah.” The car ride over isn’t far from the Byers’ house, and they spend it in almost silence. Some pop station is playing low on the radio.

“This the shit you listen to, pretty boy? I expected more than this.” It’s an attempt at normalcy, something that they’ve slowly been working up to.

“At least I don’t blast out my eardrums every time I want to listen to music,” replies Steve quickly, smile evident in his tone.

And it’s normal. It’s them. The way they were before it all got so messy. For that brief moment, there’s no winter night or july 4th. For a brief moment Billy can entertain a reality where he went to the find Steve instead of a fight. A world where Steve, with those pretty eyes and snap remarks, could hold his hand and stop him from doing all the bad things in the future.

But the moment passes. Steve clears his throat and looks forward at the road.

They arrive to the quarry, water at the bottom glinting, tossing, teasing. The car doors slam shut, and they slide up on to the front of the car. Billy pulls his last minute grab out of the bag and hands it to Steve.

“I want you to cut my hair.” Steve takes the scissors and towel in his hand, looking at Billy.

He doesn’t ask if Billy’s sure. Billy figures that Steve knows at this point he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real. If Billy wasn’t sure. Steve cards a hand through Billy’s hair. It feels. Good. Real good.

Steve starts cutting, and Billy winces at the sound of the scissors closing around his hair. His past.

“I like to think it isn’t just part of me.” The comment comes out of nowhere, surprising Billy more than it surprises Steve.

“What?” Steve’s voice is calm, the sniping of the scissors is methodical.

“The anger. The aggression. The tendency to hurt. I like to think it’s not in my nature, but my nurture.”

“I don’t think you’re violent.” It’s a laughable statement.

“You’re joking. Did you forget most of last year? I’m the one with the bad memory here, Harrington.” Billy can practically hear Steve’s disapproving mother’s frown behind him.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Right, sure, whatever, bullshit. But what about…you know. Last winter.”

“What happened before that?” asks Steve patiently.

“Jesus, you’re worse than Joyce. My dad sent me after Max. Found her at Byers’ place with you. Hurt you a whole fucking lot.”

“Is that all he did? He just told you to go after her?” Billy ignores the way his stomach does flips when Steve runs a hand through Billy’s hair, straightening it out.

“So you’re my fuckin’ therapist now? What do you want me to say? He kissed my head and sent my on my merry way? That’s now how he works. I’ll admit, I was saved by his new wifey. He can’t use me as a punching bag when she’s standing right there, not like he did with mom. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing worse than what you’ve done to me. And the insults weren’t too bad either. He forgot to call me a fag.”

“Oh. Shit, Billy, I-“

“It’s fine,” cuts in Billy, hating the pity in Steve’s voice. He’s not the one who should have it.

“You didn’t deserve that.” This time it does make Billy laugh. It’s a hollow and haunting sound, an echo of his charming boyish laugh.

“Sure I did, dipshit. You’re probably one of the people who knows best why I did, in fact, deserve it.”

“So then I’m the best person. to tell you that you aren’t that person. You haven’t been that person since you left him and all of that shit. Let me ask you something. Do you want to hurt people now?”

“No!” Billy startles himself with his sudden enthusiasm, and Steve jumps a little behind him. Steve is quicker to recover, though, and he runs a hand through the hair he hasn’t cut yet. It’s soothing. Billy barely resists the urge to lean into it. Ask for more.

“Did you ever want to hurt people? Like really, truly want to see them hurt?” Billy has to think about the question. Steve deserves an real answer.

Flashes fly through his mind, bringing on too familiar emotions. Anger, a need to make someone, anyone, feel the way that he’s feeling. Fear that not having this power over people would make him weak. Horror at what he’s about to do. Detachment, painful as he grinned and laughed.

“I just wanted to have control. Take some of the hurt I was feeling and give it to other people. It was a rush that I was addicted to. The thrill of the fight, the feel of flesh against my fist, the look of blood on my knuckles. I liked fighting, still do. I didn’t like hurting people.” Steve puts the scissors down on the car hood, fluffing Billy’s hair and sliding down next to him.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of the fists of two people I’m now okay with,” admits Steve. “Believe me, I know now to take a beating. I’ve been heartbroken by two other people I’m close friends with. I forgive too easily.”

“So you’re a compulsive truster and I’m a compulsive fighter. What a pair we make, huh Harrington?”

“Yeah.” agrees Steve, bumping his shoulder against Billy. “What a pair.”

Maybe it’s the haircut. Maybe it’s the sunlight confessions. Maybe it’s how carefree and happy Steve looks. But Billy feels lighter. Like there was this unspoken weight he had been carrying around that no one knew about. Or everyone knew about, but couldn’t help.

The thing is, Steve didn’t even say anything. He didn’t promise a better future, he didn’t say that he was safe. He shared some of the personal pain they all carry around.

“I don’t think I ever said sorry. I am sorry, you know. I. I didn’t-“

“I know. I’m sorry too. Someone should’ve known. About you.” Steve leans closer, and Billy chalks it up to the night chill as the sun settles below the glistening rocks.

“I was good at hiding things I didn’t want people to see.”

“Yeah, well you’re not alone there either.”

“You good at hiding, pretty boy?” Billy’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, and, is Billy imagining it or is Steve looking at him the same way?

“Apparently not good enough,” jokes Steve. His smile falls off of his lips, and he leans minutely closer. If Billy wasn’t paying attention to all of Steve…

The way his hair glows white and gold in the sunset. That wrinkle between his brows. The way one of his eyes is a little darker than the other. How he smells like cigarette smoke and that fancy hairspray, even when his hair is blown from the wind.

The way he looked that night. Cool and collected, then terrified and fighting for his life. So beautiful in the harsh starlight and then so abstract in the broken kitchen light.

Before he knows what’s happening, Steve is filling that gap. Kissing Billy like he’s trying to sooth the pain from their past. Maybe he is. Billy wouldn’t put it past him.

His hand finds a way to Steve’s hair, the same way Steve’s been running his through Billy’s now shorter hair. He curls it into the strands, holding on tightly. Soft.

The way Steve sighs his name takes Billy away from it all. The pain. The memories. The lack of memories.

They lay out under the stars for a few minutes, but Billy knows Joyce will freak out if she can’t find him. Not because she doesn’t trust him, he has to remind himself, but because she doesn’t trust others.

On the drive home Steve plays that pop stuff again, and Billy gives him the appropriate shit for it, a smile on his face the whole time. His fingers laced through Steve’s.

They arrive at the house, and Steve declines to come in. Gives the excuse that his parents will be waiting up when they both know it’s not true. Billy can’t blame him. Billy understands needing to be alone, needing to get away.

Billy leans through Steve’s window and wished that he could kiss him goodbye. Well. The teasing will have to do.

“Night, King Steve.”

“Goodnight, Asshole.”

If Joyce gives him a knowing smile at the door, Billy doesn’t smile back. Probably.

He definitely does. Maybe he deserves the smile. If Steve thinks he does.

#steve harrington x billy hargrove #harringrove fan fiction #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #harringrove fandom #harringrove stuff #harringrove au #stranger things #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things post season 3

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joontella · 4 years ago

Text

achromatic.

Yandere!Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Word Count: 11.1k

Genre(s): Angst, Slight Fluff, (HORRIBLY WRITTEN) Smut

Trigger Warning(s): Mentions of religion or lack thereof, blood, murder, idk how the human body works, (unknown) consumption of blood, manipulation, stalking, male masturbation (again, horribly written), Namjoon is an asshole, and musical terms because i play music rip, minor character death, slight gore. it gets really shitty towards the end. i’m sorry

Merry Merry! It’s Peppermint! Your gift is finally here, @exhausted-joy! I’m sorry for the wait. I had to make sure that it was perfect. This is my first time doing this, and I really wanted to give it my all. Please forgive me, and thank you for putting up with my antics in the server. I hope you enjoy it!

I also want to thank Saniya (@smeraldos-blog), Mari (@joheun-saram), Hannah (@spicykoreantatertots), Ley (@pars-ley), Avery (@ksmuttherapy), and everyone else who tolerated and/or helped me out! I love you all and thank you so much for the help and support! I’m so happy to have met you all!

ach·ro·mat·ic /akrəˈmadik/

adjective

without color.

“Damn. There goes my chance of starting my winter break with a passing grade.” One woman groaned.

“What the hell are you talking about? You have a solid ‘C’! I’m literally failing everything!” Her friend responded, as her arms waved in a cartoonish rendition of exasperation. “And whose fault is that?” “Not mine! This semester was nothing but a months-long depressive episode. How could I focus with everything that’s going on?”

He so desperately wishes that they would shut up, or at the very least, take their obnoxiously loud conversation elsewhere. Namjoon twirled the ink pen in his hand with a practiced precision only years of being hunched over paperwork could provide. However, those were nothing but pipe dreams as the two students turned their attention over to him. “There’s Kim Namjoon! He’s had the top spot for years now, way before he was enrolled here.” One began babbling quite loudly whilst pointing to the man in question. “I bet he came out of the womb with high marks. I heard that he scored in the 99th percentile for his newborn screening tests.” The other swooned in response to her own musings.

Obviously, these two were much more idiotic than he had originally thought. It didn’t take an expert to read his body language: the way that he twirled his pen faster, as if that could speed up the agonizing conversation he was being forced to bear witness to; the way his jaw clenched so tightly that it could easily break a metal wire; and the position his shoulders held, resembling an animal coiling in preparation to strike or flee. He pleaded to gods he didn’t even believe in for the duo to be quickly eradicated with a swift strike of lightning. According to the calculations he made swiftly in his head, the chances of something like that happening were infinitesimally small. How unfortunate.

Deciding that the best course of action to take would be to leave the two neanderthals to their devices, Namjoon did just that. He quickly snapped his book shut with one hand and a loud, meaningful clap as the pages suddenly collided with each other. If that didn’t make the nuisances jump in surprise, his words would.

“Although I’m a source of inspiration and wonder to many, it’s degrading to hear someone so openly refer to me in a way that one would to an exotic zoo animal,” He began. Namjoon’s tone was cool and even, carrying an air of regality all the while retaining a bitter edge of contempt and disdain for both the conversation and the mere existence of the two original party members.

Finally, the two felt the brunt of the consequences their crimes on Namjoon’s ears had to offer. They both visibly wilted, reminding the tall man of his mother’s daisies being roasted and withering under the dry summer heat. Normally, this would have been more than enough to diffuse the situation and lift him of his auditory burden. However, his heart ached for more. His brain so desperately yearned for more stimulation and a rush of dopamine.

He decided to twist the knife, so to speak.

“Also, you too could rise to the top.” Namjoon said as he began to turn away.

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the two wilted flowers gain new life and their faces brighten with newfound hope. The loudest of the two even had the audacity to whimper a pathetically optimistic, “Really?”

Twist. Twist. Twist!

“Of course~.” Namjoon purred, deciding to turn to face his victims’ satisfying demise. His heart threatened to beat in double time in anticipation.

Although their anxiously awaiting smiles made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny the mirth swirling alongside the disgust in his belly.

“First off, instead of blaming your inadequacies solely on the tumultuous events of this year, take responsibility for your shortcomings. Only children avoid blaming themselves.”

He could hear the glass shattering as their faces fell in a tandem that most would find heartbreaking. He found it utterly amusing. Now, he would take his leave. After receiving the reaction he desired and more, Namjoon wanted nothing more than to leave the duo to stew in their humiliation. Yet, one last thing lingered. He had yet to land the finishing blow that would ensure that he wouldn’t be bothered by these two pieces of scum ever again.

Twist. Twist! TWIST!

“Before I forget, avoid talking so loudly. As you may or may not have noticed, I was trying to study. You know, one of the things that facilitates good grades? I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but your incessant bantering made it increasingly difficult to do so. Might I suggest that you follow my example and do the same? Maybe then, one day, you could take my place at the top.”

Namjoon wasn’t even facing them anymore. His back was to the two women, further solidifying his dismissal of them. With a simple and curt wave of his hand, he simply uttered,

“Ladies.”

And he was on his way.

“Exam results will be posted this afternoon. I trust that you all scored high enough marks to keep our university in high regard.” Your professor droned from the front of the lecture hall. “I know that many of you despise the fact that a standardized test is still administered in college, but so far, it is the only way to ensure that Mugunghwa National Academy is churning out bright students worthy enough to contribute to society!”

The students in question couldn’t care less about their scores or the school’s prestige. All they were worried about was getting the hell out of there after two hours of examination and stifling silence. They all stood from their seats and slung their bags across their bodies. A disgruntled murmur rang throughout. Quite frankly, you were no different.

As you hugged your notebook close to your body, your professor stopped you as you reached the lecture hall door.

“Ah, Miss (L/N). A word, please.”

Surprised, you let out a soft, “Sure.” and walked over to the podium where your professor started to neatly stack and organize his papers.

“As you know, Miss (L/N), you are one of the two best students we’ve had at this academy recently.”

You shifted your weight awkwardly at the sudden praise. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you began to speak. “I mean, I guess? I wouldn’t go that far, but I suppose that records and the numbers do suggest that I’m performing quite well.” Your professor scowled at your response. You were a bright young woman. You deserved to flaunt it and soak up the praise every once in a while, right? He folded his arms and sighed deeply causing your brain to go into overdrive on how you could rectify the situation. “While pride does come short of a fall, you should learn to take compliments when they’re given, (Y/N). I promise you that you won’t become an egomaniac anytime soon as a result.” He said gently, causing your nerves to subside. Right. Maybe you should just accept compliments. A little self esteem boost never hurt anybody, right? “Thank you, professor, but may I ask why you’re telling me this?” You asked, trying to move the conversation along as politely as you could. You had an hour before you were due to go to the college’s radio station and prepare for this evening’s broadcast. Hopefully, your professor would get to the point so you could quickly grab a bite to eat before you started airing.

“Oh yes, of course! I’m sorry! I said all this to tell you that I have your exam results already. Seeing as how you are the brightest in your class, you finished early, giving me enough time to grade yours while your peers were working. I think that you’ll find the results to your liking, Miss (L/N).” He grinned, handing you a white manila envelope with the school’s insignia printed on the front.

You quirked a brow and opened it. You were then greeted by the name of the school, its motto, and yet another print of the school emblem on the header. Your (E/C) eyes scanned the page until you found what you were looking for:

𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: (𝑳/𝑵), (𝒀/𝑵)

𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒎

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 98/100

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌:

1 𝒐𝒇 300

You stood there, dumbfounded. The paper you once held gingerly and timidly was wrinkling and threatening to tear under your now iron grip. You were now number one. Somehow, some way, you managed to best Kim Namjoon. Mugunghwa’s already carefully balanced and fragile ecosystem was crumbling around you. What have you done?

“I take it that you’re in shock. I’ll leave you alone to celebrate.” Your professor said smoothly as he slung his coat over his shoulder. “Congratulations, (Y/N). Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Uh huh… Will do…” You uttered dumbly.

Mugunghwa National Academy ran on strict rules, but most of them were unspoken. For the sake of your sanity and that of the rest of the student body (and let’s face it, staff, too), you intended to follow those sacred and silent rules to the letter.

Rule Number One: Don’t look in the janitor’s closet near the athletics facilities. You may not come out the same way as you came in.

Rule Number Two: If the cafeteria serves meatloaf, avoid it at all costs. Only eat it if you want to get sick and purposely miss class.

Rule Number Three: Kim Namjoon is the best at everything. He is to be number one until Hell freezes over.

Rule Number Four: In order to keep peace and balance between the nations, (Y/N) (L/N) must always come in second. This is the natural order of things.

You were content with being in second place. To be frank, you preferred to leave the pomp and circumstance of being the top dog to Namjoon. He was more equipped to bear the burden, after all. Besides, it wasn’t like your future career was depending on you being the best. You could skate by with a silver medal and leave Namjoon with the gold. You preferred the look of silver, anyway.

Now look at what you've done. There’s no doubt that the records have been updated by now. Your professor did grade yours early, and it’s reasonable to assume that Namjoon’s was as well. You’d inadvertently torn a hole in the gossamer fabric that was Mugunghwa National Academy. With one exam, you signed the collective death certificate of every other person besides Kim Namjoon himself.

May God have mercy on your wretched soul.

“Young Master, your father would like to have a word with you in his study.” The head butler of the Kim mansion stated simply.

For the second time that day, Namjoon clenched his jaw tightly. He shrugged off his coat and handed it to the older gentleman who was automatically waiting at his side to collect the article of clothing. He hadn’t even gotten through the door and already his father wanted to speak with him. This didn’t bode well.

“Seokjin, did he mention why he’d want to see me?” Namjoon asked dryly. Seokjin simply shook his head and hung his coat on the nearby rack.

“He only mentioned that it was urgent, so I suggest that it would be in your best interest to make it there expeditiously.”

This certainly did not bode well. Kim Joonho was a man of few words. Most would say that he’s the very definition of “actions speak louder than words”. Whenever the CEO of Kim Industries did something, people watched in equal parts starstruck awe and fear. However, when the CEO of Kim Industries deemed something important enough to speak on, there was no choice in the matter. You either listened intently or you perished in more ways than one. This was no different for Joonho’s family. In fact, he was worse to them. Working under the guise of caring for his family, Joonho was more stoic to his wife and children.

Regardless of his debatably righteous intentions, it sent the Kim family into delicately managed dysfunction. Simply put, Kim Joonho never spoke to Namjoon out of wishing to connect with his son on a more personal level. Namjoon was the next heir to Kim Industries. Being his son was an unfortunate side effect.

“Sir, I know that I did implore you to hurry, but-”

“What?” Namjoon growled. His nerves were shot to shit today. Anything that impeded his meeting with his father and his goal to quickly get it over with was met with hostility.

Seeming to understand this, Seokjin cleared his throat and motioned a gloved hand towards the mansion’s threshold.

“You know better than to walk in the house with your shoes still on,” The Kim butler began smoothly as he made his way over to Namjoon to collect his shoes. “I do understand that you are upset, but you shouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgement so drastically that you forget such basic cultural conventions.”

Namjoon sighed sharply and bit back a retort that was bubbling in his throat. Arguing with Seokjin was pointless. As per usual, he was correct. Engaging in such petty conflicts would only worsen things.

“Right. I suppose I was quite hasty. Thank you.” Namjoon sighed whilst peeling off his shoes.

“I do believe that an apology is in order, Young Master.”

Namjoon was already halfway across the foyer, about to ascend the grand staircase leading to the upper floors when Seokjin’s cheeky remark reached his ears. He felt his blood begin to simmer in his veins and his muscles stiffen.

“The fact that I haven’t fired you by now and ruined any chances of you gaining any further employment should be enough of an apology. You’re treading on thin ice, Seokjin. Remember your place in this world.”

With that, he continued his journey to the final boss room within the Kim family mansion: his father’s study. The last he heard of Seokjin was a sly chuckle and the clicking of his polished leather shoes against the floor. Staff were not guests. Therefore, they were not allowed the privilege of removing their shoes. They were expendable. They needn’t get too comfortable.

Despite how much he detested it, Namjoon couldn’t deny that cold chill of anxiety that frosted his entire body. His father never wanted to talk to him. Ever. He could count on his hands the times that Joonho requested his presence. He could count on only one hand how many times Joonho requested his presence to celebrate his son’s successes. Their relationship was solely professional. There was no love to be found, no matter how hard you read between the lines. Even in as high of a position as Namjoon is in, he is still subservient to his father.

That’s the natural order of things.

“Come in, Namjoon.” Joonho’s voice rang from behind the large mahogany doors.

Almost cartoonishly, the hinges squeaked like Namjoon was uncovering the entrance to a haunted crypt. Namjoon decided long ago that was an eerily apt way of describing his father’s study.

Naturally, Namjoon obeyed his father and entered the room. Dead center, there sat Kim Joonho on his throne. Sitting with perfect posture behind the large oak desk, Joonho stared his son down with cold eyes filled with disdain. How Namjoon desperately wished he could gouge them out with his father’s prized letter opener.

“Don’t waste my time. Have a seat. I don’t have all day.” Joonho snapped.

“Of course. How are you today, father?”

The CEO’s eyes narrowed at his son’s inquiry. “Spare me the niceties, boy. Sit down. We have business to discuss.”

Before Namjoon could interject, Joonho was already reaching into a drawer and produced a white manila envelope. Upon closer inspection, one could see Mugunghwa National Academy’s insignia emblazoned on the front. Once Namjoon was properly seated, he reached out and grabbed the parcel.

“May I ask what this is?” “You may not. You have eyes, boy. Read it for yourself.”

The frigid chill of anxiety was soon being replaced with the molten heat of fury. Some tiny part of Namjoon’s mind was concerned that he would develop a fever at the sudden and constant shifts in his body temperature. That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t afford for his health to decline. That would be another thing for his father to berate him for.

“Of course. My apologies, father.” Namjoon whispered as he undid the envelope’s fastening. Once he did so, he pulled the paper out with an air of nonchalance. Surely, it must have been another letter from the school to congratulate him on some academic achievement he didn’t even realize existed. However, in his eyes and in the eyes of his father, it was the exact opposite.

𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 𝑲𝒊𝒎, 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏

𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓(𝒔): 𝑩𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚, 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 96/100

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌: 2 𝒐𝒇 300

For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon’s world fell apart before his very eyes. Suddenly the sturdy and imposing columns holding up the large study appeared to crumble around him. The fire that crackled in the fireplace was reduced to nothing but pathetic cinders. He felt the ground split beneath his feet and his father… His father grew to a monstrous size in comparison to his surroundings, suddenly hunched over his son in preparation to strike.

“This must be some mistake! The results must have gotten mixed up! I-”

“Enough!” Joonho boomed. He swiftly slammed his hand down on his desk, successfully frightening his son into silence. “Only children avoid blaming themselves. I thought I taught you to accept responsibility! How dare you blame your inadequacies on the people who made them apparent?!”

Namjoon clenched his fists tightly in his lap and pushed down the urge to go through on his original plan of plucking his father’s eyeballs out.

“Can’t you see? Whoever graded my exam was clearly incompetent. If they had a brain stem, they would know that I am only capable of producing top-class work! Just like you should not be blamed for one measly employee’s mistake, I should not be blamed for the mistake of someone beneath me!” Namjoon exclaimed. Once he finished his spiel, he found himself standing up, but he didn’t remember willing his muscles to do so.

“This entire conversation is pointless. It’s inefficient at best and mind-numbing at its worst! For someone who values time and money more than his own family, I find it quite curious that you’re willing to waste both so frivolously.”

Now, it was Joonho’s turn to clench his jaw and his fists. Despite the utter disdain he felt for the situation, the patriarch had to admit the merit in his son’s retort. His pride would never let him express the sliver of admiration that stirred within him at Namjoon’s courageous display.

Nobody dared talk back to Kim Joonho. That was the natural order of things.

“Regardless of who’s truly at fault, find this (Y/N) (L/N). She usurped your throne, Namjoon. She deserves to be punished for her transgression.”

“Of course. She’s public enemy number one, but she won’t be number one ever again.”

With that, the young master of the Kim household turned his back on the old master and shut the door to the crypt behind him.

“Aaaaaand now, we’re back after our break!” Your co-host chirped from beside you.

The red on-air sign glowed warmly overhead, creating a sense of coziness and heat in the otherwise cold station. You wrapped your cardigan closer around you before adjusting your mic.

“And we’re about to go into our winter break soon. How fitting!” You posited, trying to match your co-host’s energy.

“That’s right! Mugunghwa exams are finally over, and the scores and ranks have already been updated for some! Care to talk about that, (Y/N)?” Taehyung, your co-host, wiggled his sharp eyebrows in his quest to prod for information.

Normally, his rectangular grin and bright eyes would warm your heart. Today, however, you wanted to punch that devilish smirk right off of him. You should have known that Tae would have suddenly caught wind of your latest academic achievement. He’s the university’s most involved (read: nosiest) student.

“Not really… But you won’t shut up until I do, so…” You sighed as you spun around in your swivel chair. Once you stopped your cycle, you scooted closer to the microphone and cleared your throat. “I got a 98 on the exam. My professor stopped me after class and told me the news.”

Not that anyone but you and the sound director, Yoongi, would see it, but Taehyung’s impish smile turned into a disappointed pout. “Ah, listen to our (Y/N). Always dodging the important questions. Such a tease!”

You shoved him gently and laughed at his comment before shaking your head. “This guy… To everyone who dreams of dating him, work with him first. You’ll see how much of a horrible person he is.”

“Yah! That’s slander! Aren’t journalists supposed to avoid that?”

“I’ll kick your ass.” You licked your lips and began to answer the original question in further detail. “Yeah, so… Anyway, I got a 98 and I guess that warranted me becoming number one…?”

Both Taehyung and Yoongi’s faces dropped. From his booth, you could see Yoongi grimace and in your peripheral, you saw Tae stiffen.

“Up next is Still With You by our resident golden boy Jeon Jungkook. We’ll be back soon. Stay tuned.”

Suddenly, the on-air sign was turned off. The song began to play and Taehyung immediately gripped your shoulders.

“You what?!” Taehyung nearly screeched. “(Y/N), do you have any idea what this means?!” “That I took Kim Namjoon’s place and sent the fragile society of Mugunghwa into ruin? Yeah, I do.” Tae blinked for a moment. “No… Although, that does make sense. That seems way more important than what I was gonna say. Huh.”

You were actually going to punch the shit out of him. “Dude, what?”

“Listen, this is your chance! You can finally get recognized as the top-tier person that you are! As long as you were under Kim’s big, goofy shadow, you were going to be pushed aside! Now you can show everyone here how cool you are!”

You felt your throat tighten. That all-too-familiar sensation of a goose egg being lodged in your esophagus rose. You were going to cry. How you desperately wished that you could view the world like Taehyung did. How you longed to see the silver lining of every situation just like he did. All you saw was destruction and despair. All you felt was guilt for damning the entire student body to some cruel fate that only Kim Namjoon could dish out.

“Tae, I love you, but you don’t fucking get it! I’m screwed! We’re all screwed! I broke two of the sacred rules of this school! Kim Namjoon must always be first! I must always be second! I just sentenced everyone to death!”

Taehyung raised a brow, as if what you were saying were the incoherent ramblings of a mad woman. “You describe my cousin like he’s some heinous demon.” Even the usually passive Yoongi had to straighten his spine and widen his eyes at this revelation.

“He’s your cousin?!”

Tae leaned back in his seat with yet another smirk. This time, you couldn’t put a finger on the emotion this specific lift of his lips held. “Isn’t the resemblance obvious? The Kim line has some strong genes. It’s been that way since the Joseon era, I’ve been told.”

Ignoring the historical implications for why such strong genes would still be present thousands of years later (assuming that Taehyung was actually serious), you hurried the conversation along. Jungkook’s silky voice had faded away a while ago, leaving the two of you with little to no time left before it was time to open the floor to callers. This was your last chance to get some useful information about Namjoon before you were dragged into what you knew was going to be a relentless storm of phone calls and incredulous screeches at the news.

Like you had said before, you’d damned everyone. Who wouldn’t want to yell at the person that had the audacity to send an entire population into ruin?

“Get to the point, Taehyung. You’re telling me that you’re related to Satan himself? And I’ve been your co-host for how long?!” You near screeched.

Tae’s ambiguous smirk was now replaced with a blank expression. “I didn’t think it mattered, (Y/N). Why does it even matter now? If there’s a bigger issue here, I think you’re dodging it.”

You froze. He was right. For as long as you knew him, Taehyung had this uncanny ability to pick people apart and leave them vulnerable in an instant. This was especially effective on you, you’ve come to realize. The funny thing was that you hadn’t realized that you were employing tactics to postpone the inevitable inundation of accusatory and furious phone calls being thrown your way. Deep down, you always hated confrontation. Until Taehyung uttered those words, you hadn’t realized how deep that hatred and aversion was ingrained.

“Damn. You’re...good… I guess I am avoiding things. Let’s just get this over with. If we hold it off any longer, things will get worse.” You muttered as you looked towards Yoongi’s booth, motioning for him to put you both back on air.

Taehyung placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and flashed his signature boxy smile. “You don’t even know what they’re going to say. Who knows? News of your latest accomplishment may have brought the (Y/N) (L/N) Official Fanclub out of hiding. I bet that there are going to be several callers professing their undying love for you!”

“Their what now?” You asked dumbly.

Taehyung placed a hand on his heart and slipped into a persona reminiscent of the male protagonist of one the many romance dramas that were plastered on television nowadays. His deep voice rumbled the soundproof padding on the walls and wrapped you in its velvety embrace.

“(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I’ve struggled with these emotions for so long, but news of your success has given me the courage to confess them. I can’t quite make heads or tails of them, but I want to explore them all with you…” Not that anyone but you and Yoongi could see the exchange, but Taehyung gently cupped your chin with his large hand and looked longingly into your eyes. “That is, if you’d let me.”

Silence. Then raucous laughter from you and Taehyung. (Yoongi was visibly cringing in his booth.) You expected nothing less from the theater major, but you couldn’t help the delicate fluttering that began in your stomach. Was this the fabled Taehyung Effect at work? The two of you turned to your microphones and opened the floor to callers, as per usual for this segment of your show. What was highly unusual, however, was the heartfelt “confession” that was unwittingly broadcasted to everyone tuned in. Unbeknownst to everyone, the red on-air sign shone above your heads, serving as a beacon or perhaps an unfortunately ignored warning. A warning that your lighthearted joke wasn’t going to be a joke to some.

A warning that the harbinger of doom himself was listening in… A warning that he had now collected leverage over his new enemy… A warning that he was going to destroy you, even if he had to use his own relative to do it. He would surely add this to his rapidly growing arsenal of schemes.

The next day, the very air at Mugunghwa was different. Somehow, despite being the enigmatic second-place student, everyone instinctively knew to distance themselves from you. Biologically speaking, humans were still animals, despite the staunch separation that was created over time. There was still a basal instinct to survive. In this case, that instinct screamed, “Get away from the brainlet that dared to tip the scales and anger Kim Namjoon.” You didn’t blame anyone for their decision. You couldn’t. You’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you did, and you didn’t want “hypocrite” to be engraved on your tombstone next to “cold-blooded killer”.

Everywhere you walked, people watched you intently with eyes filled with either fear, confusion, or disgust. You could hear thinly-veiled whispers as you passed your fellow students.

“There she is.”

“She’s surprisingly pretty. I expected some ugly broad to be under Namjoon’s shadow.”

Ah, yes. You had forgotten your previously fairly secretive life before the shoe dropped. You were content with living under the radar. After all, it kept the vicious rumors of the poor girl who by hook or crook got her way into an elite university on a full-ride scholarship at bay. As long as you held the number two spot, nobody cared about you. News of your arrival and subsequent theories surrounding it were just a fad that most people shortly moved on from. The drastic and sudden change from peaceful irrelevance to hostile notoriety made you nauseous.

The cold air nipped at your flesh while you made your way to the library. Fresh snow made its satisfying crunching sound as you sped towards your destination. Wait. Sped? Only when you looked down at your feet did you realize that your steps were quicker than usual. Needless to say, you were confused at this revelation. Were things really this bad? Why was your body subconsciously hurrying you along when no danger was immediately present? Then, it hit you: If the Kim Taehyung Effect caused your insides to flutter and your heart melt with glee, the Kim Namjoon Effect caused everyone to cower and hide in pure horror. Maybe it ran in the family. After all, the two were related. How that crucial detail managed to slip past you was beyond human understanding.

Soon enough, you made your way into the campus library. Warmth enveloped you and thawed your chilled skin with each step into the large building. The tall bookshelves that towered over you and the other patrons made you feel safe. The walls of knowledge served as barriers from the predatory glares that were shot your way anywhere else. Here, while not entirely forbidden, hushed insults and remarks were more so. The library was your sanctuary when the dormitories weren’t, and with all the girls and even your RA avoiding you like the plague, it was safe to say that your dorm wasn’t very inviting right now.

Whatever it took, you needed to get your mind off of the Namjoon business. Sitting down in the warm silence served to do just that. You absentmindedly wandered through the various sections of the building. The nutty scent of someone’s morning brew filled your nostrils on your journey, easily putting you at ease in an instant. The rhythmic click-clack of someone's fingers against a computer keyboard kept your body grounded to the Earth. It served as a nice tether and protection from your thoughts that threatened to whisk you away into the stratosphere with every step you took.

Your feet took you past the reference section, the nonfiction section, and even the genealogy section before making its final stop at the fiction section. When you first started college, you found it odd that a library carried such books, but you soon came to realize that an escape into another world was appreciated by everyone. A love for fiction did not have an age limit.

You found yourself engrossed in a high fantasy novel by one Bang Sihyuk. (A very talented author, you decided. You made a note to look into some of his other works when you weren’t staring death in the face.) The sweet sound of yet another page turning and revealing more of the lore slowed your racing heart. The subtle smell of ink and glue softened your muscles, willing them to relax into the plush chair. The floor lamp next to you glowed softly and turned the usually stark clash of pitch black lettering against white pages into a mellow brown against cream parchment.

Even if you knew you had to face the wolves outside your sanctuary eventually, you still savored the solace you had in that moment. What you never considered was that those halcyon days were going to soon fall into utter ruin and despair with a singular human-shaped silhouette.

Everywhere Namjoon went, eyes followed. The air around him crackled with apprehension, but he couldn’t care less if he tried. This was natural. The pitiful prey animals around scrambled away for dear life, functioning solely on the fleeting notion that sticking around would spell their demise. Most of the people here were college students beginning their prime. They couldn’t afford to wither away… Not yet, at least… And certainly not here.

Stifled gasps laced with fear and admiration threatened to strangle the poor Kim heir. How he so desperately wished that they would all shut up! The constant buzzing murmur felt like mosquitoes tiptoeing across his skin during the hot and balmy summer months. It was highly annoying, to say the least.

His piercing mocha eyes landed on a target. A mousy figure was dwarfed by Namjoon’s taller and muscular frame. Pair the size difference with his steely and—arguably murderous—gaze fixed on the piteous male before him, both parties were surprised that the smaller student didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

“I would stay to chat, but I have important business to attend to,” Namjoon began. The timbre of his voice seeped into the small man’s bones and rattled them with each syllable. “You obviously know something, or else you wouldn’t be so pathetically fearful.”

The other male gulped audibly. His dull brown eyes stared into Namjoon’s vibrant cocoa ones. His pupils contracted as a cold sweat formed on his forehead and neck. Deep down, he knew that one wrong move would send him spiraling into horrors unimaginable. This was Kim Namjoon he was dealing with. He only had one chance.

“I don’t know w-what you’re talking about…” He squeaked.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes with clear annoyance and disgust for the situation and the animal shivering before him. This caused the mousy man to gasp sharply.

“Tell me where (Y/N) (L/N) is. It’s a simple request. Even someone of your calibre should be capable of such a mundane task.” Namjoon stated simply. Disdain bled through his words into his tone and seeped into his prey’s already paper-thin psyche.

With a trembling arm, the rodent (as Namjoon decided to call him) pointed in the direction of the campus library. Of course you would be there. It made his blood boil to think that you’d already be in the library after receiving news of your latest feat. Anyone else would be a fool to risk losing such an honor. Studying was the only way to cement your new station as Mugunghwa’s new number one.

Without so much as a half-assed utter of thanks, Namjoon strode off in the direction of the large building. He was so hyper-focused on cutting you down and ensuring that you wouldn’t be a problem again that the signature thud of a body against snow missed his attention completely. The concerned and shocked gasps of onlookers didn’t affect him either.

Soon enough, he was at his destination. The same book-filled shelves and walls that greeted you greeted him at the entrance. Upon seeing his figure, the librarian at the circulation desk straightened in order to greet Namjoon properly. ‘At least one person here knew their place.’ He thought to himself.

“I’m looking for (Y/N) (L/N). It’d be in your best interest to point me in her direction as quickly as possible, Jimin.” Namjoon stated coolly with a tinge of nonchalance. Although he was painfully aware of the importance his little scouting mission served, his seemingly apathetic tone was the result of having said the same thing over and over like a broken record. The sooner he found you and got you to bend the knee, the sooner he could return home to his own studies.

The librarian, Jimin, nodded and swiftly pointed towards the fiction section. His mug of hazelnut coffee threatened to spill at the sudden and crisp motion. “She went that way, towards the fiction books.” He stated plainly. Namjoon couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his features. Jimin was always such an attentive servant.

Ever since that little incident before Mugunghwa’s annual recital, the dance major felt a deep sense of allegiance towards the older male. He had to. Namjoon was the only reason Park Jimin was able to continue his dream of becoming a world-class dancer, and it was made abundantly clear that what Kim Namjoon giveth, he can just as easily taketh away. Poor Jimin had no idea why you were being sought out by the most powerful student at the university, but he couldn’t help but suppress the gnawing sensation that he was leading you to a painful end.

Once again, forgoing a thank you, Namjoon began the final stretch of his arduous journey to find you and finally set things right in the world. The only issue was that he had no idea who he was looking for, exactly.

Oddly enough, despite your status, you had managed to keep a low profile. Very few people actually knew what you looked like. Hell, your student profile didn’t even have an image of you posted. In fact, the only way people outside of your direct circle of cohorts started to gather what you looked like was because the web connecting (Y/N) (L/N), radio show host and journalism major and (Y/N) (L/N), former number two was finally starting to weave itself. As far as most of the student body was concerned, you were nothing but a faceless placeholder image against a drab gray background. It wouldn’t have surprised Namjoon if you actually walked around with the words, “NO IMAGE AVAILABLE” permanently marked on your body. What he saw, however, was beyond his own comprehension.

There you were, his enemy, his prey. You sat idly in the large cushioned chair with your book nestled delicately in your hands. For the moment, you were blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed nearby. This was almost too easy. Almost as if your presence unlocked a vault to all his plans to destroy you, you looked at him.

And then his world changed. He almost felt sick at the sudden rush of sensory input his brain was forced to parse through. The previously unsaturated hall roared to life with colors he hadn’t even seen before. Warm browns, reds, and hues of every other name shot into Namjoon’s retinas upon gazing at your graceful form. This was (Y/N) (L/N)? This hidden gem? He was meant to demolish this?

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He wouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was rendered speechless. His heart began to beat in double-time. If his biological functions were a musical piece, this specific section’s tempo marking would be prestissimo. Beyond vivace, beyond presto.

He couldn’t take it, so for the first time ever, Kim Namjoon ran away.

You didn’t dare move. Fear wrapped its spindly fingers around your heart and clutched it in its icy grasp. You didn’t have to move your eyes off of the page to see who the shadow cast onto it belonged to. Deep down, you knew.

Goddamn it.

You just knew.

Just when you gathered the courage to face your doom head on, he was gone.

“What the fuck…?” You whispered. Your fantasy novel fell to the ground on its spine with a soft thud. Was this it? Were you officially losing it? Was stress causing you to hallucinate and see literal shadow people?! That was it.

Not wanting to have a literal breakdown in the middle of the library, you honed your senses in on the now cold-smelling coffee nearby. The faint hazelnut blend managed to at least tether you down to reality once more. You took a deep breath. Everything was now in focus. You had to leave, you decided. So that’s what you did.

If the library’s other patrons noticed the shocked, glazed over look in your eyes, nobody said anything. You had just come in contact with the menace. You were lucky to be alive. There’s no need to add insult to injury by inquiring about your current situation. Wordlessly, you ambled out of the library door. Jimin’s small eyes followed your every movement until you were finally out of his line of sight.

Soon enough, you made it to your dorm room. Oddly enough, it felt like you’d walked through a wormhole and warped to the private space. It appears that moving effortlessly through time and space was an eerily common theme that day. Not wishing to dwell on it any further, you plummeted onto your bed and let a dreamless sleep whisk you away from all your troubles.

A month had passed since your clandestine encounter with Namjoon. Surprisingly enough, after the first week or so of living in terror, the foreboding feeling of doom had all but disappeared. Like a colony of ants rebuilding their anthill after a sudden rainstorm, so too did Mugunghwa National Academy rebuild anew. As Thanksgiving rolled into Christmas, the student body had learned to accept that you were now at the top of the food chain. The status quo had shifted in your favor. Students that would previously mutter curses after you passed by would suddenly wave amicably once they noticed your presence.

While the sudden lack of hostility was appreciated, you couldn’t help but notice how shallow the whole situation was. A faint sense of disgust settled at the pit of your stomach. Or was it foreboding, after all? After your encounter with Namjoon’s shadow at the library, the Kim Industries heir had disappeared suddenly. He had disappeared without a trace. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His scores were still updated regularly; his name was still in the mouths of every man, woman, and child that walked across campus; and you swore that you saw his tall figure slither like a snake behind buildings and shrubbery one time after class. While there was solid proof that he still (at the very least) resided within this plane of existence, Kim Namjoon had achieved cryptid status. Just a month ago, he was the dark overlord that ruled Mugunghwa with an iron fist. Now, he was merely a relic of the past, a name synonymous with the Boogeyman. Kim Namjoon was now used to scare freshmen like tales of a monster under one’s bed were used to frighten young children.

The truth, like all things are, was much more complicated than that. After he met you, his goddess, at the library, Namjoon spiraled out of control. Nothing was the same for him. At first, it was a fleeting rush of endorphins, he had decided. Perhaps the sense of victory he felt after finding his long lost rival caused his brain to go into overdrive with glee. With that in mind, he returned home to lick his wounds and rewrite his battle plans.

The next day, everything seemed normal enough. His world was in grayscale once more. Individuals who weren’t of direct importance to him retained their distorted, blob-like features. His senses were mostly dulled once again… Until you appeared. You walked across campus with grace that put the supermodels that his father regularly “worked with” to shame. To be honest, they looked like pitiful crows with snapped legs when put up against your stork-like elegance.

His previously unsaturated world regained its color. His heart rate increased, warmth filled his veins as a result. Everything was crisply in focus when it came to you. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was terrified… But that’s what intrigued him all the more. Once you left his sight, however, the blooming colors vanished. Everything was blurred again. The warmth had died and left him empty, hollow, and cold. After a few days of this occurrence, Namjoon made his biggest realization yet: he was in love with you.

He was quick to write it off as pure lust. After all, remaining at the top didn’t leave much time for him to indulge in more carnal pleasures. Hell, the only thing he could remember slamming on a table on doing all night long was homework, as old and pathetic as the joke was. Namjoon was a dashing, intelligent young man beginning to reach his prime. Abstaining from such a primal and basic need wasn’t good for him. With that in mind, he immediately began his conquest.

First, it started with the models his father would fuck behind his mother’s back. Despite how carefully manufactured their appearances were, they didn’t quench his thirst. In fact, they enraged Namjoon to the point where it wasn’t uncommon for the women to leave his bedroom bruised the next morning. This charade went on for much too long until he’d had enough.

No other woman could set his heart aflame without even trying. No other woman could bring life to his distorted and achromatic world like you could. So he tried a man. Several men, in fact. He got so desperate that not even his little Park Jimin was safe from his ravenous clutches.

Nothing. Nothing had worked.

Now, as the clock struck midnight in his grand bedroom, Namjoon sat in his bed with his hand wrapped around his cock. He’d been so on edge for the longest time, yet nothing he did could stir him. So, he did the only thing he knew how… Thoughts of you filled his mind as he ghosted a finger across his limp member. The warmth he felt was returning once more…

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?”

There you were in the Kim manor’s living room. A black silk robe hugged your form perfectly as you bounded over to him. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains and cast you in its heavenly warm glow. Your (E/C) eyes peered up at him with such admiration, lust, and most importantly, love. Before he could even properly process the scene, you had him enveloped in the warmest hug imaginable.

Namjoon felt a rush of lust and blood shoot straight to his dick.

“I know, darling… But I’m here now. We can be together. I’m all yours from now on.” He replied smoothly.

Namjoon didn’t even think it possible for your eyes to shine any brighter, but they did. And they were all for him. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, for his eyes only… He gently caressed your cheek, careful not to mark it. The time for leaving marks and bruises would come later on…

“Really?” You asked. Your entire face lit with hope and wonder. “You mean it? Please don’t tease me, baby~. I don’t know what I’d do if you had to go so soon…”

You buried yourself into him, as if you knew that your home was within his embrace. He relished in it. He really did…

Namjoon felt feverish. His hands got to work immediately. Visions of you nestled against him, starlit eyes gazing into his, your form undulating beneath him as he pounded into you with everything he had. Your ecstatic moans and gasps filled his ears and mind, creating a carnal symphony only you could compose.

Sweat beaded on his temples, his arms beginning to burn with exhaustion as they continued to bring him to completion. Musical, “I love you, Namjoon”s and “Please! I’m so close, baby! Fuck me!”s began to crescendo rapidly. The world around him went from a gentle warmth to a blazing inferno. Colors reached their maximum saturation. Namjoon’s heart began to beat erratically. This was it. This was it! This is what he needed!

“Yes, (Y/N). You’re so good to me! Take it! Take it!!”

With an animalistic roar, Namjoon shot his seed. It coated his body and even his blanket that he pushed aside in his lustful fever. The fireworks came to a close. His jagged breaths began to even themselves out. The angels stopped singing. He was alone once more… But he wouldn’t be for long.

Tears filled Namjoon’s vision as he looked at his clock. Time wasn’t important anymore… But you were. He was going to have you, and he was going to become number one again. Kim Namjoon was going to be your number one.

Just like that, the year of terror had come and gone. Now, a new year was upon you and another December along with it. You stared up at your dorm room’s ceiling with a dumb smile etched on your face. After all, that was the only expression you could possibly muster, given the circumstances.

“Damn… What the hell happened to me?” Was all you managed to say as you turned onto your side. Your phone in hand, you scrolled through your photo gallery almost absentmindedly until you reached one particular photo. There you were at a carnival with the Devil incarnate, Kim Namjoon. Your eyes bright with glee at the large plush you held in one arm as you posed with Namjoon for a selfie.

You chuckled and zoomed in on the image with a wistful smirk. While you stared ahead at the camera, Namjoon stared at you with an expression that you didn’t even know that he possessed: pure, unadulterated admiration. You were almost inclined to call it love.

The past year and some change was a whirlwind. Your earliest memory of it consisted of finally coming to terms with the ecosystem at Mugunghwa, only to be faced with Namjoon and your whole world coming down. Students and staff alike scurried away from the dining area, not wanting to be a witness to a crime. You had gained new friends over the course of these months. They simply couldn’t stand to see your last moments on this earth in complete agony.

However, your death never came. Namjoon stood proudly in the now empty cafeteria, as if he relished in the fact that he could clear a room without uttering a single word.

“(Y/N) (L/N). It’s so good to finally put a name to a face… And what a lovely face it is…”

If Namjoon wasn’t going to kill you, the water lodged in your windpipe at his words would. You sputtered, hands waving as you choked on your water. Suddenly, Namjoon came behind you and swiftly patted your back. Once you could breathe again, you wiped at your tear-filled eyes and peered up at him. “I’m sorry… What?”

Namjoon returned to his original position in front of you with a smirk. Pulling out a chair, he sat down with the practiced air of a businessman about to make a deal. “I called you beautiful. I do hope that wasn’t too forward.”

Now, you were suspicious. Satan himself had saved you from choking and was now calling you attractive? Were you dead? Did you imagine Namjoon helping you as a last-ditch effort to survive somehow? Was that the image your brain created as you slipped away into the world of the dead? But this was reality. Something deep down told you that you weren’t dying or dreaming.

“Forgive my skepticism, but I highly doubt that you came to exchange compliments. What do you want, Kim Namjoon?” You asked icily. The male in front of you visibly recoiled at your tone, as if he didn’t factor in the possibility that you could speak with such a tone. He quickly recovered, however, and he began his pitch.

“You’re half right, (Y/N). I didn’t come here to only compliment you, but I came here to have a discussion that is long overdue. At my core, I am a businessman. I make deals, I negotiate. That’s what I’m here to do.” Namjoon stated simply. Looking deeply into his eyes, he didn’t show any signs of insincerity, but that’s to be expected. He’s been trained his entire life to hiding his true intentions behind an amicable facade, regardless of how nefarious his plans may or may not be.

“I see… What is it that you wish to discuss? I’m afraid that I’m not as well-versed in business etiquette as you, so please forgive me for any mistakes or slip-ups that I may make. That being said, this is not an invitation to walk all over me. I may be inexperienced, but I am by no means an idiot.”

Could you be any more perfect for him? A beautiful face and body, poise and grace, and the courage to hold her own in a negotiation? Not to mention, the colors were swirling around you and blooming delicately in such a comforting fashion. He was absolutely smitten.

“I wouldn’t dare make the mistake of calling someone who replaced me as top dog an idiot. Give me some credit. I’m not as vile as the university’s tall tales make me out to be. I’m sure that my cousin, Taehyung, could vouch for me.”

You bristled at the mention of Taehyung. What had he done to him? Did something happen? No, that couldn’t be. You had just finished your show with Tae only a half hour ago. Surely, that isn’t enough time for him to get into any trouble, right?

“Calm down, (Y/N). Nothing’s happened to him. I can see the wheels turning in your head. My cousin is safe and sound. I can even call him up for you, if you don’t believe me.” Namjoon said smoothly, already fishing his phone out of his designer coat’s pocket.

“No, that’s fine…” You swallowed and regained your composure. Once you were calmed down, you returned Namjoon’s gaze. “I’m sure he’s alright. If anything, I’ll call him later. Right now, this is more important.”

Namjoon put his phone away and leaned back in his chair whilst giving a dismissive wave of his hand. Hopefully, the display of nonchalance would mask the sheer excitement and feverish nervousness he felt from being so close to you. Hearing your voice was like hearing the soothing melodies of birdsong in the morning. His heart soared at the mere act of being in your presence.

“Very well. I came here to apologize. You see, I’m well aware of the distress to you and everyone here at Mugunghwa that I’ve caused, and for that, I’m sorry.”

You could have died right there. Kim Namjoon? Apologizing? And apologizing to you, no less?! The infamous heir to Kim Industries, known for the downfall of any and everyone who dared impede his goals was apologizing to you?!

“Please, (Y/N). Forgive me. It’s just that losing to you has put my life into perspective. Yes, I was the head of our class, but what did that mean? Why was I fighting so hard to keep a title that in the long run, means so little? What was the point if I had no one to share it with?”

“What the hell are you getting at, Kim? I fail to see what this has to do with conducting business.”

As precious as you were to him, Namjoon despised your tone. If you were to be his, that sharp tongue would have to be dealt with. Besides, in that instant, you reminded him of his lowlife father. That certainly wouldn’t do. His queen should never adopt the mannerisms of Kim Joonho. Never. Ever. You were to whisper sweet nothings into his ear while he reciprocated. You were to never take such a tone with him ever again.

“I was rambling, so I’ll forgive that insolent remark of yours just this once. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Namjoon stated darkly.

Not wanting to push your luck, you relented. You were actually talking to Kim Namjoon. You couldn’t afford to ruin an opportunity like this.

“Right.” He resumed “The truth is that I’ve been watching you for quite some time. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do anymore. You’ve occupied every inch of my mind, and I just wanted to ask if you’d be mine, (Y/N).”

You sat there, slack-jawed. Was he serious?! What was happening?

“You’re joking… There’s no way that you could be serious. There’s no fucking way!”

“I am. I’ve done some soul-searching recently, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you are what I’ve been fighting for all this time. Not a damn class rank. I’ve been fighting for love, affection, understanding… And I believe that I can find all of that in you.”

“You… What…? I- How?”

“February 14, a dozen red roses were waiting for you on your desk in your dorm. With them, was a card addressed to you from a secret admirer. March 14, a diamond necklace was gifted to you for White Day by a secret admirer. And now, these.”

Namjoon produced a stack of envelopes bound by a black silk ribbon from his jacket pocket.

“These are from me. You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). Can you tell me who your secret admirer is?”

That was April. After a few talks with your co-host and having to sit through embarrassing stories of their childhoods, you finally took the leap and went out on a date with Namjoon… And you were the happiest you’ve ever been. The large stuffed animal that Namjoon had won you sat on a bookshelf, next to several other trinkets he had given you over the months you had dated.

You chuckled to yourself at the memory and closed your photos app. After which, you opened up your messaging app to shoot a quick text to Namjoon. That was until, you got a notification reading,

KIM INDUSTRIES CEO, KIM JOONHO FOUND DEAD IN HIS WINTER ESTATE.

Without thinking, you dialed Namjoon’s number and was greeted by a somber moan answering the phone.

“Namjoon, baby, I’m so sorry… I just saw the news.”

A sniff. “Hey. So the news outlets already published the story, huh? I should have known that it wouldn’t take long… They could at least have the common decency of letting his corpse grow cold first before they publicize it.” Namjoon chuckled humorlessly.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t imagine going through the sudden shock of losing your parent, only to deal with the press soon afterward. You sensed that Namjoon needed some time to himself to grieve, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“Yeah, it’s shitty what they’re doing. And to think that I’m going into that profession. It’s crazy.”

“It is what it is, (Y/N). Besides, I have faith that you’ll be one of the good journalists that don’t try to weave everything that they hear into lies and defamation.” He said earnestly.

Something about the way Namjoon spoke was unnerving. He didn’t sound like someone who was mourning their late father, but then again, he might have been in shock. His apathetic demeanor on the matter must have been a coping mechanism. After all, losing your father so suddenly is a lot to process.

All you could do is hum in response. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so, dear.”

A pregnant pause.

“Hey, (Y/N). I know this sounds horribly insensitive, but, can we still have our dinner date at my mansion? It’s just that I can’t bear to be alone right now, and you’re the only person I’ve been able to trust lately. It doesn’t have to be a date. I guess I just want you to come over.”

Your heart shattered into smithereens. He was alone and scared. Namjoon had no one to trust or turn to in his time of need, yet he found it within his heart to ask you. Who were you to refuse?

“Alright. I’ll go. Same time?”

He didn’t have to say a word, but you could hear his dimpled smile some out to play.

“Y-yes, yes, of course! Same time! Thank you so much, (Y/N). You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Alright, see you soon. Bye.”

You hung up the phone with a sigh and faced your closet. You had exactly two hours to get ready for dinner. You had two hours to prepare…

And so did Namjoon.

Once again, Namjoon was summoned to his father’s study. He was expecting it sooner or later. His class rank hadn’t improved since his father sent him to take his top spot back by any means necessary, but you were number one now. Namjoon wouldn’t dare dethrone his goddess from her rightful pedestal.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was upon opening the large doors a swift slap coming across his face.

“You useless, useless brat! You can’t even eliminate a simple girl?! You can’t even reclaim your title?! How am I supposed to leave my estate and company in such incapable hands?!”

Joonho was fuming. His once pride and joy had betrayed him and disappointed him. How dare he? Namjoon sat on the floor, gingerly rubbing his cheek. He was sure his father’s handprint was burned into his flesh.

“I swear, you’re incompetent just like your brother! He disappointed me, and look at where he is now! I should have known that it was too good to be true.”

At the mention of his brother, Namjoon’s body stiffened.

“All of this. You’re ruining your life and your career all for some girl?! You’re willing to throw away what I’ve essentially bred you for, all for some lowlife pussy?!”

At the mention of you, Namjoon began to see red.

“I suppose I’ve been too lenient on you. I should have known that you would flounder. Maybe I’ll get rid of (Y/N) myself. It’s clear that she means a lot to you. Maybe you’ll get back in line once she perishes.”

That was the final straw. With pure rage fueling his every cell, Namjoon sprinted over to his father’s desk and grabbed his letter opener.

“Say it again, bastard! Say it again!”

Now, Joonho’s figure was dissolving into a crimson blob. All of his human like features were gone in a furious red haze. Kim Joonho wasn’t his father anymore. He wasn’t even human.

He was the enemy.

Without giving his father a chance to speak, Namjoon plunged the letter opener into the older man’s eye sockets. After that, it was a blur. Hours had seemingly passed and Kim Joonho was nothing but a human pincushion. Stab wounds littered his body, and blood was oozing out of every one. With a satisfied grin, Namjoon stood and cupped a crimson hand to his face.

“Seokjin! Seokjin! Come down here!”

The head butler rushed in the study and into the carnage. The older male was mortified at the bloodbath before him, but he couldn’t help the relieved smile and tears of joy forming in his tear ducts.

“Brother, come help me clean up father. Unless, of course, you have some words for him?”

Seokjin carefully approached his father’s corpse and smiled wickedly. He placed a gloved hand on his eyeless face.

“You’ve disappointed me, Joonho. And now look where that’s brought you. My transgressions against you warranted that I were to be stripped of my place in the world as your son, only to become your servant. Your transgressions warranted your death at the hands of your prodigy. Isn’t that poetic justice? Sleep well, father.”

“Master Namjoon will be down in a moment.” A maid stated as she had you seated.

A white cloth napkin was folded and placed on your lap while you got comfortable in the antique dining chair. Staff hurried to and fro to finish preparing for your meal, and it was almost amusing seeing them rush around like busy worker bees instead of the esteemed staff of the Kim Manor.

A few moments ticked away before Namjoon made his appearance. He was elegantly clad in a designer Armani suit, giving a regal and princely appearance as he made his way over to you from the grand foyer.

“Please forgive me, dear. I had some business to attend to.”

Namjoon outstretched his arms, motioning for you to give him a hug. You happily obliged.

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?” You cheekily giggled. If you ignored the whole dead dad situation, the whole scene would appear wholesomely domestic. You decided to indulge in that notion.

Namjoon’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry that I’ve kept you waiting. I hope that we can make up for lost time during dinner, yeah?”

You nodded and sat down in your chair. Namjoon was seated right beside you. As if on cue, the staff brought in your dishes. A classic Christmas dinner, consisting of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, ham, and vegetables was placed in front of you. On a small dish nearby, some cranberry jelly sat. You tried to hide the grimace at the red jelly. You were by no means a fan of the garnish, but you didn’t want to appear picky or ungrateful, especially considering the reason why you were having dinner with Namjoon in the first place.

Ever the attentive partner, Namjoon was keen on noticing your inner turmoil. “Is something not to your liking?”

“Uh, it’s just… I don’t really like cranberry jelly… That’s all.”

Namjoon looked utterly dumbfounded before letting out a joyful, booming laugh. “That’s all? Oh, (Y/N). You had me worried! I thought that I’d ruined the whole meal for you!”

His fork stabbed into a piece of turkey and he dipped the meat into the red gelatin.

“But, please do try the jelly. My brother and I, we made it for this occasion. I promise it’s nothing like the canned slop they sell in grocery stores.”

Namjoon made this? Now, this you had to try.

“Alright. Since you went through the effort of making it, I’ll give it a shot.”

You copied Namjoon’s actions of taking a slice of turkey and dipping it in the cranberry jelly. With the expression of a chef on Chopped, Namjoon eagerly watched as you placed the food in your mouth.

“Mmm! This is delicious! Namjoon, you should sell this! This is amazing!”

Another laugh came from Namjoon, although, this one had an arguably maniacal lilt. “Why, thank you, but I’m afraid that this specific batch is one of a kind. Besides, cranberry jelly isn’t the most profitable market out there.”

Little did you know that you had just ingested Kim Joonho’s coagulated blood. Perhaps that was why his cranberry jelly was one of a kind.

Merry Christmas.

#bwcssy2

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allsassnoclass · 4 years ago

Text

i blame it on the weather (can you make it better)

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Key Tag(s): College AU, Cold, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 6,177

Read on AO3

A/N: this was tailor-made for @michaelownsmyheart. I hope you like it darling <3 also big shout out to @clumsyclifford for looking this over and giving me Good Advice

—

Michael doesn’t remember the dorm being this cold when he left in December. He doesn’t know how the space between him and Calum got that cold, either.

—

The drive back to campus feels shorter than normal, songs on the radio flying by with other cars on the highway the further Michael gets from his family and the closer he gets to the loneliness of an empty dorm. Normally he wouldn’t mind having the place to himself, especially because that means he can blast music as loud as he wants and no one else is going to take the shower with the good water pressure, but there’s something foreboding about it now.

His phone is still empty of messages from the one person he’s been waiting to hear from. Two weeks alone in the dorms wouldn’t be so bad if he had Calum on the other end of the line to keep him company.

He pulls into his parking spot right as snow begins to fall, a little earlier than predicted. He sends a quick text to his parents to let them know he made it safe, then grabs his bags and makes the trek to his dorm. It’s an older building elegantly nestled between the newer residence halls with better air conditioning or elevators that don’t break down every month, but there’s more character to it. The other dorms are boxy and made of dark brick, but this one is lighter with turrets at the top and heavy wooden doors. It looks more like a fantasy castle than a dorm building, and Michael’s mum had fallen in love with it immediately on their campus tour a few years ago. Now that Michael is living here it’s lost some of its luster, but it’s also the only building to have single rooms, and while having Luke as a roommate turned out alright in the end last year, he likes being able to have the room to himself all of the time.

Michael fumbles for his key card to swipe himself in, biting off one of his gloves so he can get it out of his wallet. Thick flakes land on his coat and hands, the kind that would probably be good for making snowmen if he still did stuff like that but that will be hell to drive in later. Hopefully the roads will be clear enough by tomorrow, and he probably has some ramen that he never made from last semester that he can heat up for dinner tonight.

Inside doesn’t feel much warmer than outside, but there’s no snow or wind. Michael stomps his feet in an attempt to get all of the snow off his boots, but freezes as soon as he glances up.

Nestled amongst the armchairs, big windows, fireplace, piano, and little side tables that make up the front lounge, Calum Hood stares back at him like a deer in headlights. He’s got a notebook and pencil in his hand and a textbook open in front of him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders in a way that Michael wishes he were. He looks exactly the same as he did when Michael last saw him a few weeks ago, except he’s fully clothed this time. He looks good. He looks cozy.

He looks like Michael is the last person he wants to see.

Michael clears his throat.

“I didn’t know you were back on campus,” he says.

“I’m taking a j-term and thought it’d be easier to focus here,” Calum replies, lifting the notebook halfheartedly. “It’s a prereq for my chem class this semester. It turns out that switching majors put me a bit behind this time.”

Michael nods. Calum started as a music education major, then switched to an elementary education major before realizing he didn’t want to deal with little kids. Now he’s studying to be a high school science teacher, which means he has a few freshman science classes he needs to squeeze into his schedule. He hadn’t said anything about a j-term to Michael when he registered, but they also haven’t exactly been communicating much since before finals.

“I didn’t expect anyone back yet,” Calum says eventually.

“I got permission to come back early so I can take a few more shifts. Gotta pay for college somehow, you know…”

Michael trails off, unbalanced and uncomfortable. It feels wrong to be reacting like this around Calum, just like it felt wrong to not hear from him during finals or break, but after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence and chewing his lip he hefts his bag higher on his shoulder and makes an excuse about wanting to get his room back to rights. He feels Calum’s eyes on him as he leaves, the weight of his gaze lingering even after Michael has entered the stairwell, dug out his key, and entered his room. When he takes off his jacket he immediately reaches for a blanket, wrapping himself up and trying to suppress the shivers threatening to erupt throughout his body.

He doesn’t remember the dorm being this cold when he left in December. He doesn’t know how the space between him and Calum got that cold, either.

-/-

Once he has a bowl of instant ramen in front of him and his stuff more or less put away, Michael calls Luke.

“Good morning,” Luke answers, a leftover joke gone stale from when they were roommates with opposite sleep schedules. It almost makes him wish for a simpler time when Luke was forcing him to go places like Welcome Week events and they were literally running into people like Calum and Luke was forcing them all to be friends even though Michael’s smoothie got spilled and Calum dropped his nachos. Michael would take being newly flustered over a hot guy who got a strawberry drink all over his favorite sweatshirt rather than having Calum not fucking talk to him.

“Did you know that Calum’s doing a j-term?”

Luke sighs on the other end of the line.

“I’m doing fine, Michael, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I’m bad. Calum is here and no one warned me.”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell him that you would be back early, either.”

“That much was obvious.” Michael stirs his noodles, suddenly feeling like he doesn’t have the right appetite for this. “He looked like me showing up was the worst thing in the world.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” he says. “You should’ve seen him. He hates me now, and I still don’t know what I did wrong.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Luke says. “He misses you, too.”

“If he misses me so much, he should respond to my texts.”

Luke hums on the other end of the line.

“You’re both in the same place now. Maybe you can corner him in person.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if someone would just tell me what happened.”

“What happened is that you two slept together and then Calum ghosted you,” Luke sighs. “If you want his reasoning, you have to ask him. I will not be a messenger pigeon for you two.”

“I feel like that metaphor works best only if he’s been asking about me, too,” Michael says. Luke doesn’t respond right away, a drawn out pause that makes Michael look up from his noodles. He wishes they were video chatting so he could see what sort of expression Luke is wearing. “Luke, has he asked about me?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now,” Luke says.

“You fucker, he has talked about me! Do you know why he ghosted me?”

“Stop using me as a go-between! If you want to know why Calum hasn’t replied to your messages, ask him yourself. You both need to get your heads out of your asses and communicate. I can’t believe I’m the one who has to say that.”

Silence descends and Michael pulls his phone away from his ear to see that Luke hung up on him. Michael huffs. A second later his phone lights up with an incoming call, a very unattractive picture of Luke staring at him from his screen. He considers letting it ring out and go to voicemail, but in the end he decides to take the high ground and answer.

“What,” he says flatly.

“Sorry I hung up on you,” Luke says. “I don’t like being caught between you both.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t like it, either.”

“Will you try to talk to him? He’ll let you if it’s in person.”

“I guess.”

Luke hums. They stay on the phone a little longer, small talk filling the silence so Michael doesn’t have to be alone while he eats, but he knows he’s being a bad conversation partner, too distracted by what Calum may or may not have been saying about him to Luke. When they finally hang up Michael flops back on his bed and groans, wondering if he should just move to Antarctica and change his name rather than put himself through this.

-/-

He manages to go the rest of the night without any indication that Calum is there. They miss each other in the bathroom, but every sound in the hallway has the hair on his arms standing on end, wondering if it could be Calum or just the settling of the near-empty building. He sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning on the sub-par dorm mattress, cuddling deeper into his blanket in an attempt to find some much-needed warmth.

The last night he spent with Calum, and the first night they’d spent together in that way, Michael fell asleep warm. It was almost too hot, sticky under the covers and burning wherever their skin touched, but he loved it. He’d take the heat over the cold any day, and he hasn’t felt warm since he woke up alone, bed feeling too big without the other boy in it to act as his personal space heater.

That morning the sheets had still smelled like him, but they were cold. He’d left long before Michael woke up. Michael’s first morning back feels like a mirror of that day. Right before he fully wakes up he catches himself reaching for Calum and coming up empty. When he realizes what he had been doing, he forces himself to get up rather than stay in bed and wallow only because he can’t afford to be late to work on his first day back and he doesn’t trust the roads to be cleared yet. The college is situated on the outskirts of town, an odd placement that puts a woodsy area to one side and only a few smaller shops next to it. Michael hadn’t managed to land a job in one of those places, but the family-owned restaurant he works at pays enough to be worth the gas it takes to get there. He throws on a hoodie and slippers and shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Calum is already at one of the sinks when he enters. Michael doesn’t let his eyes stray from his face, refusing to take in the tan shoulders and torso or the drops of water glistening against him, leading down to the towel wrapped around his hips. He has a toothbrush in his mouth, foam gathering at the corners of his lips, lips that Michael has--

No. He can’t think about this now.

“Morning,” he says, clearing his throat to get it to work properly.

“Morning,” Calum replies around his toothbrush, consonants muffled. He spits into the sink and Michael makes himself focus on his own morning routine, meticulously putting toothpaste on his own brush and hoping it’s not obvious that even glancing at Calum is dangerous for him right now.

Neither of them try to say anything more, and Michael wonders if the silence is hanging as heavily in the air for Calum as it is for him. Before break, silences between them were the only types of silences Michael could stand. He’s fidgety by nature and gets uncomfortable without background noise, but Calum always managed to temper that a bit. Being around him settles something inside, something that right now makes Michael want to scream.

He’s about to try to break the silence when Calum picks up his bathroom caddy and leaves without so much as a glance his way. Michael tries not to let it bother him, but he misses the weight of his gaze. Calum used to look at him fondly, filled with enough affection that Michael could feel it in his heart. He doesn’t understand why that would have to change now.

By the time Michael goes to start his car for work, Calum has set himself up in the lounge again, laptop open in front of him. He’s turned on the fireplace, something that Michael thinks they're not technically supposed to do but that he’s certainly not going to call him on, and he doesn’t look up when Michael comes down the stairs. Michael lingers by the doorway longer than he should.

They’ve spent a lot of time in this room, whether doing homework on the couch, trying to play duets on the piano in the corner, or hogging the chess set by the window, figuring out how to play and passing the time.

The chess board is set up for a fresh game. In a naive fit of hope Michael walks over to it and moves one of the pawns forward. Calum doesn’t glance up from his computer, but he’s still in a way that means he knows what Michael is doing.

On his way out he thinks he hears someone say drive safe, but the howling of the wind is already filling his ears and he can’t be sure.

-/-

Michael gets sent home early because of the snow. He fights it all the way there, pulling in late because he had to move so slow, and halfway through his shift the manager calls it, deciding to close up for the day. Right after he clocks out Michael gets a notification on his phone for a severe blizzard alert, and he steels himself to face it before leaving behind the warmth of the restaurant. Outside the world is covered in a thick sheet of white, plows not able to keep up with the large flakes still falling from the sky, and Michael wills his car to survive the drive, windshield wipers going furiously in an attempt to keep him seeing as much as he can. The drive takes three times longer than usual, and when he finally spots his dorm through the snow it comes with a sigh of relief.

Calum is still in the lounge when he comes inside and stomps his feet to get some feeling back into them. With the snow came a biting wind, and even after barely being outside he feels frozen.

“I was getting worried,” Calum says, startling him. “It looks like it’s bad out there.”

“It is,” Michael says, taking off his hat and shaking snow off of it. He squints at Calum, in a different position and bundled in a blanket now, the big blue one that Mali got him as a grad present. Michael once again has to push away the urge to cuddle up to him.

“It’s fucking cold,” he says instead, because it’s true and if he doesn’t make small talk he’s going to blurt something embarrassing like I’ve been thinking about you all the time or why did you leave me or I love you I love you I love you I’m sorry please can we be friends again?

“Going to be a cold night for us, then,” Calum says. “The heating’s been shit this break. I don’t think they keep it up as high when there’s only one student here.”

“I’ve had a few cold nights,” Michael snorts before he thinks about it. “I mean--I’ll use some extra blankets.”

Calum nods once. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then snaps it shut again, looking down at his computer. It feels like a dismissal, like Michael isn’t worth his time anymore, and it stings.

He should go upstairs, anyway. He needs to find some blankets of his own. He glances over the piano and the fireplace, eyes landing on the chess game by the window.

Someone has moved a pawn on the other side. He glances at Calum, then moves a knight, continuing the game. He wants to ask Calum to sit down and play a proper round with him, but one glance at Calum’s posture has him biting his tongue. He’s closed off, blanket wrapped around him securely and face tense, and Michael can’t bring himself to bother him, not when interacting with Michael seems to be the last thing he wants to do.

Michael looks back at the chess set, three pieces out of place, and heads to his room.

-/-

The night comes simultaneously fast and slow in the way that all boring winter nights do. Michael sits in his room scrolling through social media while the sun sets around him, and when he does eventually get up it’s only so he can make more ramen to eat. He had lunch at the restaurant and never did get to the grocery store, but he has a few snacks to munch on and if things get really bad he can always see if Calum has anything he’s willing to share.

Calum initiated conversation earlier, so things can’t be too bad between them, right? It’s still terribly stiff and uncomfortable, but at least he’s not getting the silent treatment anymore. At least Calum looked at him for a little bit.

He plays video games until he’s too bored to continue, then showers and crawls into bed. It’s still cold, just like Calum said it would be, but they haven’t lost power yet. Michael piles on the blankets and pillows, but his sheets are frigid, not yet warmed by his body heat and making him shiver. After a few minutes of tossing and turning he considers boiling water just to have a warm mug to hold in his hands.

Maybe it’ll be better in the lounge with the fireplace on. No one’s here to get mad at him for falling asleep on the couch, but then he’d have to haul all of his blankets down there, something that he doesn’t think he has the energy for right now.

He wishes Calum were here. It feels like all he’s done since getting back to campus is think about Calum, his presence in the building affecting him more than it would have if he was fully alone, but in a pragmatic sense he also really wants a warm body next to him right now. Two people under the covers are warmer than one, and he’s already put on socks and a hoodie. Wrapping himself in Calum would keep him warm on a physical level, and maybe it’ll settle him enough that he’ll actually be able to sleep without having weird dreams or waking up every few hours.

He hasn’t even gotten close enough to touch him since getting here. Before break, he and Calum were always handsy with each other, personal space a myth with the two of them. It feels wrong to have seen him and not immediately gone in for a hug.

He flops onto his stomach, trying to get comfortable without disturbing the blankets too much, but sleep isn’t coming easy. When a knock comes on his door, he’s immediately awake and alert. He wonders if it was a piece of a dream instead, given that there’s only one other person in the building and late night visits did not seem to be an option on the table, but after a few moments someone knocks again.

The light of the hallway is bright after the dark of his room, making him squint at the silhouette of Calum standing before him, wrapped in a blanket like he always seems to be right now. His hair is messy, no doubt from his own fitful attempt to sleep, and Michael wants to run his fingers through it and put it back to rights.

“Hi,” Michael says.

“I called maintenance about the heat,” Calum says. “They said they’re having a bit of issue with it and will send someone out, but with the road conditions it could be a little while. I think they forgot that there were people here.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Okay.”

He stares at Calum again, cataloguing how tightly he’s wrapped up and the way he’s chewing on his lips. Michael waits for him to say what he really came here to.

“It’s really fucking cold, Michael,” Calum blurts finally, a little desperate.

“I know,” Michael says, not sure how to tell Calum that he’d set the world on fire for him if it would help.

“It’d be warmer if we were together. Like, scientifically speaking. If we cuddled, it would warm us up a bit.”

“Well, you are the scientist in this duo. You would know.” Calum finally meets his eyes, looking up through his eyelashes a little in a way that’s completely unfair. He’s already got Michael wrapped around his finger, heart skipping a beat at the simple occasion of having his attention again.

He has it so bad that it’s pathetic.

“Is that all?” Michael asks, trying to scrape together some of his dignity. Calum has been ghosting him for weeks, and a conversation about the bad heating isn’t exactly what Michael wanted from a real conversation with him. He’s too tired for small talk and much too cold to be standing here when he could be under the covers.

“You’re shivering,” Calum says. Michael hadn’t noticed the small tremors, but now that Calum pointed them out he can’t ignore them.

“Come on, Mikey,” Calum says, stepping closer. Michael wants to lean into him and the warmth he promises. “I promise it’ll be warmer if we cuddle.”

“Do you want to come in?” he asks. Calum nods, so he steps aside.

Having Calum in his room again when the last time included one of the best and most overwhelming experiences of Michael’s life is weird, to say the least. It’s like Michael can see two versions of him: the current Calum, wrapped in a blanket and closed off in every conceivable way, and the Calum from that night, laughing at all of Michael’s jokes and spouting off facts about gravity to explain how they kept getting closer and closer.

“See, everything with mass exerts gravity on everything else, except typically it’s not enough to be noticeable compared to the gravity of the Earth. Your gravitational field must be really strong today.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No, Michael, you idiot. Stop misinterpreting what I’m saying!”

Calum surveys the room, the safety light reflecting off the snow outside just enough to give him silhouettes to work with. Michael wonders what he’s remembering.

“How do you want to do this?” Michael asks when the silence has stretched on for too long. Calum shrugs, so Michael climbs up onto his bed, sliding under the covers and leaving a corner flipped up in invitation. Calum hesitates, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s going to turn tail and run, but he throws his blanket on top of the covers and joins. The bed is too small to avoid some awkward elbows and involuntary brushes of clothing, barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Michael holds his breath while Calum gets somewhat settled, pressed against the wall to give him as much room as possible.

“It’ll be warmer if we’re touching,” Calum whispers, words hitting Michael like a shout with the close proximity and otherwise silence of the room. If the lights were on, Michael would probably be able to count his eyelashes, but now his face is a combination of different shadows.

“How do you…” Michael trails off. Calum reaches out first, a cold hand wrapping around his own and pulling him closer. They end up with Calum on his back and Michael’s head on his shoulder, legs tangled together. Michael’s sure that Calum can hear how loud his heart is beating, but he can feel Calum’s own beating in a similar pattern so he can’t be too upset about it. He can hear every inhale and rustle of clothing, can feel the soft cotton of Calum’s shirt against his cheek and smell the faint remains of his soap.

He’s warm. It’s not the burning heat from their last night together, but it’s almost worse with the gradual way that Michael can feel himself unthaw in his presence, slow enough that he could forget it’s happening only to wake up as an irreparable puddle.

“Okay?” Michael asks, sending flashbacks to the last few times he had asked that question and Calum’s answers: always positive, whether a verbal yes or a nod or a fierce kiss and wandering hands.

“Yeah,” Calum says. Michael swallows.

Calum starts tracing a design on his back with his finger, barely-felt with Michael still bundled up. Michael wills himself to stay in the moment rather than slipping into the past or wishing for a different future.

It’s not bad like this. He gets Calum close at least, receiving that little piece of contact from him that he’s been craving. If this is the last time they’re like this, he wants to enjoy it if he can.

He shifts, Calum freezing under him for a moment until they both exhale and relax a little more.

Michael closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

“Michael?” Calum whispers after a few minutes. For a moment he considers not answering, sure that anything Calum might think to say in the dark of the night will be something he doesn’t want to hear, but all he’s been asking for the past few weeks is his attention, and it seems vindictive to reject it now.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael should ask for clarification on what, exactly, Calum is apologizing about. He’s opened the door to this conversation, and Michael should take the opportunity to finally walk through and get their wires straightened out, but he can’t bring himself to do any of that, not like this. Not when Michael is breathing him in and stealing his warmth and there’s absolutely nothing between them to act as a buffer.

In the dark cuddled up together, Michael can keep pretending that Calum isn’t about to crush him. As long as he doesn’t ask for clarification, it’s like Schrodinger’s heartbreak: Michael can be both loved and lonely at the same time.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” he asks. “We need to talk about it, but I’m tired. And cold. Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Calum says. Michael waits to see if there’s anything else, but Calum just resumes tracing his secret design on Michael’s back.

Michael closes his eyes and hopes they don’t freeze to death in the night, twin skeletons found tangled together by some unsuspecting third party when the thaw comes. He’s not sure when he falls asleep and begins to dream, but in his mind Calum presses a kiss to his hair and Michael tries not to let such a simple action break him.

-/-

When he wakes up the bed is cold and empty again. It shouldn’t be surprising, certainly not after last time. There was less expectation to stay here, but everything is ugly in the cold light, shattering the fragile balance of the night before. Michael feels a pit in his stomach, but also a hot flare of anger.

Calum is the one who came begging for his company yesterday after completely ignoring him for weeks. Calum is the one who left without a trace after Michael showed him he loves him the best way he knows how. Calum is the one who keeps running away from this, but Michael is the one who keeps getting hurt and that’s not fair.

It’s a little warmer in the building now, the heaters likely getting sorted while they were sleeping, but Michael still grabs a blanket. No one answers Calum’s door and the bathroom seems to be empty. He heads downstairs to see if he has set himself up in the lounge again and knows he’s on the right track when he starts to hear piano music drifting softly towards him the more he descends the stairs.

Calum is one of the only people who ever uses the grand piano in the lounge. It’s slightly out of tune, just enough for Michael himself to notice but for Calum to complain about a lot. Michael has spent a lot of later nights in the lounge listening to him play, whether he was practicing back when he used to be a music major and take lessons or just playing for fun. Calum curses a lot when he practices, but Michael has also caught him with his eyes closed and a content smile on his face, letting the music take him away. Watching him like that, Michael sometimes wonders why Calum switched from music to science, but the rarity of the moments makes them all the more special.

He’s playing a piece that he’s been working on for a while. Michael tries not to disturb him, walking slowly towards the chess set where another piece has been moved in a continuation of the game. Calum must have pulled the curtains by the windows up, deep drifts of snow piled against them and sunlight reflecting off the white to set the entire room aglow. In this setting and with this soundtrack, the morning feels less frosty.

The last note hangs suspended in the air and Michael holds his breath until it dissipates. Calum sighs, breaking his posture to slump down, and turns to face Michael.

“You’ve gotten better at that one,” Michael says.

“Easier to practice when I don’t have to go to the music hall and no one’s here to use the piano.”

Michael studies him, taking in his rumpled appearance. He doesn’t look like he’s been up that long, still in the same pants he went to bed in and already folding the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands to keep them warm.

The sweatshirt he’s wearing is one of Michael’s. His heart flip-flops.

“Did you want to talk now?” Calum asks.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs. Calum nods once. He scoots over on the piano bench, making room, and Michael gingerly sits next to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he offers part of his blanket, nearly sighing in relief when Calum accepts it.

“I’m sorry for how I left, and for not replying to any of your messages,” Calum begins. “That was a jerk move.”

“It was,” Michael says. “You’re my best friend, Calum. If I had known that’s how you’d react, I wouldn’t have--” He stops, because he doesn’t want to say he regrets sleeping with Calum unless he has to. It would be a lie. He’d rather have Calum as a friend than nothing, but the will-we-won’t-we would’ve killed him eventually, and the night itself was amazing right up until Calum left.

“I don’t want to jeopardize that,” he says instead. “You mean a lot to me.”

Calum presses his lips together.

“Why did you leave?” Michael asks. “I thought we were on the same page. I mean… you wanted it, right? You said you did. I thought you did. I didn’t--”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Calum interrupts. “I did want it. I really wanted it. Too much, probably.”

“What does that mean?”

Calum sighs, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his sleeves again. Michael wants to know why he’s so nervous. He wants to grab his hands and hold him steady the way that Calum does for him when he’s freaking out, but that wouldn’t be welcome right now.

“Michael, I can’t do something casual with you. You’ve said before that you’re not looking for anything serious, but I can’t be friends with benefits, not with you. Not when I’m in love with you. It’d tear me apart.”

“What made you think I wanted something casual?” Michael asks. “Apparently you couldn’t tell, but that night was kind of a big deal for me. I’m not exactly known for sleeping around.”

“Michael--”

“I’ve been crushing on you since we met, okay?” Michael says, turning to face him more fully. “I wasn’t looking for something serious with anyone else because I’ve been hung up on you. That night was one of the best nights of my life, and then you weren’t there in the morning. I thought I had fucked up. I thought I had ruined one of the most important relationships in my life.”

“You didn’t,” Calum says, grabbing his hand. “I should have talked to you instead of running away. That’s on me.”

“Yeah it is,” Michael sulks. “Why didn’t you? Why’d you just assume what I wanted instead of bothering to ask me? That hurt, Cal.”

“I know.” Calum grimaces, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought I knew what you wanted. Or didn’t want, I guess. I didn’t consider that you could like me until you kissed me, and you’ve never shown interest in an actual relationship. I wasn’t ready for you to reject me.”

“But I wasn’t going to,” Michael says. “You’re you. You’re the exception.”

“I didn’t know that, though. We didn’t exactly sit down for a conversation. Our mouths were otherwise occupied that night, if I remember correctly.” Michael opens his mouth to protest, then snaps it shut.

He doesn’t remember exactly what he said in the heat of it, but he remembers biting back I love you, knowing it was too early to be throwing that phrase around, no matter how true it was. Maybe he ended up hiding the sentiment a bit more than he anticipated.

“You still should’ve talked to me,” he says.

“I know,” Calum replies, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better with that.”

Michael squeezes his hand back.

“So,” he says, “you like me?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A lot.”

“You got that I like you, too, right? I said that. I’ve had it bad for you since we met.” Calum frowns.

“You took a while to warm up to me. I thought you were still holding a grudge because I spilled your smoothie.”

“No, you had me tongue-tied,” Michael says. “I had to figure out how to function around you. You’re really hot and it made me flustered.”

“Shut up,” Calum says. He’s blushing, crimson staining his cheeks enough for Michael to see, sending a strong thrill of satisfaction through him.

“I’m serious,” he needles. “You’re ridiculously attractive, dude. You’re not going to hear the end of it from me now. I’ve said it once and now there’s nothing to stop me from saying it five times a day.”

Calum laughs and tucks his face into Michael’s shoulder. Michael feels his own happiness bubble up inside him, threatening to burst. He brings Calum’s hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it in an attempt to release some of the pressure.

“Are we boyfriends now?” Calum asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Michael says. “Unless you don’t want to be, but that’d be lame.”

“I want to be,” Calum says quickly.

“Good,” Michael says. “Then we are.”

“Good.”

They sit for a while, and this silence feels comfortable again, like their old ones. Michal could stay suspended in this moment like the final note of Calum’s piano song and feel content with it rather than uncomfortable. That more than anything lets him know they’ll be okay.

“I’m cold,” Calum says eventually.

“We should move by the fire.”

“We should eat breakfast,” Calum counters. Michael hums and gives Calum’s neck an exaggerated sniff, making him squirm and giggle again.

“You should shower,” he says.

“Fuck you. That’s rude.”

“I could join you?” Michael offers.

“These showers are not big enough for two people,” Calum says. “Nice try, though.”

He stands and kisses Michael on the forehead, tucking the blanket back around him.

“Can I kiss you properly?” Michael asks. Calum nods and leans down again, the gentle press of his lips both familiar and thrilling, sweeter in the morning light.

“Breakfast, then I’m going to shower alone, then I think we have a chess game to finish.”

“Or we could make out all day while we have the lounge to ourselves.” Calum considers him, tilting his head and giving a wry smile.

“We can do that if you win the chess match.”

“Deal,” Michael says. It’s an easy bargain, because Michael is better at chess than Calum is, and with that prize on the line nothing’s going to distract him.

“Breakfast,” Calum repeats, tugging on his hands until he’s standing, too. Michael leans forward and kisses him again, just because he can now. Calum beams and leads him to the stairs, Michael tripping over his blanket and Calum’s laugh filling the room.

It could just be the heating kicking in more, but Michael isn’t sure he needs the blanket right now, not when Calum is here warming him from the inside out.

#my writing #5sos fanfiction #malum #michaelownsmyheart #lads. I cannot describe to you the difficulty I had in picking a summary for this bad boy #I'm sorry it's vague but you just gotta trust me when I say the fic isn't bad #I personally think it has some great lines in there #anyway I made the moodboard before I wrote most of the fic what's up with that #just felt Creative I guess #in the wrong medium because I'm really skimming my personal deadline here #anyway! hope y'all enjoy

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years ago

Text

“For You” - A Sunshine Sequel

M/F Pairing: Felix and Kara (OC)

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: smut (they have sex without a condom), language, alcohol use, minor mentions of violence (like maybe a line or two)

Genre: Romance AU; Sequel

Summary: Yeah, Felix got the message: Kara is bad news. He’s been crushing on her for years, and every time they come together, there’s always something, or someone, ready to pull them apart. But when Kara shows up at his apartment door one night drenched from the rain, Felix can’t resist inviting her into his life again. However, this time Kara insists that she’s serious about a relationship, but can they convince the others of her honesty?

Felix had a lot of regrets in his life, but he also didn’t know a person alive who could proudly support every major decision that had some impact on their future.

For instance, when Felix turned sixteen, he totaled his step-mother’s car after sneaking out with Minho to attend a college party. His parents were rightfully furious with him, and Felix was forced to take a summer job to pay for the damages. But then again, those kinds of mistakes never left a lasting mark, and Felix had come to the realization that it was often the people in your life who created the biggest impact.

Ever since he could remember, there was always someone who hurt him in some way, whether or not it was deserved. But none of those people could hold a candle in comparison to Changbin’s little sister. Because Kara Seo managed to worm her way into his life, and Felix was never the same after he found himself falling head over heels for the younger girl.

Throughout their history together, it was always Kara who gave up on them, leaving him for other guys or ignoring Felix’s attempts to try and become even closer. It molded him into the cautious person that he was when it came to relationships, and she managed to effectively snatch his heart straight out of his chest, returning it several times over with more bruises and scratches.

Yet, when Felix saw Kara Seo standing outside of his apartment one evening after months of being incognito, drenched to the bone from the rain, Felix made another questionable decision when he pulled her into the living room by the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Let’s warm you up,” Felix said, and it was an instinctual reaction to bring her into his living room while he made something warm in the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Kara said, and she sat next to Felix on the sofa with a warm cup of coffee between her hands as an uncomfortable silence made everything even more awkward. But that’s to be expected after an entire year of radio silence from Kara Seo. Especially since the last time she and Felix had tried things out together, their relationship ended in disaster following Y/N and Changbin’s intervention.

“How have you been, Kara?” Felix asked, wincing when his voice broke the tension hanging in the air.

“Not so good,” Kara replied, and she looked down at her beverage. “Yeah, things kinda went south for me after I went back home.”

“You mean, after the last time you left,” Felix said, and he remembered Kara’s unexpected excursion in the city with her brother - when she and Felix had tried to date in secret. But Felix’s step-sister ensured that the relationship died in dramatic fashion, and she sent Kara high-tailing it back to the suburbs.

“Right,” Kara acknowledged. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Felix frowned because they were empty words in his opinion, especially since Kara had a track record of running away when things got too scary or difficult for her to manage. He supposed that one could blame it on her immaturity and inexperience, but she was in her mid-twenties at this point, and that excuse didn’t really work anymore.

“What are your plans this time?”

“I’m not sure,” Kara said, and she shivered before taking a sip of her drink, but Felix wasn’t quite sure if the motion was due to the cold or because she was thinking of something that she didn’t like.

“Can I ask why you decided to come back?” Felix ventured before trying to re-frame the question. “What made you leave home?”

“I’m always drawn back,” Kara admitted, and she gave Felix a vulnerable stare. “I think it’s because of you.”

“M-me?” Felix spluttered, and shock coursed through his veins as he tried to figure out what the actual hell Kara could mean by that statement.

“It makes sense,” Kara said with a loose shrug. “Okay, maybe not to you or anyone else, but it does to me.”

But Felix didn’t really know how to respond to her confession, so he swallowed down the remaining questions with a long pull from his beer bottle.

“I was really mean to you, Felix,” Kara continued, and she dropped her hand down on top of his with one smooth motion.

Felix was just grateful that he hadn’t gone for another drink because he would’ve surely choked to death following the sensation of her touch.

“I’m just as guilty for always believing you,” Felix said, and he knew that it was a harsh statement. Because even Kara looked taken aback, returning her hand to her own lap as she nodded.

“You’re right,” Kara said. “You deserve to be angry with me, but I want you to know that I’ve been thinking about these things for a while since the last time I left.”

“And?”

“I guess I realized that it never made sense in my mind,” Kara explained. “To me, I’ve always had this notion of doing things on my own, and the idea of entertaining a relationship made it seem like my future belonged to someone else.”

Felix scoffed at the selfish reasoning. “There’s nothing wrong with sharing your life with other people.”

“I guess it should seem obvious,” Kara said. “Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing, and I’ve always tried to avoid it when things started to feel like I was losing control. Like the emotions you made me feel, they can be very powerful, and I guess I didn’t like that.”

“So?” Felix asked. “Why did you even come visit me, then?”

“Because I want to be a better person,” Kara said, and she nodded her head in some semblance of determination. “I think you can help me.”

“Really?” Felix chuckled. “How can I do that?”

“I want to try a relationship with you again,” Kara said, but Felix was already groaning and attempting to put an end to the conversation. “Please, Felix,” Kara said, grabbing his arm when he tried to stand up. “I know that you have no right to trust me, but I’m being sincere this time! I’m almost thirty-years-old, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Felix cursed because his heart had always been weak for Changbin’s little sister, and he was already floating back to her like there was some kind of invisible magnetism between them. “This is your last chance,” Felix said, but Kara was already pulling him into her arms, whispering sweet little words of affection into the collar of his sweater.

Felix wouldn’t say that he’s bad at keeping secrets, but he’s also surprised by how easy his tentative relationship with Kara had been progressing over the past two weeks.

For the most part, he felt that Kara was genuinely trying to do better this time, and they weren’t rushing through the stages like they had done in prior iterations of their couplings. But Felix was also being overcautious, and he was determined to do everything right on his part.

However, at his core, he was just a man, and Kara was always testing his patience when she insisted on wearing nothing but one of his over-sized college shorts and a tiny pair of panties around the apartment.

“Good morning,” she said, emerging from the bedroom while Felix stood over the stove attempting to make breakfast.

Of course, his attention was immediately stolen away by the image of Kara’s bare legs, and he was suddenly much less interested in cooking eggs. “Hey,” Felix said around an embarrassing voice break.

“Cute,” Kara giggled, settling down behind the bar as she drummed her fingers against the marble surface. “It was cold in bed without you.”

“Oh,” Felix remarked because he always full of intelligent remarks with a semi-erection forming in his sleeping shorts. “Sorry, I’m used to getting up early for the studio.”

“Hmmm...” Kara grinned. “That seems to be going well from what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, Minho and I have full classes,” Felix said, and he turned off the stove before the pan could burst into flames from his negligence.

“Did you make something for me?” Kara asked, and Felix hesitated when she started walking in his direction, rushing to clean the frying pan in the sink.

“Uh, did you want me to make like bacon or...” Felix trailed off, dropping the pan when one of Kara’s arms wrapped around his waist to touch him over the front of his shorts.

“Can you really cook like this, Lixie?” she asked, and her voice was breathy in his ears.

“Are you trying to break me?” Felix asked, turning around in her arms to connect their lips in a wet, messy kiss that rocked Felix in every sense of the word.

“You’re so handsome,” Kara whispered against him, and Felix basked in her praise as he led them both to the living room.

Kara let out a squeal when Felix broke their intimate contact, pushing against her shoulders to send her falling down onto the couch. “I want you to suck my cock,” Felix said, and he was quickly working down the hem of his shorts when Kara released a whine. “What?”

“I, uh, I don’t know how to do that...” Kara said, and she looked down at the impressive erection that Felix was sporting in the confines of his boxer shorts.

But instead of dissuading Felix’ desires, Kara only served to turn him on even more. “It’s alright,” Felix said, and he took her hand in a gentle squeeze. Of course, the confession surprised him, and it forced Felix to realize that in the past he and Kara had never really gone much past stray kisses or touches over their clothes. “I can teach you,” Felix said, and he wasn’t quite sure where those words had come from, but Kara was nodding her head enthusiastically as she grabbed Felix by his hips to lead him closer.

“I want to make you feel good,” Kara said, and she was slowly tugging down the waistband of his boxer shorts.

“Shit, okay,” Felix said, feeling his heart thundering inside his chest while he reached down for the base of his erection, giving himself a few strokes while looking into Kara’s eyes. “Open your mouth.”

Kara obeyed, sticking out her tongue, and Felix groaned at the obscene sight. “Here we go,” he said, and he led just the tip of his cock between her full lips. “We can start easy.”

Kara nodded, and her face contorted into one of complete concentration as she puckered her lips around him. Felix shivered at the feeling of her tongue exploring the slit, and he carefully roped his fingers into her hair to take control of her movements. “Careful,” he murmured, watching as more of his cock disappeared inside her mouth.

But maybe Kara knew more than what she was letting on because Felix was ascending to cloud nine as she worked her mouth around him, tongue flicking out to trace the shape and taste the beads of pre-cum that were leaking from his tip the longer she kept up with her ministrations. It was unbelievably good, and the visual itself of Kara sucking him off would be enough to fuel Felix’s more explicit fantasies, but he imagined that just the mere idea of it being Kara pleasuring his cock made everything even better.

He tossed his head back in ecstasy, feeling his body warm all over as he resisted the urge to move his hips and force Kara to take more than what she was ready to endure. But it was becoming too much, and Felix had reached the end of the rope guiding him to his orgasm, and he was desperately following that rope to the very end where white-hot pleasure was coiling tight in his balls.

“I need to pull off,” Felix said when he felt those coils beginning to unwind, but Kara dug her fingernails into his hips and hollowed her cheeks to suck even harder, testing Felix’s patience with this whole teaching thing. Because Kara seemed determined to ruin him, and maybe Felix was foolish for giving her the chance to do it again, but he didn’t care in the moment.

He moaned Kara’s name when he came, emptying his cum at the back of her throat, and moving back when she started to gag around him. “Are you okay?” he asked, staggering between his own two feet because he was so blissed out, but Kara simply pressed a teasing kiss to his weeping tip.

“I’ve never been better,” she said, voice scratchy from Felix’s abuse, but her smile was radiant.

It was nothing like what he had been expecting, and Felix collapsed next to Kara with a shaky exhale.

Unfortunately, all goods things eventually came to an end, and the threat of their relationship’s discovery happened when Felix stupidly answered a phone call from Y/N late at night.

In his defense, he was still light-headed after spending what seemed like hours between Kara’s thighs, bringing her to a record three orgasms with just his tongue and fingers.

“Hello?” Felix grumbled into the receiver, glancing to his side to see that Kara was still fast asleep next to him.

“Kara’s back,” Y/N’s voice greeted him from the other end, and Felix winced at her shrill tone.

“W-what?”

“You heard me,” Y/N growled, and Felix sighed because his step-sister had been moody lately with her pregnancy hormones.

“Why are you calling me at 3 in the morning?” Felix groaned, and he tried to keep his voice down to avoid disturbing Kara.

“Because this is a big deal!” Y/N exclaimed. “She called Changbin earlier and told him that she wanted to visit!”

“Really?” Felix asked, trying to sound surprised even though Kara had already sat him down and talked about reuniting with her brother.

“This is a code red situation!” Y/N continued. “I’m talking you need to lock your doors and only leave to work at the dance studio.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Felix muttered, but Y/N was having none of his rationalities, and Felix couldn’t even begin to imagine Y/N’s reaction if she were to find out that the woman in question was sleeping right next to him.

“If she tries to approach you, then run in the opposite direction! Call me, and I’ll bring reinforcements.”

“Like who? Jisung?” Felix scoffed. “Y/N, don’t worry about it, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“But last time-”

“Stop worrying,” Felix interrupted. “I’m serious! And I’m ten seconds away from calling Jisung and demanding that he take away your phone privileges.”

“Like he would punish me,” Y/N said, and Felix begrudgingly had to admit that there weren’t very many things Han Jisung would deny his step-sister.

“Why is your first instinct to call me?”

“Because she’s evil!” Y/N declared. “She takes advantage of you, Felix!”

“It’s all in the past,” Felix said, and Y/N sighed loudly at that.

“This is why my instincts tell me to look after you,” Y/N said. “Seriously? Do I have to come over there and knock some sense into you?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary?” Felix winced, and he couldn’t even imagine the idea of Y/N and Jisung showing up to his apartment while Kara hid inside his bedroom.

“Fine,” Y/N grumbled. “I’m coming over to the studio tomorrow and we’re talking about this!”

“Y/N-”

But she had already hung up the phone, and Felix glared at the screen while Kara stirred next to him in bed. “Felix?” she whispered, and Felix quickly tossed his phone onto the nightstand before slinking back down next to Kara.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” Kara said, but there was a coy smile on her face when she pressed her lips lightly against his. “But I’m awake now.”

“Mmm,” Felix acknowledged, chasing the sweet taste of her mouth. “I’m sorry about the call.”

“Don’t worry,” Kara said, and she threw one leg over his hip while bringing his other hand down to the front of her soaked panties. “As long as you’re willing to make it up to me.”

Felix chuckled, turning onto his side before shoving his hand beneath the waistband of her underwear with another sensual kiss. “It’s the least I can do,” Felix said, and he was perfectly content with their steady exchanges of affection while Felix played with her clitoris, twisting the nub between his fingers.

“Felix,” Kara eventually whined, and she reached down for his wrist, pushing him onto his back before crawling over his hips and grinding herself down against his erection. “Do you want to try something different?”

Felix hesitated, running his hands along Kara’s waist. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Kara said, smoothing another kiss over his lips. “I want you have sex with you.”

Felix groaned, feeling his cock twitch at the innocent demand. “I’d love that.”

“Please,” Kara added, and Felix was losing his mind over how good she felt moving against his cock, even if it was between layers of unnecessary fabric. “Just go slow,” she requested, and Felix nodded fiercely to show his understanding.

It might seem unexpected, but Felix and Kara had shared many conversations about sex during the past few days. Of course, he was shocked to learn that Kara was very inexperienced, especially considering her complicated dating history during high school and college. But Felix was the last person in the world who would ever judge someone, and he simply listened to her explain everything with an open mind.

It had all led up to this moment, after all, and Felix was a man starved for attention as he tried to keep up with Kara’s demands for more kisses. But it was hard to focus on keeping their lips connected while he helped Kara remove her own clothes before attending to the difficult situation of his zipper. Thankfully, he managed to loosen his jeans, tossing them down his legs until they ended up in a pile on the floor with his boxer shorts on top.

“You’re hard,” Kara said when Felix sat back on his haunches, trying not to lose his control at the sight of Kara practically dripping for him onto the sheets.

“It’s been a while,” Felix explained, and he reached over into the nightstand for a condom while his other hand teased a finger inside of her wet opening.

“Felix!” Kara whined, and he was hurriedly trying to speed things along. But that was proving to be difficult the longer he continued to fumble with the aluminum wrapper of the condom, cursing under his breath when Kara continued to jerk him off with steady swipes of her hand.

“It’s okay,” Kara whispered. “You can just pull out.”

“Are you sure?” Felix asked, even as he was already tossing aside the stupid condom to spread Kara’s legs even wider for him.

“Yeah,” Kara said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I trust you.”

It warmed Felix’s heart to hear those words, and he dipped his fingers back inside to stretch her out for his cock, listening to the harmonic melodies of her moans and whimpers. “Are you ready?” Felix asked, and Kara was nodding her head while crossing her legs over his lower back, hips floundering beneath his for the friction of his cock. “I got you,” Felix said, and he grabbed his cock at the base, leading it to where it belonged between her thighs as he sunk into her heat with one careful push.

“Felix,” Kara whimpered. “It feels so good.”

The compliment went straight to his head, and Felix knew that it was best to work her over with gentle thrusts to start out, gradually working up to the pace he preferred where he could dip his cock into the neverending heat of of her arousal that was glistening beneath the faint moonlight bathing the bedroom. “Tell me if it hurts, love,” Felix said, and he didn’t even realize the pet name until Kara was demanding that he call her that again.

But there was no time to feel embarrassed because she was moaning his name and squeezing around his cock so well, and it was becoming harder to keep himself controlled. “Faster, Felix,” Kara cried, and Felix was more than happy to comply with her request, snapping his hips in a much more satisfactory rhythm that had his balls hanging even heaver between his legs as he chased the precipice of his release.

“Are you close?” Felix asked, pumping his hips like a madman in search of an epic high, but he was always mindful of Kara’s pleasure as he tried to angle his hips just right to brush against the best spots, stroking his thumb across her clitoris while his free hand shoved a finger or two into her mouth. Just to feel a different heat around the digits as he imagined his cock replacing them.

“Felix!” Kara shouted, and she was arching her back, opening her mouth around a silent scream as Felix plunged his cock even faster between her thighs, searching for his own release while helping Kara ride out the waves of pleasure.

“I’m coming,” Felix growled, and he managed to pull out just before he exploded all over her stomach, painting the skin with streaks of white.

“Holy shit,” Kara said, and she barely even reacted when Felix briefly left the room to fetch a cloth to clean her off, crawling back into bed to pull Kara tightly into his arms as he inhaled the smell of her sweat and the undeniable reminder that this was Kara who was drifting off to sleep wrapped securely against his chest.

Felix was nervous when he arrived at the studio the next morning.

It was strange because he had woken-up with Kara tucked against his side, feeling satiated from the previous evening. But then he remembered that Y/N was supposed to meet him at the studio, and he was instantly a bundle of nerves as he found himself at a conflicting crossroads: 1. He could lie and tell his step-sister that he and Kara were distant strangers, or 2. He should come clean about everything, including last night’s session of lovemaking that had miraculously not ended with Kara running in the opposite direction.

In any case, his stress must’ve shown because Minho immediately picked up on his tension when he greeted him at the back offices of the studio. “You look terrible,” Minho said in that blunt manner that wasn’t exactly endearing.

“Thanks,” Felix returned, gathering his supplies together as he slumped down at his desk, ready to check his email. “I had a long night.”

Minho grinned. “What? Did you go out?”

“Not exactly,” Felix said, and he wondered if this was a good segue into a conversation that would hopefully unburden that enormous sensation of guilt sitting at the center of his chest. “I’m dating Kara again,” Felix said, and he looked at Minho because he was sure that his friend would berate him.

But Minho simply shrugged in response. “Okay.”

“We had sex last night,” Felix continued like this was a purge session and he could just spill all of his vices to Minho.

“Dude,” Minho said, and then he chuckled. “You don’t need to justify yourself to me.”

“I mean, you were there last time when Changbin and Y/N made a huge deal out of us going out together,” Felix said.

“I was only there for the drama,” Minho said. “I couldn’t care less who you stick your dick inside.”

“Didn’t need that imagery,” Felix grumbled, but he was also relieved by Minho’s easygoing acceptance. “Seriously, though, I’m glad you didn’t flip your shit or something.”

“It’s not my concern,” Minho said. “You’re a big boy, Felix. I’m sure you know how to take care of yourself, and if Kara needs to be a part of your life, then I have no room to say anything.”

Felix sighed. “I wish Y/N and Changbin felt the same way.”

“Well, in their defense, I think everyone in our group associates you and Kara with bad news,” Minho pointed out. “In my opinion, you should do something to change their minds so they can see you guys in a better light. Maybe you can even prove to them that this time it’s more than just a fling.”

Felix nodded, turning over Minho’s advice inside his head. “We’ve never had sex before last night. I guess you didn’t know that.”

“It kinda surprises me,” Minho admitted. “But I don’t usually ask for the details when it concerns your personal life.”

That was certainly true, and it’s part of the reason why Felix had such a strong bond with Minho. They were also business partners, and an inherent part of that relationship relied on trust and mutual respect. “She’s actually really inexperienced,” Felix said. “I was surprised too.”

Minho laughed, easing himself back against his chair as he edged closer to Felix. “Why did you feel the need to tell me? I’m sure this has been going on for a while.”

Felix nodded, aware of Minho’s uncanny intuitiveness. “We kept it a secret from everyone else.”

“Did you plan on doing that forever?” Minho asked. “I guess the guilt finally forced you to spill everything to me.”

“Not really,” Felix said. “Y/N’s coming by the studio today, and she wants to talk about Kara.”

“Then tell her about Kara,” Minho said, shrugging in that nonchalant manner that was so distinctly Minho. “She’ll eventually get over it.”

“Or, she’ll sabotage us like last time,” Felix muttered.

“I wouldn’t call that a sabotage on Y/N’s part,” Minho said. “I’m pretty sure it was Kara who ran away.”

Felix cursed him under his breath. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells.”

But Felix understood that Minho’s observation was a fair argument, especially since Felix knew it was true, even if he continued to fight an incessant desire to deny the validity of the facts.

It was all in the past, and Kara seemed determined to acknowledge those mistakes and learn from them this time. It might take a while to earn everyone’s trust and approval, but Felix was certain that Kara was his endgame, despite the countless hurdles that were always landing in their path. But Felix was exceptionally good at jumping over them at this point, and maybe he and Kara could have that cliché walk into sunset together which concluded every romantic novel on his bookshelves.

“Figure it out soon,” Minho whispered to him when they arrived outside of their first dance class, discovering Y/N waiting next to the door.

She didn’t seem to be in a good mood as she marched over to Felix, muttering a quiet greeting to Minho who proceeded ahead to start warm-ups. “There you are,” Y/N said. “I’ve had time to think about it, and you sounded awfully concerned on the phone last night.”

Felix sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I was exhausted,” he said. “What do you want me to sound like?”

“When we’re talking about Kara?” Y/N huffed, raising one eyebrow as she shifted her weight. “You know she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, but it’s my responsibility to handle that,” Felix said, and Y/N pursed her lips.

“She makes you do stupid things,” Y/N said. “Your common sense filter is always compromised when she walks into a room swinging her hips and giving you bedroom eyes!”

“I’m fairly certain that’s an exaggeration,” Felix said, examining Y/N closely. “Or, is it the pregnancy hormones?”

“For fuck’s sake, none of you refuse to acknowledge that my hormones aren’t the reason for everything I say!” Y/N snapped. “Maybe this is just a concerned sister helping you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Felix said. “But, as per usual, you’re over here disrupting my life with another gross hyperbole of the truth.”

“Fine,” Y/N said. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your precious dance classes.”

“Like it bothers you,” Felix snorted, but then he softened his tone. “I actually do want to talk, but maybe sometime later.”

“Tonight?” Y/N asked with a hopeful expression.

“Let’s have dinner,” Felix suggested, and Y/N slowly nodded her head, even as she continued to look at him with suspicion.

Kara was nervous, but there was simply no way that her heart was beating as fast as Felix’s. The couple stood outside of Y/N and Jisung’s apartment, sharing furtive glances and hesitating to reach out and knock. Finally, Felix got the bright idea to text Jisung and ensure that he was the one who would answer the door, even if his expression reflected his surprise when he saw Kara.

“Uh-” Jisung paused, looking back and forth between Felix and Kara with uncertainty. “Does Y/N know about this?”

“What do you think?” Felix asked, and he tried to step around Jisung, but he was shocked when the mild-tempered man blocked his path.

“Felix,” Jisung said, “Y/N doesn’t need this stress when she’s pregnant.”

“Seriously?” Felix groaned. “She invited me over tonight, and I told her I wanted to talk about Kara.” He then brought an arm back to wrap around Kara’s shoulders to hustle her forward. “I even brought Kara with me.”

“That’s the problem,” Jisung said, and his tone was unusually terse. “Y/N will lose her mind if she sees Kara.”

“You got that right!” a stern voice interceded, and the two men jumped in surprise when Y/N walked up next to them to glare at Kara. “What’s this all about?”

Felix swallowed down his nerves as he faced his step-sister. “Kara and I are dating again.”

“Again!” Y/N scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you, Felix?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Felix said, and he pulled a reluctant Kara into the foyer, closing the door with a heavy THUD!

“Is this your idea of having a civilized conversation?” Y/N asked, moving her hand between Felix and Kara. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks,” Felix said, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I guess that’s a new record for you, Kara.”

Felix frowned when his girlfriend flinched at the heavy accusation. “Don’t talk to her like that,” Felix said.

“Then how should I address the woman who continues to hurt my brother?” Y/N asked, and Felix was just about fed up with her questions.

“Let’s calm down, babe,” Jisung said, and he brought both hands to Y/N’s shoulders to massage the tension keeping them raised. “You worked hard on dinner tonight.”

“Whatever,” Y/N grumbled, and she gently pushed Jisung’s hands away to return to the kitchen while Felix and Kara stood together in disbelief as Felix fumed over his step-sister’s harsh words.

“We can sit down,” Jisung said, and he led them to the dining room where the table was set for three people. “I guess we’ll need one more mat,” Jisung muttered, and he rushed into the kitchen where Felix could overhear him and Y/N arguing.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Kara said, but she hadn’t released Felix’s hand which he took as a good sign.

“They would’ve found out eventually,” he said, turning to look at Kara in mild panic. “Right? This is long-term for us?”

“Of course,” Kara reassured him, leaning up to give him a sweet kiss. “Felix, I know that we have both good and bad history together, but I really care about you.”

Felix’s heart melted at her kind words, but he didn’t have enough time to formulate a coherent response because Y/N and Jisung had both returned and his step-sister still looked furious. “Here you go,” Jisung said, and he politely offered Kara a spare placemat and a dinner fork.

“Thanks,” Kara whispered, and Jisung sat down at the head of the table with Y/N and Felix on either side of him, staring at one another from across the space dividing them.

“How’s work?” Jisung asked, sensing the tension and always playing the part of the peacekeeper.

“It’s good,” Felix replied, and he reached out to start spooning some of Y/N’s vegetables onto his plate. “The classes are full.”

“I’m glad to hear that, man,” Jisung said, and it was nothing short of genuine. “I know you guys were struggling a while back.”

“We’ve managed,” Felix said, and he desperately wanted this whole evening to progress with something far more reasonable.

“What about you, Kara?” Jisung asked with a timid tone. “I know you just came back to the city.”

“Just some freelance stuff for the most part,” Kara replied. “But I’m trying to find something long-term.”

“Really?” Y/N finally spoke up, and she frowned at Kara. “Long-term?”

“Yeah,” Kara whispered. “I’m planning to stay.”

“Unlike those other times,” Y/N said. “When you abandoned Felix.”

“Y/N,” Jisung said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle as Y/N slammed her fork down against the table. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Y/N screeched, and Felix shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“This isn’t something that’s going away,” Felix said, but he was disappointed with the frustrated look in Y/N’s eyes.

“I think I need time to process this,” Y/N said, and she left the table without another word.

Two weeks passed at a slow, agonizing pace, and Felix was at his wits-end because all of their friends had somehow discovered that he was engaged in a relationship with Kara, and the reactions had varied from Hyunjin’s loud and dramatic exclamations to Changbin’s worrisome silence.

It also didn’t help that Y/N hadn’t bothered calling him, and perhaps he should simply wait out her anger because it wasn’t worth it to argue when she clearly wasn’t ready to talk to him. But Felix figured that this would be the worst obstacle that he and Kara would endure, which is why he was shocked to come home one afternoon and find her sitting on the couch in tears.

“Hey!” Felix said, immediately rushing to her side, wrapping one arm around her heaving shoulders to pull her even closer. “What happened? Tell me why you’re crying.”

Kara shook her head, and maybe she wasn’t ready to open up about whatever it was plaguing her thoughts as she soaked the sleeve of his t-shirt while Felix sat next to her in a quiet show of encouragement. “I-I’m so scared,” she finally said, and Felix froze with all sorts of implications for what that could mean.

“Did somebody hurt you?” Felix asked, and there was a fierce desire to protect as he attempted to pull Kara’s hands away from her face.

The sight wasn’t anything to celebrate, and Kara’s make-up was smeared, lashes stuck together in clumps as she sniffled. “You’re gonna be so mad at me.”

Felix frowned. “Why would I be mad?” he asked.

“Because it wasn’t supposed to happen,” Kara said, and Felix was afraid that Kara was referring to their relationship, or maybe she was feeling apologetic for straining some of his friendships.

“Everything will work out,” Felix said, trying to be soothing. “It’s nothing we can’t handle together.”

But Kara was still insistent, taking a few deep breaths before finding the courage to look into his eyes. “Felix,” Kara said. “I’m pregnant.”

The confession was followed by a tense duration of morose stillness while Felix felt the temperature drop inside his body until it felt like cold despair had latched onto every single inch of him. “There’s no way,” he eventually said, looking back at Kara with a frown. “We only had sex one time!”

“And?” Kara sighed, using the sleeve of her sweater to dab at her eyes. “It’s not like there’s a guarantee.

“But I made sure to pull out,” Felix continued, and he was more determined than ever to deny the reality of their situation. “Holy shit, this can’t be happening!”

“Well, I’m not lying,” Kara said, and she had taken on a defensive tone. “I thought you might freak out, but there was a part of me that was hoping you would understand.”

“Understand what!” Felix exclaimed, standing up so fast that he made himself dizzy from the motion. “What the fuck am I missing?”

“Felix, I know it’s not something that we planned-”

“Of course!” Felix shouted. “Nobody will take us seriously after this!”

“Take what seriously?” Kara frowned. “Our relationship?”

“Obviously,” Felix snapped. “How stupid are we gonna look to them, Kara? They think we’re making a mistake just being together, but the fact that you’re pregnant makes everything worse.”

“I thought you didn’t care about what they thought of us,” Kara said. “We’re doing things our way this time.”

“Yeah? But our way never included a baby,” Felix said, and he was storming to the kitchen to find his keys. “I wanted us to do things differently without leaving things unresolved.”

“Yeah? Well, it sure as hell seems like you’re the one running away this time!” Kara cried, but Felix was past the point of being rational, slamming the door closed behind him as he tried not to scream.

It didn’t surprise Felix when his instincts brought him to Chan’s penthouse apartment in the city, and he was grateful when his brother let him inside without a single question.

“I’m guessing something bad happened,” Chan remarked, pouring himself and Felix a glass of wine as he joined him on the couch in the living room.

“You could say that,” Felix agreed, taking his glass and downing the alcohol as fast as possible.

“Well, I can only assume it involves Kara,” Chan continued. “She’s the only thing everyone’s been talking about these days.”

“Not that it’s any of their business,” Felix griped.

Chan sighed. “What did you expect, Felix? You and Kara have a complicated history, and it’s only natural for there to be some doubts.”

“But it’s my life,” Felix said. “I can make those choices, even if the others think that I’m stupid or whatever.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Chan said. “We’re all here for you, Felix.”

“Then I’ll rely on you for support,” Felix insisted, and Chan chuckled.

“You’re just as stubborn as Y/N,” Chan remarked. “Maybe that’s why it’s so difficult for the two of you to walk in each other’s shoes.”

“She just likes drama,” Felix muttered.

“That’s not entirely true,” Chan said. “Sure, it may seem like she’s overstepping her boundaries, but she’s doing it out of love for you. Not because of a misguided anger or resentment.”

“I’ll never understand how she ended up with Han Jisung of all people,” Felix said. “He’s like the sweetest angel, and she can be downright evil sometimes.”

“You only say that when you disagree with her perspective,” Chan pointed out, and Felix hated that Chan had grown wiser in his age.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Felix groaned. “Nobody trusts our relationship, but I screwed up earlier when she told me that she was pregnant.”

Chan choked around his mouthful of wine. “Kara’s pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Felix grimaced because he might’ve forgotten to mention that fact to his brother. “It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, I hope not,” Chan grumbled as he wiped away the wine glistening around his lips. “When did you find out?”

“Like right before I came over here,” Felix said, and then he whined when he realized that he had done the worst thing possible by leaving his girlfriend. “Shit, I just bolted on her.”

“And you want to talk about Y/N being misguided,” Chan scoffed. “Seriously, Felix? You and I were both taught to take responsibility, even when the circumstances are hard.”

“I know that,” Felix said, looking down at the floor. “I feel horrible, and everything is just spiraling out of control.”

“Because you’ve let it,” Chan said. “You need to call Kara and go back home. I mean, before you try to fix the mess you’ve made with our friends, you need to focus on her. She should be your priority.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re still single,” Felix said, pulling his phone free from his jacket pocket while Chan’s doorbell rang in the background. “Were you expecting someone?”

“No,” Chan frowned. “Stay here so I can check.”

Felix shrugged at his brother’s request, hovering his finger over his girlfriend’s contact waiting on his phone screen. It should be simple to hit the green call button, but Felix felt like he was moments away from passing out. The decision was monumental, and had the potential to change everything.

Of course, he didn’t get a chance to make that choice when he heard an all-too familiar voice yelling from the next room: “Where the fuck is he?”

Felix flinched and stood up from the couch when Changbin walked into the room, practically radiating steam as he marched up to Felix. “You knocked up my baby sister!” Changbin growled, and Felix was swallowing down his fear as he held up his hands and tried to pacify his friend.

“Changbin, I can explain everything-”

But Felix never got that chance either, and he could only remember seeing stars when Changbin reared back to punch him with all the force that he could muster in that single moment.

Thankfully, it was only a mild concussion, but Felix was still forced to spend the night in the hospital.

“Your turn,” Jeongin said, nodding at the chessboard resting on Felix’s lap.

From the opposite side, Seungmin pondered over the battlefield. “Check Mate!” he shouted in joyful glee, and Felix chuckled when Jeongin started spluttering curses at Seungmin.

“Not my fault that I’m smarter,” Seungmin teased, and Jeongin sat back in his chair with a pout.

In the meantime, Chan had entered the room at some point, knocking on the open door as he approached Felix’s bedside. “How do you feel?”

“Like an enraged psychotic friend just knocked me the fuck out,” Felix said, wincing when he reached out for his drink.

“Changbin feels horrible,” Chan said, and Felix scoffed because he could hardly believe that. “He’s coming to see you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Felix muttered. “Just make sure to keep some other guys in the room.”

“I’ll do my best,” Chan said, and he ruffled Jeongin’s hair as he sat down on the edge of Felix’s bed. “Y/N is waiting outside. Is it alright if I let her come in?”

Felix frowned, wondering if he had the capacity to deal with Y/N at that moment. “Okay,” he finally relented, and he glanced up when Chan called out her name.

Apparently, his step-sister had been standing outside the door, and she tried to look nonchalant as she walked into the room with Jisung following behind. “Hi,” she said, somewhat sheepishly as she looked down at Felix. “I’m sorry Changbin hit your pretty face.”

Felix snorted at the comment. “Maybe he was trying to knock some sense into me.”

Y/N was quiet, glancing back at Jisung who gave her an encouraging nod. “I also want to apologize for dinner the other night because some people,” she said, giving Jisung a meaningful look, “told me that I took things too far.”

Felix shrugged, fiddling with the chess pieces because he knew he had already forgiven Y/N. “I’m not leaving Kara.”

“I sure as hell hope not,” Y/N said. “Especially since she’s pregnant with your child.”

“You sure move fast,” Seungmin remarked, protesting when Chan lightly smacked him on the back of the head for the snide comment.

“I feel most sorry to her,” Felix admitted. “I shouldn’t have walked out when she told me.”

“No,” Y/N agreed, and she leaned back against Jisung who happily wrapped an arm around her waist. “But if she’s just as serious as you are this time, then she’ll forgive you.”

“Hopefully,” Felix said, and Y/N nodded as she glanced back at the door.

“I saw her a few moments ago in the waiting room,” she said. “I think it might be a good idea for us to let you guys have a few moments alone to talk.”

Felix nodded his head slowly, but on the inside he was quivering with anxiety knowing that Kara was waiting for him. “Thank you, Y/N.”

His step-sister offered him a smile, squeezing Jisung’s hand as she corralled Seungmin and Jeongin together to retreat from the room, leaving Chan to give Felix a whispered “good luck” before he was following their path. And Felix could only stare at the open doorway, waiting patiently for Kara to walk inside. Because he was more than ready to fix things with her, especially if they were gonna do this thing long-term.

“Hi,” Kara said when she poked her head around the door, shuffling into the room with her arms holding together the front of her sweater. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Felix said, and he held out his hand. “Will you come over here?”

Kara nodded, and Felix was relieved when he could hold her again, feeling her soft skin as he brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “I’m sorry Changbin hit you,” Kara said. “It’s my fault because I told him that I was pregnant over the phone and he flipped out.”

“That sounds like Changbin,” Felix said, chuckling at the mere image of Changbin running down the streets to confront him at his brother’s apartment.

“I hope you’ll try to forgive him,” Kara continued. “He feels really bad about hitting you, and I made sure to sit down and talk with him about us.”

“Us?” Felix repeated, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. “There’s still an us, even after everything I did?”

“I was surprised that you ran,” Kara admitted. “But I also knew that the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal, and you’ve been stressing over telling everyone about our relationship.”

“Doesn’t give me an excuse to walk out,” Felix muttered. “I don’t know what went through my head, but I feel really bad about that night.”

“Felix, I won’t lie and say that it’s fine, but I’m willing to move past it,” Kara said, and she sat down next to him on the bed. “It’s good that you recognize your faults, but what I really need from you is a commitment. Because we’re having a baby, and I know that’s a huge responsibility. And it’s not gonna go away overnight.”

Felix took a deep breath, deciding on an honest approach as he steeled his nerves. “I still don’t think I’m ready,” Felix admitted. “I don’t think anyone is ever ready for that, even if they plan for it or whatever. But I’m willing to try for you because I like the idea of us being together.”

Kara nodded, and Felix chuckled at the sight of her tears. “I’m sorry,” Kara apologized again, wiping them away with the back of her free hand. “I guess I’m already a mess.”

“Maybe Y/N can give you some tips,” he said. “We’ll all be spending a lot of time together.”

“Oh, your mother,” Kara groaned. “She’ll be pissed.”

“You underestimate her,” Felix said. “She really liked you, and I think she’ll be over the moon when she finds out that she’s getting two grandchildren.”

Kara laughed, and her smile was reflective of Felix’s own elation, urging him to kiss the back of her hand. “We’ll make this work,” Kara said, and her tone was nothing but determined.

“I know we will,” Felix agreed, and despite the indecisions and regrets that haunted his past, Felix had never felt more certain about his future.

#stayverse #skzwriternet #felix fanfic #felix smut #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids felix fanfic #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshots #lee felix oneshot #felix oneshot #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #mostlycompetent #requested

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heresathreebee · 4 years ago

Text

Garrote part 10

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez x Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Word count: 3.1k words

Warning(s): Mature | Gun phobia, stalking. Diego and Healy get POVs in this one while Jazmine gets some R&R with the help from her mother. This is a plot only chapter, sorry. Previous Masterlist Next

Author’s Note: No beta reader and I’m far too exhausted to edit properly. After this story, I’m gonna adjust exactly how I format my fics. My million other fic ideas plus my debate over participating in NANOWRIMO this year have been keeping me from working on this too much, I figured it was time to put this up since the last chapter was posted in September...

The rest of the day went by with a subtle ease. The temperature was just perfect for a coat and Diego seemed to have nowhere to be. Bordering on the miraculous, it was the man himself who asked her if she wanted to go out and have fun. Feeling caught off guard, Jazmine elected to throw caution to the wind and suggest something other than a fancy nightclub to hang out in. And when Diego heard the name, his jaw dropped.

Two-Bit’s Retro Arcade.

He did not ask why (though he did scoff, but more so in amusement than derision). Julio was elated to hear the address (apparently he’d been before), and Miguel looked crestfallen to have to stay at the penthouse. The journey from ritzy apartment to 25 cent arcade felt like being washed in time, stepping backwards into her past with a piece that didn't belong in that memory.

The place was decently busy, there seemed to be no parties bigger than five. A collection of young kids took up the classics section, rotating between Dig Dug, Pac Man, and Tapper Light. The young man who played pinball every day was there. She didn't know his name but she knew his three letter handle because he had the highest score on every pinball machine in the arcade. The rest were small and easygoing groups, buying beers and gathering around prize winning claw games or Dance Dance Revolution.

"Do they have air hockey?," Diego asked over her shoulder. He was dressed down per her request, in a simple hoodie and jeans. She kept glancing at him, feeling drawn to the simplicity of liking a simple man.

"Over here." She had no intention of hiding how familiar she was with this place. Diego gave Julio a nod and the man dissolved into the background but was never out of sight. Suddenly, Jazmine became very aware that there were now at least two guns in this public space. Air hockey was... occupied. "Looks like a college tournament. Come on, we're not going to be able to play for like a week."

She grabbed his arm to guide him away, but the man didn't budge. He stared those college boys down, looking for a fight. If he started something…

"Diego. Diego! Please… it's just a game, I know a better one we won't have to share."

At last he acquiesced and followed behind, never more than a foot away. She didn't realize she was holding her breath and wondered if those guys noticed his staring… they probably thought it was normal though.

Jazmine brought Diego to the darkest corner of the arcade where nobody was or needed to pass by. If she stopped dead in her tracks, Diego would have tripped over her immediately for how close he was, but now that he had her exclusive attention, she didn't mind. She gestured to her favorite game and smiled.

"Welcome to Marvel Vs Capcom: Clash of Superheroes," she announced. "Nobody plays this version because there's a huge glitch that sometimes makes one character untouchable."

"OK." Diego wore a sly grin. No doubt he intended to find the cheat character and win all matches, but Jazmine knew all of this game's little secrets.

Unsurprisingly, Diego's first pick was Wolverine. Jazmine refrained from rolling her eyes and let him work through the board of player characters, picking her own at random and sometimes picking the one she knew would fair better against his character to make it an even game. She watched his brow grow tighter and tighter as he couldn't find the broken character. He even switched up strategies– picking the characters that looked the least strong and working up from there (the opposite of his earlier choices). At last, he picked Chun-Li, having not noticed Jazmine picked it three times already, and he glanced at her face once more to see if she reacted, but the woman gave nothing away. Not until he looked towards the screen did she crack a smile.

The way the smugness drained off of Diego's face made her smile broaden. He looked at the controls as if they were to blame, then to Jazmine and back to the screen where Chun Li had walked off of the edge of the screen. Annoyed, he leaned over the controls menacingly and waited for an explanation from the Cheshire cat grin on his partner's face.

It took her awhile to answer him– she was trying really hard to fight the bubbling laughter in her belly. "Yeah, that um… that's what I was talking about. If you play the same character four times, the game breaks. You can't be hit but you also can't hit and you need to hold down the joystick to keep from walking off the edge of the screen… if you let them get away, well… you have to unplug the whole system."

Diego looked pissed. He stared her down for so long she gulped but eventually, he freed her from his penetrative gaze. His hand slipped under her jacket and found a home at the base of her spine, and suddenly she was being whisked away towards the bathrooms.

"Where are we–"

Diego wasted not a breath and pushed her into the women's bathroom (unsurprisingly closet sized), before crowding her space to step inside and lock the door behind. Her heart began to pound against her chest as he turned and fixed her with a commanding glare. He moved as sly as a big cat, forcing her to find purchase against the tiny wood counter with the sink and leaning over her with his lips pressed to her nose.

He said something softly in Spanish that she didn't understand, but it sounded sultry and it sent a pleasant shiver down her back. She thought he was going to kiss her, but then there was something hard and heavy he pressed into her hand.

A gun.

Her eyes bulged– glancing quickly between him and the shiny dark metal of the killing contraption– and shook her head minutely.

"Take it," he said. She just kept shaking her head, hiding her hands beneath her arms and feeling dizzy, on the verge of passing out. He growled. "I wasn't asking."

If he wasn't pressed against her, she would be rocking for comfort. Jazmine did not like guns. Her eyes misted over as she whispered, "why?"

"They've been following us since we left." He slid the wretched mechanism up along her arm and let it rest just below her collarbone. "Haagen's men probably. They're getting bolder– probably by their master's orders." He tilted his head as if he was speaking of something completely mundane as he said, "did you really think those air hockey guys were college students? It's a Thursday."

Jazmine didn't mean to whimper, but she managed to keep her tears at bay long enough to touch a finger to the gun, not quite taking it, but letting him know she would. She let him show her the safety and slipped it into the back of her pants, careful not to hurt her and demonstrating an awareness of her southpaw. He was almost hugging her when he finally stepped back (as far as the little toilet would allow). When his heel clinked against the porcelain, he turned to make sure he hadn't stepped in a mess, and Jazmine bolted.

"Hello?"

There was no one else's voice she wanted to hear more than that of Lashawn Mann. Jazmine felt guilt well up alongside the anxiety that had been threatening to consume her for weeks.

"Mama?" Her voice sounded so small in her own ears. "Can I come over and see you?"

"Of course, baby. You can come see me right now: I'm at your place."

Jazmine caught a cab from Essex street home, and though Diego possessed an acute lack of awareness for personal space or feelings, he did leave her alone for a while. No SUVs with fake licenses trailed her home, no voicemails and no texts came through. She put it in airplane mode to make sure things stayed that way. She had a thought to drop Healy's hearing aid down a drain but put it in her pocket instead.

Lashawn was waiting with Hercules. The tiny bit of annoyance Jazmine usually felt about getting slobbered on washed away the instant she saw her furry grey friend. The woman plopped her butt onto the ground and let the dog run amok in excitement to see her again.

"Mom…" Hercules settled down in her lap and weighed her to the earth like an anchor for a ship at sea. "If something happens to me, will you take care of her?"

"What do you mean 'if something happens to you'? Child, I ain't heard from you in two months and you come back with that?" Lashawn sat down on the floor despite her bad knees and leaned on her daughter's shoulder. "Baby, what's going on with you?"

Estupido. She shouldn't have run away like that.

Diego was overthinking in the backseat while Julio sat in perfect silence. The driver would have preferred the radio on, but his boss demanded the proper atmosphere to brood in. Taking what little he knew of the woman, Jazmine was probably going to retreat to her apartment since he lived in the only other place she was safe. Whatever– she would return in her own time. Unless her own time hindered their operation.

We can't lose this opportunity. We are so close to Porsche and revenge. Hurry up, cariño. Make our next move.

Diego was stuck deep inside his head even as he stood with his sister hours later in yet another huge warehouse with examples to be made of. Alicia wiped the blade of her knife onto her bodyguard's sleeve, then turned the blade over to her brother.

"Finish the last one, will you?"

Diego hummed, distracted by the conversation at the edge of the half circle. He did not like what he heard. He dug the blade straight into the crying man's heart, then cut his throat just for good measure. The blood on his hands was drying before he was able to speak again. He and Alicia were sat in her limo across from each other. She tactfully ignored his piercing gaze, while he worried the stickiness between his fingers mindlessly.

"What's this I hear about you staying in New York?"

Alicia glanced coolly up from inspecting her nails. "What do you mean? Someone needs to run the business."

"That's what that idiot and your little fuck toy Dre are for. They deal with shit here while we get Porsche back, and then we go home. Together."

"No," she shrugged. "Dre can't be trusted, Diego. I'm staying, you're going back to Mexico. We can split parent: the girl comes to live with me for a while and then with you. Every month or so…?"

Diego's hands ball into fists and his teeth hurt from the pressure of keeping his jaw closed. Fucking puta, he thought as the car slowed to a stop. Exiting the car, the man pulled himself up to his full height and reveled in the brief moment of fear that registered on her face.

"I'm not your errand boy, hermana. I don't do things because you think it's convenient. And I won't be sent away like an annoying pest so you can trounce about in luxury while I'm stuck doing peasant work. Am I the only one worried about that little fucking girl?"

Through the marble stonework of her mask, he saw the cracks in her armor. "We can talk about this later, Diego."

"Do you even want her back?," he sneered.

"Stop it!"

Alicia pushed him out of her way and disappeared quickly, her entourage scurrying to follow her. Diego looked to his men to find them with their eyes cast down as if they were witness to something they should never see. He stormed away with his head full of rage and more questions than answers.

Meanwhile in a stuffy police office space, Healy was getting chewed out. His superiors figured him out, and now he was sat in interrogation with a furious pair of agents awaiting an explanation and disciplinary action.

"You took it too far, Healy," his boss said. "I mean, you have really outdone yourself this time."

"Yes sir."

"Fucking A, right!" Agent Brasa slammed her hand on the table. No doubt she was chewing a huge wad of nicotine gum and gunning for his immediate firing. "This was our case, Healy, ours. Mine and Holbrooke, not yours!"

Holbrooke remained ever brooding, silently leaning against the wall and watching the scene unfold. Though they made remained neutrally poised, he could tell by the pinch in their brow they were just as angry as Brasa. Healy had given up trying to talk to Brasa, and instead appealed to Holbrooke this time.

"You two have every right to be angry with me–"

"Oh do I??" Brasa cut in, "I didn't realize I needed your permission to be pissed off!"

"-- but I did it because I had an 'in.' I saw an opportunity that only I could have seized, and–"

"Are you really going to let him get away with this, Stahlworth?" Brasa looked accusingly at their boss, who merely scratched at his neck and closed his eyes as if keeping them open pained him greatly.

"Brasa. Holbrooke. Out. I'll handle this the way I see fit– and don't argue with me, Marie, or I'll put you on suspension."

The two stormed out into the hall, and finally Healy was able to breathe. As soon as he had been confronted by Stahlworth, he had come clean– setting up a covert op without agency permission and using a civilian to distract the perp while he slipped a mole into the organization and collected information. Brasa and Holbrooke had done amazing work– they discovered Haagen was the head, profiled the victims, and knew many of the locations of the exchanges– but they couldn't get any further to seizure warrants or when the exchanges were taking place.

Healy looked pleadingly at Stahlworth. "They didn't have the resources to cover all those locations with proper 24 hour surveillance, Jack. Haagen is always one step ahead of them– of us– anyways because someone in this very organization is on his payroll. I don't need the glory, I don't want the case to myself– I just want this fucker behind bars. If you have to suspend me, I understand, if you have to fire me, I get it– but please don't throw out my evidence. People's lives are on the line, and Brasa and Holbrooke need this info–"

"Who's your informant?" Healy snapped his mouth shut as the dreaded words left Stahlworth to hang menacingly in the air. "Healy? Who. Is your. Informant? Who are you working with? Give me a clearer picture of what you've been up to, and maybe I'll ask the DA to go easy on your ass."

Healy gritted his teeth and dug his heels in. "I can't tell you any of that. A mole for a mole, I can't afford to trust that the eyes and ears in this very room are sound. Now if you want to pass this case back over to the agents it belongs to, I just have a few conditions concerning the safety of–"

"Is this about Meghan?," Stahlworth asked.

Healy's voice died in his throat. A lump formed and he had to swallow it down before it consumed him completely. Standing from his chair, Healy buttoned his coat and came face to face with his boss.

"This is about the kids I can still save. Sir."

After LaShawn helped Jazmine pack her belongings, the daughter decided to take Hercules to the park for some fresh air. Her mother had made it clear she wanted Jazmine to move back in with her since she'd lost her job, but what she didn't know was that before Healy and Haagen, Jazmine was two months behind on rent, and she should have lost the lease to her apartment weeks ago. As it stood now, the landlord hadn’t bothered her once– so someone was paying her bills. Exactly who would remain a mystery as Diego, Healy, and Haagen possessed the means and the interest in keeping her in New York City, so she tried not to think too hard about it.

Jazmine picked a spot in the grass and let Herc off the leash. She threw a beat up tennis ball with a little cheap plastic arm and watched her happy grey pupper zip around picnickers and other dog walkers, always stopping to be petted by every little girl and boy who squealed happily to see her. The woman was jumpy and constantly on edge, but for some reason she barely flinched when Diego sat down next to her.

"I'll be honest, I'm glad you're here," she said without looking his way.

He took the plastic arm and threw the next ball watching Hercules trot over hill and dale for this throw. "Did Healy tell you about Porsche?"

Jazmine turned to see the dark bags under Diego's eyes. "He said something about a missing baby… is that what you mean?"

The man leaned into her shoulder. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, Diego."

"I want my baby back, Jazmine. I want to watch her grow up happy and healthy and loved." He turns to look at her with an expression of maturity she didn't think he was capable of. "That's why I need you. We need you. You're probably scared, but you can't be more scared than that little girl is right now."

It felt like a punch to the gut. Part of her was annoyed by his dismissal of her fear, but for the most part she understood. It wasn't hard to figure out what happened to older girls and boys in Haagen's ring, but what the fuck was he doing with babies? The thought twisted her stomach until her head ached from nausea.

Diego continued, scratching at his eye to cover the build up of tears that threatened to spill out. "Healy said he found evidence of sales for kids under 13 that looked more like adoption papers than anything. Requirements for private education and a separate bedroom, things like that. He said he has a stack with no names but six of them are around her age with the name of the adoptive parents on it. It's a start."

"It's a very good start." Jazmine placed her hand on Diego's back and let him curl into her side with a sigh. "It means she's still alive, that's fantastic... do you think Haagen noticed the papers were missing? He probably has so many…"

Diego shrugged noncommittally and dragged her down to lay in the grass with Hercules. As he did, she felt the gun in her pants dig into her back, tightening that fist clenched around her heart. She was safe for now, in this moment. But would she ever be again?

@mental-bycatch @nicke0115 @1zashreena1 @girlpornparadise @kid-from-new-zealand

#Diego Jimenez #Starz Power #Diego Jimenez imagine #Diego Jimenez x OC #three bees writing #Garrote #🐝🐝🐝✒

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incoherentbabblings · 5 years ago

Text

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (7/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Ao3 Link Here!

“Hey…” Tim said, still lying on the floor.

“Dude!” Conner’s voice came through, exuberant. “Bart you were right! He did answer!”

Bart’s high-pitched giggle ran straight through Tim’s bones. It cut off abruptly as he processed Conner’s incredulity.

“Why do you guys always think my plans are bad?”

“Shush.” Cassie’s voice also drifted in. Tim must have been on speakerphone. “Tim… what is going on? Like… is this for real?”

“No way.” Said Conner. “You would have told us. It’s gotta be fake. Weird fake, but fake.”

“…It’s not fake.”

“Pardon?” Bart asked, being awfully polite. “Why didn’t you keep us in the loop? Or are you channeling Batman this month?”

“It had to be real. Like super real. No heroes, no nothing.”

“Bullshit, Tim.” Conner’s tone was fond, but a little exasperated. “Kara’s been on my ass about it too. Some of us have secret ids yaknow. No metas in Gotham rule aside, we could help?”

“I mean… it’s complicated. There’s a bunch of murders recently.”

Cassie sounded worried. “We saw the news the other day. You and Stephanie were shot at?”

“…Yeah. Someone’s targeting brides who wear this designer. Steph and I were trying to make ourselves the next pair on the list… the guy botched it and shot Bishop Sherborne.”

“So… once Batman catches Mr Always the Bridesmaid Never the Bride… then what?” Asked Conner. “No more wedding, I guess. Which – yikes – bud. I’ve seen the stuff online. Some people are being brutal about this whole thing. You have too many fake engagements people aren’t gonna believe a real one after that.”

Cassie piped up again. “Not to mention Steph is gonna be thrown into limbo, right?”

Tim was silent as he listened to his friends. He couldn’t explain. This is why he didn’t tell them. They weren’t doing it intentionally, but they were setting off all his alarm bells. It seemed Bart heard something in the silence that the others did not, and asked, more than a little befuddled,

“Wait… you and Steph aren’t together together for reals are you? ‘Cause, you really should have told us! Like no bachelor party? Really? No me as your best man?”

Conner sounded very affronted when he cut in, “Eh. No. That’s me.”

“You can have a girl as your best man right?” Cassie pondered. “Nowadays? I’d be good at that…”

Tim rolled onto his front, utterly depressed. “I don’t know. Know what I wanted… Know what Steph wants…”

It seemed Tim’s sadness finally clicked in the minds of his friends, and Conner lowered his tone.

“You getting your heart broken bud?”

Tim’s eyes grew wet. “I can’t help her.”

“Help her how?”

Cassie began to shoo the other two away. “Let me speak to him. One to one.”

“I can still hear the phone you know.”

“Shut up, Conner. I don’t want you and Bart butting in.”

“Rude.” Bart chirped, but did as he was told. There was shuffling, and the sound of someone being kicked, but soon enough it was just Cassie on the other side of the phone.

“Can’t help her how?” She repeated Conner’s statement, and Tim heard him huff in the distance.

“We… we both want to be together.”

“That’s…that’s good Tim. Right? So, what’s the issue?”

Tim sneered. She wasn’t making it sound good. They just wouldn’t understand, but Tim continued to try.

“But she… I thought she was in a better place. I thought I was in a better place. But the stress is getting to her. She’s tired of being judged. And that’s all I can offer her.”

Cassie was quiet but full of conviction when she responded, “I don’t believe that.”

“No but…Cassie I’ve never seen her like this. Like she’s three steps away from jumping out the window. And that’s supposed to be me. I don’t know how to show her, that she doesn’t need to be frightened. That other people don’t matter. People just aren’t coming on side, not entirely. Not even her helping Bishop Sherborne when he died was enough. And she’s losing her drive.”

“Could you…” She mused it over. “Have you got an event coming up?”

“The engagement party.”

“No, no. Something smaller. Something about your job. Something you could share with her. Show her she doesn’t need to be afraid to share a life with you. Start small to build back up confidence. Steph’s…she’s a little rough round the edges.”

“She’s from Gotham.”

“Exactly. But the more she does that sort of stuff with you, the more people will get to know her and that squidgy centre you talk about. I mean those engagement photos were beautiful.” Tim burned red. Of course, they had seen them. “And I want her red dress more than life itself, but that’s not her. Not you really either. You both do stuff outside of nightwork… do that stuff together y’know?”

Stephanie had asked him about his work. She had asked several times in fact. She had been on multiple visits to his office, watching as he went through conference calls, reports and other dry white-collar work whilst she sat with her college notes spread around her. She herself had said she was interested in what he did. Tim blinked, a plan coming together.

“…Thank you, Cassie.”

“My pleasure.” She said, sounding smug. “Is she there with you now?”

“No… we… we had an argument. She’s gone to cool off on patrol.”

Conner pinched the phone then. “Not to sound judgy, but man… she’s got a temper. And you said when she gets angry, she gets stupid.”

Defensiveness replaced depression, and Tim’s tone became a warning. “Conner.”

“I’m just saying. Think you should go find her.”

“She’s competent Kon.”

“…Sure.”

It was very difficult to not take an imagined slight to Stephanie as a slight against himself. “What’s that mean?”

“Listen, dude—”

A frantic beeping from his phone interrupted Conner. It was the distress signal of Batgirl, one that she did not ring often, or ever, and Tim’s heart stopped.

No. No. No.

“Have to go.”

“Wait –”

“It’ll be over in two weeks so bear with the radio silence.”

“Huh? Dude don’t shut us out after –”

“Bye.”

And he hung up, then rushed downstairs.

**********************************************************************

She had fallen, because if Stephanie suspected of how she would die, it would be from gravity being a bitch. Some bastard had shot at her, she had jumped to avoid it, then collapsed through the roof – rotten wooden beams giving way under her weight. She had crashed down with a horrendous smack, and likely had a concussion. Her neck had snapped in such a way that left her terrified to move her head. Her leg felt damp. Struggling, she pressed her little beacon. Someone would be on their way soon. Outside the building, she heard that man whooping in victory, trying to figure out a way in.

She was in over her head. She wasn’t paying attention. And now she was in agony on the dirty floor of some shithole in Gotham, a murderous drug lord wanting a piece of her.

Wow, she really was spiralling down.

And somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to blame Tim. He hadn’t caused these issues. He’d been honest with her, given her multiple opportunities to back out. And she had hurt him, in every manner of speaking. Even if he had been putting her under pressure… she didn’t…

She didn’t even blame Bruce, who was only trying to protect people, and entrusting his family to help him do so.

Her issues were hers and hers alone. Maybe she’d never really dealt with them, maybe she’d never really worked her way through them. Maybe she just buried it all. Ignore it, and it will go away.

She wasn’t sure how long she was left alone on the floor, safe from the man outside, but however long it was, it wasn’t enough for her to get back on her feet. Her head lolled on the ground, and she tried to push herself up. Keep moving, that’s all she had to do. She’d been through worse and coped. She only managed to get onto her hands and knees when someone grabbed her blonde hair and ripped her back, making her cry out in shock. Her neck clicked oddly. Her left leg limply dragged across the floor, leaving red streaks behind her, whilst the right spasmed, trying to get a footing so she could kick herself upright and punch the bastard, but her head injury was disorientating her beyond being of any use.

“Can’t believe it’s that easy to take out one of you lot.” The cold feel of a pistol pressed against her jaw. If fired, it wouldn’t kill her immediately. This guy wanted her to hurt.

No. She had to apologise to Tim. She had to… She had too…

She had no time to prepare a snarky comeback, because one of the family’s hook shots had rammed itself into the guys arm. He shrieked, hand dropping the gun and her hair, allowing her to roll away into the corner to get a better look at her leg.

She looked up, to see Tim, fully dressed as Red Robin amongst the rotting rafters, angrier than she had seen him in a long time.

She got caught between sharp relief and guilt. Tim had come for her. Dutiful, loyal, Tim.

Letting her head thump against the floor, Stephanie flittered in and out of consciousness.

Tim, meanwhile, had lost his temper.

He knew he was a bit overprotective of Steph. He also knew she was competent. She had been through a lot with and without him, and as Batgirl had saved Gotham multiple times over. He wasn’t a white knight coming to rescue the damsel, but something feral would be set off seeing her in danger. Didn’t matter if he was fifteen or twenty, someone hurting her, someone touching her, was enough to set him off.

It wasn’t like with Captain Boomerang, where everything was calculated, cold and methodical. Steph was hurt, Tim had the means to make the man who did it hurt.

And hurt him Tim did.

Stephanie watched most of it, not really in the right frame of mind to do anything but watch. She wanted to call for him, pull him back to her. But then she would black out for a moment. When she would reawaken, any chance at orientating herself would be lost from the view in front of her.

Bones were meant to be inside limbs, right?

Tim’s torture continued until Dick yoinked him away.

“That’s enough. Okay? Don’t make the same mistake as me.”

Dick was home? The thought was enough to cause the red to fade, and for Tim to start to catch his breath. His stomach began to drop. He’d done something stupid?

No. Where was Stephanie?

Nightwing had him held in such a grip that was designed to allow Tim to break out if he wanted, but also jolt into him some semblance of what he was doing.

Tim blinked, then wriggled out of Nightwing’s hold. His brother looked more than a little white at the scene before him. Tim’s chest was heaving, and he could feel sweat dripping off his chin. Slowly he turned to see what damage he had done, then immediately looked away. He had done something stupid. And potentially murderous. For her. Again.

Stephanie had somehow pulled herself into a sitting position, one leg laying limply at an angle. She was breathing heavily, trying to control her body’s response to the pain. Her head was tilted, resting on her shoulder, as if it was too heavy for her neck to support.

“Batgirl…” And then Tim was at her side, looking for the injury in her leg. She hissed when he got close, but from what he could see, there was no fracture, only a puncture wound.

“Landed on the crates. Mother of all splinters..!” She felt her eyes rolling around, vision a blur, and grunted to herself. Play it off. It’s not serious. She hadn’t messed up. Not really, not as bad as before.

Her tone was deliberately light, but Tim couldn’t bring himself to smile. He had realised that his hands were wet and didn’t want to pick her up if he was going to smear her in more blood.

“I’m sorry.” She said, taking Tim away from his brooding. “I hit you. I shouldn’t have.” She looked like she was going to start crying, the pain in her leg and head coupled with the guilt seemingly too much. “I don’t want to hurt you and I did. I’m sorry.”

Tim wanted very much to pull back her cowl and stroke her hair, but restrained himself.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you the way I did.”

“No but –”

He shushed her and she whimpered. Shamefully, he gripped and wiped his hands on his cape, trying to make himself somewhat presentable, then very carefully, very gently, picked her up in a bridal hold. She cried out but reached up to wrap her arms around him.

Nightwing called both the police and an ambulance, staring at the dying man on the floor. Dick couldn’t do anything to help him, too many broken bones to even move him safely.

Tim watched Dick’s face grow cold.

“I’ll take her back to my apartment.” Tim said.

“No, you will not.”

Tim’s temper spiked again, though holding Stephanie he was unable to act on it as he would have liked. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

The signature sound of Batman’s cape fluttering, and the distant noise of sirens approaching, made the potential argument end.

“Nightwing, drive them both back to the Manor. Have Batgirl checked over.”

There was something very odd in Bruce’s tone that Tim wasn’t used to hearing, but it made him a little frightened.

“As said injured party member…” Chirped Stephanie, head craned back and straining her neck. “I feel like… I need a medical.”

“Hurry up!” Nightwing ordered, making his way to the batmobile. “You can drive my cycle but put Batgirl in the back.”

Four hours later, out of her costume and several stitches in her leg from where she had received the mother of all splinters, Stephanie’s head began to clear. She remembered Tim swooping down, and she remembered him hurting that man. Badly. Really badly. All because she lost her footing. All because she was in the wrong headspace to go out on patrol.

She was better than that. She knew she was.

She stayed silent, but when Tim returned to her side, the two stared at each other for the longest time. Neither knew where to begin.

Bruce started it for them.

“Do I even need to say what went wrong tonight.” There was no question in his tone. Just a flat, tightly bound anger that Stephanie nearly whimpered at the sound of. She shook her head.

“I messed up. I let my emotions get in the way and I got hurt when it was easily avoidable.”

If Bruce was impressed by her self-awareness, it did not show. He turned to Tim. “And you?”

Tim said nothing. Only glared. Stephanie pressed her hands to her eyes, she wouldn’t be able to block out the sound of the oncoming argument, an argument that was her fault, but that didn’t mean she was going to watch it.

“Tim.” Bruce pushed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nightwing, who had been sat a little back from the whole scene, piped up. “You know that’s a sack of bullshit Tim.”

Tim’s ears burned red, and Bruce didn’t miss the look of betrayal on Tim’s face at his brother. Seemed like that look was all Bruce was seeing recently.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Tim repeated.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“This is just one more thing in a continuing dangerous trend with you and I have half a mind to –”

“I don’t answer to you anymore!” Tim was turning as red as his uniform, but Bruce would not be moved.

“You’re both grounded until the wedding is finished.”

Ordinarily, Stephanie would have fought back. Bruce was not the boss of her. Even Babs barely counted as a mentor anymore. Not really. She was her own keeper, and Bruce attempting to parent her was just an embarrassing effort at best.

Now, with her hands pressed over her eyes, blind to anyone’s expressions, she nodded her consent.

“Promise.” She warbled.

Tim on the other hand, was in the mood to fight. He was so wound up from the day’s events, with no outlet, that it poured out of him defiantly. His voice cracked childishly.

“No! No, no! She didn’t do anything wrong and her injury isn’t even that bad!”

Dick watched Tim grow increasingly frustrated and frowned. What the hell had he missed the past six weeks? Bruce was going to return in kind with an equal aggression that would only serve to blow the roof off the cave, so Dick decided it was his turn to intervene. He got up and shoved past Bruce, physically grappling Tim and dragging him away from Stephanie. Bruce could cool down for a moment and talk to the crying girl. He’d try to give Tim a reality check.

When they reached the stairs, Tim wriggled out of Dick’s grip, eyes still on Stephanie, but his anger was directed straight at Dick.

“What do you think you’re—”

Dick grabbed Tim’s arm again, shaking him, making Tim look at him. “I think Tim, you’ll be needed to look after Steph. Yeah?”

“I don’t need to be grounded to do that. I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not being punished for something I didn’t do!” Tim protested, tugging back to remove Dick’s hand from his arm. Dick huffed, feeling Tim was letting his ego get in the way of the point he was trying to make.

“I really don’t care about that. I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re both off kilter. Take a break. Look after each other.”

“I am not –”

“Tim look at her!” Dick hissed. Bruce had moved over to Steph’s side, and sat next to her. Tim watched as the two talked.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, voice somewhat softer.

“I… I’m having a bit of a freak out at the moment.” It was an odd thing for her to confess to Bruce of all people, but he seemed to be listening. “The whole… pretending to be in love mission is throwing me off more than I thought it would.”

“Pretending?”

“Oh God…” She moaned. Where did Bruce get off sounding so confused? What did he even think of her and Tim as a couple? Were they that transparent in their pining? “I’m finding it emotionally taxing.”

Always easier to be flippant. Say exactly what you mean, but hide it under a layer of sarcasm as a back door exit in case the sincerity of the statement was called into doubt. Bruce did not doubt her. Instead, he asked her something else.

“Can you keep going?”

“I swore to.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Then Bruce leaned forward, grabbing her wrist. He tugged it away from her face so she wasn’t hiding her eyes. At the look she gave him, so tired and sad, his grip moved down to her hand, and she squeezed back.

“I can keep going.” She sniffed, her bodily pain catching up with her miserable mood. “Not gonna lie, Batman… I feel like I’m slipping back into bad habits.”

“That’s why I said no patrol.”

“I know.”

“You going to listen?”

She nodded. “No Batgirl for a couple of weeks…Promise.”

“At the very least you can catch up on sleep a bit.” It was meant to be reassuring, but Bruce’s claim made Stephanie snort a gentle laugh. “And work on whatever is troubling you.”

Stephanie’s smile faded. “I can try. That’s all I can do at the minute. I’ll fix it.”

“Okay. I’ll get Alfred to give you a painkiller to help put you down tonight.” Bruce looked to Tim, who was in the corner with Dick. He looked equally miserable but chewed his lip and walked back over.

“I want to take you back to the apartment, Steph, if you want me to. I’ll take a couple of weeks off with you.”

She nodded. “I want that. Lemme get my drugs first.”

Bruce’s eyes hardened a little as he inspected Tim, who was stubbornly avoiding his gaze. Their conversation would have to wait. Once dosed up, Stephanie wrapped her arms around Tim’s shoulder, and hoisted herself up so she could hop over to his car.

“Goodnight Bruce…thank you.”

His mouth twitched, but with what emotion, Stephanie couldn’t tell.

When they got back, Stephanie managed to get settled on the bed. Tim promised to stay up with her to ensure she wouldn’t pass out with nobody to check on her. She lay like her limbs were made of lead, her head resting on a pile of pillows trying to support her neck.

“I’ll be okay. Alfred said since I can hold a conversation and my pupils are normal, I’ll be fine.”

“Your pupils are not fine. They’re as big as dinner plates.”

“That’s the painkillers.”

“I know… I just…”

She smiled. “You worry.”

“Yeah.”

She looked down at her hands, wringing them together. Her fingers on her right hand settled on her engagement ring, and she sighed.

“I’m sorry Tim, for everything. The argument and the hitting and me being a brat for weeks…You don’t… you don’t deserve any of this.”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you the way I did. And I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.” He fought back.

“No…not really.” She wrung her hands. “There’s no excuse. I’m better than this… better than my dad.”

“You’re not your father.”

Stephanie nodded in response. He thought she believed him.

Tim, who up until this point had been standing on the other side of the room, moved to sit on the bed. He was facing away from her, but Stephanie could see both of their faces in his mirror. The guilt that was rippling across his face was hard to watch, so she stared straight forward instead, looking at the fat yellow duck at the foot of the bed. Tim saw her do so, and his fingers curled up in the bed sheets.

“Can we get some things out in the open? Like, brutally honest out in the open?”

“Interrogating someone whilst their high on painkillers? Sure. But can I start?” She asked. Tim screwed up his nose and nodded. Stephanie kept her eyes on the duck. “Why did you hurt that man so badly?”

Tim’s palms became sweaty, and he nervously wiped them down his sweatpants.

“He hurt you.” He offered lamely.

“No. This was… this was different.”

“It is related to why Bruce and I don’t get on much in the suits anymore.”

Understatement. She didn’t know what he’d done. She couldn’t know…

“You think you have to be that harsh? Your fighting is getting colder and crueler. I worry…”

“What I was doing before wasn’t working. I’m not Jason. Not that far gone. But I’m not… not the same person I was when I was fifteen, Steph.”

Please don’t abandon me for it.

Stephanie shifted, creeping out from under the covers. She curled up behind him, her sore leg still stretched straight, and then reached around so she could link their fingers. She was smiling a little dopily, and Tim would have found it sweet if he could have gotten the day’s events out of his head.

“Look at us. You’d think we’ve been through some traumatic things the past few years.”

Tim raised his eyebrows at her teasing. “Weird that.”

Steph laughed, though it sounded a little slurred to his ears.

“You know, I figured out a long time ago. Why I love you.” She whispered conspiratorially, begging Tim to play along. Eventually she would conk out, drugs and injuries tiring her out too much to stay conscious, but Tim let her take the conversation off track. Her breath and hold were so warm it was nearly feverish. She had seen him nearly murder a man, but then she had let him pick her up with blood stained hands, and she now held his fingers like nothing was wrong. Maybe the pair of them were beyond help, but Tim couldn’t give up the idea of a happy life for Stephanie. Preferably with him in it but…he wasn’t too picky.

“Why?” He muttered.

“You’re so gentle. So gentle. No other guy I know comes close to it. And, yeah, at first, I was infatuated with you because oh so cool Robin, so brave, so smart… but when you stayed with me despite the pregnancy… I don’t know how to put it… you have a giant brain and a giant-er heart. I don’t care about how well you can hurt people. That’s never been part of it. And I believe you’ve never enjoyed that bit of superheroing. Knowing you had come for me, that made me feel safe, that was all I needed. Watching you nearly kill that man…”

“I panicked.” He confessed. “You’d left on such shaky terms and then your beacon went off and all I could see was red. I was so upset.”

“I was frightened for what you would do. For a second.”

Her stating her worry seemed to almost traumatise Tim. An uncomfortable length of time passed as he worked through what she said in his head. Stephanie didn’t know him. She didn’t love him. Not who he was. Not really. That violence was part of him now. She said she knew him, but with who he was now staring her right in the face, she did not want it to be true.

She leaned closer, her breath a warm whisper against his neck. “I told you. I won’t let you forget. Especially seeing that violence tonight. I promise Tim. That’s not you.”

He choked a little when he responded, trying to play it down and play it off.

“I try not to think about it. The moment I do for too long, I’ll believe Bruce is right to be worried.”

“Nah. He’s just being a dad.”

A long moment of silence passed. Stephanie continued to play with Tim’s fingers whilst she did nothing but think through the day’s events. Finally, she pressed her forehead against the back of his neck, against the burn scar he had received what felt like so long ago.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you love me? Actual quantifiable reasons.” She shifted behind him, uttering more to herself than him, “Gimme an ego boost.”

Tim answered immediately, “Because you’re brave. Because you refuse to accept your lot in life. Because you’re beautiful. Because you came back to Gotham when you had every right to leave forever. Because somehow, after everything he’s done to you, you don’t hate your dad.”

“Don’t like him either.”

She didn’t respond to any of his other points. She was trying to accept them as truth, as Tim had yet to lie to her for all of this hellish two months. But something just prevented her from absorbing it. That wasn’t her. Or maybe it had been.

“Not the same thing.” Tim sighed and leaned back. The way she was sat meant his head thunked on her collarbone. “Steph? You’re a good person. Even if you doubt it sometimes. Reason enough.”

Steph’s breath washed over Tim, smelling of the medicine she had slurped down earlier.

“I hurt you.”

“Remember when I throttled you and kicked you in the stomach?”

“That was different.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m a big boy and can handle an argument here and there. This pity party, Steph… it helps no-one. Speaking from experience here.” Tim’s mind drifted back to his conversation earlier. “I have an idea. Well, Cassie suggested it actually.”

“You spoke to the Titans.” There was a flat curiosity in her tone. It wasn’t aggressive, just resigned.

“They’re getting sick of being ignored. Don’t think embarrassment is going to cut it as an excuse anymore.” Tim watched as Stephanie looked away, ashamed from being chided. “Listen. I want you to come with me to do some stuff for work.”

“What stuff?”

“Tomorrow I’m visiting the community centre down the road. There’s an after-school club for kids whose parents work crazy hours. We funded the renovations and pay a few members of permanent staff. It’s just a fluffy photo op, but you might enjoy it more than anything else I do for my job.”

“How old are the kids?”

“Middle school and down.”

She sat still and thought it through. Tim sighed. “Listen. You once told me that I was going to drive myself mad one day.”

“You are going to drive yourself mad one day.”

“Why?”

She huffed, already knowing what angle he was playing. “Because you worry too much and have overly controlling tendencies when left unchecked.”

“…Yeah. Sure.” He tried not to sound too resentful as she relayed his flaws so dispassionately. “So, where’s Miss “The Only Variable You Can Control Is Yourself”? Huh?” Tim nudged her jaw with his forehead, causing her to grumble. “You do you, Steph. The rest will fall into place. Come with me to this event. Play some foosball with kids.”

She screwed her eyes shut, and Tim watched her at the awkward angle. Finally, her internal battle ended, and she nodded her head.

“It’s another thing for the job if nothing else.”

“I’m not asking you to do it for the mission.” Tim breathed. He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. “I mean it’s a side perk sure, but I just want it to remind you that you’re not a bad person.”

Stephanie finally pulled away, back under the covers of the bed. Her eyes were wet.

“I’m maybe not a bad person but I am a mess. Don’t know why you put up with me.”

“That’s okay.” And Tim crawled over to her. Being unbearably tender, he pulled all of her hair to one side and began to braid it, hoping it would help her sleep better than her usual tangled mop allowed. A sudden memory occurred to him, and he smiled absentmindedly. “You’re worth a few stomach ulcers.”

She looked at him suspiciously at his weird statement, handing him a hair tie from her wrist as he worked his way down. “I haven’t changed my mind. About what I said. I’m not emotionally ready to be with you. Not strong enough yet.”

“Do you want to be?” He asked, tone light, trying to not pressure her too much. He finished tying off the braid with an exaggerated snap of the elastic.

“With you?”

“Mm.”

“I do, Tim.”

“Then I’ll wait. After this mission is finished, we can… start from scratch again. Take it slow.”

“…I like the sound of that.”

“And in the meantime…” He got under the covers next to her. “We work on one thing at a time. Like a checklist. Number one, sleep and work off that injury.”

“Tim…” She smiled, but it was brittle and fell very quickly. Tim stroked loose strands of hair away from her face, and she shut her eyes. “How do you know I’m not just using you? You could be with someone like Tam right now. Why stay for the promise of maybe?”

“Well, firstly, you don’t have a manipulative bone in your body.”

“That’s a lie.” Her voice was starting to slur. She was growing heavier and sleepier with each moment.

He quickly rebuffed her rebuttal. “Mmm? I don’t know about that. And secondly,” He rested his hand on her cheek. “I don’t want Tam, or anyone else. Just you. I want to be happy. So, I want to stay in Gotham. I want Bruce to get off my case. I want to help people. And I want… I want you. That’s all. Think that’s…pretty standard for a guy in his twenties.”

Softly, slowly, Stephanie had moved closer and closer whilst Tim mused aloud. When they were sharing a pillow, Tim’s eyes drifted down to her lips again, and chewed his own nervously.

“You can kiss me.” She said, tone still flat. “If you want to. For real.”

“…Not good for you. You said. Once.”

“Once.”

But Tim knew she was only saying so to punish herself. He may have been sick in love with her, but he still wasn’t so far gone as to make out with someone who, as far as he knew, was still pretty high on painkillers.

Then their foreheads were touching, and Steph’s hands were burying into Tim’s hair. He felt awfully cruel when he did so, whilst knowing it was the right thing to do, but Tim reached down, under the sheets, and pushed four fingers into her stitches.

She shrieked, rolling away on to her back. Her cry turned into one of laughter, then she groaned, writhing a little under the sheets as the pain in her head and leg sharpened at the sudden movements.

“No funny business madam.”

Breathlessly, she grunted, nodding a little too fervently.

“Sure, sure.”

She was becoming that last stage of manic before the exhaustion caught up with her, so Tim tried to gently press down on her limbs, one by one, hoping to create a reassuring weight to help calm her down.

“Things will be better in the morning. You’ll see.” He laid back down, wrapping an arm around her, essentially making them spoon. His hand reached for hers, and he began to play with her ring. “Wanna take it off? To sleep?”

She shuffled backwards, until the curve of her spine pressed against his chest. “S’okay.” And then she yawned, nuzzling her way into the pillow.

They lay in comfortable silence for a long moment, before Tim reached back to turn off the lights. When his hand returned to hers, she called his name, though it sounded distant and fuzzy to her own ears, as she was half asleep when the thought came to her.

“Tim?”

“Mm?”

“You promise to wait for me? Just a bit longer?”

“Promise.”

She squeaked happily, then promptly began to snore. Gone. Tim chuckled, then closed his eyes.

#timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #dc #my fic tag

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queen-busybee · 5 years ago

Note

Maybe Chloluka? If not, Chlonath?

I have two Chloluka aus and somewhere around 12 different, even if related, Chlonath aus. Maybe more.

Here’s one Chloluka au:

10 things I hate about you Chloluka au

Adrien doesn't date anyone because his best friend Chloe never has a date. They're practically siblings and the last time Adrien dated someone, Chloe felt like he was leaving her behind so he promised her that he wouldn't date again unless she was dating too.

The problem is that Chloe is a massive Bitch and everyone hates her.

So Adrien refuses to date other people unless Chloe also gets a date. Marinette is head over heels for him. He's sweet and silly and she really likes him. She wants to ask him out but he can't date so instead Alya convinces her to relearn Chinese so she can tutor him. (It's Rough for a couple sessions before they fall into an easy friendship and she remembers.)

And then Alya has an Idea:

If no one wants to date Chloe, then pay someone to date Chloe. They need to find someone as equally scary as Chloe. Why not the boy with blue hair who smokes behind the school and has piercings up and down his ears and a guitar and a tattoo that doesn't really speak to anyone?

Luka is more like the second scariest looking person in school. He smokes behind the bleachers and has dyed hair and piercings and even tattoos (because he's already 18) and everyone gives him a wide berth because they think he's intimidating.

The first (and most consistent) thing Luka learns about Chloe is her unconditional love for Adrien.

"But Dad won't ever let me have it," Adrien sighs, looking at his phone, which is playing the trailer of a new game coming out.

Chloe doesn't even blink: "Then I'll buy it and keep it at my place and you can play it there."

Adrien laughs. "Chlo, you don't even own the console."

"Then I'll buy that too," she says resolutely.

One time, later, when Chloe has started to let him in, they're sitting with his sister and girlfriend when someone whispers the word "dyke" and Chloe doesn't even hesitate to stand and dump her freshly bought Starbucks iced tea on his head.

Luka has been sticking up for Juleka with bullies his whole goddamn life. She's in her second year and he's in his last and he's been having borderline night terrors of her being without him to protect her.

In comes Chloe in her third year dumping iced tea on a stranger's head 5 seconds after meeting Juleka because he was an asshole.

That's probably when he's like: oh we were so wrong about her.

He probably doesn't start to fall in love with her then, but fuck if he doesn't want to genuinely be her friend.

"Adrien is pansexual and if anyone has a problem with it, they're going to face me," she tells Luka before grabbing her car keys to go back to the coffee shop. Before she leaves, she takes orders from Juleka and Rose and she comes back with twin bubblegum pink smoothies and a small smile.

They're in the back of his shitty used car, listening to the radio. It's dark and she called him to ask him to take her to see the stars. It's stopped being about the money almost a month the ago. Her lips are a little pink from kissing and she leans against his shoulder as she tells him she's scared Adrien will leave her. He's all she has left and is the glue keeping her together and she's terrified he'll grow from her and leave her. Like everyone else has.

Luka doesn't have the words. Just brushes the hair from her face and kisses her again, hoping it will bring some sort of comfort, even as his gut twists with guilt.

Chloe finds out that Luka is smart--like really smart.

He's in all advanced classes and even then he spends a lot of time at the University library reading textbooks for classes he wants to take next year if he can afford it. He can calculate a tip in his head without using his fingers or writing it down. He loves music, plays it with long, strong fingers and it's not always metal music--though he enjoys that a lot too.

She's heard him playing sweet chords on an acoustic guitar as she studies for her upcoming test as they video call. He likes silence, like she does. She loves Adrien so dearly, but he likes to always be talking, and sometimes Chloe just needs to sit. Luka lets her do that. They'll be on a video call in silence for 20 minutes as she studies and he messes around with his guitar or piano and they don't have to say anything and it's,,, nice.

She learns that for every inch she loves Adrien, Luka loves Juleka twice as much. She's gently rubbed the bandages on his knuckles from the times he has to take a few boys outside. It goes on his record, could potentially destroy his chances for university but he doesn't regret it.

Chloe lets it be known that Juleka and Rose are not to be bothered.

Luka stops ending up in the principal's office.

The main difference in this au and the movie is that little sister was complacent in the idea, although came to regret how she hurt her sister.

Adrien has no clue.

He thinks his best friend is finally finding love and making friends outside of him and it all turns out that the girl he's dating--the girl he's half in love with--paid for it all to happen. Like a sick joke against both of them because she wanted to date Adrien so bad she couldn't wait.

Marinette still has some twisted opinion about how it's unfair for Chloe to keep Adrien from dating other people and Adrien should be allowed to do whatever he wants.

"The promise was mine," he tells her, angry that she's blaming Chloe. "I told Chloe I'd wait for her. She told me not to--we argued for weeks. This was my choice. And you tricked us? Lied to me?"

aj;dlskjf i kinda ended what i have there, but it is supposed to end happy. complete “I fell in love with you and I didn’t mean to hurt you; didn’t know you were so great, and I’m sorry, please stay in my life” moment between Luka and Chloe. Marinette learns that she was cruel, and how to apologize for it, but also sometimes just apologies are not enough.

Luka goes to a local college and he and Chloe date happily ever after.

Adrien asks Marinette out at the beginning of the summer after Luka and Chloe make up.

#chloluka #answered #if you want to know the other aus send another ask #10 things I hate about you au #d slur mention #d slur

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factoffictionwriter · 5 years ago

Link

The apartment was silent when he opened the door, which he immediately assumed was a bad sign. It had been just over a month since they started living together (officially, anyway) and in that time he could count on one hand the number of times when the freshly furnished two-bedroom fell under the category of quiet, and absolutely none of them took place while she was home.

She had been so full of life lately. Always dancing around to some song on the radio as she did chores. Or humming along to another in her head while she cooked. Even when he came home to find her reading, there was always some chatty talk show on in the background, spewing out chaotic streams of a language he wasn’t even able to pinpoint. It was a far cry from her previously calm and pensive nature (“Pensive?” She had chuckled when he pointed it out, “You used to think I was pensive?”), and he had teased her mercilessly for it (when he wasn’t joining in for a clumsy step or a tone-deaf duet).

But now it was quiet and everything was still and he found himself frowning over more than just the twisted feeling in his gut. He’d fallen in love with her noise. Almost as much as he loved her.

His coat found it’s hanger, and his gun found it’s case before the slightest screech of a barstool on tile burst his small bubble of hope that maybe, just maybe, she had run to the store.

He found her in the kitchen, obviously, with her back to the doorway and her shoulders hunched as she maintained a ninja focus on the counter in front of her. She was still in her work clothes: a deep purple polo shirt paired with simple black spandex leggings. Her rise through the ranks from grunt worker to gym manager had been, like most things in her life, startlingly fast. One week she was cleaning toilets and wiping down sweaty equipment, and the next she was teaching krav maga courses 3 times a week and training to run the whole place (at least, that’s how it seemed to Tony who, as everyone knows, hasn’t gotten a promotion in over a decade). And while he hadn’t really understood her move from federal agent to hourly gym rat, she really seemed to be enjoying herself. And he sure was enjoying her.

In the spirit of enjoying (and possibly in response to the weighted slant of her shoulders), he tugged playfully on the end of her ponytail as he walked by, rounding the island toward the fridge. He wasn’t sure what this next conversation held, but he was sure a bottle of water wouldn’t hurt.

If she was surprised by his entrance, she didn’t show it. Some things never changed.

“You’re home early.”

He shrugged, turning back her direction and sliding a bottle her way, “Not really. Looks like you got home late.”

She looked down as if just remembering her attire, “Yes. I, uh, covered Ariel’s shift this afternoon.”

Ariel. Co-Manager of the Washington Street Gym. Also incredibly pregnant.

“Makes sense. She’s gotta be close to popping, right?”

The smile she cracked was small, and obviously suppressed, but he saw it anyway.

“If by ‘popping’ you mean giving birth, then yes. She is due any day now.”

“Bet you’re excited.”

Ariel’s baby shower last month had given Ziva a bad case of baby fever. She gushed over the little outfits and toys for days afterward, and it had taken every trick of redirection in his arsenal to keep them from having that conversation (though he already anticipated his own bought of baby fever the first time he sees her holding her newest friend’s baby, so it was really all in vain).

However, none of that excitement made its way into her reluctant shrug. Which led him back to the issue at hand. Silence. Tense posture. White envelope. White envelope?

“Whatcha got there?” he motioned toward the counter.

Her lips pressed into a line as she reached up to tighten her ponytail, a combination he had come to affectionately refer to as ‘Ziva having a momentary freak out’.

Then she held the envelope out to him.

He took it carefully, squinting at the postmark.

Ohhhhh.

“It’s your acceptance letter,” He nodded.

To which she let out an exasperated sigh, “Or my rejection letter.”

Ziva David, despite all her confidence and badassery, was dead convinced that no college would ever accept her. From the moment she expressed even a little interest in going back to school, he found himself facing an uphill battle just to get her to apply.

“You’re a catch, Ziva. Any Admission’s Officer worth his salt can see that.”

She scrunched her face at him, clearly taking issue with his turn of phrase, but deciding not to question it.

“Have you seen these applications? They are ridiculous!”

The little line on her forehead deepened as she spoke, signaling it was time to change his approach. He turned down the heat on the stove, tossing his hand towel over his shoulder and turning to give her his full attention. Well, most of his attention.

“Hit me.”

Her head snapped up from her laptop screen, confusion written all over it.

“Literally?”

He laughed, “No, Ziva. Not literally. I meant, tell me about the application. Maybe I can help.”

“How could you possibly-” She cut herself off, recognizing the harsh tone of her voice and immediately correcting it, “I mean… what do you know about college applications?”

He scoffed, only half-joking, “I did go to college, you know.”

“Yes, on an athletic scholarship.”

“I still had to apply. And my application was amazing.”

She let out her signature half-laugh, following it up by leaning her chin on her fist, eyes sparkling with amusement, “Of course it was.”

“Oh, it was! I had everything: extracurriculars, volunteer hours, letters of rec. And don’t even get me started on my personal statement,” He traced a slow finger down his cheek, miming a tear.

The line deepened again as she allowed herself a tiny gulp, “I need all of that?”

“I mean, every little piece helps.”

Then she groaned, slamming her computer shut and shoving the offensive device across the counter.

“Forget it! I will never get in.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he retrieved the discarded piece of technology and opened it back up, “Let’s not drop this on impulse, okay? Start from square one. What do your transcripts look like?”

And that was pretty much how they worked through the entire process: her stubborn insistence that she would never be accepted vs his unwavering faith that she was destined to go back to school. Her transcripts turned out to be outstanding, and Gibbs and Vance practically had a catfight over who would be the first to submit their glittering letters of recommendation. Tony even arranged for the two of them to volunteer at the food pantry a few blocks down (though he admittedly had to bail on their first day due to work, and really only managed to make a couple of their scheduled time slots over the following months).

The whole thing was a lot of work, but it was all made worth it when just moments after hitting the all-intimidating ‘submit’ button, she practically jumped him where he stood.

“What was that for?” He asked between labored breaths, the electricity from her lips and her still wandering hands doing a real number on his already tired mind.

“For believing in me. And loving me. And helping me with my application despite all of my protests,” She rolled onto her toes again, catching his lips for a shorter, less mind-numbing kiss, “And really just for being you.”

“Shucks, sweetcheeks,” He drawled dramatically as he twirled an especially perfect ringlet around his finger, “You don’t have to thank me for any of that. It’s my pleasure.”

She kissed him again, slower.

“I knew you would say that.”

“You know me pretty well.”

Another kiss. She let it linger.

“I do. Which is why…”

This time, just a peck.

“I know exactly what I can do…”

Lingering again. Oh so close.

“To show my appreciation.”

He practically swallowed her final words, abandoning the ringlet curl in favor of grabbing a whole mess of them, using them as leverage to pull her gently to him and to keep her there. As she led him down the hall, far from the kitchen table they had been huddled around before, appreciated was certainly one of the many things he felt.

“Can you open it?”

Her voice snapped him out of what was admittedly an amazing memory. He blinked at her twice before her words actually registered.

“You don’t wanna do it?”

Her ponytail swung emphatically with the shake of her head, “I can’t look.”

“Alright,” He didn’t miss her slight wince at the sound of the envelope being torn.

The print on the letter was ridiculously small. And after a long day of reviewing cold cases, his eyes were a little tired. So the dramatic brandishing of the paper, holding it up, then down, then farther from his face, and finally closer, was more out of necessity than his typical comedic effect. That didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes at his display.

“Alright… what do we have here… Miss David,” He cocked an eyebrow in her direction before continuing, “We appreciate your interest in attending American University in the fall. We know there are a lot of great institutions in the DC area, and we are thankful you considered us to be your educational home. We are especially thankful to your sexy cop boyfriend for buckling down and making sure you finished this application. You should really treat him to dinner some time.”

“It doesn’t say that.”

“Well, it should,” he smirked, eyes darting in her direction briefly, if only to make sure there were no punches or paperclips hurling at his face in retaliation, “We want to make it clear that we reviewed a record number of applicants this year, and were pleasantly surprised with the high quality of work submitted by our prospective students.”

She drew in a quick breath, one that could easily be mistaken for a gasp, and immediately dropped her eyes to the countertop in front of her. He didn’t blame her. This long-winded paragraph was starting to sound bad.

His eyes skimmed the page, searching…

A sigh of relief, “And we are excited to extend this invitation to join us on campus in the fall.”

She didn’t really react at first, just sorta stared at him. Blankly.

“I got in?” Her voice was so small, so quiet that he was surprised he heard it at all.

He turned the paper, holding it up for her to see, “You got in.”

She took it gingerly, eyes flying across the page as she confirmed the information.

“I-I got in,” She repeated.

He was behind her now, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest, “I knew you would.”

She was still for a moment, still reading and rereading the tiny script. But then she turned in his arms and her eyes did the thing - the soft, gentle, ‘looking at the love of my life and everything that matters to me in the world’ thing (at least, that’s what he had come to dub it). Of all the new developments on the Ziva mannerisms front, the thing was by far his favorite.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“From the very beginning,” Her hands wrapped around his arms and her lips set in her proud little smirk… he had to remind himself he was mid-thought, “Honey, I got vision.”

Maybe it was his characteristic use of a movie quote, or maybe it was just an extension of her continuing to do the thing for what might be the longest and most glorious run to date. Either way, she rolled onto her toes then and kissed him. Then tried to pull back, but then kissed him again.

“Thank you, Tony,” She mumbled against his shoulder after reluctantly relegating herself there to refrain from more kissing, “For everything.”

His arms snaked farther around her slight frame and he just held her impossibly close for a long, long moment before loosening his grip just a smidge.

“I’ll admit. I had ulterior motives.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her lips moved against the skin of his neck and he realized she had misinterpreted his ‘motives’. And what a shame it was to correct her.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I dated a co-ed,” The brush of her snorted laughter against the fabric of his shirt was enough of a reward, but she graciously pulled back to bless him with her amused smirk as well. All before the punchline: “And I’d really like to put that back on my resume.”

She laughed heartily because of course she did. It was funny how funny she found him these days.

But then she did something horrible. Blasphemous, really. Just before his kiss, one he intended to keep quick and modest but still felt entitled to enjoy, she slipped beneath his arm and jogged the few steps necessary to disappear around the corner and down the hall.

“Wha-” He muttered when he palms found cold marble where her hips should have been, “Where are you going?”

“To change!” She called back, likely from their bedroom considering the echo.

“...into?” He spared another glance at the discarded letter before pivoting toward the fridge and slipping the page under a souvenir magnet bearing the words “Find me on Island Time” along with a shark wearing sunglasses and a t-shirt labeled TURKS & CAICOS. He smirked at the momento, remembering that shared vacation along with the all the others currently represented by cheesy magnets on their cheesy-magnet-fridge (His title, naturally.) They sure had crammed a lot of trips into their short year together as a couple (thank god for saved up vacation time). They had built quite a history.

A history in which she almost never took this long to answer his questions, which led him right back to her disappearing act just a minute before.

“Ziva?”

“Yes?”

Her voice was closer than he’d anticipated, causing him to step through the doorway leading to the living room only to find her standing in front of the mirror hung just beyond the entryway.

She’d changed, alright. Into a mid-thigh black dress with ruffled sleeves and a thin white belt situated on her waist. Her hair was also down now. Brushed over one shoulder and practically shining in the light of the floor to ceiling windows. Her current task seemed to be earrings as she tilted her head and fiddled with the dangly hoops.

“Wow,” He muttered, finding a spot against the door frame for both support and physical grounding.

She shot him a wink over her shoulder before moving on to the next ear.

“We are going out.”

“We are?”

Once the jewelry was secure and her cursory once-over in the mirror was done she stepped back and turned to face him, allowing for him to complete his once over. Yup. Still stunning.

“In light of our mutual victories today,” She knelt down to fasten a pair of simple nude heels before crossing the living room to stand in front of him again, “I have decided to take my sexy cop boyfriend out to dinner.”

She was fingering his tie at this point as if considering its appropriateness for their intended destination.

“A co-ed who can afford dinner?” He scoffed and reached for her waist, inching her just a little closer so he could rest his hand on her lower back, “You, Miss David, truly are the perfect woman.”

His tie was dropped (evidently having passed its test) and she moved to stroke his jaw. Her eyes started doing the thing and then her lips started doing the other thing - curling into an almost-smile so soft and gentle he was almost positive she didn’t know she was doing it - and he was so sure she was gonna kiss him again, just one more time to tide him over until after dinner when they can really celebrate their victories.

But then she smirked - an expression she definitely knew she was doing - and took a half step back.

“And don’t forget it,” She muttered before turning to retrieve her purse off the coffee table.

He wouldn’t. That much he knew. Things had changed for them over the past year, and they were bound to change again, but through it all there was still one thing he never forgot: Ziva was his perfect woman. And he’d follow her, excessive noise, sweaty gym smell, hideous graduation caps and all, to the ends of the earth. Or to the bistro down the street.

#oops #tiva #fanfiction #tiva fanfiction #happy monday #and happy thanksgiving I guess #I had a little bit of down time thanks to the holiday #so I finally posted this #hope y'all like it #please leave reviews if you can #they really help #or message me #whatever #maybe this will fit mikey's domestic request

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omgjasminesimone · 5 years ago

Text

Running Part 1

Colt x MC (Ellie)

Next Part: Part 2

Author’s Note: Finally, I have an idea for a Colt x MC miniseries! I’ve wanted to write one forever, but had no inspiration until now! This won’t be long, I’m thinking 3 or 4 parts.

Summary: Ellie is forced to ask herself some hard questions after discovering that she’s pregnant with Colt’s baby.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2200

Ellie paces the bathroom restlessly, chewing on her nails as she waits for her phone to alert her that the five minutes needed for the at home pregnancy test are up. It had taken two missed periods, a month of nausea, and extreme breast sensitivity (She’d discovered that last symptom only last night when Colt had squeezed her breasts roughly as she rode him) to make her confront the possibility that she might be pregnant. God knows it’s not like she and Colt have been careful enough to prevent an unplanned pregnancy in the 3 months since she graduated from Langston and returned to LA.

Ellie had come straight to the rebuilt Kaneko Auto Shop in Gramercy Park from LAX. Her father was very unhappy about it, but despite his many objections when Ellie and Colt got back together her senior year (after Colt deemed that he had laid low long enough and finally showed up unexpectedly at her dorm after almost 3 and half years of radio silence), Detective Wheeler couldn’t stop them. Ellie had a job offer in Boston she had passed up in order to return to LA, to return to Colt. According to her father, she was making a grave mistake.

But Ellie didn’t feel like she was making a mistake, despite the fact that Colt was still involved in crime. With the Brotherhood gone, Colt decided to rebuild the Mercy Park Crew. Ximena had come back, but the rest of the crew consisted of new members. When Ellie couldn’t find a job in LA, she had gotten involved with the shop. Her economics degree was coming in handy as she handled the financials (she also helped cook the books to hide the Mercy Park Crew’s profits under the legitimate auto shop front). Ellie knows she should feel bad about descending back into crime after miraculously getting away with everything she did that last year of high school, but she doesn’t. Especially not with the way Colt looks at her as they work together, like he’s so damn proud he might burst.

Colt smirks widely as Ellie finishes her accounting spreadsheet, that sexy little criminal typing numbers quickly, intensely focused on her task.

“What?” She asks when she notices how he’s looking at her.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you help me steal shit.” Colt responds earnestly.

Ellie laughs, closing her laptop. She scoots over from the desk chair beside him (it doesn’t really fit, the desk clearly made for just one person, but they make it work), perching herself in his lap instead. He wraps his arms around her, the blueprints to the factory he’s targeting are on the desk behind her completely forgotten as his eyes fall to those plump lips of her’s he loves. “It’s me and you baby, running this whole town.” Ellie promises before kissing him roughly, biting his bottom lip harder than she probably should.

But he responds with a pleased groan, using his arm to knock everything from his side of the desk, placing her on top of it and stepping between her legs.

The phone countdown completes with a shrill beep, stunning Ellie out of her reverie. She grabs the pregnancy test off the counter, face falling as she reads the results. Two lines. She’s pregnant.

Ellie takes a seat on the toilet, staring in disbelief at the test still clutched in her hand. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’s only 22. She just graduated from college. Her and Colt have only been back together for 9 months. Colt. Shit. How is she supposed to tell Colt?

Ellie takes some time to compose herself before finally leaving the bathroom, silently creeping back into their bedroom. She slips into bed without waking Colt, quite a feat since Colt is a very light sleeper, always alert, waiting for something bad to happen. She stares at his slumbering form. He’s not exactly peaceful, brow furrowed as if he’s worried about something, but he’s softer when he sleeps. She can almost imagine this version of him as a father, cuddling their little bundle of joy, teaching their daughter or son to ride a bike, helping their child with homework at the kitchen table.

But then Ellie looks around the room. The bars Colt has installed on the windows to prevent anyone from breaking in, the loaded gun he keeps on the nightstand for protection, the drawer where she knows he keeps wads of cash obtained through dishonest means.

This is no environment for a baby, for a child. Ellie worries her bottom lip, flipping onto her back to stare at the ceiling fan slowly twirling above them. She can’t imagine Colt giving up this lifestyle. Not when he sees it as his legacy, his destiny, his only way to feel close to his father. He might give it up for her, and their baby, if she asks. If she begs. But would he secretly resent her?

Ellie doesn’t get any sleep that night, her mind goes at a hundred miles per hour, thinking too much as always. Light trails through the thin curtains as dawn breaks. Ellie flinches in surprise when Colt’s arm wraps around her, not having heard him wake up and stretch as she was lost in her thoughts.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” Colt asks, yawning as he fully wakes up.

Ellie ignores his question, rolling over to face him and staring into his brown eyes. His eyes narrow as she looks at him like that, quickly becoming uncomfortable with her intense stare. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” He prompts.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ellie responds after several moments, weaving her fingers into his thick dark hair.

“If I say no, are you actually not going to ask?” Colt questions.

Ellie smiles softly at his smart aleck response, thumb rubbing soft circles at the top of his neck. “It’s kind of a heavy question.” She admits softly.

“Just tell me all ready. Then we can take care of this.” Colt replies impatiently, his hand balling into the front of his t-shirt that she’s wearing, pulling her flush against him and his morning wood.

“At the casino….that night….” Ellie trails off as Colt’s face hardens, his desire forgotten as he flashes back to his botched plan to take out the Brotherhood and his father’s untimely demise. They don’t talk about this often. Ellie swallows, forcing herself to continue. “If Logan hadn’t been there, would you have opened that vault door Colt?” Ellie questions, watching as Colt internally panics.

After a few moments, she grips his chin, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Colt deepens the kiss, tongue delving into the wet cavern of her mouth. He starts to tug at her borrowed shirt, but she pulls away, brown eyes fluttering open to stare into his own. “It’s okay if the answer is no. I just want to know. It’s something I’ve been thinking about.” Ellie confesses.

Colt licks his suddenly dry lips, thinking. “Are you asking if I’d open that door, knowing that my dad would die?” Colt asks.

Ellie winces, feeling guilty even though Colt has assured her time and time again that he doesn’t blame her for what happened to his father. “No, not knowing the future. Just in that moment, would you have opened the door?” She presses.

“That’s a stupid question. I don’t like fucked up hypothetical questions.” Colt replies defensively.

“….I don’t think you would have. Maybe now you would, but not then. You didn’t try to check on me after, you went straight to try to close the door.” Ellie remembers.

Colt glares. “Logan had you, I didn’t need to check on you. That was my last chance to get the plan back on track-“ He tries to explain, but she interrupts.

“It’s fine Colt. I’m not mad. I just think it’s something I needed to know for sure.”

“Why are you even asking me this? What, do you think Logan loves you more? Are you going to find that asshole and leave me?” Colt asks, anger breaking through the calm tone he’s trying to maintain.

“Hey.” Ellie soothes, pulling him into a soft kiss to try to calm him. “This isn’t about Logan. I chose you. I’ll always choose you.” Ellie assures.

Colt calms slightly, tangling his hands into her dark hair. “I do love you Ellie, you know that right? I loved you then too, even if I didn’t know it yet. I was young and dumb back then, and honestly I probably wouldn’t have opened the door. But I’m glad I didn’t have to make that decision, because it would have been the worst mistake of my life. I love you baby, so much.”

Ellie smiles softly as Colt pulls her into another deep kiss by the back of her neck. “I love you too Colt, always. You know, I think the fact that you wouldn’t have opened that door is part of why I chose you over Logan. I know you love me, but I’m not your everything. That’s too much pressure for me, being the center of someone’s universe. You could live without me.” Ellie reveals when she pulls away.

Colt frowns at that, looking at her closely. What’s going on with her? “I might be capable of living without you, but I wouldn’t want to. You know that, right?” Colt implores.

Ellie nods. “I know.”

“Seriously Ellie, what’s going on? Did you get a job offer across the country?”

“No.” Ellie answers.

“Did your dad finally convince you to move back in with him?” He guesses.

“No, Colt. It’s nothing.” She sits up, pulling her hair out of her messy bun and starting to braid it.

Colt sits up with her, grabbing her arm and turning her to look at him. “Are you pregnant?” Her eyes widen a fraction of an inch before she gets her expression back under control, but he catches it. “You’re pregnant.” He repeats, not a question this time.

“I took a couple of pregnancy tests last night. They’re all positive. I….I’m going to have this baby Colt. Even though I know we’re not ready.” Ellie insists, looking at him nervously.

“Of course we’re having this baby.” Colt echoes, surprising her with the unmasked affection in his tone. He places his hands on her still flat stomach, caressing her affectionately. “We love each other, and we’ll love this baby.”

“How are we going to support a baby?” Ellie questions.

Colt arches a brow. “What do you mean? Everything is going really well with the crew. We’ll keep doing what we’re doing, stealing cars from the manufacturers, selling them on the black market. Using the autobody shop as a front.”

“Colt, we can’t keep living like this with a baby. What if we get caught, what if we go to jail? You want our kid to grow up in foster care?”

Colt rolls his eyes. “In the unlikely event we got caught, I would take the fall. And in the even more unlikely case that we both do go down, your dad wouldn’t let his grandkid go to foster care.”

“You’d want my dad to raise our child?” Ellie asks incredulously. Detective Wheeler is not a fan of Colt, and the hatred goes both ways. Colt and her father have only met once, but once was more than enough.

“Obviously not ideal, but I’m just going with your ridiculous hypothetical. I have no intention of getting caught and having someone else raise our child.” Colt defends.

“Colt, we can’t just hope for the best. We need to be realistic. I can’t do this with you if you’re not willing to leave this lifestyle behind.” Ellie reveals, tears welling in her eyes as his face becomes impassive.

She knows she’s asking a lot from him. Colt never went back to college, he’d put so much time and effort into rebuilding the crew. He loves this lifestyle, had chosen it despite all his dad had done to keep him out. But she can’t bring her child into this. Sure, this whole life of crime had been exhilarating, her adrenaline spiked when they raced at various drag shows, when they pulled off a huge score, when they got away with it day after day. But it’s time to grow up now, to be serious and practical.

“…It’s already too late for me to get out Ellie. What, you think I can just walk away and the people I’ve crossed are just going to let everything go? They won’t. We need to keep the crew going for protection at this point.”

Ellie gulps, taking in the reality of their situation. Colt takes her into his arms, whispering reassurances into her ear, promising he’ll keep her and their baby safe as he plants kisses along her skin.

But Ellie knows that he can’t promise their safety. And she knows what she has to do now, no matter how much it will kill her.

…

Ellie has just started to show when she turns up on her dad’s porch one month later, she’s three months pregnant now and it’s time to tell her father. He’s none too pleased to find out she’s pregnant with Colt’s baby, but his mood immediately brightens when Ellie reveals that she’s leaving, and that she needs her father’s help to run away.

…

Taglist: @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lovehugsandcandy @desiree-0816 @regina-and-happiness @iplaydrake @hazah @sibella-plays-choices @maxwellsquidsuit @eileendannie @liamzigmichael4ever @lady-dianelewis @client-327 @cora-nova @umiumichan

#ride or die #colt kaneko #colt x mc #playchoices #choices fanfiction

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