#also i would say these might become full arts later but everytime i say that i dont so like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liquidheartbeat · 3 years ago

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She Didn’t Choose This Life: Flashback

Barry’s fork and knife clink loudly against his plate, as he scoots his chair backward, hands perched on his inflated abdomen. “God, I am stuffed,” he says, already regretting finishing off four T-bone steaks and all the rich, decadent sides that rounded off the meal.

From across the table, the eyes of the woman responsible for his predicament widen, as she cuts into her barely-touched steak. “Oh, really?” Iris asks, chuckling.

“What?” Barry asks, tilting his body forward.

“Well, we’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you full. Like actually satiated.”

Barry chuckles as he nods, slight unease shooting through him. It’s a simple explanation, really, but he can’t tell her that being The Flash has increased his caloric requirements, because he hasn’t figured out how to tell her that he is the Flash.

And it’s not because he doesn’t want to, it’s because, everytime he scrounges up the courage, he finds out another unsavory secret about her lifestyle.

When they first met, she’d introduced herself as an art buyer, but conveniently left out the part about also international money laundering. That discovery had come months later, in the dead of night, when she’d slipped out of the bedroom for a phone call with one of her partners but wasn't nearly as quiet as she’d thought.

Of course, that led him down a rabbit hole where he also found out about the tax fraud and other financial crimes that would put her away for life if she was ever caught. Crimes that, if committed by anyone else, he’d gladly help prosecute as a member of the police department. But she’s not anyone else, she’s Iris, the first woman he’s ever fallen completely, wholeheartedly in love with.

And yes, her misdeeds probably should make him love her less, but his heart doesn’t abide by common sense. Even from across the table, as she hides a lifetime of secrets under her smile, he knows the same lips that lie to him about her whereabouts and the source of her wealth tell sweet truths to him in the middle of the night. About how much she loves him and needs him.

The same hands that gleefully count dirty money, help massage away aches she doesn’t know the truth origins of at night. The same hands that consort with criminals bring his body to romantic peaks, over and over again.

And the same eyes that stare into him before he leaves her apartment each morning, connect with his soul, and let him know her love is real.

As real as his is.

“Barr,” she says sweetly, as she dabs butter from the corner of her mouth. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” He asks, snapped back to the present.

“I said...I’m glad you enjoyed dinner, because it’ll probably be a few more months before I sweat out my hair to cook again,” she says as she stands to gather her half-empty plate and glass.

Barry laughs, gathering his hands on the table as she walks over to the counter. “It’s a shame a cook as good as you hates it so much.”

Iris returns to the table, walking over to where he’s sat. “I don’t hate it, it’s just time consuming, and my jobs…”She pauses, playing off her flub with a smile, “I mean job ...is very demanding. Doesn’t leave much time to cook.”

Barry frowns, nodding slowly. Another lie, and an unnecessary one at that. But she doesn’t notice his disappointment as she gathers his empty plate and saucers. “If I wasn’t with you,” she continues as she walks his dishes to the sink,” I probably wouldn’t cook at all.”

His smile returns slowly -- a truth, however small, makes him feel special. “Oh, really?”

“Pretty sure. But my man likes to eat,” she says with a smile as she turns towards him, “So I have to oblige him from time to time.”

“So you cook...just for me?”

“Duh.” As she nears him, she pushes her slightly frizzy hair behind her ears,.

“Well, what else are you willing to do just for me?” He asks, eyes sparkling with mischievous intent as she stands over him.

Iris rolls her eyes fondly. He’s so stinking cute, extra cute when he’s confident, but she doesn’t have time. Not tonight.

After their dinner, she has another engagement with a potential business partner that could potentially double her income for the year. Of course, she can’t tell Barry that. He’s a sweet, by the book CSI, who definitely won’t take kindly to her extracurricular activities.

Shaking her head fondly, she steps backward, but he catches her by the skin of her flowy cotton top and pulls her into his lap. “Barry,” she protests, but only for a moment because his hand shoots to the base of her head and guides her open mouth down towards him.

For a skinny guy, he’s way stronger than his physical makeup should allow for. He effortlessly twists her legs around his waist, and pushes their bodies together. But she doesn’t question it. She embraces it, moaning harshly as he kneads her ass in his hands.

They haven’t had sex in a few days, and not just because of her schedule. He works long -- sometimes odd -- hours. But she assumes it’s par for the course, for a CSI. And she’s this close to putting on a show for her kitchen appliances, especially as he slinks his fingers towards the seat of her cotton shorts, dipping one near her slit. But that little touch of pleasure snaps her back to reality. Dinner and a little makeout sesh is the only thing she can offer him tonight.

“Barr,” she breathes, as she catches his hand. But he’s defiant as he curls his finger against her.“I can’t,” she whimpers. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I gotta...prepare for work tomorrow.”

He lets out a loud sigh, face wrinkling in dissatisfaction. It’s a look she's becoming increasingly familiar with, appearing any time she mentions work.

It should strike her as odd, but doesn’t. “Oh, babe,” she says with a pout, as she runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t be mad, please.”

He sighs again. “I’m not mad. I’m…” Disappointed. Wish you would tell me the truth , “ he thinks, but he actually says: “Upset. You've been ‘working’ so much lately. And Friday nights are supposed to be our uninterrupted time.”

Iris pouts, hating when she disappoints him. Hating that she has to keep such a huge part of herself from him. Of all the men she’s ever dated, no one has ever made her feel as loved, as safe, as desirable as Barry Allen.

And yet, she feels she doesn’t fully deserve the love he gives so easily. Love -- true love -- isn’t shrouded in secrecy and shadow lives. But what will he think of her if he finds out who she really is?

Just cancelling an overnight date has him looking like she punctured his lungs, and she can barely stand it. Biting her lip, to quell the trembling, she brings her other hand up, and rests them on his shoulders.

He’s so tight and fraught with tension, and her touch seems to intensify it. God, he’s really mad at her. She tilts her head, managing a soft smile as her hands move in tandem across his shoulder blade, increasing the pressure as she moves. His eyes flutter closed, defiantly, her hands attempting to squeeze the displeasure from his body. And then she leans down, pressing a soft kiss just underneath his earlobe. “I promise, I will make this up to you,” she says, softly, “Okay?”

She lifts her head up to meet his face, still rife with displeasure.

“When?”

“Tomorrow-- promise.” In actuality, she has another client meeting tomorrow, but it doesn’t have as much riding on it. And she can’t possibly stand to see Barry look at her like this twice in one week. So she’ll have to reschedule.

“Fine,” he agrees.

Iris smiles, and thumbs his chin, happy for the compromise. “Thank you, baby, for being so understanding. I’ll make it worth your while.”

"Any time with you is worth my while,” he says earnestly, his words nearly drawing tears to the surface of her eyes.

But she sniffs, hoping to keep them at bay. She can’t close this deal if she’s an emotional mess. And then she smiles, offering him one last kiss for the night.

Though the need in his return drags one kiss into four, five, and six kisses. At least until she manages to snap her neck backward and pry herself from his lap.

As she stands, she fixes her clothes, which almost ended up in a pile on the floor. Her eyes catch the time on the clock and she realizes she has less than 25 minutes to get ready before her business meeting.

“So,” she says, casually, “Do you want me to walk you down to the lobby?”

“No, that’s alright,” Barry says as he stands. “Unless you want me to beg you to change your mind in front of your neighbors.”

Iris laughs softly. “No, definitely not.”

Barry stills, taking in the sight of her. She projects an effortless beauty, even with no makeup, slightly frizzed hair and pajama shorts. He takes a step forward and leans down to kiss her on the cheek, knowing that if he aims for her lips, he might not be able to stop himself.

And while he’s not happy she’s working on a Friday night, at least she’s cleared Saturday for them. She leans up into his kiss, softly palming his shoulders with her hands. When they part, she holds his gaze.

Two beautiful, chestnut brown eyes looking up at him sweetly. “I love you,” she says softly.

His response is effortless. “I love you too -- now, tomorrow. Forever and ever.

She squeezes her hands together excitedly, and does a little sidestep. It’s an obvious attempt to make fun of his saccharine tone, but he doesn’t mind -- in fact, he welcomes it, shaking his head from side to side.

“Anyway,” he says through a growing smile, “I’m going to head out, and let you handle your business.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Just please... be careful. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you.”

His words are weighted with hard truths she doesn’t yet know he knows, yet his tone still uneases her. “What could possibly happen?” She asks, feigning obliviousness. “I have like the safest job in the world.”

He sighs, loud and hard, but goes forward with her charade anyway. “By the time you return from the museum, it’ll probably be really late. Dangerous. You have to be careful.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. Of course, he thinks she’s going to the museum. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

“You are going to the museum, right?”

She pauses, just long enough for him to prepare for the lie to come.

“Uhh...yeah.”

His brows furrow as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

She forces out a laugh, hoping to quell his rising concern. Because if she doesn’t get him out of here now, her entire evening will fold.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She smiles fluttering her eyelashes “Come on, honey. I gotta get ready.”

He takes a moment to contemplate whether or not to call out her obvious lie, but ultimately decides against it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiles wider. “Bright and early,” she says, as she glances at the clock, growing wearier of his presence.

“Yeah,” he deadpans, out of options. “Bright and early…”

************************

Five minutes later, Barry swivels absentmindedly in his office chair, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb. Caitlin, who’s been watching his skittish display, glances over to Cisco, who pretends he doesn't notice her pleading gaze. Eventually, he sighs and begrudgingly casts down the chain of sour straws he’s snacking on, and scoots forward.

“Dude. Just go talk to your girlfriend," he replies, voice filled with disdain.

Barry shoots him a warning glance, in no mood to deal with his best friend's judgement over his choice of partner. “Don’t.”

“Fine.” Cisco throws his hands up. “Then do...that...all night. But I’m going home.”

Barry sighs. When it comes to his relationship, talking to Cisco is like talking to a brick wall. He turns to Caitlin, hoping his other best friend can offer some advice.” Caitlin stews in silence a moment, carefully gathering her words. The things Barry uncovered about Iris are damning, and a stark contrast to the straight-laced businesswoman persona she presents outwardly. But she’s also seen the way Iris looks at him, those rare moments they all hang out, like he hung the moon just for her with his bare hands.

Yet, still, she has to ask: “Do you think she could be seeing someone else?” Her words are careful, knowing how touchy of a subject this is.

Barry huffs. Almost offensively. “No.” At least he hopes. “But she’s definitely still lying about her plans for tonight. Probably another dirty deal she doesn’t want me finding out about.”

Unable to resist, Cisco presses a hand into his chest. “Iris West? A LIAR?” He gasps. “You don’t say.”

Barry shoots up from his chair, a second away from lunging at Cisco but Caitlin blocks him with her body. “Cisco. Please,” she scolds him backwards, gently pushing Barry in the chest.

That seems to calm him, as he flops back into his seat with a sigh. But Cisco pushes forward.

“Cool it, Cait. Alright. I’m not the one who’s leading on our best friend -- she is.”

“She’s not leading me on!” Barry yells, scooting to the edge of the chair. “She’s just…”

“...Not just an art dealer, apparently, not in good standing with the IRS -- or at least she won’t be--and in no danger of becoming a Girl Scout troop leader. Or a nun either,” Cisco retorts.

Barry shrugs, unphased by his recounting of events. “So she’s not perfect. But I have my own secrets. “

“Yeah. You’re the Flash, but, she's a criminal, who lies to you constantly. About what she does, where she goes. How many times, since you found out, have you had to save her from the trouble she’s gotten into?”

Barry sighs; he’s almost lost count of the number of times Flash has scooped Iris from the pits of danger, during a business deal gone bad. Shadowy figures, unrelated to her business dealings, looming in dark alleys after she’s left some abandoned building, scorned men whose pockets she’d bled dry, but who couldn't pursue legal action due to their own dirty dealings, who took things into their own hand.

One by one, he’d laid out anyone who crossed her path and had the audacity to even breathe at her wrong, which all amounted to silent acknowledgement between her and Flash. Because she damn sure hadn’t told him -- Barry Allen -- about these chance meetings.

Another reason he had to be cautious around her. She held her cards too close to her chest.

Cisco takes in a sharp breath. “I just want better for you man. You deserve someone who doesn’t lie to you.”

Barry holds Cisco’s gaze. “She might be a liar, but when she tells me she loves me, it’s not a lie. And because of that, I can’t just throw away our relationship -- we can get past this. I know it.”

Cisco rolls his eyes and twirls his hair round and round his finger. “Whatever.”

Caitlin, who’s grown tired of Cisco’s negativity, faces him. “If you’re not going to offer Barry any understanding, you should probably excuse yourself.”

“Fine,” he says as he shoots up, “’I‘ll go.” But when Barry finds out something else about Iris that he can't handle, I can’t be the person he vents to anymore. ” He pauses and turns towards his friend, who’s struggling to bite his tongue. “It hurts to see you like this, man.”

With that, Cisco makes his exit, leaving just Barry and Caitlin in the room. Awkward silence fills the space he leaves, as those little stubborn nuggets of rationale, in between Cisco’s snark, tries to penetrate his brain.

Slowly he looks up at Caitlin, a fervent lea in his eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you and Iris need to have a talk. A long talk, about what you know about her. How dangerous this game she’s playing is. But most importantly, what you need from her, going forward if you’re going to work, romantically. Which I imagine is total transparency.”

Barry nods slowly, taking in her advice. These are things he already knows he’ll eventually have to do, but he still still isn’t ready, He doesn’t know how Iris will take him knowing the truth about her, and he’s not ready to deal with any potential fallout. “You're right,” he says, the only answer he can scrounge up. “I wish you weren't, but you are.”

Caitlin tilts her head sympathetically, unspoken words fighting to be free.

“What?” “

“You….also... need to tell her you’re the Flash. I know, you have reservations. But if you’re willing to stay with her, through all she’s doing, she deserves to know who you are as well.”

Barry sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. There’s a universe of lies between them, and he worries their relationship is too new to handle such added weight. But he can’t continue to live like this, and can’t let her continue to live like this. They’re either going to be together, without secrets, or...He pauses, unable to let the rest of the sentence form in his head, then shoots up. “Okay. I’m going,” he says, finally. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“Goo-,” Caitlin starts, but he’s gone in a flash of lightning, before she can finish her statement.

************************

Iris steps out of her bathroom, with barely a minute to spare before Randolf Helming, the owner of the Helming Hotel chain arrives. He’s looking to cut his tax bill in half, by funneling some of his cash into a few high end art pieces, and he thinks Iris can assist him. What he doesn’t know is that the pieces she’s going to sell him are forgeries that only 1/10 art experts can spot. So she’ll pocket his commission for her time and also the value of the real paintings she’ll sell again to an unsuspecting schulub, later in the year.

Probably to some secluded older gentlemen, who buys art for social prestige, thousands of miles away in Prague or Berlin.

A hefty journey to travel, but a necessary trip if she’s going to do better at covering her tracks. Over the past few months, some of her old dealings have started to catch up to her, and she’s had more than her fair share of brush ups.

Oddly, though also fortunately, enough, she was saved each time by Central City’s guardian angel: The Flash. Though, at this point, it almost felt like he was her own personal angel, always seeming to be in the right place when she was in the wrong place.

She’d think it strange if not for the multitudes of people he saves everyday.

As she makes her way into the living room, she takes one last look at her appearance in the big mirror hanging over her fireplace. Her previously frizzed hair has been tamed into a low pony-tail, and her face has been painted with a light dusting of makeup. But it’s her attire, a chic red, high-waisted skirt and black fitted blazer blazer that's sure to wow any potential business partner.

A knock at the door pulls Iris away from her thoughts. She pulls at her skirt, not wanting to give Randolf the wrong idea -- she might be dressed to the nines, but this is not a romantic engagement; she has to work to do-- then waltzes over to the door.

“Mr. Helming “ Iris says warmly, as she opens the door. “I’m glad you could make it.”

The silver haired man, who hovers around around 5’10 and is dressed in a light gray suit, lets his eyes travel unabashedly down Iris’s body before he greets her. “It is my pleasure, Ms. West.”

He takes a huge step into the apartment, nearly brushing his body against hers. Uncomfortable with the closeness, Iris steps backward, letting out a nervous chuckle. She doesn’t usually entertain her clients -- legitimate or otherwise -- in her home, but she figures that someone as high profile as Mr. Helming has too much to lose to act out of turn.

Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention as her attempt to create distance does nothing to soften his gaze. “Well,” she says, running her hand over her hair, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Oh, yes,” he mimics, seemingly remembering the reason for his visit. “Business. Lets.”

Iris smiles politely and steps aside to give him ample room to enter further. He strides past her, and heads for the couch, taking in the sight of her place as he walks. “Wow. The art world has treated you quite, well, huh?”

Returning from closing the door, Iris walks over, proudly. “Yeah, I guess you can say that."

At the couch, Randolph takes a seat in the middle of her cream colored sofa, and spreads both arms across the back. Iris, who was gearing up to take a seat next to him, pivots and takes a seat in the black recliner sitting adjacent to the couch.

He frowns and scoots his body towards the end nearest to the chair, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.

“So. I hear you’re trying to lessen your tax burden,” Iris says, diving straight into business."

“Yeah.” He crosses one leg over the other. “My hotels are doing well. But as it goes, I owe the government 10s of millions this year in taxes and so I need a tax write off. And a big one.”

Iris smiles. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I just so happen to have a direct connection to the Murdock Estate, who handles affairs for the late oil painter, M.N. Murdoch. They’re looking to unload a couple of pieces for the right buyer.”

“And when you say right…”

“Well, aside from the assets to afford the seven figure price tag, they’re deadset on selling it to an astute businessman -- someone who understands the value of fine art.” But who can’t tell a forgery from a real pieces.

He nods, pleased with her response. “Well, let’s see these paintings.”

Iris pulls her phone from her pocket, and opens up the PGN files of the paintings, still on display at the Central City Art Museum and hands it over to Mr. Helming. He takes the phone, finger sliding haphazardly across the screen, sending him back to her home screen.

“Oops,” he chuckles. I clicked off of the screen. Can you fix it?”

“Of course.” Iris reaches for the phone. As he releases it, his fingers graze over hers, sending a wicked chill through her.

His skin is somehow cool, yet sweaty at the same time. Iris draws her fingers in awkwardly as she retrieves the phone and reset the screen. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him wipe his palms on his pants leg. Her return is smoother; managing to hand over the phone without making skin to skin contact.

Randolf takes a moment to look over the pieces, genuine contemplation painting his face. His concentration on the task at hand eases her growing anxiety a tad, though the silence that settles over the room still tickles her nerves.

She glances over to the table, where the unfinished bottle of wine she and Barry had for dinner sits, and her mouth nearly waters for a glass. But she doesn’t drink while doing business -- at least not this kind.

When she looks back over to Randolf, he’s done with her phone and also eyeing the wine. “I could go for a glass, myself,” he says over a prickly laugh.

Iris opens her mouth to respond, then realizing no words are coming out, pushes out a choked response. “Right. Of course. Is Merlot okay?”

He nods. “That’s just fine. Though, if you have something a little stronger, I wouldn't object.”

"No,” she says quickly. “Just the Merlot -- I’m not much of a drinker.” She stands and smoothes down her skirt, and walks across her living room, towards the kitchen.

Iris had already cleaned up from dinner, so she goes to the cabinet to retrieve two wine glasses. Even though she doesn't drink on the job, she has to at least pretend to indulge him if she wants to close the deal.

Glasses in hand, she turns for the island and lets out a loud shriek when she notices Randolf is standing just feet away, at the other side. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you walk over,” she quickly offers towards his slightly offended expression.

“Oh.” He relaxes some. “I am quite light on my feet -- blame my wife.”

Iris quirks a curious brow. “Your wife?”

“Ballroom dancing,” he says, settling his weight over the island. “She makes us go once a week. On my one off day too.”

She smiles politely. “That is very sweet. I’m sure you two have a lot of fun.” Feeling more comfortable at the mention of his wife, Iris walks past him towards the table where the wine is sitting.

His shoes scuff her floor as he turns, a sound that easily penetrates her eardrums. Iris turns just in time to see his outstretched arm, reaching for her. She pulls away right before he lands and steps backward. He presses forward, trapping her between him and the table.

“What are you doing?” She asks, now on high alert.

He sighs harshly, his body drooping from the aggravation as his face contorts into a frown. “Oh come on; surely, you know how this works, Iris.”

“How what works?”

“I could get art from any buyers in the city. Men much more accomplished than you. If I came to you, it’s because of an added incentive.”

“Which is?”

“ You.” He tries to press his body into hers, but Iris pushes him in the chest. He stumbles, but only barely, as Iris rushes to the other side of the table, grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine as a weapon. “Get out. NOW,” she commands voice loud and firm.

Much firmer than her nerves on the inside. There’s no way she can overpower him, physically. And this high up, no one will hear her screams from her penthouse.

“Or what?” He asks, casually rounding the table, completely unphased.

“Or I will bash your fucking skull in.”

She raises the bottle higher, hoping to appear more threatening. He chuckles, nearly spits at her attempt. “Oh, you’re not going to hit me. Not if you want to keep doing business in this town. Remember, I have a lot of rich friends. One word from me, and you’re toast.”

“Excuse me?” She asks, overcome with offense at his audacity.

“You heard me!” Randolf yells as thrusts himself towards her, and tackles her to the ground.

The bottle of wine falls from her hand, shattering into a million pieces on the floor around them. He tries to kiss her and Iris squirms underneath him, fighting to free from his grip, shards of glass digging into her exposed flesh. She yells, the stinging pain piercing all her nerves.

“Shut up!” He yells, wedging his leg between hers as he plants a firm hand round her neck.

Iris freezes, pinned in place, chest heaving up and down as his tar-black eyes singe a hole through her.

“There.” His smile is dark and haunting. “This isn’t so bad is it?”

Unwilling to let the last sight of her be a disheveled, powerless woman, Iris spits clean on his face. His hand shoots to the spot in disbelief, face as red as the blood trickling from the wounds on her leg, “Oh, you’ve done it now!” He yells, drawing his hand backward. Iris presses her eyes shut, preparing for the blow. But where she should feel stinging pain, possibly a broken nose, she only feels a gust of wind and the relief of Randolf’s body no longer being on top of hers.

The crash that follows is deafening as the force propels Randolf into her walls. And that’s when she sees a red blur, wrapped up in blazing lightning, delivering the final blow that knocks Randolf clean out.

His limp body falls to the floor, his skull cracking against the luxury vinyl tile that covers her kitchen floors. The masked hero, who she now registers as The Flash, comes into focus. She watches him watch look over Randolf's unmoving body, making no effort to check on him.

Iris uses her depleted strength to stumble upward, grunting as fresh shards of glass pierce her hands. She lets out a guttural cry, nearly tumbling over from the pain.

From the shock. From the devastation.

He runs over and catches her, letting her body crash into his soft, open arms. She can’t even scrounge up the energy to wonder how or why The Flash has yet again saved her from herself. She’s completely overwhelmed at the fact that this night couldn't have ended so much worse.

And then come the tears, a ravenous stream down her face. Iris presses her hand into face, to block the sight of her

“Oh, God. Are you bleeding?” Asks the masked man in panicked frenzy, though his voice unmasks him immediately.

Slowly, Iris raises her head, every odd encounter with the Flash she’s had over the past few months settling into place like a finally-finished puzzle. All the she time she almost met her demise, but didn't.

He looks at her, fear coursing, over the lingering anger in his eyes, but that voice is unmistakable. It’s the same voice that awkwardly asked her out nearly a year ago, and grew giddy when she agreed. The same voice that’s crooned sweet “I love you’s” in her ear since that first night he nervously admitted it, over frozen yogurt.

“B-” Her throat is dry and ragged. “Barry?” She pushes out.

With a sigh, he tears his cowl off, revealing fully the face of the man she loves more than she knew was possible. His cheeks are bloodshot red, his eyes puffy, and glossy, a clear sign his own tears will soon spill forth.

“Oh, Iris,” he groans, sweeping her up into his arms.

Now knowing this masked hero is the man she loves, has been the man she loves, she melts further into his chest, every bit of hesitation to maintain an air of control falling away. She cries, shamelessly, unabashedly, into his chest as he rocks her.

She has a thousand questions, and knows he does too, but she can’t scrounge up a single one, only caring that he’s here now. That he’s saved her. Again.

As Iris goes silent, Barry’s mind races a thousand miles a minute. He’d taken Caitlin’s advice and headed here to talk to her about her lies, never imagining the scene he’d walk in on. He can’t think straight, can’t even worry about his former objective, he’s only grateful that he got here in time before…

“Fuck!” Yells. Iris jumps against his chest, but he’s unperturbed. “You could’ve. He could’ve…” He continues, trying to push past the ugliness these sentences conjures in his brain, but the defeated shame on her face stops him.

He kisses her cheek, and stands, lifting her in his arms, bridal style, though the apartment is devoid of the the joy of a burgeoning marriage. The air is heavy, as heavy as both their hearts, as her body in his arms. Yet he soldiers on, through the resistance. When he arrives at her bedroom, he kicks the door open with one foot and carries her over to the bed, covered in the black, floral comforter he’d bought her as a gift early in their relationship.

Before he knew of the lies and deceit.

As her raw skin makes contact with the bed, she hisses in discomfort. “I’m sorry!” he’s quick to say, swiping a comforting hand over her head.

“It’s okay, Barr,” she croaks Her voice is thin, barely meeting the air. She's afraid to bring up the obvious, knowing now that the sweet, gentle man she’s been getting to know over the last year is The Flash. A masked hero, a force of nature, keeping the city from descending into anarchy. But she has to express her gratitude somehow. “Thank you.”

He swipes a gentle hand down the side of her face, lingering on her beauty, then leans down, planting a soft kiss on the side of her face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, as her straightens his posture. “Now, I’ll be back.” He turns away from her and heads to the bedroom door.

Iris sits up on the bed. “Where are you going?”

“To see if that asshole is still breathing. Hopefully, he’s not. But if he is, I have to drop him off at Iron Heights.”

His response is dry, matter-of-fact, and it sends a tingle down her spine. “But. You can’t. He’ll talk.”

“It’s okay.” Barry continues to walk away from her. “He didn’t see my face.”

“But. Still. I don’t think jail is the right path for him.”

She isn’t saying what she wants, and he knows it. But he’s too amped up to care. “So I’m supposed to let the man who almost raped my girlfriend go free?! Is that what you want?”

“No. I…”she sighs, long and hard. “I just…”

He turns, the painful implication settling inside of him. Even after all of this, she’s worried about her dirty business deals. “What? You’re worried that the police will find out what you’ve really been doing all this time? How can you afford to live like this?” He motions around the apartment.

Iris gulps, the judgement in his tone hurting more than the gashes on her legs.

“Well, newsflash: the police -- me, I -- know, and have known for months. And what you’re doing, honestly? You deserve to be in jail.”

“Well why didn’t you say anything?” She croaks. “Why haven’t you turned me in?”

He chuckles, offensively. “Because...I love you more than your mistakes. And I was trying to give you time to either stop this or be honest with me.” He shrugs, painfully. “Guess it’s too late for that.”

“Barr, I’m sorry. I--.” She sighs, letting her head fall forward in shame. “ I’m sorry.”

Barry sighs. “Yeah. Me too.” He casts one final look of disappointment over her, one that softens ever so slightly when she raises her head and he meets her sad, concerned eyes. “Look, we can talk about all of this later. All that matters right now is that you're safe."

Iris nods meekly.

"I’ll be back in a sec to help clean you up,” he says, before flashing away, leaving her alone in the room....

#The flash #westallen #fanfiction #archive of our own

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liddolwhynot2000 · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! So, I was wondering if I could get a levi x reader where the reader runs the tea shop levi goes to to get his tea and they slowly become friends before realizing they’ve fallen in love with eachother?

Aiii one of my first fic supporters ⭐ I'm so sorry for answering this so late. But I got you.

Here we goo. I hope it lives up to your expectations! @dove-music

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Apricity

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Summary:

After all, Levi had gotten into a relationship.

With a woman who baked cookies and drew his face on them for fun.

___________________________________

Pairings: Levi/Reader

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Genre: fluff, romance, Levi-does-not-know-romance, kinda funny

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If Levi had to pick any place in the world that gave made him feel something akin to contentment, it would be the little tea shop that was a 10 minute walk from the Survey Corps.

It wasn't some big, fancy cafe, overcrowded with civilians and soldiers, like other establishments were. A small, cosy little shop in the corner of the street. The shop made good business, he could tell, with its modest furnishing and quality to tea.

He had stumbled upon it in a dire time of need- right after losing his beloved friends to titans. He had accepted that he would stay in the survey corps but he hadn't been willing to make friends at the time. He didn't want to get drunk with his fellow soldiers, or visit brothels. He had just wanted some quiet.

Levi had been walking along the street by himself, in the dark, when he had stumbled upon that cafe. It had been on a whim that he had decided to go inside and actually order something.

He would try to convince himself that it was a one time thing, that he was simply trying some of the luxuries the surface had to offer. But one time turned into two, two turned into ten and so on.

He was rewarding himself with good tea, Levi told himself, that was why he kept coming back. He fought titans for humanity, the least he could do was use his paycheck to buy himself a nice beverage every once in a while. It was treat to himself.

The sweet owner of the cafe had nothing to do with this. Nothing at all.

Yeah sure Levi nobody believes you

Shut up four eyes or else-

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'Sir, here you go.'

'.. I didn't order this.'

Levi looked at the plate set infront of him with indifference, although a part of him wondered if it would taste as good as it looked. It was a chocolate cake slice, with some sort of white cream on it.

'It's on the house sir.'

He looked at you, feeling bewildered at the sight of your smiling face. Was this sort of shit normal in the surface? Just giving each other food? There had to be some sort of catch right?

'.. What do you want?'

You blinked at him in confusion.

'Er- nothing sir. We sometimes give free meals to customers. You're the lucky customer this week.'

Levi felt compelled to ask one more time.

'So I owe you nothing for this?'

'Absolutely nothing.'

'Right... Thanks.'

There was no more clarification he could ask for, not when you had used that firm tone. You excused yourself and walked away, leaving Levi to his treat.

Huh. The people here weren't so bad after all.

Maybe he would come back to try some more dishes later.

It's not to see you again hell no stop it Hange- it's NOT-

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He later finds out that you're the owner of the cafe. You could just hire help and let others manage the cafe, but you prefer handling it yourself. Levi can't help liking that- so many people would just sit on their asses, but you're actually working hard.

He doesn't get around to going to the cafe again until a month later. It's after a grueling expedition and he's beyond irritated with everyone. For some reason, they've started calling him 'humanity's strongest' and frankly, Levi finds it to be a dumb title.

Becuase even with all his strength, he hadn't been able to save everyone.

Wanting to get away from overeager comrades and a sugar high Hange (somebody give moblit a raise poor boi), Levi decides to head to the cafe.

Yet again, you're the one who welcomes him. He silently thanks you when you seat him in the corner of the shop, an area where hardly anyone would see him and he wouldn't have to see anyone else. You had perhaps understood from his uniform and exhausted face that he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, so you had hand him the menu and quietly tell him you'll be back in five minutes.

Once you get him his chosen tea, you also quietly leave a plate of another desert with it. This time, Levi doesn't bother asking questions. He nods at you gratefully before allowing himself to indulge in the delicacy infront of him.

He can't help but want to ask your name.

Aww Levi you drew a heart on that paper with her name on it-

No what the fuck YOU drew that four eyes-

___________________________________

He frequents the cafe at least twice a month for the next five years. It's become a tradition of sorts, going there after a tiresome mission, enjoying a meal made by you. You don't always let him have food for free of course, but it's often at a discounted rate. And as someone who has never enjoyed any privelege whatsoever in his entire life, he guards the special consideration you show him close to his heart.

The two of you don't interact much at the start, but Levi notices you. The way you give your workers decent time off, how you don't hesitate in offering monetary help or letting someone take the day off, even if it means you're overworked. He hasn't talked to you much, but he has a good opinion of you. He finds you fascinating, the first speck of kindness he's seen in his life, since Isabel and her desire to free a bird. Levi doesn't bother approaching you directly, because he doesn't even know what to say.

The two of you have a full interaction six months into his routine, the day Levi accidentally stays till its closing time. It had been good luck on your part--that when the drunk garrison soldiers had stumbled into your cafe will less then innocent intentions, Levi had been there to deal with them. As far as the garrisons were concerned, it had been the worst night of their lives. No amount of alcohol would ever be enough to make them forget what had happened.

Look at you, so protective of your woman even then-Levi where did you get that knife from--wait no - Erwin HELP-

He strikes a tentative friendship with you after that. You had been beyond thankful for his intervention, knowing you might not have made it out with your life if he hadn't been there. You made him cookies the next day, coming all the way to headquarters to give them to him.

Much to his despair, you meet his self proclaimed friend--Hange, and the two of you become friends too. He tries not to mind it, however, the day Hange flashes a cookie with what is clearly his frowning face drawn on it, he has to be held back by five soldiers from throwing Hange out the window. He marches to cafe, intending on letting out his ire at your insolence. But somehow, he doesn't tell you off like he had planned. Instead he finds himself asking you about your baking and art skills-even he would admit that the drawing of him had been spot on.

He does ban from making them again. You honoured it, until the two of you became good friends. Suddenly, every holiday involves at least one tray of grumpy Levi cookies. Even Erwin had enjoyed them, much to his exasperation. It had lead to his vow of never trying one.

They tasted amazing, I really think you should have tried them- OUCH that hurt shorty-

It doesn't take long till he finds himself purposefully visiting at closing time, knowing you'll just make yourself make a meal too, sit nearby and read a book. You engage him in conversation at times, telling him about the books you read. The two of you bond over food and fictional stories. He let's his walls down for you, little by little. You end up becoming the first person he let's in, his first friend, since the death of Isabel and Farlan.

Levi likes to think they would have liked you.

It's nice, spending time with you. You don't look at him like he's some God with all the solutions, like his comrades do. You aren't in some high risk career where he'd have to worry about you dying. You're stable and peaceful, exactly where you are.

Everytime he sets out for an expedition, he mentally prepares himself for not making it back without at least half his cormades. When it comes to you, his friend, he has no worries. You're safely tucked away in your cafe, out of reach from the titans grasp.

'friend' sure Levi, you write love letters for your friends.

Four eyes where the fuck did you get those from, give them back-

___________________________________

It's a peaceful day, as evidenced by the birds chirping and general pleasant atmosphere. One could say the weather is perfect. Just the right amount of sunshine shining in the streets, children enjoying themselves, chasing each other.

Even Levi is in a good mood. Of course, his good mood is amplified by his current location. His favorite cafe.

He's sitting inside, but the windows are open, letting in fresh air. He has a nice cup of tea on the table, with a plate full of sandwiches. You were seated in front of him, drinking some tea so sweet he could smell it.

You're telling him about a book, how you've analysed its villainous characters. He enjoys listening to you, often finding your ability to guage complex characters with relative ease to be startling. It makes him trust you more, knowing that no matter how fucked up something occurs, you wouldn't take it at face value.

You wouldn't judge him like that.

The two of you are interrupted as the bell chimes and someone enters the cafe. It's a young man, maybe in his 20s. He's dressed well, a white shirt with a brown vest on top. You put down the book down and smile as you go to greet him.

Suddenly, Levi doesn't feel as peaceful as before. He keep his eyes to his tea but his ears are perked up as he listens to you chatter with the man.

'Hello. Its been a while eh?'

'It has. I've been in Wall Sina getting some work done. Finally finished it, those damn nobles ask us for way too much-'

The man places an order for a bag of biscuits, ones you had already made. You give him a discount, which Levi smugly notes isn't even half of what he gets, and he tells you he has to leave soon. Levi's relieved really, he doesn't know what he's feeling, but he knows he doesn't like him.

'.. Maybe next time, I could take you out on a date...'

Even though you gently reject the man, who takes it well, Levi can't stop frowning. Once you take your place in infront of him again and continue your explaination, he turns his attention back to you and tries to brush off that feeling in his gut.

But it doesn't work.

____________________________________

When Levi had been taken in under Kenny's (questionable) care, he had learned a lot of things from the man. How to hold a knife, how to break bones, make deals, the sex talk that Levi would like to never remember etc. Kenny had taught him plenty of life skills.

However, his methods had been crazy to say the least. More often then not, Levi found himself on the recieving end of sparring sessions where he was sent flying into trash cans and expected to get up and attack again. Kenny had been ruthless, but it had been for his own good. He wouldn't have survived that hell hole otherwise.

Levi recalled a specific moment in his early days of being with Kenny all too clearly. He hadn't fully understood why Kenny was making him train like this, and frankly, he had been exhausted being treated like a punching bag. In his anger, he had yelled at Kenny, half crying, about how his mother would never let him get hurt like this and how much he missed her.

Kenny had stared at him blankly for a minute once he had finished, and with the speed of lightning, the man had punched him in the stomach.

It had been extremely painful, taking his breath away. Kenny had then proceeded to beat him senseless--telling him what would happen if he wasn't strong enough with each blow.

He would always remember that pain for the rest of his life. Nothing had ever come close to it, or at least that's what he had thought.

But right now, sitting at his desk late at night, Levi feels like Kenny had punched him in the gut again. He was, yet again, experiencing a feeling he would never forget. It wasn't pain, but it's intensity was just the same.

Love.

..sittin in a tree, K I S S I N- AHHH

Section Commander, are you okay!? How did you fall down the stairs??

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Levi and the rest of the soldiers had the night off, and while usually he was more inclined to simply stay away from their parties, he allowed his squad to drag him. It had, as expected, turned out to be a mistake. Everyone had been too drunk. Especially his squad.

When Olou began singing, Levi listened with mild amusement. His voice actually hadn't been too bad.

When Gunther and Eld began drunkenly trying to dance together to his singing, he might have actually smiled while drinking his beer.

When a very drunk Moblit collapsed next to him, muttering about that crazy four eyes, Levi decided to put his foot down and end the party. With Petra's help, he had carried Moblit to his room. The poor man had muttered the entire way there, mostly about Hange and Titans and needing therapy.

The punch in the gut, figuratively, had taken place on his way back to his room. Courtesy of Petra.

He hadn't noticed it, which had been stupid of him in hindsight. His ginger haired comrade had been harbouring feelings for him- feelings he knew he didn't return in the slightest. He had turned her down as gently as possible, not expecting her to loop her arms around his neck and beg him for one night together.

'... Please captain, just one night. If you still feel the same in the morning, I'll never bring this up again.'

Maybe in another universe, he would have said yes. After all, despite the age gap between them, Petra was rather beautiful. And any man would want to enjoy a night with her.

Alas, the moment she had looped her arms around him, his breath had suddenly left him, as though Kenny had punched him in the gut again.

He wasn't seeing his ginger haired cormade leaning into him, confessing her love to him. He was seeing you, your hair in that messy bun, that sweet smile, saying all those words. Practically begging him to make you his.

The moment Petra repeated her statement again, however, the vision fell apart and he pushed her away. After a firm rejection and some tears, he wandered back to his office, feeling dazed.

Sitting down in his chair, he had stared mindlessly, thinking about you.

You and your sweet words. Your obsession with reading. Those special discounts for him. That gentle smile. Even those absurd grumpy Levi cookies you baked.

Levi was a Capricorn--and capricorns were practical people. Rational. And in the interest of being practical, Levi decided to admit his feelings to himself. It would only drive him crazy if he didn't.

He was in love with you.

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In his thirty something years of living, Levi had never been in an relationship. He had been too busy navigating the dark realms of the underground, trying to find enough food to eat. He hadn't cared for sex either, too traumatized by Kenny and his (shudder) talk. By the time he had gotten older and more stable, he had been so disgusted by the flithiness of the act, that he didn't even bother seeking out partners.

Which was why, here was, in love with a woman who probably deserved better then him, unable to do figure out what to do. Should he tell you? Or just keep it to himself? He wasn't sure if you felt the same, but the part of him that was in love with you knew he'd die happy if he held even the smallest part of your heart.

He was at a loss really. Maybe he could find a book about this crap.

Kenny's voice rung in his head for a few seconds, before Levi shut it off. He would rather die single then get a girl using Kenny's advice. He could do better then this. Maybe Erwin would have a book, there had to be somewhere the blonde bastard learned his charm from.

... You gotta be upfront kid. If you want her to be yours..

Levi wouldn't listen to Kenny. No. There was no way...

.. Don't beat around the bush brat, just tell her...

...he would do as Kenny had advised him to.

... Kill her if she doesn't like you back okay..

Okay that wasn't happening. Even if some of it sounded like it made sense, he still wouldn't do it like Kenny would.

No.

Freaking.

Way.

__________________________________

The next day, Levi silently wondered if his mentor was still alive. If he was, Levi resolved to stab him in a heartbeat. Because he just knew, that if Kenny could see him now, he would laugh his ass off.

After all, Levi had gotten into a relationship.

With a woman who baked cookies and drew his face on them for fun.

And it was all because he followed Kenny's advice.

Goddamit.

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A/N: This ended up being longer then planned whew. My fingers were numb at some points, bc I wrote this in 3 straight hours. I hope y'all liked this! Am I the only who thinks grumpy Levi cookies would be amazing? I had to give Kenny a role in this, it was too tempting not to. Overall, I liked this one alot. I actually have a plan in mind involving this Levi and reader, which I'll hopefully write soon. Till then, take care everyone!

#AOT #Snk #Levi x reader #Levi ackerman #Levi AOT #Romance #Levi does not know romance

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trash-but-respectable-trash · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanons of what life in the Devildom would be like if my best friend and I were both exchange student at the same time:

Heads up! This is completely self-indulgent content. I made this as a gift for my best friend: @beel-is-a-snack love you bitch 😘

Lucifer:

- Lucifer would probably really hate us at first.

- It’s feels to him like everywhere we go together, something really weird will happen

- It’s things he cannot link to us, but he knows it’s because of us because these things never happened before

- At first, we probably wouldn’t listen to his orders, we didn’t leave a controlling household just to go to another one

- A single punishment (and not the kinky kind) would be all it takes for us to never disobey his orders again

- It would come at no surprise that I would immediatly have a fat crush on him and that I would talk about him all the time to you, even though you wouldn’t understand what I see in him at first

- The more you would notice how much he cares about his brothers, the more you would like him. You two would developed a mutual understanding about taking the role of the parent by default even if that wasn’t your choice

- You two could probably also relate to each other’s daddy issues sorry love you

- With time you two could be really close friends, but probably not more than that, because he’s mine

- Don’t worry we’ll find you a more suitable boyfriend

- He definitely wouldn’t try to come between our friendship and would never be jealous of it either

- He would give us plenty of time alone, but even if he didn’t, we couldn’t even try to speak French around him because I’m 100% sure he also speak French as a second or third or fourth language

- We would probably found out about it the hard way while I would either tell you how handsome he is or you telling me he’s a control freak and he would just reply to us in perfect French

- Yeah we would only make that mistake once

Mammon

- Mammon also hates us at first, he has to take care of TWO humans?? That’s asking too much of him, he can barely take care of himself

- After a while, it would probably be the other way around as we would be the ones taking care of him

- He cannot decide which one of us he loves more (probably the one who gives him the most attention and positive reinforcement)

- He quickly becomes jealous of our friendship and tries to hangout with us every chances he gets

- It can be a bit awkward when we’re trying to talk about boys, since we’re likely talking about his brothers

- We would need to have codes to refer to the brothers or we could use French when we don’t want him to understand what we’re saying, since he’s definitely too dumb to understand French

- It was 100% clear in our minds that neither of us would end up dating Mammon as we both need someone who could mentally stimulates us

- Also he would for sure steal our stuff out of our rooms and try to sell them

- After a full week of silent treatment from both of us, he wouldn’t ever try to steal our stuff again

- He would try to trick us in participating in his shaninagans, but we would probably report it to Lucifer just to see Mammon get punish (ok mostly me, but I would drag you with me to see the aftermath)

- Never suspects us of being the one who snitch him all the time to Lucifer, he probably thinks it’s Levi

Leviathan

- Oh boy. Opposite to Lucifer and Mammon, it’s us who hates him at first

- What the fuck is that hair style, why is he always screaming and talking an hundred miles an hour rambling about animes and Ruri-Chan, who’s Ruri-Chan??

- Probably calls us normies until he finds out you had a Naruto collection when you were 13 years old and that you used to love mangas

- And that I now enjoy some animes and mangas myself, so now he calls both of us weebs, which isn’t much better honestly

- We would TOLERATE gaming with him if he isn’t screaming all the fucking time

- We would immediately leave any room we’re in everytime he says “Woooooaaaahhhh”

- He needs to shut up or else we can never be friends with him

- He also gets jealous of our friendship, he wish he had a best friend with such a strong bond, yeah he has Henry 2.0 but it’s just not the same you know

- He wonders if his friendship with Ruri-Chan would be similar to ours if she was real

- He tried to become really close with Solomon to recreate our friendship, but Solomon spent his time trying to form a pact with Levi so he ended it

Satan

- I have to say that I think that Satan and I are the most similar

- We’re both intelligent, independent and observant individuals who do not tolerate dumb people, we both enjoy reading a bit too much, we’re both messy, we’re both way too honest and we’re pros at hiding our anger (especially towards stupidity)

- Ok, so I’m not saying you wouldn’t get along with Satan, I just think you wouldn’t have much in common with him and by that I mean that’s he’s a very rational being and the best form of art in his eyes is writing

- I think what would make it or break it for both of you is his and your knowledge on all forms of arts and the history being it. Satan would probably test you and if you pass in his eyes, you can be friends, otherwise he would consider you unworthy

- Yeah I know it’s rough, but you don’t need a friend who needs to test you on your knowledge about art to see if you two can be friends

- Even if you pass the test, I don’t see you two being super close as he is mostly in his room reading and you would be in your studio, doing all of your art projects

- In any case, you guys would have to get along somehow since he would probably be the one I would be closest with and you’re my best friend so obviously you two would have to hang out by default quite a lot

- When you would be in your studio, I would probably be at the library or in Satan’s room reading

- We would also all study together and use Satan as our tutor for classes were we have more difficulty (but you’re lucky, there’s no French class given at RAD so you should do fine)

Asmodeus

- If we push aside the lust part of him and focus on his other personality traits, Asmo would like us from the start

- Two best friends how fun! He would probably tell us how Solomon is his best friend before finding out later by Solomon that it isn’t true

- Asmo is a lonely demon, sure he gets plenty of physical attention, but no one cares about him past his beauty

- We would be the one to change that, we would both see further than his beauty, but also further than his narcissistic ways to find out who the real Asmo is

- He’s the insecure one who only wants to be love. We would both act as his therapist. Sometimes he would confess to us while doing our nails and makeup or sometimes he would just start sobbing on my lap or your lap, pouring his heart out and telling us his deepest fears and secrets because he finally feels safe enough to say these things to someone

- He would probably crave our attention and comfort the more and more we listen to him. We would need to set boundaries or else we would feel like we’re suffocating. We both need our space and Asmo would have to understand that fact

- We would rub on him and he would slowly stop going out so much, instead appreciating his alone time the better he feels about himself

Beelzebub

- At first I would be a bit scared of him, he’s big and he keeps making comments about how delicious we look (and again, not in the kinky way)

- You on the other hand, would probably feel that he isn’t a bad guy at all and you would definitely see more than his angry looking face and his never ending comments about food

- Just a few conversations with him can tell how much he cares about his family and his twin in particular

- That man is such an himbo, but he also have a big heart just like you and you’re both so cute together

- Everyone ship the both of you even though you’re both emotionally dense and it would take a while for you and him to FINALLY be together

- It’s not that you didn’t love each other, it’s just that you never took the signs that the other one was sending you, mistaking it for simple kindness and nothing more

- He would probably have to just straight up tell you l that he’s in love with you for your relationship to go anywhere

- Basically everyone’s like “FINALLY” the moment you both annonce that you’re officially dating

- Wedding and kids would come shortly after that

- You’re both very family oriented and are both super vanilla so that’s a winning couple if I’ve ever seen one

Belphegor

- Ok first of all, if we were the MC, Belphie would 100% still be locked in the attic

- It would only take one warning from Lucifer for us to never go up those stairs again

- But for the sake of this, let’s say you knew this was Beel’s brother and you loved Beel so much that you were ready to face the consequences to save his brother

- And let’s say I wasn’t aware of this, because if I were and we both decided to go up the stairs anyway, it wouldn’t take me long at all before realizing that Belphie is lying to us and that we cannot trust him

- If I wasn’t aware of you going up the stairs by yourself, you’re so trusting of everyone that you would for sure do the same thing as the MC and free Belphegor just to get yourself killed. I told you dozens of time, don’t trust everyone!

- Anyway, let’s say we both died somehow (I probably got killed by Lucifer once he found out what you did) and Barbatos and Diavolo brought us to a timeline were we didn’t die

- Well, let’s say the saying “I forgive but I never forget” would represent me 100%

- I would be forgiving for the sake of Beelzebub, but Belphie and I would NEVER be close, whether it appears to be the case or not

- I might let him sleep on my lap or listen to him talk about how he loves his twin, but don’t get me wrong, I would never trust him or be his friend

- In your case, you would either be like me or you wouldn’t ever forgive him

- Forgivness isn’t always something you can control and you might always hold a grudge against him after what he did

- That could either destroy what you had with Beel, because he cannot date someone who hates his brother so much, or he could also understand how you feel, but he would still try to make you and his brother friends good luck with that

Diavolo

- Oh boy that’s my type of man right there

- What a fucking piece of ass

- Ok back on track, Diavolo would obviously be the one who’s most excited to have us in the Devildom

- He would always invite us for tea, asking us questions about the human world and laughing at our dumb stories

- We would troll him with human traditions that don’t exist like how you need to pray before eating chocolate truffle or how humans eat St-Hubert (a rotisserie restaurant comparable to Nando’s) every Sunday and how What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction is the national anthem of our country

- I can imagine him watching the video clip of What Makes You Beautiful that same night and being like “wow! That is beautiful!”

- Lucifer would be so mad at us, but it would be worth it

- We would also tell him that “thug life” and “yolo” are commonly use expression in the human world when you’re excited about something and he would start using them at the most random moments while everyone is like “???”

- We would totally hate every party hosted by Diavolo and we would 1000% leave to explore the castle only to get lost and then brought back by either Barbatos or Lucifer (lord have mercy)

- It doesn’t matter, we would do it everytime, choosing a different path everytime until we’ve explore every part of the castle (which would realistically never happen)

- Diavolo would probably give us a plan of the castle behind Lucifer’s back so we can explore the castle however we want. He himself, isn’t a fan of these events and would much rather hang out with us than be stuck making conversations with nobles he doesn’t care about

- Other than that, you would have to listen to me talk endlessly about how it isn’t fair that I cannot date both Lucifer AND Diavolo until I actually do

Barbatos

- This one is a difficult one, since we basically know nothing about the Butler

- We would probably have a good grasp of who he is if we were in the devildom, since we have pretty good intuitions on people

- I would probably talk to Barbatos about baking and all the different variations of tea, probably dropping way to soon a reference to Black Butler like he never heard the comparaison before

- Much like his devilgram story, he would probably invite me to get some specific type of tea that can only be purchase out of town, never implying that it’s a date even though he qualify it as one in his head

- There’s not much more to say about him, I think you would see him as Diavolo’s Butler more than a potential lover or close friend

Simeon

- Ouf poor sweet angel. Let’s state the obvious first, he would probably be very disappointed in me and my very obvious lust for certain demons

- Wouldn’t be happy with me straying further away from god each passing day

- I would defend myself by telling him I do pray and go once a year to church to ask God for forgiveness for all of my sins

- Yeah if I was in the Devildom, my list of sins I committed during my stay would be particularly long

- Still, I would have no regrets

- Ok, I have to say it, this angel is shady. I think we would sense that something isn’t right with him. His smile and energy are a little off, he’s definitely hiding something but what?

- If we had time to kill we could do some research on the matter and ask people around about what they know about Simeon, maybe spy on him while he’s out in town?

- We would probably get caught and ask by a very scary Simeon, to stop whatever we are doing

- Yeah let’s take the wise decision of staying away from him from now on

Solomon

- He would need to understand that it’s not because we’re all humans that we NEED to hang out together

- I would have to keep you away from him, or at least not let you hang out alone with him. I don’t think he’s evil, but he might use you as human experiment for his potions and spells and I don’t want you to accidentally be turned into a pig or something

- I’ll accept the occasional vines references wars and the team up to tell Diavolo even more made up things about the human world, but that’s all

- I would probably compare him to Harry Potter all the time

- Let’s just stay far away from the shady sorcerer

Luke

- I have no motherly instincts, but I would protect this child from all of the brothers teasing, but that’s about it. I really don’t care about this child, SIMEON COME PICK UP YOUR SON, HE POOPED HIMSELF AGAIN “Stephanie that’s not true!!” Luke would bark back as he tries to hide the streak of poop on the back of his white pants (sorry I don’t know why this came to mind, but I have this headcanon that sometimes when he’s afraid, Luke will poop his pants and this boy is VERY scared of Lucifer, so it happens quite often)

- You would probably be way more motherly towards him than me and you and Beel would basically adopt Luke as your own child

- Just always carry baby wipes and a clean pair of pants with you at all times and you’re all good

- I hope you like baking sweets, because your son will surely want to spend some bonding time with his mom over baking time, and of course you have to enjoy the sweets you both made over a nice cup of tea that Barbatos made for you two

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me simeon #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me satan #obey me barbatos #obey me leviathan #obey me luke #damn so much tags #I hope you like them Patenron #they’re all for you

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moon-stars01 · 4 years ago

Text

~Sugar Rush~

Hoshi x Reader

Author:pseudomint

Summary: Kwon soonyoung finds himself becoming a regular customer in a local ice cream shop after meeting mingyu’s cute co-worker. Sounds normal—unless you leave out the fact that he dislikes sweets.

Pairing:Hoshi(Svt) x reader

Gene:Collage/University,Ice Cream polar,attempt at humor,flirting,Smitten Hoshi,Mingyu third wheeling,Jun and his pick up lines

Rating:Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count:6100

———————-

~SUGAR RUSH~

Hoshi stares at the cute, pastel building, decorated with stickers of ice cream illustrations on the big, glass windows and door. He checks his phone screen once again, only to see the exact picture of the building he found on the internet glaring back at him mockingly.

This is the place. He finally knows where Mingyu’s secret workplace is. Don’t ask him where he got the address from (he might have.. owed a certain pink haired devil named Jeonghan). All he has to do now is to storm inside the ice cream shop and make fun of Mingyu for all it’s worth.

Being friends with that guy for a long time, Hoshi has a vague idea of why would Mingyu hide his workplace. The guy has always been vocal about his worship for anything hip-related, evident by his love for classic Pop, several ear piercings, and fashion style. He’s studying art so that he can become a tattoo artist. Moreover, he has a history as a delinquent back in middle school.

So, working in a local, cute ice cream shop near their campus might not be included in Mingyu’s list of Top 10 Dream Jobs, even as a part-timer.

Hoshi stifles a grin as he pushes the door open, earning a chime from the bell above. The shop is quite vacant, save for three customers, minding their own businesses in three different seats, the ice cream on their plates or cups half-eaten. One of them is bobbing their head to the popular pop song that is heard through the wall speakers. As Hoshi continues to scan the pastel themed shop, his eyes finally land on the glass display, filled with various flavors and colors of ice cream.Hoshi can already feel a toothache—he’s never been a fan of sweets, after all.

Noticing the absence of the employees behind the counters, Hoshi spots a bell placed beside the cash register. His hand hovers above it, uncertain whether calling the shop clerk with a damn bell is even polite—obviously, this isn’t some kind of five-star gourmet restaurant. Not that Hoshi has ever been into one.

Thankfully, before Hoshi could dive further into his impromptu crisis, an employee emerges from the back door. He’s wearing a pastel blue uniform shirt and a pink apron with the shop’s logo on the left side of his chest. Such soft colors, contrast with the dark scowl on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here, bastard?” Mingyu snarls, clearly aggravated by the mere of Hoshi’s presence alone.

And Hoshi can’t hold it back anymore. He laughs, folding his body in half, one hand clutching his gut as the other supports himself by gripping the counter. Fuck, this is funnier than he initially thought. No matter how he imagined it, the image of Mingyu and a cute ice cream shop just can’t be merged. Yet, here he is—the reality presented right before Hoshi’s eyes.Hoshi wheezes again.

“Stop fucking laughing,” Mingyu hisses, hands clenching on both of his sides. His face is flushed from anger with a mixture of embarassment. “This is why I’d never fucking tell you about this place!”

“Oh, it’s never about the place, ‘Mingyu,”Hoshi replies, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. “It’s always been about you.”

Mingyu growls. “I’m seriously gonna kick you out.”

“I’m a paying customer,” Hoshi smirks back. “Treat me like one.”

“Then act like one,” Mingyu snaps, folding his arms across his chest, frown deepening. “Though I bet you can’t even handle the sweetness.”“Gimme the menu.”

“There’s one behind me, written on the chalkboard, asshole.”

“Wow, brilliant customer service,” Hoshi deadpans. “Don’t you have the printed one or something?”

“Aren’t you spoiled?” the hipster grumbles as he magically pulls out a menu, printed on a laminated paper from behind the counter. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to slap it against Hoshi’s chest.The act, however, is caught by one of Mingyu’s co-worker who’s suddenly coming out of the back room.

“Mingyu-oppa! Why did you do that to a customer?!” She screeches, horrified at her oppa’s rude behavior. She’s way shorter than Mingyu, and shorter than Kazuya. She has a (h/s) (h/c) hair that somehow looks soft and fluffy as the strands bounce everytime she moves.When their eyes finally meet,Hoshi’s lost the ability to speak.

Now, Hoshi’s never been one to believe in love at first sight, albeit having heard the idea of it in many sappy romance films. Hoshi’s also met many girls he considers as good-looking, but that’s it. There were no imaginary flowers or love-shaped bubbles or sprinkles of glitters around them, like a typical page of shoujo mangas. He didn’t feel his heart pounding harshly against his ribcages. He’s positive that he had never blushed at someone without any good reason.But his cheeks have never felt warmer than this moment.

The girl in front of him is unbelievably cute; she has an air of innocence around her that makes Hoshi want to scoop her up (no ice cream puns intended) in his arms and pinch those slightly chubby, round cheeks. Her cute button nose is perfect for a nose boop, and oh, how Hoshi wishes to nip her pink, plump lips.The girl’s tongue darts out to lick the very same lips, before she opens her mouth.

“Um.. are you okay? Is my co-worker hurting you?” She asks, brows furrowing in worry. Hoshi forces himself to look at her in the eyes, which is apparently a bad decision, because for the love of baseball, he’s never seen someone having such beautiful, molten e/c eyes—

“He’s fine,” Mingyu answers, shooting Hoshi a knowing look. “Sadly, I gotta admit that he’s a friend of mine, so don’t worry about him, y/n.”

“Oh!” Y/n brightens up, giving Hoshi an impression of a cute dog perking up its ears and wagging its tail. “Finally this l/n y/n gets to meet one of Mingyu-oppa’s friends!” She says joyfully with a voice a bit too loud. “May I also have the honor of knowing your name?”

Hoshi briefly glances at Mingyu, as if asking whether he should be concerned of Y/n’s odd, archaic way of speaking, but Mingyu’s expression works as a wordless assurance that it’s nothing to be worried about.Then, after eyeing Y/n’s extended arm as an offer for a handshake, Hoshi takes it firmly with a smirk.

“The name’s Kwon Soonyoung but you can call me Hoshi,” he purrs, his thumb tracing a circle on the back of Y/n’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Y/n.”His smirk broadens when a blush blooms on the girl’s cheeks.

“Uh—likewise!” Y/n retracts her hand too quickly. “Um, I’ll let you proceed with your order with Mingyu-oppa—“

“The thing is,” Hoshi cuts her off, leaning on the counter, showing a feigned, saddest expression on his face. “Mingyu was bullying me,” he sighs. The said guy promptly sputters a series of denials. “And this is my first time here. I think I deserve a discount for the bad customer service, don’t you think?”

Y/n lets out a scandalized gasp, giving Mingyu a nasty, chiding glare for treating their customer poorly, even if they’re ‘friends.’ “Then you have my approval!” She declares, jabbing a proud thumb at her own chin. “Don’t worry! I’ll tell boss about the discount later! Now, please pick any flavors!”Hoshi’s mouth twitches as a bubble of laughter arises from his chest. This kid is so gullible, so genuine, so interesting. He almost feels bad for tricking him.Mingyu kicks Y/n’s legs, “Idiot! Can’t you see that he’s tricking you?!”

When y/n shoots a puzzled look at Hoshi, Hoshi’s laughter breaks free from his mouth. In return, he gets a bristling y/n who goes out of her way to be on the other side of the counter just to shake Hoshi’s collar and send him colorful insults. Not the most professional thing an employee should do to a customer, but it’s worth for Hoshi’s own entertainment.In the end, Hoshi’s the one who gets kicked out of the shop before he causes more commotions.

Hoshi comes back at Mingyu’s next shift, mentally convincing himself that he’s here to annoy the hell out of the hipster, not because Mingyu accidentally reveals the fact that y/n has the same schedule with him.Yeah, right.

He peeks over the big windows, and hesitates. The shop is more crowded than his last visit, as expected from weekends. It’s mostly filled with couples and giggling high school girls. Hoshi decides to sit on the unoccupied outdoor seats by the window, waiting for the beeline to lessen.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the patrons to decrease. By the time he enters the shop, the jingle of the doorbell earns him an automatic response from y/n who’s not even looking at the door. “Welcome to—“ she glances at Hoshi, then frowns. “—oh, it’s you.”

“Oh? Do I see another bad customer service?” Hoshi smirks, strutting closer the counter.

“I’ll show you customer service,” Mingyu threatens, glowering at him.

Hoshi holds up his hands in defense, grinning, “easy there, ‘Mingyu”

“So, are you going to order, Kwon Soonyoung?” Y/n squints at him in suspicion. Pushing aside his inner glee of noticing a mundane detail such as Y/n remembering his full name, Hoshi ponders of giving her an honest reply or not. Will they kick him out once again if he admits that he can barely handle sweet things?

“Hoshi?” Y/n’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and his previous scorn is replaced with an owlish blinking. It makes Kazuya more aware of how y/n’s long eyelashes brush her cheeks whenever she closes her eyelids for a brief second.Pretty.“Hoshi!”Hoshi coughs and answers distractedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll order something.”

Mingyu stares at him like he’s grown a pair of horns, but it’s more like that he can’t seem to grasp that Hoshi, of all people, agrees to order something sweet.

“You sound uncertain, but worry not! The ice cream here will change your mind,” Y/n chirps with an eye smile. Hoshi can feel a thousand of cupid arrows piercing through his fragile, gay heart.

“Right, because Hoshi absolutely loves ice cream,” Mingyu mutters under his breath beside his co-worker with a blatant sarcastic tone.Y/n doesn’t seem to hear it, much to Hoshi’s relief.

“So...” Hoshi drawls, scrutinizing the menu near the cash register. “Do you have a flavor that isn’t too...” he grimaces at the next word, “sweet?”

“That’s impossible, go home.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Mingyu.”

“I can recommend you some,” Y/n replies, ignoring Mingyu and Hoshi’s glaring contest. “We have wasabi flavor, bitter melon flavor—“

“Some extreme recommendations you have there,” Hoshi sweatdrops.

“Hey! They taste fine, I guess,” Y/n looks hesitant herself. Hoshi wonders if the girl even understands basic marketing strategies—she could’ve at least pretended to be confident with her promotion. “I mean, I’m sure they’re better than natto flavored ice cream or anything.”

“You hate natto?” Hoshi smiles in amusement, inwardly happy to know one fact about Y/n.

“I despise it!” Y/n huffs, not even bothering to conceal her disgust. “Anyway! If you’re not interested with our out-of-the-world flavors, maybe you’d love our triple shot espresso ice cream! If you’re still not convinced, we still have a variety of diet frozen yogurts that are guaranteed to be low-sugar!”Hoshi hums at the mention of anything caffeine-related, “triple shot espresso ice cream doesn’t sound bad. Get me the smallest cup, y/n.”

“Roger!” Y/n beams, giving a military salute before she busies herself with Hoshi’s order. Her moves behind the counter are swift, practiced, and surprisingly not clumsy. Her hips sway a little to the beat of the music—whose great idea it is to play a suggestive jazz music at a fucking ice cream shop in Saturday afternoon?—but Hoshi’s not really complaining. In fact, he enjoys the show a bit too much; he doesn’t even realize that he’s been propping one arm on the counter to support his chin while watching y/n with a mushy smile.“Wipe that disgusting expression off your face,” Mingyu comments, unimpressed.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? As if I could overlook someone who looks like they’re seconds away from jumping my co-worker in public!” Mingyu hisses this time, still considerate enough to lower his volume.“Don’t worry, I’ll do that in private,” Hoshi winks.

“That’s not what I—“

“Do you want any additional toppings, Hoshi?” Y/n unintentionally interrupts their bickering. She’s now holding a small paper cup of a coffee-colored ice cream, head slightly to the side in an adorable manner, waiting for Hoshi’s response.

Although Hoshi’s brain is already short-circuited due to the amount of metaphorical sweetness that Y/n radiates, he still manages to croak out a reply of “almonds are fine��, in hoping that if the ice cream is still too sweet for his liking, the almonds would be able to balance the sugar.

Mingyu handles the payment without initiating any arguments with Hoshi for once, probably wanting to speed up the process of Hoshi leaving the shop. Either way, Hoshi has to leave indeed. He has other things to do, too.

“Thank you for purchasing, please come again~” come a chorus of synchronized phrase from Mingyu and Y/n; the former sounding bored and forced, while the latter sounding more cheerful.“I will,” Hoshi retorts jocosely, then flicks his gaze over Y/n, “if Y/n calls me her oppa, too.”

“Okay, Hoshi-oppa,” y/n breathes out without missing a beat. Her face instantly bursts into a myriad shades of red, complemented by a small, shy smile etched on her lips, and-Hoshi suddenly thinks he has a severe case of heart palpitations.

He inhales sharply, and turns his heels towards the door. “It’s decided, then,” he chuckles over his shoulder, giving his last smirk towards y/n, and exits the shop.

(He eats his ice cream on the way to his apartment and is genuinely surprised at the rich taste of coffee instead of sugar.It adds one more reason to visit the shop again.)

Hoshi’s next visit includes an unwanted guest, much to Hoshi’s distaste.

For a better term, he was following Hoshi in secret. Usually, Hoshi would easily sense something behind his back, but the particular street that the ice cream shop is located at is always busy. It’s to be expected from a street that connects commercial, academic and several residential buildings. That being said, the crowd of people makes it hard for Hoshi to notice whether someone is following him or not.In the end, Jun makes his presence known loudly by the time he enters the shop.

“Oi, Hoshi! You refused to hang out with me just to buy some ice cream?!” he stomps his foot on the ground. “Wait, I thought you don’t like ice—“

Hoshi, who’s currently leaning on the counter right in front of Y/n, automatically massages the bridge of his nose and quickly interjects the purple haired before he spouts something unnecessary. “Jun, did you really follow me all the way here?”

“Does it matter?” the purple haired shrugs, sticking his nose up in the air. “I’m here now. That’s what you get from ditching me.”

Hoshi sighs in exasperation, “I did not ditch you. I told you to reschedule our hang out.”

“Same thing,” Jun scoffs stubbornly.

Mingyu bashes his forehead on the counter, emitting a depressed aura all over the shop. “Great. There goes all of my peace at work.”

“Oh, Mingyu! Fancy meeting you here!” Jun greets with a grin. “So you’re the reason why Hoshi’s here?”

“No,” both Mingyu and Hoshi say flatly.

“Um, are you going to order?” Y/n, who’s been observing the situation, speaks up, attracting a pair of black orbs towards him. Then, Jun regards Hoshi and Y/n, back and forth, in a thoughtful manner.

“Oh ho? I see now,” he grins wickedly, elbowing Hoshi to the side and takes over his place, resulting in the dancer stumbling and hitting the glass display of ice cream. Paying no attention to Hoshi’s heated glare, Jun leans over the counter and brings his face closer to Y/n. “You’re pretty cute, I guess. Hoshi has a good taste.”Y/n makes a choking noise from her throat, and Hoshi’s left eye twitches.

“Who the heck are you?” Y/n scrunches her nose, taking one step backwards defensively.

“Wen Junhui, but you can call me darling,” Jun smiles flirtatiously. Y/n only stares back with a palpable discomfort on her face.

“...Then, are you going to order?” She repeats hesitantly.

“Sure. As long as you’re included as the bonus.”

“Uh,” y/n frowns deeper. “May I know the flavor of your choice?”

“Anything would do,” Jun answers, “but if you were an ice cream, you’d be my favorite flavor.”

“What?”

“And I know you’d like me too,” jun then lowers his voice into a whisper, like he’s going to tell the world’s deepest secret, “because I have an 8” popsicle down there.”

Mingyu’s shoulders are shaking from laughter, finding the whole situation amusing and ridiculous. Any other day, Hoshi would, too, but right now, he only feels a second-hand embarassment from Jun’s abhorrent pick-up lines. Even y/n looks utterly unimpressed by Jun’s flirting.

“Alright, Jun, that’s enough,” Hoshi interjects impatiently. “No one wants to know about your nonexistent 8” popsicle dick.”Mingyu laughs louder.

“Tch, you’re no fun, Hoshi,” Jun glares at him childishly, then whirls his body towards Y/n crossing his arms in his usual bossy manner. “Fine, I’ll order something. Get me a big cup of butterscotch and vanilla ice cream with marshmallows and oreos on top.”

“...Coming right up,” slightly taken aback by the change of attitude, y/n mutters and wordlessly scoops the ice cream into the cup, while Hoshi is inwardly cringing from the amount of sugar Jun’s order has.

The purple haired pays and finally leaves the shop, not before gesturing a V-sign to his eyes and then to Hoshi’s—indicating that their conversation isn’t over.

Hoshi shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be discussed in the first place,” he mumbles under his breath. Jun dragged himself into this situation. Then again, Hoshi’s known Jun long enough to tell that the purple haired wasn’t seriously flirting with Y/n. The dancer could properly make his fangirls swoon if he wanted to.

Looking back to his prior act, however... it’s almost as if he was testing Hoshi, because his eyes were holding a familiar knowing gleam—the exact glint in Mingyu ’s eyes when Hoshi first met y/n.

“But seriously, who is he?!” Y/n fumes. “I can’t believe he made a dick joke straight to my face!”

“He’s Hoshi’s ex,” Mingyu grins, nudging

y/n with his elbow. The younger blanches, mouth gaping upon hearing the information.

“Yup, and I’m totally dating you, Mingyu,” Hoshi rolls his eyes.

“R-really?!” Y/n’s eyes grow as wide as a saucer. Hoshi bites back a grin, almost forgetting how gullible Y/n is.

“Relax, we’re lying,” he snorts. “Can I take my order now?”

“Oh, right!” Y/n straightens her back, although she doesn’t seem to be convinced by Hoshi’s reassurance.

Hoshi selects the exact menu he ordered on his last visit, although this time he chooses a cone rather than a paper cup. He also makes a mental note to try another variety of topping next time.

“You two looks close,” y/n comments all of a sudden as she works behind the counter. It doesn’t take a genius to know who Y/n is talking about.“Jun’s my childhood friend,” Hoshi

smiles, quirking an eyebrow at Y/n’s pout. She’s sulking, for some unknown reason, albeit Hoshi has a silly, vague (and hopeful) idea of it. “Rest assured, there’s nothing between us,” Hoshi continues, watching how Y/n subtly relaxes her shoulders. “That goes for me and Mingyu, too,” she adds as an afterthought. Mingyu has never nodded so aggresively.

“That explains why you guys are on a first name basis,” Y/n says abashedly, avoiding Hoshi’s gaze. “B-but! Your relationship is none of my business, of course! This

l/n y/n was just curious, please forgive me for prying!”

Still blushing, she shoves the cone under Hoshi’s nose. Hoshi chuckles and takes it, purposely brushing their fingers together, deepening y/n’s blush. Satisfaction sprouts inside his chest—even without any cheesy pick-up lines, y/n’s naturally a blushing mess around him.Adorable.

“This is sickening to watch,” Mingyu groans, “now pay up, bastard.”

Out of reflex, Hoshi gives him another snide remarks about bad customer service (again), to which Mingyu retaliates with another empty threats.

The doorbell jingles as two chatting customers enter the shop, and at the same time, it’s Hoshi’s cue to leave. He looks back at Y/n, who’s unexpectedly staring at him in silence, and grins cheekily when Y/n flinches due to being caught.“See you next time,” Hoshi says in soft tone, before he playfully boops y/n’s on the nose.

Y/n doesn’t—can’t—reply because she has to serve the next customers, but she manages to send a meek smile towards Hoshi’s direction.

Fuck, Hoshi thinks later, as he ambles back to his place. He can’t believe he finally had the balls to nose boop y/n. He can’t erase y/n’s blushing face from his mind. He can’t stop smiling giddily right now—passersby are probably whispering about him, but he couldn’t care less.All he cares is that he’s honestly in some deep shit.

~~~~~~

Hoshi spends the next few weeks coming to the ice cream shop. He sometimes misses a day or two, partially due to being exhausted by dancing practice or just college in general. Another reason is because he’s fed up with eating ice cream (no matter how much he’s come to tolerate it a little ever since coming to the shop) and his diet as an athlete doesn’t allow him to overeat anything sweet. Which is ridiculous, since he doesn’t have other excuses to see Y/n; visiting the shop frequently without buying anything would be weird. Though, as days go by, he becomes more creative with his orders, like switching to low-sugar frozen yogurts or an iced Americano float (with the float being removed, much to Y/n’s confusion). Soon, he also finds out the existence of food—such as toasts and grilled sausages—in the shop’s menu.(“You need to stop ogling at Y/n and pay attention to our menu instead,” Mingyu once chastised wryly.)

Regardless, Hoshi enjoys most of his visits. Y/n is a fun person to talk to; Hoshi is often swayed by her personality and ends up being more talkative than he actually is, earning a frown from Mingyu. Later, Y/n reveals that she’s a dancer at Hoshi and Mingyu’s rival college, and she has jokingly asked Hoshi several times to dance against her.Hoshi’s never given an outright answer, however. As much as he wants to meet up with Y/n outside of the shop, he wants it as a date.

And that’s where the problem lies. He doesn’t know how to properly bring it up. He could ask Y/n in the shop, right beside Mingyu, but getting rejected in public would be awkward. In the end, that thought is always buried to the back of his mind.

Today is no different. Hoshi visits the the shop again—after being absent for a week prior—with no intentions of bringing up the date. As usual, he only wants to see the dancer. Even before stepping his feet inside, his heart thumps in anticipation to Y/n’s welcoming smile. So, as soon as he pushes the door open only to notice the absence of one of the workers behind the counters, his face falls.

“Asshole, I should’ve gotten offended of how disappointed your face is when you saw me instead of Y/n,” Mingyu scowls, to which Hoshi grins sheepishly. “She’s gonna be late today. I know what you’re thinking—she’s fine. There aren’t any dangerous emergencies or something like that, calm down.”

“I am calm,” Hoshi replies, burying his hands into his pockets. “I know she’s gonna be fine. She has such a caring co-worker after all,” he smirks at Kuramochi, who huffs in slight embarassment.

“Shut up. Who knows what stupid thing she’s gonna do,” the hipster’s lips curl downwards, an attempt to hold back his smile. “Anyway, since she’s not here yet, I can finally interrogate you.”

“What is there to interrogate?”

“What is y/n to you?” Mingyu ignores his words, giving him a pointed look instead. “If you’re only playing with her, Hoshi, I swear – “

“Oi, can’t you trust me a little?” Hoshi sweatdrops. “Do I look like some kind of heartthrob? You know me better than that, ‘Mingyu.”

“With your face, it’s easy to become one.”

“Very flattering.”

“Anyway, I’m being fucking serious right now,” Mingyu glowers at the dancer solemnly. “Tell me what you want from her.”

Hoshi eventually sighs, and briefly scans the whole shop. Luckily, it’s one of the weekdays, so there aren’t many customers inside. Besides, they’re too engrossed in their conversations or electronical devices to eavesdrop on Hoshi and Mingyu.

“Look, I don’t want anything from her,” Hoshi begins slowly, but he’s only rewarded with a skeptical look from Mingyu. “Okay, maybe I’ve been meaning to ask her on a date, but—“ he narrows his eyes at the hipster. “Wait, she’s single, right?”

“Isn’t it a bit too late to be asking that?” Mingyu purses his lips into a thin line.

“Oh, Hoshi, you’re here!”

Both the hipster and the dancer whip their head alarmingly to the familiar voice. There stands y/n with her trademark grin, her bag slung around her shoulder. Panic blossoms inside of Hoshi’s chest—he didn’t hear the jingle of the doorbell, and judging from Mingyu’s startled response, he didn’t, too. They don’t know how long has the dancer been standing there. It’d be bad if Y/n managed to hear their conversation.

So, Hoshi studies y/n’s facial expression, searching for something, but the dancer only looks perplexed—probably due to Hoshi’s sudden stillness.

“Hoshi?” Y/n blinks up at him, making Hoshi more conscious of their height difference. Eyes trailing down to her neck, the pastel-colored collar of the shop’s uniform peeks out of her oversized sweater that falls until her mid-thigh, with the sleeves covering up her whole hands.

Sweater paws, Hoshi’s mind shuts down as tiny Hoshi’s inside his brain run in circles, screaming “ABORT! ABORT!” with high-pitched voices. She’s fucking wearing sweater paws.

“Hoshi-oppa!” Y/n frowns, successfully drawing Hoshi’s attention. “Don’t zone out like that, you’re scaring me.”

“Right, sorry,” the dancer mutters as he watches Y/n disappearing into the back room, before she shows up again without her sweater while tying the apron on her lower back.

“I see that you haven’t ordered something!” Y/n grins brightly, this time placing both of her hands on her hips. “So, what are you here for today, Hoshi?”

Hoshi, still distracted, racks his brain to all of the menu he’s ordered in the past. Triple shots espresso ice cream with almonds. Iced americano float, but without the float. Wasabi ice cream because he was feeling adventurous. Hazelnut spread and sliced banana on toast—

No, that’s not What hoshi wants all of this time. He wants—

“You,” he blurts out, mumbling, unaware of Mingyu choking in the background. However, when he notices the lack of response from the dancer, the haze in his brain suddenly dissipates, and everything becomes crystal clear again. “Shit, I mean—“

“Okay,” Y/n says, e/c orbs shyly peeking from underneath her lashes towards Hoshi.

“I was—huh, what?” Hoshi pauses, dumbfounded.

“I said okay,” Y/n averts her eyes, playing with the hem of her apron. “You can have me.”

Hoshi stares and stares, trying to process Y/n’s affirmation. That sounds too suggestive—too good to be true. Maybe his brain is tricking him. Maybe this is only a scene that he unconsciously creates inside his mind which is brought to life in a form of hallucination.

But when Y/n starts to fidget under his gaze, Hoshi lets his brain register the fact that this is, indeed, a reality.

As the gears inside him begin to work again, Hoshi doesn’t pass the chance to poke some fun at Y/n’s answer which basically serves as a free teasing material for Hoshi to use.

“Oh? How bold,” he then comments, smirking in satisfaction as he observes how realization gradually dawns on Y/n’s face.

“I didn’t mean to phrase it like that!” the dancer exclaims defensively, her cheeks now tainted with red. “Y-you were the one who blurted out weird things in the first place!”

“Sorry, sorry~” Hoshi grins unapologetically, to which Y/n pouts at. “But, as tempting as it sounds, you should let me take you on a date first, y’know,” he continues, his playful grin faltering a little due to slight nervousness.

To his relief, Y/n utters a timid “okay” and nods, a tint of pink still decorating her cheeks. At that, Hoshi doesn’t bother to hide the ever-growing smile on his lips and an excited glance to Mingyu who’s pretending to read a magazine and acting all disinterested, albeit the small curl on the corner of his mouth tells otherwise.

The next thing Hoshi knows is him exchanging phone numbers with the dancer and discussing their date in a short stretch of time due to the arrival of a group of customers.

Hoshi doesn’t get any ice cream that day, but he does get something—someone—sweeter in return.

~Three months later~

Hoshi sips on his hot, black coffee, the steam fogging up the lenses of his glasses. He steps aside when a patron comes out of the shop hurriedly, but he manages to halt the door from closing with his right knee. Hoshi then opens the door big enough for his body to get inside as the familiar chime of the doorbell greets his ears. The shop is silent, empty without customers, highly caused by the “CLOSED” sign on the door with a red, thick font.“I’m sorry, we’re already closed—“ Y/n says from Hoshi’s left side while stacking some brochures. When she finally turns her head towards the door, a beatific smile appears on her face. “Oh! Hoshi.”

Hoshi smiles back, placing his coffee on the counter and leans towards Y/n, to which the latter eagerly closes the gap between their mouths. They share a quick kiss as a greeting, before Hoshi withdraws slightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing over

y/n’s. He steals one or two more kisses, just because he can’t help himself.

“Hi to you too,” Y/n whispers, giggling. Hoshi cradles his lover’s cheeks with one of his palms, prompting Y/n to nuzzle against it. From here, he can also make out Y/n’s e/c eyes twinkling in delight—so captivating and blinding that it stupefies him.

“For someone who’s on her last day of work, you sure look happy,” Hoshi comments, arching an amused brow.

“I am happy!” Y/n replies, pulling away fully to finish her tidying duty. She moves swiftly behind the counters, the sole of her shoes creating noisy sounds against the tiled floor. “But not in a way you’re thinking.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Hoshi says, bringing the paper cup of his half-drunk coffee to his mouth and takes a sip.

“I like this job,” Y/n confesses, finishing her work and untying her apron. “My co-workers are nice, and my boss is generous to give me discounted ice cream.”

“I think the latter plays a bigger part,” Hoshi teases, knowing Y/n’s sweet tooth.

“Shut up,” the dancer juts her tongue out. “Meeting you here is what makes this job more special,” Y/n casually states, offering a smug smirk at Hoshi’s flabbergasted expression.

“Wow, Y/n,” he breathes out, before whistling with a shake of head. “You sure become bolder with your words nowadays.”

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?!”Y/n questions, pupils turning cat-like.Hoshi hums. “Well, you used to blush so much around me—“

“That’s – “ as if on cue, red creeps up to y/n’s cheek. “That’s because you always gave me those kind of eyes and used that kind of voice—!”

“What about now?”hoshi smirks, revelling in the way Y/n gets all worked up because of him. A nasty personality he has, indeed.

“Ugh, I’m not gonna talk about it!” the dancer scrunches her nose, a habit that Hoshi’s taken to notice whenever Y/n is frustrated. “Anyway! I was talking why I feel happy to quit work! It’s because I can spend more time with you now!”If Hoshi’s heart pulsates rapidly due to the abrupt swarm of affections in his veins, he does a great job of hiding it. “The real reason why you quit is because of the upcoming dancer season. We’d still be busy, either way,” he points out instead.

“Must you be so pessimistic, Hoshi?” Y/n pouts, looking a little dejected. Hoshi exhales guiltily.

“My bad,” he chuckles, ruffling the crown of Y/n’s head. “You know that I’d always try to make time for you, right, Y/n?”

“Of course you do, you whipped asshole. Only you would come to a shop that sells something you dislike.”

“Mingyu-oppa!” Y/n jumps due to

Mingyu’s unannounced appearance from the back room, before gawking at his revelation. “Wait, what? Does Hoshi not like ice cream?”

“Ask him yourself,” Mingyu shrugs.

Y/n immediately whirls towards Hoshi, displaying her best puppy face to lure the truth out of her boyfriend. And concede Hoshi does, not before shooting daggers at a snickering Mingyu.

“Yes, y/n, I don’t eat much sweets. You happy now?” he admits reluctantly, tugging the collar of his jacket in embarassment.

“Oh my god, Hoshi!” Sawamura bounces on her feet. “After all of this time, you didn’t come here for the ice cream?!”

Hoshi sighs, not before downing the remnant of his coffee and throwing it in the nearest trash bin. “I don’t see what the issue is. It’s not like I exactly loathe ice cream, I just can’t handle it if it’s too sweet—“Y/n, however, wastes no time to approach Hoshi on the other side of the counter, circling her arms around Hoshi’s neck and kisses him hard on the mouth.

The hipster groans in agony, covering his face with his right palm. “This isn’t the outcome that I wanted,” he bemoans, lamenting in his misery.

Hoshi laughs nasally, eyes closing in pure mirth as Y/n continues to pepper kisses on his face. It eggs Mingyu even more as he seethes in irritation.“Okay, stop it, Y/n! Why the fuck are you so pleased at the idea of Hoshi trying to get himself diabetes for you?”

“Oi, that’s too exaggerating, don’t you think?” Hoshi sweatdrops.

Y/n ends her ministration and frowns at Mingyu. “But Mingyu-oppa! If I were in Hoshi’s shoes, I’d do the same! But currently he’s not working in a natto-based restaurant or something, so I shall reward his bravery in some other way!”

“Don’t do it here,” Mingyu snaps, “I’ve cleaned and locked all shit in the back room while you were busy with that idiot. Grab your bag and sweater and just go home.”Teary-eyed, Y/n beams brightly, “I express my sincerest gratitude for you,

Mingyu-oppa!” She exclaims, before dashing to the back room to collect her belongings.“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu waves her off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s my last day too, figures I’d do more than usual.”

“Aw, it wouldn’t hurt to admit that you care for her, ‘Mingyu,” Hoshi coos.

“And you!” Mingyu then throws the dancer a resentful look. “You owe me for all of the time you’ve made me into a fucking thirdwheel, bastard!”

At that moment, Y/n has come back, already clad in her warm, oversized sweater, and proceeds to stand next to Hoshi. That’s when an idea strikes him.

“Thirdwheel?” Hoshi asks, tilting his head at Mingyu in a faux innocuousness. He pulls his unsuspecting girlfriend closer by the waist, to which Y/n lets out a soft gasp. “Whatever do you mean by that, Mingyu?”

“Huh?” Mingyu croaks out, widening his eyes when Hoshi lowers his head to Y/n’s face with a shit-eating grin.

“What are you – shit, don’t you two dare making out again – give me a damn break, I’m trying to close the shop here! If you two don’t stop right now, I’m gonna kick out both of you with a fucking broom – oi, did you hear me?! Alright, for fuck’s sake, Y/n, save the moan for later and GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE—“

#hoshi-x-reader #hoshi #kpop #seventeen #stories #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #hoshi fanfic #kwon soonyoung

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years ago

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Can you post a little blurb abt the Paris couple and how they’re doing a few years later? Like, did they have kiddos, did they ever choose to get married, did they ever move back to Paris together in a lovelier apartment, how’s timothée’s art (can he still produce masterpieces without being sad?), what do they usually do on their free days, did they ever full on talk about that gut wrenching letter he wrote years ago, did she keep that letter, did they ever quit smoking, did they furnish the house the way they wanted to, did they paint their walls and get bigger beds, do they have designated sides of beds?

Hi! 💗💗💗��

God I love these questions so much, but I’m sort of done with the Paris universe you know? Like, I don’t think I can write just a blurb for them because I feel like their story is told now.

BUT! I reeeeally love these questions so I will answer them below the read more!

Concerning if or not they have children... Look, I don’t know what it is about these two but I can’t imagine them as parents? So I’d have to say no, and if they did they had them later in life. They are not cut out to be young parents. Like, god, can you imagine? They’d definitely be those obnoxious parents that never set any boundaries or rules what so ever to their children so they just roam free causing havoc. Like especially since they’d be parents in the 1950’s-60’s. If they had a kid born in that time it would be a boy and he’d have been absolutely unable to handle any sort of rules and become a rock ‘n roll star in a band in the 70’s.

I do think they would get married. Not immediately, y/n having been married already once, but they would in the end. Something small and very bohemic but chic. Definitely a small courthouse wedding, were Y/n wears something chic but minimalistic - like a satin dress or the suit Bianca Jagger had on her wedding day (hat included), and then they’d have a big riot of a party at the villa with most of the village, and the entire wedding budget spent on champagne to go around to everyone. They don’t wish for any wedding gifts but everyone brings something homecooked to eat so there’s food for everyone. The milanese jazz band makes a glorious return and plays the entire party.

I think they’d live in Paris a few months of the year, like december to may. They’d buy a new, more expensive apartment, probably in montmartre or maybe even the 16th arrondissement , since they have plenty of money partly because of Y/n divorce but also after the inheritance. I think they’d also go to italy and travel there a lot and maybe even stay a summer there by lake Garda or something. And once they’d go on a skiing holiday to the alps but Timothée is so not a skier so they don’t do that again. They also go to Monte Carlo sometimes.

Timothée would probably still keep the artist studio to paint in, but only have it as his work studio.

Timothée’s would go through like 10 different stages throughout his career (his blue period, just like Picasso’s, being widely admired). Then there’s his landscape phase (a phase he later in life will completely ignore and flat out deny happened, going so far as lying about not having painted certain pictures when art dealers ask him if they are genuine or not. He’ll flat out lie and say it’s a fraud made by a lesser artist). Then there’s his sketches phase, a brief phase but after his death some of the most sought after of his entire work (probably because there’s so few of them). The thing I think he’d most be admired for in the art world would be his use of colours (and most critiqued for his anatomy, he’s all sharp angles). But his longest phase would probably be sort of like Brassaï photos but as paintings (does that make sense? I don't know, I was Obsessed with Brassaï photos when I was in art school). Like dramatic but realistic paintings of Paris and Nice’s nightlife.

And i’d say he was a better painter when he stopped moping around. He’d use his flair for the dramatics in his paintings instead of in real life.

On their free days the live pretty much like they live in the last two part of Paris, except they are more openingly loving towards the other; and also they talk more. Like, they’d spend breakfast together and then they go off doing different things like read or lunch with friends or paint. Then they have dinner together and talk and spend the evening together or with friends. Since neither of them really have a set schedule their free days are more when they just decide to take off and go to Monte Carlo for a few days and gamble some money away and eat like kings and queens. Also, they’d discover a love for cinema, and often go there in the evening to see the newest Bergman movie or Godard. They’d go to the theatre a lot as well and without fail lovingly argue everytime about their vastly different opinions about how each shakespear play should be handled (their most divided opinions are on Othello and Macbeth)

Also, omg, Waiting For Godot actually came out 1953, I could have written that into the story!! GOD they’d argue for HOURS about the meaning of that play.

I think talking about The Letter is like poking at a bruise for the both of them. But yes, they’d talk about that. They’d also talk more about her marriage, and about William’s book. But the letter, absolutely, but it would take a while into the settled relationship before it was brought up. She’d definitely keep the letter, because she has conflicted emotions about it I’d probably have to spend a good 1,5k words on trying to explain, but she doesn’t want to throw it away. She hides it in a book (probably in a book of anatomy, which Timmy never understands why they own, and she keeps in the section showing the anatomy of the heart. That feels like something over dramatic enough (also fits with timmy writing in the letter that he has a Frankenstein's monster kind of heart)).

And hahahaha yes I hope they quit smoking in the end. In the early 50’s smoking was still considered to be actually healthy (!!!!) but as they get older and more information about the dangers of it get out to the wider public I’d say they’d try to stop. Probably somewhere mid 1980’s they’d quit for good.

Y/N has FULL control of the decorating of wherever they live because timothée is just too bohemian in attitude and can literally sleep in any dump. Y/n on the other hand is a very aesthetic creature and finds a love for decorating. In fact, she might even start up a small interior design business in her 50’s and do very well at it. She definitely puts up colourful and patterned wallpaper in every room, they are not a household that does white walls. The only place she doesn’t have control of the design is probably timmy’s studio, there he decides and it shows. And oh god yes, they most certainly got a big and comfortable bed together. The mattress is new but the bed frame is an antique from… rococo period maybe? Or maybe just a neoclassical one? Not sure on that actually. But its big and comfy.

For some reason I see them both as people who trash around alot in their sleep? Like, they start out with designated sides in bed (timothée sleeping closest to the door) but during sleep they’ll end up all over the place? Arm and legs just tangled together everywhere? Like absolute toddlers??

Oh god that got longer than I thought…. But that was so much fun answering, thank you a million times for sending it in!!!💗💗💗💗

#angel tag #these were so fun answering!!!

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iwachans-beefyarms · 5 years ago

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i know this is kinda really detailed and specific idea for a scenario so i hope that this is okay! it turns out tsuki is only really good at english because he kept his english penpal from primary school and they talk everyday and ft and she surprises him by turning up before the shiratorizawa match!! just some fluffy platonic feels please maybe she goes out with the team for dinner afterwards too? 💕💕💖

Omg, I really love this scenario! I’ve had my fair share of penpals so I was really excited to write this (: I remember having an Italian penpal 2 years ago and interacting with her inspired me to learn Italian on my own because she would often give me amazing Italian book recommendations hehe (I might have gone a bit overboard when writing about Tsukki training for the match lmao)

BTW for those interested, the quote from the beginning is from Donna Tartt’s ‘The Secret History’! It’s one of my favourite books of all time and it’s what made me start learning Latin, highly recommend it to all of you! Also, I love writing about platonic friendships soooo much so if any of you would like to request similar things in the future, please do!

Note*** Reader will be speaking to the team in Japanese, which will be indicated by bolded words

Okay, I’ll stop talking now, enjoy!

“I had said goodbye to her once before, but it took everything I had to say goodbye to her then, again, for the last time, like poor Orpheus turning for a last backwards glance at the ghost of his only love and in the same heartbeat losing her forever: hinc iliac lacrimae, hence those tears.”

Tsukishima sighed and put the book down. Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was a bittersweet feeling he often experienced when nearing the end of a compelling novel. This particular one, especially, had had him completely enamored. He almost felt wistful when he realised he was almost done with it.

He opened the book back up and carefully highlighted the phrase “Orpheus turning for a last backward glance”, making a mental note to look up the reference. It sounded like a literary allusion to a Greek myth of some sort, but he had to check to be sure. He glanced at his phone and opened his e-mail to type a quick message to you.

“I am almost done with this book… Honestly, what a ride! I can’t even bring myself to finish it because of how attached I am. I learnt so many new phrases and literary allusions too! I’m seriously considering reading all the pieces of work the author had referenced throughout the novel haha. But, it’s gonna have to wait until after my volleyball season ends because we have finals coming up soon… Anyway, talk to you later! BTW, how did you enjoy the poetry collection I sent you?”

He signed off as he usually did, packed his things up and left for after-school volleyball practice. He couldn’t help but feel that today was a particularly lovely day. When Yamaguchi approached him and draped his arm around his shoulder, he welcomed his friend’s affectionate gesture with a genuine smile of his own.

“Wow, that’s a big smile! Did something good happen?” Yamaguchi questioned curiously. He glanced down at Tsukkishima’s hands and noticed the book he was holding.

“Ah! Y/n’s book huh? Is it any good?” He asked, excitedly grabbing it from his friend and flipping through the pages. His eager expression morphed into one of complete confusion as he squinted his eyes at the flurry of words before him. “How do you even read this? It’s so hard…” He blurted out.

“Tsk, you just don’t have enough practice, dumbass,” Tsukkishima retorted jokingly. It was true, though, what he said. His regular emails to and from you since his primary school days had greatly improved his English linguistic skills. Even more so, it had made him more knowledgeable in the art of writing and analysis. Everytime he got a comment on his essays about his exceptional way with words, he would silently thank your influence in his head. It was quite ironic that Tsukishima, someone who found it immensely difficult to forge meaningful relationships with those around him, would have shared such a close friendship with a girl living on the other side of the world, but such was life.

As the highly anticipated match against Shiratorizawa loomed closer, Tsukishima’s mind drifted from you and the book he had yet to finish. His heart, soul and entire being was devoted to his team. While he greatly appreciated the daily messages of encouragement you graced him with every morning, he simply did not have the time to respond properly. For now, all that mattered was volleyball.

He trained everyday, much like his teammates. Where once he would have scoffed at the level of fervor he demonstrated in his journey towards becoming the best player he could be, he now relished in the passion that flooded him everytime he held the ball between his hands, or when he jumped in tandem with his teammates to form a block. He would be prepared for Shiratorizawa, for Ushijima Wakatoshi, and for whatever force that dared to reckon with him.

That was what he told himself before the match, repeating it in his heart like a mantra, with the hopes that the belief would materialise in the court. And, that was exactly what his teammates and he did. They won. They actually won. Tsukishima never viewed himself as a sadistic person, but dear God, the look of defeat in the faces of his opponents sent him to a high he had never experienced before. It wasn’t that he was glad they lost; they were decently nice people. It was that they had won; a game that, by all expectations, should have been lost. He was euphoric. In that moment, amidst the chaos surrounding him and the cheers resounding through the stadium, he felt an immense wave of love rush over him. Love for his sport, his opponents, and most importantly, his team; his family outside of his family.

After the match, as the team made their way out of the locker rooms, he let himself bask in the triumph of their victory as his friends cheered boisterously. Suddenly, he caught the eyes of a very familiar face approaching him with a slight jog. His eyes widened. Impossible.

“Tsukki!” You wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to engulf you in a hug of equal intensity. It was either the excitement of winning, or the shock from seeing you in front of him that made him so easily reciprocate your affection, but at that moment he didn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, incredulously, ignoring the gawking stares of his team. “My parents wanted to go to Japan for the holidays, and of course I had to come see you at your big match! You were amazing! I mean, Amazing, with a capital A!” you rambled off excitedly. Tsukishima almost let you continue your enthusiastic rant but he was interrupted by Daichi’s hesitant tap to his back. He cleared his throat and announced, “Everyone, this is Y/n, my good friend from Y/c.”

“Hello everyone! It is so wonderful to meet all of you! Tsukki has said so much about you that I feel like I know all of you already,” you addressed them, bowing slightly. Your nervous blush made Tsukki smile softly to himself. Immediately, you were attacked with questions.

“How does Tsukishima know such a pretty girl?”

“Where are you from? Are you here on holiday? How do you know Japanese?”

“Do you play volleyball?”

You did your absolute best to answer all their questions, and in the process, gave the team a brief summary of your friendship with Tsukishima. Yamaguchi, in particular, was wonderfully excited to make your acquaintance. Eventually, the boys and their managers invited you to have dinner with them. You graciously took their offer and left the stadium with them.

The evening was filled with laughter and jubilation. Everybody was still riding the high from their win, and spent dinner reminiscing moments during the match, and of course, talking about Tsukishima and his pretty friend. Stories about his childhood self, his emo-phase and, for a brief tw months, k-pop phase, were shared by Yamaguchi and yourself. Usually, Tsukishima would have been incredibly annoyed at being the object of a joke, but tonight, he settled for a half-hearted shove to Yamaguchi’s shoulder and a teasing comment. “At least I pulled it off… Not like your cosplay phase, remember?” Cue another round of hearty laughter.

As he watched you and his team bond, he sat back and gently rubbed his chest. His heart felt so full at the moment, and although he knew it wouldn’t last, he cherished the feeling and took a mental picture of the scene in front of him. He leaned towards your ear and whispered, “Thank you so much for coming, it meant a lot.” You squeeze his arm gently and replied, “That’s what friends are for, Tsukki!”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #platonic #tsukki #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #scenarios #fluff

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

One Direction (To Your Heart), 2/6 (Methessence) - Cheetah

Summary: Jaida will share two tattoos with her soulmate: one will be her own first tattoo, whilst the other will be theirs. And if there’s anything Jaida knows about her soulmate, it’s that they love One Direction - why else would it be written out on her skin?

What Jaida doesn’t expect, though, is that she’ll meet her soulmate during the final week of preparation for her first big fashion show, or that it’ll be the bubbly, blue-haired artist she’s working with.

Maybe it’s time she learned to embrace the unexpected. And One Direction.

Chapter Summary: Jaida meets Crystal, and finally gets acquainted with One Direction.

A/N: The song in this chapter is “Kiss You” by One Direction. I will admit that writing this fic has made me appreciate them a lot more than I used to lol

Thank you so much to @dollalpaca for betaing!

Ao3 || my blog

Meeting

At first, all Jaida sees is blue.

Her gaze swims in bright necklaces and denim, in cobalt hair rippling with colour like the ocean on a summer’s day. And then she meets brown eyes as wild and untameable as the seaside cliffs, shimmering like they’ve been touched by the moon. Jaida feels her breath catch in her throat.

“I’m Crystal.” The stranger extends her hand for Jaida to shake, and the sapphire bracelets adorning her wrists glimmer in the white light of the lobby. “Crystal Methyd. I’m the assistant events coordinator - I was told we’d be working together?”

“You’d be right,” Jaida greets her with a warm smile as she shakes her hand. Crystal’s grip is soft but firm, matching the silent confidence in her umber eyes.

Today is the first of many days they’ll be working together, doing odd jobs to ensure this fashion show runs smoothly. It’s Jaida’s first show with the Del Rio brand — in fact, it’s her first big fashion show in general — and she wants nothing more than for it to go well. She started working with Bianca shortly after her graduation, when the brand was nothing more than a handful of people with sewing machines and a dream. Now, it’s expanded into so much more, and Jaida is desperate to prove that she’s really, truly meant to be here.

As she stands opposite Crystal’s sunny smile, Bianca’s words from earlier in the morning ring in her head: “Here’s your schedule, Hall. You’re working with some girl who sounds like she might be a drug addict.”

She hopes beyond hope that Bianca is wrong. Nothing is going to ruin this for her, least of all the crazy assistant of the events coordinator.

And upon first glance, Crystal is as wild as her name suggests, with her summer-sky hair and eclectic sense of style. But there is such excitement in her smile and her brilliant eyes that Jaida can’t help but be immediately endeared, the worry dissipating slightly in her chest.

“So,” Crystal says, drawing out the syllable as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “Hair and makeup artists, yeah? You ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Jaida tucks her clipboard into her purse, even though she’s perused her schedule enough times that she’s sure she’s memorised it by now, and follows Crystal to her car.

They listen to One Direction for the entire drive.

At first, Jaida doesn’t realise what she’s listening to - she’s only aware that it’s some generic pop song that she’s probably heard before and couldn’t be bothered remembering. Crystal hums along, slightly off-key and warbly, but Jaida doesn’t mind.

“You okay with this music?” Crystal asks, midway through the song, as though only just realising Jaida might not agree with her taste in music.

“Yeah, I’m chill.” Jaida doesn’t actually like it, but she isn’t about to start a debate about the validity of modern pop. Besides, Crystal seems happy - and equally at ease with their lack of small talk - and Jaida is content with that.

“So tell me, girl, if everytime we to-o-ouch, you get this kinda ru-u-ush,” Crystal sings aloud while they’re waiting at a red light. “God, I love this song.”

“It’s not bad,” Jaida admits begrudgingly, stifling a smile when Crystal shoots her a look of abject horror.

“‘Not bad?’ This is art!”

“Naw, child, this ain’t it.”

Okay, so maybe she was wrong about starting a debate.

“No one knows how to appreciate One Direction anymore,” Crystal laments, as the lights change and she returns her focus to the road.

One Direction. Jaida’s mind can’t help but wander in the direction of her mysterious soulmate. It’s been four years since the night her soul tattoo appeared, and there’s still no sign of them. It doesn’t worry her like it used to; she’s decided to let fate run its course, and in the meantime, she does what she pleases. Now, seeing the mark on her skin has become routine. She’s grown accustomed to its presence the same way she got used to seeing herself with earrings after she got her ears pierced.

Soon enough, they’re arriving at the hairstylist’s studio, its walls lined with wigs and photographs of models with perfect hair. Crystal is like a bird, bright and breezy, hopping through the room with an enthusiasm that seems to radiate from all of her features. For a moment, Jaida wonders whether or not her own posture is too stiff, too poised, and has to remind herself that she’s a professional, here on business. So is Crystal, but the word professional seems to carry a different meaning for her.

And, as it turns out, any worries Jaida had about Crystal are unfounded. She is competent - incredibly so, in fact. The Crystal she sees in the stylist’s office is one who knows what she’s doing; who uses her wacky style and charm to her advantage, who gets her point across clearly and concisely. All Jaida needs to do is make sure Bianca’s vision is followed.

In a few hours, everything is sorted out, and the meeting is over faster than Jaida could have anticipated. The drive back passes in much the same fashion as the drive over: as soon as Crystal turns the key in the ignition, the same poppy, upbeat love songs begin pounding through the car. Crystal sings along shamelessly.

And again, all they seem to be listening to is One Direction.

“Do you listen to anything other than this stuff, child?”

“Well, yes,” Crystal says, “but I’m kind of obsessively listening to my One Direction playlist right now. I can change it, if you want.” She doesn’t sound offended, and Jaida likes that about her. She’s easy to get along with, and in the few short snippets of conversation they’ve had, Crystal has taken any teasing comment with an easygoing laugh and a toss of her ocean-blue hair.

“One Direction is fine,” Jaida decides after a moment. She can’t help but think of her soulmate, and whether or not they, too, have a One Direction playlist that they listen to on repeat. She might as well take this opportunity to get acquainted with their favourite band. “I just wanted to make sure you’ve got more taste than this.”

“Haters gonna hate,” Crystal replies breezily, grinning at Jaida in the rearview mirror, and Jaida grins right back.

Jaida is unusually nervous.

She swirls the words on her tongue — three simple words — and wonders at her own anxiety. She isn’t usually like this, and she’d hardly expect Crystal of all people to be the reason for it.

She bites the bullet as Crystal locks her car.

“You want lunch?” Jaida asks cordially.

Crystal chews on her bottom lip, silent, and for a moment, Jaida wonders what in the world she’s done wrong. Do event coordinators have something against eating lunch with their coworkers? Maybe it’s something specific to Crystal’s team, or maybe Crystal just doesn’t like her.

“I mean, I would,” Crystal says eventually, her voice high-pitched and sheepish. “But I promised I’d hang out with Widow on my break, so… I can’t.”

Jaida has no idea who Widow is, and she doesn’t bother asking. She isn’t sure whether or not she wants to know why all the people she’s hearing about today have such strange names.

“It’s cool,” she says instead. “I’ll see you after.”

“See you then!”

They part ways in the lobby. Jaida finds Nicky in her dressing room, saying something in French to her phone, adding a slow emphasis to every syllable as though she is talking to a small child. A moment later, a voice parrots it back through the phone, and Nicky visibly winces.

“We’ll work on it,” she promises. Her gaze snaps up when Jaida snickers, and Jaida takes her glare as an invitation to sit down right beside her.

“Hey, bitches,” Jaida says, grinning when she peers at the phone and sees Jackie’s pixelated face looking back. “How’re y’all going on this fine day?”

“Damn, something’s got you in a good mood,” Nicky comments wryly, but her cold facade is broken by the slight quirk of her lips. “Did that meth girl give you a joint or something?”

“I don’t smoke at work, you dumbass,” Jaida chides her playfully as Jackie laughs. “Also, her name is Crystal, and she is so fucking good at her job.”

Nicky raises a playful eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Don’t give me that look, bitch. Didn’t you realise I’m back half an hour early?”

“Nope.”

“You guys, I’m so confused,” Jackie cuts in. “Since when was there a meth girl?”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!” Nicky exclaims. She’d been there when Jaida had received her schedule, and had gawked right along with her when they saw Crystal’s name. “Just this chick Jaida’s working with for the next week. What was her full name again, Jaida? Crystal Meth?”

“Crystal Methyd,” Jaida corrects, as Jackie’s hand flies to her face in a feeble attempt to maintain her composure. Jaida can’t help but wonder if she’d react the same if she met Crystal in person; now that Jaida can put a face — and a personality — to the name, it seems less outlandish and more… quirky.

“So? What’s she like? Apart from being ‘so fucking good at her job?’” Nicky asks, her eyes gleaming with a strange sort of curiosity. “Is she as crazy as you thought?”

“And then some,” Jaida laughs. “But she’s, like, a fun crazy. It’s cool. She looks like a lollipop.”

Nicky nods slowly. “Please elaborate.”

“Blue hair, a fuck ton of necklaces… the whole shebang,” Jaida says. She’s still stunned at how Crystal doesn’t get sick of the constant rattling of the beads. “Like, you know those big ass lollipops we had as kids? The swirly rainbow ones? Imagine one of those, but blue. That’s Crystal.”

Nicky nearly chokes on her lunch.

“That is the single most amazing thing I have ever heard,” she proclaims, mouth still half full. “Calling someone a ‘big ass lollipop’. Have I told you I love you, Jaida?”

“Hey!” Jackie whines, pretending to be wounded by the statement. “I thought your heart belonged to me, Miss Doll.”

“You can share,” Nicky replies haughtily, sticking her tongue out at Jackie.

“No fair.”

“Deal with it.”

Jaida laughs, already all too familiar with Nicky and Jackie’s playful banter. They might bicker like an old married couple, but Jaida always sees how Nicky rolls her sleeves up when she’s nervous, sees how she’ll immediately relax as she gazes at her lilac flowers.

Jaida has known Nicky since they were kids, and she has never seen anyone make her smile like Jackie does.

“Well,” Jaida says, “unfortunately for you, child, my heart will soon belong to an avid One Direction fan. Sorry ’bout it.”

Soon, she thinks, as soon as the words have left her lips. How soon? It’s such a loose term. Soon could be twenty years, or it could be tomorrow. Fate has left her nothing but a string of words to follow, and she has given nothing back - save for the Arabic tattoo, her skin is empty.

“Girl, if they were still a thing, I would sit through an entire concert for you to find your soulmate,” Nicky promises. “And that’s no small deal, Jaida - that’s ten years off of my life, just for you.”

“Luckily for you they’re still no longer a thing,” Jackie remarks.

Jaida chuckles. “Actually, I listened to some One Direction today, in the car. Crystal played it non-stop.”

“Maybe Crystal is your soulmate!” Nicky gasps, bolting upright in her seat.

“Bitch! She’s my coworker!” Jaida can’t help but wrinkle her nose - Crystal is nice, but soulmates is taking it a bit too far.

“That’s how all the best love stories start, you know!”

“Naw, child, I doubt it. We’re too different.”

“Since when has that stopped anyone?” Jackie grins, sharing a knowing glance with Nicky.

“I’ll believe it until proven otherwise,” Nicky insists, slamming her fist on the table emphatically. “Besides, she sounds like the type to get a One Direction tattoo in a foreign language, don’t you think?”

Jaida rolls her eyes, amused. “You haven’t even met her!”

“And also,” Nicky continues slyly, ignoring Jaida. “You have no proof that she’s not your soulmate. You won’t know for sure until she shows you her collarbone.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Jaida deadpans. “What do you want me to do, take her to, like, a strip club or something and hope she takes her clothes off? You can do that, child, I’m keeping things professional.”

Jackie laughs. “Let’s plan a double date.”

“Let’s get through this next week first, then we’ll talk,” Jaida counters, knowing the possibility of her following through will be slim. Still, she can’t help but wonder if by then, she and Crystal will actually know each other well enough for the idea to be plausible.

“Oh, wait! I have something to show you,” Nicky gasps suddenly, swiping off of FaceTime and opening photos instead. She chooses an image before swivelling her phone around for Jaida to see. “Sorry, I know this is going totally off-topic, but you must see this.”

It’s a photograph of Shea Couleé, one of Nicky’s fellow models, standing in a gauzy gown of galactic violets and a shimmering ebony. Jaida recognises the design instantly - it was one of the first things she pitched to Bianca, who, later on, begrudgingly admitted that she liked it so much she’d nearly promoted Jaida on the spot. The top half of the dress is covered in jewelled stars and surrounded by rings of planets, whilst the bottom is layers of tulle and gleaming black satin that shines like the midnight sky. Jaida remembers thinking something like this would be impossible to bring to life, yet now, she’s not only seen it on a mannequin, but also right here, in this photograph of Shea.

And she looks so beautiful, Jaida almost feels herself tearing up. Shea’s warm brown skin seems to glow amidst the glimmering jewels and star-shaped rhinestones. She holds her head high, ink-dark hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, spilling over constellations and galaxies. She looks regal, silver specks like starlight pooling in her obsidian eyes. She’s surrounded by tiny worlds, supernovas and shining stars, and Shea wears them all like she’s the sun. Jaida can’t take her eyes off of her.

“I know, right?” Nicky gushes. “Doesn’t she look so incredible?”

“Holy fuck. Holy shit, child, I can’t. This isn’t real. Pinch me.”

“It’s real!” Nicky promises, grinning from ear to ear. “I saw her at the fitting. She looks even better in person - I can’t wait for you to see her model it.”

Jaida genuinely has no words. They lodge in her throat, sticky with unspoken emotion. This moment feels… powerful. It feels like all her dreams have come true at once. All her late nights designing, sewing, stoning fabrics and adjusting seams - every moment feels worth it. She stares at the image, trying to sear it into her mind so that she’ll never forget it, wears the thought of it like a badge of honour. Jaida feels like anything is possible; like this show might just be perfect.

Jaida finds Crystal sitting in her car, headbanging to music so loud Jaida can hear it from outside — it’s still One Direction — as though the world isn’t passing right outside the windows.

“Hey, bitch,” Jaida greets her cheerfully, sliding into the passenger seat. She has to choke back a laugh when Crystal practically leaps out of her skin, her back stiffening until it’s ramrod straight.

“Shit,” she gasps. “Sorry. You literally gave me a heart attack. Oh my god, don’t ever do that again.”

This time, Jaida can’t hold back an amused snort. “I could tell. You were completely in your own world just then.”

“Such is the power of One Direction,” Crystal replies sagely as she turns the music back down to a more appropriate volume. “By the way, we’ve got another stop after this next meeting - the designers just finished the flyers and stuff, so we gotta go print them off.”

“No trouble.” Jaida can’t say she’s enthusiastic about having yet another task on her itinerary, but this one is so minimal effort that she can’t complain.

“Right, cool.” Crystal shifts the gearstick as Jaida leans back in her seat, surrounded by the generic pop melodies of One Direction and her own thoughts.

She can’t help but reminisce on Nicky’s words from earlier. What if all this is the work of fate? Are these car rides — and the fact that Crystal has, so far, played absolutely nothing but One Direction — destiny?

It sends an undeniable shiver up Jaida’s spine. To think that this moment was fated to happen no matter what she does feels… strange, to say the least. But if they are fated to fall in love, why doesn’t Jaida feel it?

She chances a sidewards glance at Crystal, and realises that she must have taken her denim jacket off sometime during the lunch break. Now, the jacket is loosely tied around her waist, and the T-shirt she’s wearing above it leaves her arms bare.

Bare enough for Jaida to see her tattoos.

There’s one on her right bicep: Jaida can only see the lower half of it, but it looks intricately detailed. She notices a small cat and a pair of legs before her gaze lands on the inside of Crystal’s other arm, where two circular symbols are inked onto her skin.

A weird combination of disappointment and relief washes over Jaida. Crystal isn’t fated to be hers after all - there are her tattoos, not one but two of them, likely both tied to a mysterious, predestined love.

You haven’t seen her collarbone yet, Nicky’s voice whispers in Jaida’s mind, but Jaida shoves it away. She doesn’t care. This is confirmation enough.

It’s incredibly common for people to get their soul tattoos in obvious places, like these tattoos on Crystal’s arms, or the flowers on Nicky and Jackie’s wrists that led them to one another. Jaida still remembers how Nicky would refuse to cover up her tattoos when she went outside, because “today could be the day, Jaida!”

Jaida almost laughs at the memory. She wonders if her own soulmate has spent as much of the last four years as possible with their tattoo showing. That might make things easier.

But Jaida has decided that she doesn’t care for easy. She’s grateful that her tattoo — her fucking One Direction tattoo — is in a place that she can cover up, and that in the meantime, her freedom is still hers. She doesn’t even need to think about her soulmate if she doesn’t want to. The words on her collarbone are the only things binding them, and right now, that bond can easily be ignored.

Her thoughts drift, momentarily, to Gigi - the girl she met years ago, with the honey-gold hair and skin as smooth as flower petals. She thinks about the image of the little doll on Gigi’s ribcage: the only trace of ink on her pale skin.

They had briefly asked about each other’s marks, and that was it. They didn’t match, but it didn’t matter. It had never mattered, even as they watched the spark die out and realised that maybe it was just destiny.

They’re still friends. Jaida sees Gigi sometimes, and it still makes her smile. Even if it’s over — even if it was never meant to be — they shared something special, regardless of their mismatched tattoos.

Jaida glances over at Crystal again. She’s focused on the road ahead, but she’s still quietly murmuring along to the music. She’s undeniably beautiful, Jaida thinks, with her sandy freckles and cerulean hair. She chances one more look at Crystal’s tattoos and fires off a text to Nicky.

I was right!! She’s already tattooed, so… no chance there.

Nicky’s reply comes instantaneously.

Seen her collarbone yet? ; )

Jaida leaves her on read.

Jaida and Crystal are the last customers in the print store.

It’s nearly closing time, and the girl behind the counter looks rather irritated to see them there. Ordinarily, Jaida wouldn’t have been too happy to be waiting around this late either, but today, she has Crystal. Talking to Crystal is easy; conversation flows between them like bubbling spring water, and Jaida soon forgets about the time.

She picks up one of the flyers as a staff member deposits a pile of them on the counter. Beside her, Crystal looks like she’s about to vibrate right out of her skin with anticipation.

“You good there?” Jaida asks, her brows furrowing in concern.

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Crystal shoots her a self-assured grin. “Just waiting to see what you think.”

Jaida’s gaze darts back to the flyer in her hand, and she almost does a double take. Looking back at her is a gorgeous model, dark skin shining a brilliant topaz in the gold lights and falling glitter.

And she’s wearing Jaida’s galaxy dress.

The drawing of it is almost better than the real thing. It no longer looks like a garment - rather, the model has become one with the universe itself, as though she carries worlds in her palms and constellations in her eyes. She looks powerful, commanding, ethereal.

Jaida’s gaze travels down the line of the model’s body and there, in the bottom corner, is a tiny signature of swirling script and looping letters. Jaida peers closer at it, making out an elegant C and the long tail of a Y.

“…Crystal, did you draw this?”

“I did!” Crystal seems to brighten, her face alight with pleasure, at Jaida’s realisation. “Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? Child, this is amazing!” She traces the outline of the perfect silhouette, still in awe of the work of art she’s holding. Crystal’s talent is immeasurable.

“I was given some photocopies of the designs that are gonna be in the show,” Crystal says. “And I just liked this one so much I knew I had to draw it. Do you know who designed it? The sketch didn’t look like one of Bianca’s.”

“Yeah. It’s not,” Jaida replies, almost shyly. “It’s mine.”

“No way!” Crystal gasps, slamming her palms onto the counter and wincing at the noise she makes. “How are you not, like, head designer? Hell, you could probably take Bianca’s job if you wanted to.”

This gets a laugh out of Jaida. “Bitch, I’d have to pry it from her cold, dead hands!”

“Okay, okay, true. But holy shit, Jaida. This dress is gorgeous. What are you even doing running these silly errands? You should be with all the designers. Why aren’t you with all the designers? I bet Bianca’s just scared you’re gonna outdo her.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Jaida snickers, “but it’s really just that we don’t have enough people yet. We’re still a small brand, so it’s very, like, all hands on deck. Everyone’s gotta do a bit of everything.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Crystal nods slowly. “How long have you been working with Bianca?”

“A year now,” Jaida replies. “It’s a good job. I get to do a lot of stuff - I’ve designed, sewed, and I did some of the models’ makeup one time.”

“Wow,” Crystal breathes, and Jaida warms at how impressed she looks. “You’ve gotta show me more of your dresses when we do the run-through in a couple days.”

Jaida smiles. “Sure.” There’s a pause before she adds, “what about you? What got you into event coordination?”

“I wanted to be a freelance artist for the longest time,” Crystal explains, shrugging. “But it’s just… not easy making a living like that. So I found some jobs where I could do some art here and there, and this was the first one that stuck.”

“I get that,” Jaida agrees quietly. It’s easy to have big dreams, but making them come true is another story - she feels lucky to have met Bianca when she did. “But with a talent like this,” she continues, gesturing to the flyer in her hands, “I can see you going places. Big places.”

“Aw.” Crystal’s face softens in a smile. “That’s so sweet. Thanks, Jaida.”

“That’s everything,” the girl behind the counter interrupts before Jaida can respond. “You’re with Del Rio, right?”

“Yep.”

“Right. All yours, then.” She gestures to the boxes of flyers and programs before turning away to shut off the printers.

“Welp, let’s get moving,” Crystal says, grunting as she heaves a box off the counter. Jaida follows, pretending not to notice the way Crystal’s tattoos flex as she moves. They load the boxes of flyers and event programs into the car before Crystal slams the boot shut, turning to face Jaida and smiling triumphantly.

“All in a good day’s work,” Jaida says, grinning.

“We were amazing today,” Crystal agrees, putting her hand up for a high-five. Jaida smiles and hits Crystal’s palm with her own.

Crystal tuts. “That was weak,” she tells Jaida. “Come on, you can give me more than that!” She raises her hand again, waving it in Jaida’s face. “Go! Go! Go! Show me what you’ve got!”

“What the fuck,” Jaida laughs, but she complies, whacking Crystal’s hand with as much strength as she can. “Better?”

“Oof,” Crystal groans, shaking out her hand before breaking into a smile. “See? That was much better. I knew you had it in you.”

“You are so crazy.”

“That’s old news, Jaida,” Crystal replies sagely. “Old, old news.”

Jaida snorts, almost in disbelief. Crystal is so amusing.

“I see. Thanks for catching me up,” she says, playing along.

“You’re very welcome.” Crystal grins brightly before opening the car door. “Now let’s take this stuff back so we can go home. I want a warm shower and some food.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jaida murmurs, sliding into the passenger seat beside Crystal.

“Yeah. You know what else sounds amazing?” Crystal asks, grabbing her phone as the car hums to life. “This song. This is the perfect way to end a good day at work.”

A moment later, upbeat, electronic music fills the car, and Crystal immediately begins bobbing her head to the beat.

“Let me guess,” Jaida says, pretending to think, “One Direction?”

Crystal’s brilliant grin is all the confirmation she needs.

They begin driving, and Jaida will admit that while she doesn’t like the song, Crystal’s finally-free-of-work-for-the-day excitement is infectious.

“Baby say yeah, yeah, yeah!” Crystal sings as they’re waiting at a red light.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Jaida joins in, and her chest warms when Crystal turns to her, eyes wide and shining with a pleasant surprise.

“If you don’t wanna take it slow, and you just wanna take me home, baby say yeah, yeah, yeah,” Crystal sings, her gaze flicking expectantly to Jaida.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Jaida finishes. Crystal giggles, bubbly with delight, as the light changes and she resumes driving.

Jaida leans back into the faux leather of the seat, her skin flush with a strange — but not unwelcome — warmth. It feels like Crystal’s presence has touched her in a peculiar way. Her bluebell laughter, her childlike excitement, her wild and wonderful charisma — all of it feels so comfortable to Jaida already, even though she’s only known Crystal for a single day.

She likes Crystal, she’s decided. Crystal with the strange name and the lollipop hair. Crystal who sings along to One Direction in the car. Crystal with the tattoos painting her tanned skin.

Jaida leaves work that evening feeling light on her feet, a lively melody playing on loop in her head. This day turned out better than she could have expected, and she has high hopes for the week ahead.

She hums the melody that’s stuck in her head as she boards the train on her way home. It’s cheerful, upbeat - where did she hear this again?

With a laugh, she realises it’s the One Direction song she and Crystal had sung together on the way back home. Jaida decides it might not be so bad after all.

#rpdr fanfiction #jaida essence hall #crystal methyd #nicky doll #jackie cox #crystal x jaida #jackie x nicky #fluff #lesbian au #soulmate au #diversity fic #black girl magic fic #one direction to your heart #cheetah #s12 #concrit welcome

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rosyminx · 7 years ago

Text

pretty in pink || 02

Genre: semi-smut [camboy!jimin]

Summary: The story of how Jimin becomes a camboy.

word count: 4.2k

Chpt || 01 02

A/N: Jimin’s POV from about a week earlier. Also introduced Hoseok, Taehyung, and Namjoon! Mentions of Jin, but I probably won’t add him ‘till later. super late wow, life hit me though! um I hope you guys really enjoy this!!

To say Jimin needed money was an understatement. He was this close to getting kicked out of his university for not paying his bills, and he just got fired from his shitty job at the campus bookstore. At least not until tomorrow, apparently he needs to cover for someone and then he’ll be fired. What kind of place fires you one day in advance? All he had to do was ring up textbooks for students and he couldn’t even do that.

To say he was having a bad day would also be an understatement.

Wanting to relieve stress, Jimin decided to go to the one place he knew would help. Dancing had become a part of his life, something he couldn’t live without or know what he’d do without it. He dances when he’s happy, sad, any emotion one could think of; Jimin found himself dancing due to it. It’s an art, an outlet for raw emotion. Connecting with another at their most vulnerable state was what Jimin loved the most.

Being an introvert, this was his way to express himself without words. Other kids could drink until their bodies couldn’t take it anymore, Jimin didn’t care. Kids even mocked him when he was younger, not really being able to understand why Jimin was always dancing. Thinking about it now, Jimin realizes that they just didn’t know how to wrap their head around something so beautiful.

Really messed him up, too. The feeling of being mocked constantly for no apparent reason had really gotten to Jimin. He can recall a childhood friend that stuck by his side, though. To this day, he doesn’t really know why the kid decided to give up his friends just to stick up for Jimin. They did everything together, but all the memories Jimin could muster up were elementary school ones.

Jimin walked to his dorm from that godforsaken bookstore, collected his things and started walking towards the dance studio. Thoughts consuming him.

“Hey Jims.”

“Did you just call me…..Jims?”

“Yeah, you don’t like it? I call you the same names all the time I thought it’d be cool.”

“No. Don’t ever do that, I think my heart just cried out a little bit.”

The man across Jimin snorted. “What’s up with you? Lately you’ve been acting like you haven’t gotten dicked down in 5 years.”

“Well due to you” Jimin jabbed his finger into the man’s chest. “I haven’t gotten any in months. Plus I just got fired from my job, and I have lots of things to do. I’m a busy man so excuse me if I can’t laugh along with your funny jokes.” He snapped. Jimin hadn’t meant to, really. It’s just a really bad day and his friend isn’t making it any better.

“Woah woah. Okay, chill. I’m sorry I joked about your name but you really need to relax. C’mon, let’s just practice.” He walks towards the middle of the practice room and turns around; “You really should loosen up, you’ve been working a lot. Sucks that you got fired but let’s do something different. Come to a party with me tonight, yeah?”

Jimin glared at the older man. “What are you trying?”

“No! C’mon look, there’s this guy I think is really cute and he’s throwing the party. I really need you there!” He begged. Even dared to give Jimin those puppy dog eyes that made him melt everytime.

After some serious thought, Jimin agreed. Plus, he probably looked weird just staring out into the open like he was. A few hours at a party wouldn’t hurt.

“Trying to find an outfit to find an outfit to wear to a function really is just the hardest thing, isn’t it? I’m freaking out here!”

“God, Jimin, did you just call a college party, a function? Do you do anything other than study and work?” Namjoon snorted. This kid really deserved this party. “When was the last time you went to a party?”

Now, that’s something Jimin really had to think about. He has no recollection of going to any parties at all, could he really be that big of a loser? Should he just lie? Namjoon is his best friend though…

“Does your 12th birthday party count? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever really been. Is that bad? I really hope not. Will I stand out? Like do people just have a radar for losers at func-parties?” Rambling on, Jimin looked at himself in the mirror again. He doesn’t look too bad. Not that he’s trying to impress anyone, he couldn’t care less. He just wants to look nice, honestly. Everyone knows that looking nice means you feel nice, too.

“You’re going with...who again?”

“Hoseok. You remember him right? He’s literally my roommate, Joon” Jimin turned his head to look at his friend.

He was walking around Jimin’s room, observing. That’s what he gets for being a Psychology major, he’s so fucking attentive towards everything. “That’s your ex, right? You don’t really talk about him much anymore.” He picks up one of Jimin’s books, flipping through it. “Isn’t it weird to room with someone you used to date?”

Without hesitation, Jimin replied. “No, honestly not one bit. We ended on really good terms, and he was my best friend before he was my boyfriend. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, though.” He sighed. “Like when he brings someone home, it kinda hurts ya know? I remember those times when I’d come home and he’d be waiting for me with that smile that really just brightens your day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not attracted to him anymore. It just makes me realize that I’m lonely. So when he does bring someone home, I don’t know what to do. I hate being consumed with the thoughts of ‘Was he the last person I’m gonna be with? Am I ever gonna find someone else?’ Ya know?”

‘What do I even say to that?’ Namjoon looked into Jimin’s eyes, genuinely not knowing what to say. It was often that Jimin opened up to him. The kid has such a big heart, honestly where does all the love even go?

“Honestly, you know that I don’t really know how that feels. However, you know that I’m always here for you. Just not right now though, you should get going to your function.” Making sure to mock Jimin for his choice of words earlier, Namjoon throws some air quotes around “function”.

The whole thing was just ridiculous. Did people really do this every weekend? The thought was fucking insane to Jimin; maybe a drink would help him feel better.

Trying to get through the crowd, and through a house with the most complex fucking layout Jimin has ever seen, he manages to get to the kitchen. He lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. Probably because he had to suck his into body in to move between crowds of people. Jimin swears he even saw some guy fingering a girl in the middle of the room. Never coming to a party again.

Pouring himself a drink, Jimin walks around the house; simultaneously trying to figure out the layout and trying to find Hoseok within the crowds. He’s never had this kind of attention before. Sure, people weren’t bowing at his feet because of his looks, but he’s had quite a few girls and one or two guys approach him. It was easy to turn down the girls, with a sheepish smile and a simple “Sorry, I’m gay.” It took some convincing too, saying it was just some typical excuse. The guys however, Jimin did not know how to deal with. Standard fuckboy, the ones who get mad when you deny them of their orgasm. Worked out eventually, though.

Among a crowd of hooligans, as Jimin liked to call them, he could see Hoseok taking shots with people he probably had just met.

Jimin let out a sigh. “No familiar faces, I see.” He told himself and proceeded to walk towards his friend. Might as well…

“Jimin! Come take shots, you look tense.” He smacked his hand on Jimin’s shoulders, starting to massage him. That elicited a pretty verbal response from Jimin, too.

‘Did I just…moan?’ Jimin thinks to himself. He hasn’t even met these people formally, and he’s straight up moaning for them. Great. Trying to take attention of him, Jimin takes Hoseok’s hands off his shoulder, hopes no one heard him, and grabs a shot glass. “Let’s take shots!” Jimin cheered, but he wasn’t really enthusiastic about it. Something was just off, he just couldn’t tell what. Hopefully it wasn’t his stupid feelings acting up again.

One shot. Two shots. Three shots...Six shots. Maybe he should stop, but the numbing feeling inside him has disappeared and he’s content with things right now. Another shot wouldn’t hurt.

Before Jimin could get another shot in,, a large but very blurry hand takes the glass away from him. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? Hoseok might be impressed but I’m not” A voice says to him amusingly.

“And wh-who are you? Let me take one more, I promise that’s it.” Jimin hiccuped back to the stranger. “Woo, you’re kinda cute. What’s your name, cutie?” Jimin was drunk enough to even boop the man’s nose.

“Name’s Taehyung. Let’s get you some water, and wash your face too, yeah?”

“My knight in shining armour…” Jimin mumbled back

Taehyung snorted. He drags Jimin up the stairs, not like he was resisting or anything. Halfway through, though, they both see a couple romantically making out. Not the ‘Hey we’re at a party and we’re drunk so let’s make out’ kind of making out, but the ‘Let’s kiss because you’re my boyfriend/girlfriend and I love you.’ kind of making out. There was clearly lots of passion in it, and Jimin starting sobbing. Full on sobbing, and Taehyung was confused, to say the least.

Upon reaching the bathroom, he sits Jimin on the floor, as per Jimin’s request; and tries to calm him.

“All right, all right. Why are you crying?”

The words that came out of Jimin’s mouth was incomprehensible. It was blabbering and sobbing mixed together. ‘What is he going on about?’ Taehyung thought to himself.

After several minutes of trying to get Jimin to calm down, the sobs finally die down and Jimin can talk properly again.

“Uh...honestly-” hiccup “I’m fine now, thanks. It was kinda just, like...ya know? I don’t know how to describe what happened, to be honest.” Jimin was eternally grateful for Taehyung. If he was being honest with himself, he’d rather not have started sobbing in the middle of the room. So a little appreciation was due.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Does he? “Actually, no I’d rather not but thanks a lot. Really, you saved me a lot of embarrassment.” Jimin gets up and puts his hand on the doorknob only to be pulled back.

“But...hey! You know I talked to you for a reason? I’m nice and all but I don’t go up to random people at a party and cut them off and then proceed to comfort them when they start crying.” Taehyung snickered. Kid’s got some nerve.

Now that thought never crossed Jimin’s mind. How stupid of him, obviously this guy wanted something. Maybe this is what Hoseok was talking about? It’s his chance to finally get some, and relieve all his built up stress.

Jimin drops to his knees, surprising the other man. “Let me repay you, for helping me not embarrass myself.” He put his hands on Taehyung’s belt, only to be stopped.

“Woah, that’s not what I meant-you’re drunk, you know that? As much as I wanna get my dick wet, and wow-especially by you, I’m not doing this without clear confirmation that this is what you actually want.” Having Jimin on his knees was really a sight, and oh how badly he wanted to fuck that pretty little mouth. Still, he’s not one to do anything without consent.

“Yes. This is what I want, please let me...not to sound desperate or anything. But it’s a definite yes.” Jimin commented back.

After Taehyung asked about three more times, he took his hand off Jimin’s wrist. Jimin slowly unbuckled Taehyung’s belt, biting his lip. He hasn’t given a blowjob in a while and he so badly craved the feeling of being full, in more ways than one but for now this’ll do. Sliding Taehyung’s pants down his thighs, Jimin is met with quite a sight. Even with underwear on, Taehyung looks incredible.

Mouth watering, Jimin moves to slide Taehyung’s boxers down, too. Jimin didn’t expect to whip out the best looking dick he had ever seen, so he wasn’t expecting much. Boy, was he wrong...Taehyung had one of the prettiest dicks he’s ever seen. Wrapping his hand around it, Jimin starts out with a tiny lick and another, and another until Taehyung can’t take it anymore and a high pitched whine leaves his throat.

“Fuck, Jimin c’mon you’re killing me.” He breathes out.

“...I don’t remember telling you my name. How do you know it?”

“Hoseok yelled it when you downed 4 shots one after another, I don’t really blame you for not remembering that.”

“Oh...well okay.”

Desperate to have Taehyung in his mouth, Jimin slowly took him in, realizing that not only did Taehyung have a pretty cock, but he tasted even better than expected. He craved more of the salty precum that seeped from Taehyung’s tip. Instead of taking the rest of Taehyung in his mouth, Jimin went back to sucking his sensitive head, savoring the taste of precum that dripped down Taehyung.

He pulled Jimin’s hair, letting out a deep groan. “Fuck, you were really made for this weren’t you.”

Jimin let out a high whine. The sensation of having Taehyung pull his hair did more to him than he could explain. He craved more of the feeling, loving how his body got all tingly inside when Taehyung pulled on his hair.

“Pull it again, please - fuck, pull my hair more.” Jimin begged. Having his request granted, Jimin took Taehyung back into his mouth and took in inch by inch. Jimin’s head slowly bobbed up and down Taehyung’s length. Taehyung found the view of his cock disappearing into Jimin’s mouth mesmerizing. At first glance, Jimin didn’t look like the person to be able to deepthroat without trouble, god bless him. Really.

He groaned louder and deeper than before, finally getting closer and closer to snapping. The sound reached Jimin’s ears, sounding like music. It made Jimin’s need to please grow stronger. Taehyung’s stomach tightened, alerting him of his impending release.

“F-fuck, ‘m gonna c-cum. Think you can take it all? Gonna swallow it all for me?”

Now, Jimin wasn’t one to just swallow some random guy’s cum, but Taehyung was so ethereal that Jimin made an exception. He won’t ever see him again, either. So that’s a plus. Jimin moans around him, sending vibrations through Taehyung.

His eyes are watering and he feels like he’s going to throw up any second. But he’s never felt better.

Jimin removes one hand from Taehyung’s thighs to lightly pull on his balls. It’s his trick, to lightly pull when the other man is so close to releasing. Works like a charm everytime.

Taehyung cums with a deep “Mmm”, seeming more than satisfied with the situation right now. He releases his rough grip on Jimin’s hair and chooses to lightly run his fingers through it, occasionally tugging.

After licking what cum escaped Jimin’s mouth and dripped down Taehyung’s length, Jimin sat back on his heels, exhausted. He let out a breath and looked up at Taehyung holding out his hand to help Jimin up.

His jaw hurts, he’s still hard, he’s hungry, and that horrible feeling of loneliness has returned.

“Uhh-Not really sure how post-blowjob conversation is supposed to go with a stranger, but...wanna go dance?” Taehyung started, “I would feel bad just leaving you after probably doing damage to your throat.”

Jimin chuckled, pulling Taehyung out of the bathroom and into the main room. “Your post-blowjob conversation is just fine, not to worry.”

Dancing with Taehyung helped a lot. He couldn’t let go of the thought that he knew Taehyung from somewhere. His gut was telling him to ask personal questions. Does he have that right after sucking the soul out of him?

Jimin hesitated, “Uh, do you mind if I ask you some questions? Like - so I can know more about you, if not that’s totally fine I could ju-”

“Ask me anything. I’m an open person I don’t mind a little prying.”

“O-oh, well alright.” He didn’t think he’d get this far. Jimin’s so used to others rejecting him he didn’t actually think of any questions.

“So...do you go to uni or college?”

“University. Pretty sure we go to the same one, think I’ve seen you around. You work at the bookstore, right?”

“Yeah.” Jimin mumbled. “What about high school? Where’d you grow up?”

“Went to the performing arts school, grew up near Itaewon. That’s where I went to elementary school, too. In case that was your next question.”

Jimin blushed, feeling silly asking all school related questions. “Sorry, I just - wait you said you went to Itaewon Elementary? That’s where I went!”

“Really? I don’t remember you. Not to sound rude of anything but I was friends with most of the kid’s in my class. We’re in the same grade right now, right? We were definitely in the same class, and I remember everyone.”

He was at a loss for words. Of course Taehyung wouldn’t remember him, he was the laughing stock of his class. How does he even begin to tell Taehyung that the reason he wouldn’t remember Jimin was because no one actually paid attention to him other than to pick on him? “I, uh-I didn’t have many friends...actually none at all. Well, I had one but I don’t remember anything about him.”

“Well I do remember there being a kid in our class that no one talked to. I mean they made fun of the kid, and all that. Felt real bad for him, I befriended him though so it can’t be you.”

Panic started to set in. There’s no way Jimin could have given a blowjob to his only childhood friend...right?

“W-I don’t know how to say this, but I think-I think that was me…”

Jimin’s panicked state was interrupted by Taehyung’s loud laugh. With wide eyes, he looked over to Taehyung, not believing that he could be laughing in such an odd situation.

“What are you laughing at! I-I can’t believe you’re laughing right now! This isn’t funny, I’m petrified.” Jimin stuttered out.

“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, Jimin. I mean, we were pretty close as kids, right? This is only the next step.” Taehyung snorted at that last remark. Sure, it came as a surprise that the dork from his elementary class just gave him the best blowjob he’s ever had but he’s not complaining. “Just relax, I’m not gonna tell anyone so I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up for.”

With a sigh of relief, “Yeah, I guess you’re right...you won’t tell anyone?”

Promising not to spill their new secret, Taehyung drags Jimin to the dance floor again. He pulls others along to dance with them.

“Hey! Y-you’re” hiccup “Jimin, right?” A girl drunkenly slurs to Jimin, grabbing his attention. “Hoseok told me you’re a good dancer. Let’s dance?”

Damn that Hoseok, is this going to be one of those times where Jimin has to pretend to be straight? His thoughts are interrupted by the overly drunk girl pulling Jimin to an empty room. Things really couldn’t get more awkward form here, how is he supposed to reject sex from her? ‘No thanks, I just sucked some dick. I’ve had my fill!’ Perhaps it’ll go something like that.

Hiccup “Sorry, I-I just need to answer this phone call for work and I like have this fear of going places by myself. Stay with me?”

Reluctantly, Jimin agrees. He watches her lay on the bed, seeming to be getting ready for the phone call.

She warns, “I’m a camgirl and I’m doing a private phone call, so you might hear some dirty stuff. But please don’t leave! I’ll try to make it quick.” Jimin zoned out after the word ‘camgirl’. Surely she couldn’t be serious, right? He didn’t know those actually existed. I mean of course they existed, but he didn’t think he’d ever meet one...let alone see one in action.

As much as Jimin tries to tune into the steamy conversation going on a few feet from him. He still can’t wrap his head around it. He manages to catch a few phrases, though. As the still unnamed girl plays with her nails with a bored expression on her face, she seductively says something about how he should feel how wet she is.

Eventually, she hangs up and phone and finds a bewildered Jimin staring at her.

After a few awkward pauses, “So...you’re like-a camgirl? Wh-what do you do?” Jimin asks.

“Um...well, I usually like play with myself on camera or I get my boyfriend to fu-”

“Okay, okay. I think I get it. But I meant to ask about the phone call.”

“Oh! I do private phone calls to some of my viewers. Only the ones that have been subscribed to me for a while though, it’s a good way to get extra money.” The new information was hitting Jimin like a brick. Maybe he could try this? “The money’s really good from doing streams alone, but the private calls helps me get in more money.” She says something about school bills and Jimin’s head snaps up.

“S-school bills? Like how much do you make a month? I kinda really need to pay for school…”

“Hmm, roughly $2500 a month? I do a lot of streams, it depends on the amount of hours you do a week. Oh! You should do it!!”

“What? Oh no, no. I don’t think I’d be good at that, who’d wanna watch me anyway?”

The girl tilts her head to the side, “What do you mean? Look at you! You’re like what every guy wants to see on a camera. Camboys are more popular than camgirls, trust me. It took me a long time to build up my viewers.” She looks up as if she’s reminiscing of past times. “You have such a pretty face, a super nice ass, and a honey like voice. You’ll get viewers in no time! Honestly you just need to keep up your streaming times.”

She’s so excited, it’s insane. “Oh! This is gonna be great! I could really help you start if you want. I heard you got fired from the bookstore, too. What a shame.” She pities Jimin.

“Wha-Who told you that! I-I have to go.” It’s like trying to run from a crazy person, Jimin thinks. “I’ll seriously think about it, uh thank you?” Jimin slowly backs out of the room, bumping into someone as soon as he opens the door.

When Jimin turns around he sees Taehyung trying to peek his nose into the room Jimin was just in. “Where were you?” He makes eye contact with the girl. “Dude, did you just have sex? I thought you would’ve had enough by now.” He looks at Jimin and can’t help but laugh.

“Hey! You’re laughing at me a little too much today, don’t you think?” Jimin exhaled. “I wasn’t having sex. Sh-she had to take a phone call and didn’t wanna go alone.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. Never asked.”

“Well, what’d you talk about?”

“You’re real nosy aren’t you?” Jimin spots Hoseok laying on the couch, knocked out. He couldn’t have been gone that long. The pair walk towards Hoseok and Jimin starts to drag him up, set on leaving this party from hell. “If you must know, she told me about being a camboy. Apparently she knows that I got fired from my job and tried to persuade me into doing whatever cam-people do.”

“You got fired from your job?”

He makes a mental reminder to stop telling people his business so much. Turning to Taehyung, “Yeah, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Whatever you want. But if you did get fired, being a camboy isn’t a bad idea. I mean, look at you. You’d be a good fit, seriously. I have some favorite camboys that I watch and-” If the lightbulb lighting up above someone’s head was a real thing, Jimin could see it happening right now above Taehyung’s head. “I’ll help you! I like to think that I know a little more about cam shows than you do.”

“I never even said I was going to do it.” What if someone from his school sees it? Or worse, what if a professor finds him? Jimin doesn’t think he could handle the after effects of that.

Seeing that Taehyung won’t budge until he gets a proper answer, Jimin tells him that he’ll think about it. Seriously think about it.

“Oh goodie! Wanna hang out tomorrow? We could go buy some toys that you’ll obviously need for your shows. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Taehyung runs off somewhere, probably to go drink more, Jimin thinks.

“I...never even said I was going to do it…or that I’d hang out with you.” And with that, Jimin is left holding an unconscious Hoseok, and with very weird plans tomorrow.

#kpoptrashtag #bts jimin smut #bts jimin #bts smut #jimin smut #camboy jimin #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #bts hoseok #bts namjoon #pretty in pink #y'all ever just say oops after you click post #thats me!!

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imnotanybody · 4 years ago

Text

To the one reading this, may you finally breathe and freely cry without having to explain your pain. 🦋

Photo taken at Pinto Art Museum

As a child, I would remember myself sitting on the floor of my locked room, sometimes, inside my closet, crying and heavily breathing. I could hardly recall the specific reasons for my tears, but all I know is that I was in deep pain, so deep that it nearly teared up my heart literally. I could somehow only recall that the ultimate cause of my pain was my inability to conquer frustrations in my life (yes, even as a kid, I had my fair share of life frustrations) as well as lack of encouragement from the people I looked up to.

My mom and dad would knock on my door, at times, insistently, so I would open it. When they saw me, putting my best efforts to wear a straight face and hide any traces of tears, they would ask, "Bakit ka ba umiiyak? Ano ba ang problema mo, anak?” I would also remember that out of frustration, my dad would forcefully bring me outside our house, lock the front door to prevent me from coming in as a punishment, because I couldn't stop crying. Don't get me wrong. My dad wasn’t a bad father. He loved and continue to love us dearly. It's just that he didn't want to see us crying without any reason. Para kasing tantrums lang. I totally understood him.

But to date, unbeknownst to the people present at that moment, I had my reason -- I got hurt by an insult that made me question, even up to know, my self-worth.

I grew up with many such like episodes in my life - as a kid, a teenager, and even as a young adult. I would cry because I heard someone close to me said that I'm stupid, that I'm not good enough, that I’m ugly, and all those kinds of negativity. I even had actual events where those words were somehow proven to be true to me; so many rejections from people, in school, jobs, etc. I know you will say that I should have just ignored them and should have believed in myself more, but it was indeed easier said than done. For an average kid who did not even know how to express herself, who had a low self-esteem and who used to admire those culprits, it was extremely hard to ignore them. In other words, I believed them. I was even so scared of disappointing them by expressing my hurt. It was like being okay with trying to be okay. And so, I remained that way - OKAY. But little did I know that I had the right to feel what I feel and not be sorry for it.

Going back to my crying episodes, please do not assume that I lived a very sad life -- No, it wasn’t like that. I had many moments that I was happy. I was a happy child. I had hobbies and interests. I had the best, albeit not perfect, family, and I had the best-est friends. It's just that I wished they understood me more, because, we all have the right to feel what we feel and not be sorry for it.

In stating that I had reasons for crying, it was not really them that caused me pain. It was the fact that I was too scared to even talk about those reasons, because people might not understand my pain, and might find me ~too sensitive~. Unlike my thoughts back then, you have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

There was one time, in 2019, while a two-year old niece of my sister-in-law (my brother's wife) was vacationing at our house, she used to cry non-stop, and when she was being asked why, she wouldn't respond and would just keep on crying. My brother said then that I used to be like that kid, a ferocious crier without having any reasons at all. But then again, I had my reasons, I had my pain. I then realized that even when as a kid, I adopted this habit of being ashamed of speaking about my pain; maybe because I was too scared to hear these words: "Parang yun lang?" "Ang dami mong arte". I was too afraid to be criticized for being able to feel. Later on, I will tell you, if you are like me then, why you should stop. Besides, you have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

Now that I grew older, with many life-changing experiences, I cannot say whole-heartedly that I'm a totally changed person. I would still get hurt-cry-find comfort from others-be criticized-stand back up-comfort myself-be okay. It has become a cycle of coping up for me. There was a slight change, I could say, that is -- I cried less, and I was able to master the art of having my own back. Nonetheless, the fact of still trying to hide my pain remained, and so it is making me difficult to breathe. But do not be like me. Remember, you have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

Until now, whenever I have problems, I would shy away from seeking immediate comfort from others. I rarely share my pain to the few whom I trust and love dearly, but still the fear is there, like a shadow visible only under the moonlight. But again, do not let the same fear linger, for you have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

Allow me to share one instance that I hope would never happen to you and if it would, I wish for you to handle it differently than I did -- I was betrayed by used to be closest people to me. They were "my people" back then. Naturally, the betrayal caused me pain - that kind of pain I have never imagined I would get to feel in my 9 lives if I were a cat. But hey, life sometimes sucks, right? And it did. The pain worsened not because of the betrayal itself (I believe that has been quite settled) but because of what was done to me thereafter. I was made to appear like a crazy-overthinking witch. In that story, everyone was a victim but me. Hence, most of the battle wounds came from the unfortunate circumstance of making me feel guilty that I got hurt by it. You know - imagine people throwing stones at you and demanding that you apologize to them while you bleed; imagine someone stabbing you with a knife and claiming it was your fault you died, because you kept bleeding; imagine them trying to conceal your wounds they themselves inflicted by leaving you in the dark, so no one would see. There was no choice then but to self-heal. That was how it felt. That is how it feels. This is why you should avoid, by all means, being like me. For this, I owe my mind and my heart a lifetime’s worth of apology. I had to tell myself, "you have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it".

Another instance would be everytime I try to speak of my fears and worries, I got too tired and afraid of the typical "Think positive", "Mabuti ka nga ganyan lang ang problema mo", "wag ka kasi ganyan mag-isip". Don't get me wrong. I totally grasp the idea of the need to think big and look at the brighter side of life, and I appreciate the people who try to talk it out with me. It's just that I wish I could have more people who choose to understand more, to tell me instead, "Whatever it is, your emotions are totally valid, and I am here to listen". You have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

I often find myself asking why suicide is committed mostly by those who seemed to have no problems in life. Neither did I realize sooner that the answer is exactly that -- "they seem to have no problems in life". Family, friends, colleagues would see these people smiling and laughing. You might say, "But she appeared to be very happy and seemed to have a perfect life, and she would tell no one of her problems". Sorry, darling, but no. The unstated fact is that she did, she tried to open up, but you didn't take her words for it. She asked for help, but you were blinded by her "perfect" life. Your response to her almost always sounded like, "Just shake it all off" or the dismissive common words, "It could be worse. Just think positive". And so, she chose to laugh her problems all off because to her, no one would understand. She was afraid no one would believe her hurt and no one would see the bleeding. She was asked to explain and justify her pain, but she grew tired of it. And just like that, an internal hemorrhage, it took her life without leaving any mark. But did you know she was going to take her own life? No. In fact, no one knew, not even her. And you were left standing in front of a tombstone full of regrets. So please, do not be like the sad soul of the bearer of a "perfect" life. Cry if you must and know that everything will be alright in time, because you have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

Remember when I said I was too afraid to be criticized for being able to feel? Well, as promised, here is one reason why you should not be: You have the right to feel what you feel and not be sorry for it.

I had become accustomed to the toxic habit of feeling sorry for being hurt, for feeling pain, but do not think about me. I have learned to drink that poison without dying. So unlike me, you may still have time to change this if you happen to see yourself being eaten alive by this very same poison.

Unlike me, do not apologize for being hurt. Your feelings are perfectly valid. Try to be alive as much as you can, and try to own your feelings and emotions. You will get better in time.

Unlike me, be gentle to yourself. Strive to be positive and happy without dismissing the fact that sometimes it is okay not to be okay.

Unlike me, learn to love deeply, but start by loving yourself. You are one loved being created by God, so always trust that He gave you enough strength to love people with all your heart, and that includes yourself. Therefore, if I could give you something that I was able to get from all these, it is that -- you should learn how to have your own back.

Unlike me, always, always protect your heart. I know it is impossible to totally eradicate pain, but as much as possible, shield it from the deadly weapon of blind love and the desire to please others.

Above all, unlike me, know your worth. You are God's child. You are a daughter of a King. Straighten up that crown and be your own warrior. Let that sink in. Because at the end of the day, you are the captain of the ship of your life.

It may have been too late for me, but not for you. And so, tonight I'll pray and to your ear I'll whisper, "May you finally breathe and freely cry without having to explain your pain".

From the kid who used to cry herself to sleep,

P.S. Even if it is too late for me, I want you to know that I did not give up. I chose to "shake it all off" as I intentionally want to be remembered as the one who loves without expecting to be loved in return.

Caveat: The above content does not, in any way, enable being selfish, close-minded, and most importantly, does not encourage suicide. Suicide does not stop the pain. It only passes the pain to others who we love dearly. Besides, all of us have respective stories to tell. The point is, be gentle to yourself. 🖤

05/2020

#MentalHealthAwareness

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