#and i kept forgetting to have a slice these last two days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ak319 · 28 days ago

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Dark Arthur Morgan x sis reader

Part II

!!Warnings: Not incest, strictly platonic, abuse, restrictions // I don't condone such behaviour

+Arthur is in his 20's

AN: I have no idea where this story is going to go as I started this as a one-shot but I kinda love writing it and you guys loved it too, so let's see. Do give feedback and enjoy reading♥︎

Part I

The past two days had been a blur of pain and silence, ever since your brother had shattered the one thing that kept you anchored, your dreams of school, of maybe one day working in a clinic, or standing before a classroom, of seeing more than just this small corner of the world. Now, that hope felt so distant, as if he’d snatched it away with a single sweep of his hand.

The old routine returned, the one you'd hoped was gone for good. He left early in the mornings, going off to odd jobs or working with Dutch before the sun had fully risen, forcing you to make breakfast at 6 a.m. When he came back, he’d drop some cash on the table, tired and bitter, his mood tied to how harsh the day had been. Dinner had to be ready by then, unlike before when he used to help set the table or even cook, back when your mum was exhausted and you didn’t know your way around the kitchen.

"Don't, I'll do it. You’ll probably burn the house down or chop your fingers off," he used to say, his voice teasing but kind. Now it was, "Hm, edible than the last one," said with an empty glance as if nothing had ever changed.

Every time you thought about it, about what had been lost, your eyes welled up, but you swallowed the tears before they could fall.

You didn’t know if he felt guilty for what he did or said that night. At this point, you didn’t even care to know. It’s not like you could ever forget it, or that any apology would bring back the brother you once knew, the caring, normal, fun version of him. That part of him seemed lost forever, and there was nothing you could do to bring it back. So, you buried yourself in chores, keeping your hands and mind busy. Mending old clothes, washing dishes even when they were already clean, mopping the floors, tending to the small garden out back, anything to keep from dwelling on the silence that had taken over the house. Even while washing the clothes, you couldn’t avoid noticing the dark stains, no matter how much you tried to focus elsewhere. Blood, his or someone else’s, you couldn’t tell. Your hands froze in the cold water as the red seeped from the fabric, swirling around your fingers, tainting the water.

As for your books, you read them only at night, waiting until you were sure he was asleep, your door closed tight. There was still that lingering fear in your chest, a whisper in your mind warning that Arthur might not like seeing you with those books. You didn’t want to give him another reason to lash out.

And then there was the matter of your father. You wanted to know if he was safe, if he was even coming back. It gnawed at you that Arthur wasn’t doing anything about it, wasn’t trying to bring him home. You longed to see your father again, to confide in him like you did when you were a child, when you’d run to him after Arthur ate more than his share of your snacks, pulled your hair, or called you silly nicknames. You missed that sense of safety, of having someone who could stand up to your brother with confidence. Maybe he could convince Arthur to let you go back to school, to return to that life and those dreams that now seemed so far away.

⋆⋆⋆

You froze mid-chop as the front door creaked open and shut, the heavy clank of boots echoing through the hallway. They grew louder, each step closer, filling you with a prickling sense of dread. But you kept your eyes on the chopping board, trying to steady your hands, your pace slowing, each slice more hesitant than the last.

"Here, bought the stuff." The bags hit the wooden table with a thud, and you finally turned, not to him, but to the groceries, giving a brief, acknowledging glance.

He lingered a moment longer, then stepped closer, holding out a small packet. The sweet, familiar smell drifted between you, and you recognized it instantly, your favourite treat, the kind that used to make your face light up. But this time, you hesitated, your fingers curling against the counter rather than reaching out.

"What?" His voice came out rough, and when you didn't react, he slammed the packet onto the counter, frustration clear in his movements. It was a clumsy, half-hearted attempt at making amends, and you couldn't bring yourself to reward it with gratitude. You turned back to the chopping, each motion mechanical, as he shifted away, his boots beginning to echo down the hall again.

Before he could leave, your voice broke through the tense silence. “When will Dad be... back?”

He halted, turning with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance at the mention of your father. A scoff curled his lips. "Dad? What, you miss him or somethin'?"

“Hm, of course.” Your response made him pause, a look of disbelief crossing his face. “Oh really? You miss that drunkard’s presence?”

You swallowed, forcing the words out even though they made your throat tighten. “Drunkard or not, he’s still our father.”

“Right, a shit one.”

“At least the one who never... raised his hands on me or even Mum,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The moment they did, his expression darkened, and he stomped toward you, eyes blazing.

“I’ve been more responsible for this house than he ever was! For years!” His voice grew louder, echoing off the walls of the small kitchen, his presence looming. “And you stand there, giving me attitude just because I stopped you from doing such shameless shit- so damn right , I'll raise my hand if i want to!”

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” you cut him off, your voice cracking with desperation. “You’re just refusing to believe it! How could you... not... trust me all of a sudden? Your own sister-”

“Oh no, you’ve changed. Prioritizing that stupid school and homework over everything, acting like you’re better than us. You were always spoiled, and now when I say no to something, this is how you act!” He jabbed a finger in your direction, his words sharp and accusing.

“I have always been like this!” Your voice broke, the emotions too raw to keep in check. “You’re the one who changed... in the worst way.” The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, blurring your vision as you turned away from him, your shoulders shaking with each sob.

Arthur stood there, watching you crumble before him. His stance, rigid and defensive, softened as he took in the sight of your back trembling with each breath. Your eyes and the way you spoke back reminded him of his mother again. This was the same way she had argued with Dad, fierce and unwavering, standing her ground against the lifestyle he had chosen, against his irresponsible behavior that seemed to spiral deeper every day. Even before you were born, when he was just a toddler, he remembered the echoes of those arguments drifting through the dimly lit rooms of their home.

He clenched his fists, an unfamiliar doubt creeping into his mind, wondering, Had he really changed?

“Well, yes, I have,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “So stop trying to change me!" he snapped, though his voice lacked the conviction it once had. “You think it’s that easy? You think I’m doing this for fun? I’m doing what I have to do to survive! You’re just too soft to understand, having no clue how the world works outside, what kind of people are out there... and I see them every damn day.” He spoke as if trying to convince himself as much as you, a strange mix of frustration and something close to regret lingering in the air.

“Aren’t you one of them?” you retorted, wiping your face harshly, the anger seeping into every word. He went deadly quiet, the air thickening as his voice dropped to a dangerous, controlled tone.

“See? You don’t get it. I’m doing this to keep you safe! This roof over your head, that food you’re cooking!”

“There are other ways too-”

“DAMN IT!" He slammed his fist on the chopping board. " I wasn’t raised to be cut out for such jobs! Don’t you fucking know this? That damned father of ours, he set me on this path! Stop being so ignorant, dumbass!” As if your father was the one who had led him to lovely Dutch.

“But you’re capable of doing something different, more honest. But if you keep doing this, you’re digging yourself deeper--”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH! Enough!” His face twisted in frustration, his words coming out like a snarl. “Whatever work I do, whatever I earn, it’s more rewarding than any job, so shut it and don’t ever lecture me.”

He stormed out of the kitchen, but you weren’t ready to let it end like that. “Arthur! At least take me... to see him...”

He stopped abruptly, turning back with a fierce glare. “What did you just say?”

“Dad... I want to-”

“Oh, so now you wanna stroll to stations? Absolutely not!” He spat the words like venom, his face contorted with anger. “They’re keeping him there for some time, and I can’t always bail him out. It’s not safe for me to go to the sheriff’s, either. So be happy they aren’t executing him this time.” The bitterness in his voice cut through the space between you, leaving a chill that settled deep in your bones.

⋆⋆⋆

It was the next day when you went to the small backyard to bring out the dried clothes when you spotted Isla walking with Mrs. Anne towards your house over the fence.

"(Y/N)?" Isla was the first to spot you and exclaim, which made you instantly glance back at the door of your house, even though he had gone out to the bar or somewhere, you still feared he might have returned.

"No--um-"

"Why haven't you been coming to school, dear? We thought you were sick." Your eyes caught Isla's over the heap of clothes you held in your arms. Her eyes held a different worry, a worry that indicated she might know the truth of your absence. A hint of guilt was also there, perhaps she blamed herself for that day, for begging you to walk back home.

"No-it's just I am fine and--actually there is a lot of work to do at home so, I thought, I'll continue the studies later." By now, both of them were standing near the fence where you had walked to near as well.

Mrs. Anne’s brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studied your face. "That doesn’t sound right, dear. You’ve always loved school. Are you sure everything is okay?" Her tone was gentle, but you could feel the weight of suspicion in her words.

You nodded quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. "Yes, I’m sure. There’s just... a lot going on right now."

Isla's concern was more intense, her expression pinched with a guilt that made your chest tighten. "It’s because of that day, isn’t it? When I begged you to walk home with me? If I hadn’t asked, none of this would have happened-"

You shook your head, forcing a reassuring smile even though the mention of that day made your throat tighten. "No, Isla, it’s not your fault. Really, it’s just... family stuff. Arthur needs help with things."

You caught Isla’s gaze darting toward the house, where shadows loomed behind drawn curtains. Her voice softened. "We can help, you know. I can come by after school, or we can figure out a way for you to keep studying."

Your heart pounded, anxiety prickling at the back of your neck at the idea of Isla or Mrs. Anne stepping inside, seeing the reality you lived in. What if Arthur came back while they were here? What if he got angry at their intrusion?

"No, Isla, you don’t have to worry about me. Please, just... don’t."

Mrs. Anne’s concerned frown deepened. "Well, dear, if you change your mind, we’re always here to help." She glanced meaningfully between you and Isla. "And don’t forget, you have people who care about you."

You offered them a smile that felt more like a grimace, clutching the clothes to your chest as if they could shield you from their concern. "Thank you, Mrs. Anne, Isla. I appreciate it."

As they turned and walked away, you stood there by the fence, their kindness hanging in the air like a warning. You cast a nervous glance back at the door, still half-expecting Arthur to burst through, demanding to know why they were there, why they were asking questions. And as much as you wanted to believe in their words, you knew better than to let your guard down.

For now, keeping them away was the only way to protect them and yourself.

The next morning, Arthur makes his way into town, his mind already on the day’s jobs, the money he will bring home, and what might await him at Van der Linde's current camp. But as he slowly rides past the general store, he catches sight of Mrs. Anne standing outside, chatting with some of the older townsfolk. He hastened, hoping to slip past unnoticed, but she spotted him. Her expression shifts, and she steps forward, calling out to him with a voice that carries over the quiet street.

“Arthur, a word, if you’ve got a moment.”

He considers ignoring her, pretending he hasn’t heard, but he stops the horse nonetheless. Gritting his teeth, he turns and walks back, forcing a tight, hollow smile as he meets her gaze.

“What is it, Mrs. Anne?” His tone is mocking, his patience already wearing thin.

She looks him up and down, her expression a blend of concern and disapproval. “I saw (Y/N) yesterday when I visited. She looked... worn out. I asked why she hasn’t been to school, and she said she’s got too much work at home.”

Arthur’s smile drops, his jaw clenching hard enough to make his teeth ache. “That’s our business,” he says sharply, his voice carrying an edge of warning. “She’s got plenty to do at home right now."

Mrs. Anne’s expression softens, but it’s the kind of softness that only makes his anger spike. “Arthur, listen to me. She’s a bright girl with a future ahead of her. She doesn’t belong stuck at home doing chores. Don’t do this to her.”

Arthur steps closer, his eyes flashing dangerously, and lowers his voice to a harsh whisper. “You think you know what’s best for us? You don’t know a damn thing about what we need to survive. I’m the one responsible for her. I won’t let her wander around with empty dreams when there’s real work to be done. God knows what you are really teaching her, there. She studied enough.”

Mrs Anne stiffens at the tone of the large man but doesn’t back down. “What are you talking about!? I am teaching everyone the basics of life, what is needed to survive! What you’re doing is taking away her chance, Arthur. Your mother-”

He cuts her off, his voice dropping even lower, a dark snarl in his words. “Don’t you dare talk about her. This is my family now. I make the decisions, and she stays home where I can keep an eye on her.”

Mrs. Anne’s face tightens with frustration, but she knows better than to push him further. “I just hope you realize what you’re doing, Arthur,” she says, her voice barely a murmur as she steps back. “Before it’s too late.”

"Oh, you should be lucky your son is still alive. If I catch you or the girls from your school prancing around my house or near (Y/N)… trust me, you don't want that." He let his words hang in the air and watched as the older woman gulped, her face paling as she stumbled back, horror mixed with confusion in her wide eyes.

Arthur doesn’t respond. He turns on his heel and walks away to his horse, a cold, simmering rage coiling inside his chest. Her words hang in the back of his mind, a nagging echo that he shoves down with grim determination. He knows what’s best, he has to.

When he returns home that evening, the anger is still there, burning just beneath the surface. And the thought of you defying him, of sneaking around behind his back to talk to Mrs. Anne, only makes it worse. His footsteps are heavier than usual, each one sending a message through the quiet house that he’s not in the mood for any more surprises.

You peek out of your room, the creak of your door catching his attention. His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing.

"You just don't get it, do you? What did you do? Cry to her or somethin'?!"

You swallow hard, clutching the doorknob, ready to slam the door shut if things escalate. Although, aware he can break the door if he wants, anyway. How did he even find out? But fear keeps the question trapped in your throat.

"I didn't cry or say anything!" you manage, your voice having a hint of tremble.

He turns around with a grunt, a mocking smirk pulling at his lips. "Well, you must have acted all miserable. Sending people to speak on your behalf. Very clever." His tone is dripping with disdain, each word another stab, another false accusation.

You look away, biting down on your tongue to keep from snapping back, but he catches the tension in your jaw, his eyes glinting with something darker, more dangerous. He steps closer, his voice dropping low. "Do whatever you want, but my decision is final." The words are like a cold blade pressed against your neck.

He brushes past your room on the way to his, and your heart sinks as you hear the thud of his door slamming shut. You flinch, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. But as his words sink in, the temporary reprieve vanishes. You realize that waiting for things to change, waiting for Arthur to soften, to bring back the brother you once knew, it’s a hope that is growing colder by the day. And then there’s your father, the man who always seemed to carry his own storms. You imagine him alone, behind the bars of some cold cell, counting the days without a visit from his family, without even the knowledge that someone still cares. The thought makes your chest ache. Arthur’s rules and his threats, suffocate you, but you’ve reached a breaking point. If he refuses to let you see your father, then you’ll have to find a way yourself. It’s a risk, a dangerous one, but the image of your father sitting alone is more unbearable than the fear of Arthur’s wrath.

Part III

(AN: MEME DUMP cuz why not. Reader deserves it.)

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 10 months ago

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Slice Of Normal

Summary: The reader has just moved to Montana to live with her estranged father and out of a place where she no longer feels welcome. But it's been a long time since the pair have lived together and while Beau might think things can slip back to normal, it's not quite that easy...

Pairing: dad!Beau x daughter!reader

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: language, family angst, divorce, mention of murder case

A/N: Here's a little Beau and daughter!reader for the first time!

_____

“Hey, kiddo,” said your dad as you tossed your backpack in the backseat. “How was school?”

“Fine,” you forced out, pilling into the front, glaring out the windshield. You felt his heated stare but he dropped it, pulling out of the line of cars at pick up and heading for home. He tapped his fingers against the wheel, words clearly on the tip of his tongue. But once again he didn’t say anything.

Sometimes it was like living with a damn stranger.

Two years ago, life was normal. Your parents were married. Dad had a good job as a cop. Mom was doing her consulting. Every day you went home to two parents. You had the same friends you had your whole life. You got a starbucks with your mom every Saturday morning and you made homemade pizzas for dinner. You watched trash reality shows with your dad and you’d both get way too invested in the petty drama. It was all perfectly normal.

Until he went to work one day and it went to hell. Dad’s partner was killed and he blamed himself for not stopping it. He was…strange after that. He still asked about school and your day, still watched your shitty shows with you. But there was no joy in him. He felt guilty and dad wasn’t much of one for sharing his own feelings. You knew he’d get better with time.

That’s when things got strange with mom too. She started to pick fights with him. She kept trying to force him to go to some expensive trauma therapist. All three of you knew he was hurting but she was the only one that said he was broken. You’d never forget the look on his face when she barked it at him in a fight.

Watching one parent fall out of love with another in front of your own eyes was your own strange experience. You knew in that moment she’d left a mark on him, one that’d make him shutdown even more, hold even more feelings back from her. There’d be more fights. More snide comments. She’d get fed up and divorce him.

Four months after the shootout, she handed him the divorce papers and a flip switched in him. He started to fight back, the both of them bickering and arguing so much you found yourself storming downstairs and yelling at them both to act like adults. Dad moved out not long after that and within a month mom had a new boyfriend.

You stuck it out until last week before you knew you’d go crazy if you stayed in that house, your house, with her and that guy for one more second.

Which meant moving halfway across the country to fucking Montana to live with a guy you hadn’t seen in person in six months.

“Mom’s marrying her boyfriend,” you said when he stopped at a red light. You didn’t look at him, sure he once again didn’t know what to say. “That’s why I wanted to move here. He doesn’t give two shits about me but he fakes it real good when she’s around.”

“Your mother should know-”

“She doesn’t listen to me when I try to talk and I’m sick of it. I know you know she’s like that,” you said, turning your head. He glanced down, gaze back on the road. “She’s a bitch.”

“Hey. Don’t talk about your mother like that.”

“Why not?” you scoffed. “She is one. You of all people know she is.”

“Mom is not a bitch,” he said, hitting the gas when the light turned, getting you off a busy street and heading for the outskirts of town. “Y/N, we raised you better than to call people names.”

“You’re defending her? You? She only drove you out of your own home, own family.” He gripped the wheel tighter, clenching his jaw. “Jesus christ. You still love her, don’t you. Why the hell would-”

“I am the reason…I moved out and I left. I refused to acknowledge the shit going on in my head and all mom tried to do was get me help. Do not blame her for-”

“Bullshit,” you scoffed. “I’d get out of her ass if I were you. Some other guy is fucking it now and she’s never taking you back.”

He pulled over fast, shaking his head at you. His green eyes narrowed, mouth opening just as his car radio crackled to life.

“Arlen,” he growled into the radio, frowning at you, a clear message to not say another word right now.

“Chief we got reports of a murder-suicide at the Breckenridge Ranch. Jenny and Pop are taking lead but are requesting your presence,” said a woman’s voice on the other end.

“I’ll be there in twenty.” He clipped the radio back in, taking a deep breath. “Y/N you are going to listen to me and I mean listen to me because I am about to have a very long night and we are not dropping this discussion. I don’t care for the way you speak and I do not like the way you talk about your mom. You don’t like her boyfriend, fiance, fine. But you’ll at least respect him. You don’t like you mother? Then at a minimum you will respect her. You do not call people bitch. You are grounded until further notice.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m on your side and I’m the asshole. My old dad would have understood that but you? I don’t know who the fuck you are. Go ahead and ground me. I literally don’t care. You’re a fucking stranger.”

He was pissed. Very pissed. He turned back on the road and did a u-turn, heading back into town. You raised an eyebrow but he held up a finger. “No. You want to swear at me? Call me a stranger? Fine. I’m going to work. You’re a big enough girl to have a potty mouth then you don’t mind a little murder scene, hmm? You want to know what the fuck I do all day? Well now’s your chance to see, maybe I’ll be less of a damn stranger that way.”

You kept quiet, staring out the window for the next twenty minutes. You swallowed when he drove past a cruiser at the ranch entrance and yellow tape, driving silently down the dirt road.

“Stay in the truck,” he said when he parked behind another cruiser outside a nearby barn. You bit the inside of your lip, hearing him shift around behind you. A few seconds later you had your backpack in your lap. “Do your homework.”

“I thought you wanted me to see dead bodies,” you mumbled, fisting one of the straps. His heavy sigh filled the space, a twinge of guilt in your gut.

“I never want that for you. We’ll get dinner out somewhere in a few hours. We need to talk. Not fight. Talk,” he said, pausing a beat before opening his door.

“Why didn’t you take me home?” you asked. He slid out, his shoulders sagging with his back to you.

“Because I’m scared you won’t be there when I get back.” He turned around, plucking his hat from the center console. You stared at him as he frowned. “I know you ran away from home two weeks ago, kid. We are not letting that happen again. Understand?”

You gave a small nod, the door closing loudly in the small space before you shut your eyes.

Maybe you should have just stayed in Texas.

Three Hours Later

You’d finished your homework awhile ago and were watching videos on your phone when you saw your dad approach the truck. He said something to a blonde cop lady and another guy, giving them a quick wave.

“Sorry it took so long,” he said, back in the truck, tossing his hat in the back.

“S’fine.” He was backed out and heading for the road quickly, rubbing his hand against his jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Why?”

“You were at a murder scene…” you said, catching a quick twitch of his lip. “Do dead bodies not scare you?”

“Not really. Sometimes you see bad things but a vast majority of the time, murders are…” he bit his bottom lip, shaking his head. “There are scenes that are gruesome but most murders are not something out of a horror film, at least to me. You get desensitized to it somewhat. Even the bad ones, it doesn’t tend to bother me. They were a person and unfortunately they lost their life in a violent way. My job is to act on their behalf and get them the justice they deserve. They aren’t scary bodies. It’s a soul that’s gone that I can help is the way I look at it.”

He cleared his throat as he pulled back onto the road.

“But Helena is much safer than Houston. Not as many murders or any of that.” You hummed, glancing out the window. “Y/N, I know you’re upset with me right now but I want you to be careful. Something is…happening. I don’t know what it is but be careful. No going out at night alone. Keep the doors and windows locked all the time. Be smart, alright?”

“Ok,” you said quietly. “That wasn’t a murder-suicide, was it.”

“It was a very good attempt at making it look like one. If my officers weren’t as good at their jobs, they would have written it up as one instead of what it was. A double murder. My gut says it wasn’t random though which means it’s less likely anyone else winds up hurt.”

“S’good,” you mumbled before the air went quiet. He only tapped the steering wheel, no rhythm to it. Tap tap. Tap tap.

He had no problem talking about work since you’d moved in a week ago. God, the first day he’d talked too much, trying to fill the awkward silences. Maybe he’d been gone too long and this is what your relationship was now.

You closed your eyes, resting your head on the glass, wishing he’d never left in the first place.

You jerked and flashed open your eyes when he shook your shoulder. The inside of the truck smelled like grease and the brown bag on the dash confirmed your suspicions. He nodded out the window and you turned, finding you were at a fairly deserted park. You left your backpack behind and crawled out, walking over to the nearest picnic table. A moment later he was sat across from you, pulling out a box of chicken nuggets, fries and two packets of sauce.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the food from him as he took out a bigger box and more fries for himself.

“Well, I figured your McDonald’s go to hadn’t changed at least.” You shrugged, the two of you eating without saying another word. But it didn’t last, the food soon gone, the trash bundled up and tossed in a nearby can.

Your dad sighed when he returned to his seat, resting his forearms against the faded wood top.

“Y/N. I…I left you and mom. If there’s anyone you should hate-”

“Why do you keep lying for her?” you interrupted. He swallowed thickly, breathing out a slow breath. “You left because she tossed you out. You didn’t leave because you wanted to.”

“...She had every right to.” You rolled your eyes, his hand raising. “Please. Just listen. Mom tried to get me help and I was the one that was an asshole about it. I blamed myself, I still do. She did what you’re supposed to for a partner. I pushed her away and us not being together anymore is because of me.”

You shook your head, a frown forming on his face. “I lived in that house too. I know you or at least I used to. I knew you were hurting and we couldn’t fix it. But I got that. It was something you had to go through, at your pace. You did the same thing when grandpa died. You got all quiet and pushed it down. And mom…she was a bitch back then too and tried to force you to get better faster all because she didn’t like having a grieving husband. You are supposed to help your partner, not hurt them more. Your problem has always been that you’re too in love with her to see that she hurts you. Just for one second imagine that was my husband that did that to me. Imagine he tried to force me into therapy less than a week after my best friend died because I was fucking sad and didn’t want to talk about it. Imagine my partner made me feel even worse and like I was the problem during one of the lowest moments of my life. Imagine that he was the one that made me feel like all of it was my fault when I was grieving. You’d tell me to leave his ass so I’m asking you to please, please stop defending her. I’m not a little kid anymore, dad.”

“No, you’re clearly not,” he said quietly, staring down at his lap. “I just don’t want you to hate your mother. Her heart was in the right place, even if that’s not how I process things.”

“I don’t hate her. I just don’t like her anymore. I told her so many times I didn’t like her boyfriend and she wouldn’t listen to me. You would have listened to me. S’why I ran away. I was trying to come here.”

He pursed his lips and you waited, giving him time to respond the way he wanted to.

“I wish…I wish mom and I had handled things differently. But what happened, happened. I would like to see you attempt to reconcile with your mom but I won’t force it.”

“Thank you,” you said, a quick nod coming from him.

“But…you are also a bit thick headed.” You frowned. “I know you are a teenager and dad isn’t the cool guy anymore but I reached out every single day and you definitely didn’t answer. I invited you to visit so many times and you never would. So cut your mom some slack because if you’re giving me that treatment, I can only imagine it’s the same for her.”

“Fine,” you grit out, trying to ignore how he may have had a point about why your relationship had soured. You sort of started ignoring him but you’d been busy and he needed space to work through his crap, hadn’t he?

“And for the record, it’s possible to still love someone but not want to be married to them ever again.” You stared at him, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t want to deal with an attitude all the time and you don’t want me to be a grump that hounds you every day. Can we try a clean slate? Pretend this afternoon didn’t happen?”

“Alright. We can try.”

The Next Day

You rubbed your jaw as you sat on the hard bench outside of the principal’s office. You had to hand it to Mara Hoyt. The little bitch knew how to throw a right hook. You guess that’s what happened when the star softball pitcher decided she hated your guts all because her boyfriend said hi to you on your first day.

On her own, you could have handled that. But this school was cliche central and the mean popular girl got all her mean popular friends to start bullying you after that. You were honestly surprised it took a whole eight days for things to get physical.

She was already in the office with her parents, crying the blues about how awful you were and bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Shit, you hadn’t even touched the girl yet you were the one the school resource officer threw a pair of cuffs on.

The sharp skid of a rubber sole against linoleum made both you and the officer turn your heads, your dad staring at you both wide eyed.

“Todd, get those cuffs of her or so help me,” growled your dad, storming over.

“Sir? What are you-”

“How many Arlen’s do you think there are in this town? That’s my daughter,” he grit out. Todd moved at lightning speed the second he had the keys out of his pocket, apologizing to his boss and not you. You had to fight to not roll your eyes. You had a feeling with the way your dad’s face looked murderous that wouldn’t go over well.

“Excuse me,” said the vice principal, coming out to the hall with a stern expression. “Why is she uncuffed? She attacked-”

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” said your dad with a scary undertone in his voice, neglecting to offer his hand. “Y/N’s father and Chief of police over at the station. We don’t cuff seventeen year old girls unless they’ve committed a crime. Now, if after our discussion and I hear all the facts it turns out she did, I’ll cuff her myself and take her down for booking. Am I clear?”

The vice principal narrowed his eyes but said nothing, holding the door open. You trudged inside, your dad hot on your heels. You sat in the empty chair in front of the desk, Mara doing a good job of looking like a sobbing mess in the one nearby.

“Mr. Arlen?” the principal asked. He hummed, finding a spot along the wall and leaning against it with crossed arms, his eyes shooting to Mara. “I’m afraid we’ll have to suspend Y/N for attacking Mara for five days out of school.”

“And we’re pressing charges, even if you are the sheriff,” said a snotty woman.

God were you working hard to not flip that whole family off. You were about to open your mouth and try to give your side of the story when you saw your dad’s face and his finger wag at you.

Uh oh.

“Where do we want to begin? The way this school only got one students side of the story-”

“There are witnesses,” cut in the vice principal, your dad holding up a hand.

“Let me guess, Mara’s friends?” he shot back, clenching his jaw, returning his focus to the principal. “Now I know for a fact my daughter is getting bullied by this girl and her friends every single day since she started last week.”

You swallowed. You hadn’t told him that. How had he known?

He stepped forward, putting his hands on the back of your chair, leaning over it so you felt his chest against the top of your head.

“Do we want to start with the blatant bullying? Or perhaps with Mara?” he asked, turning his head to her, shooting her parents a glare. “You know, the one who actually did the attacking.”

“My daughter did no such thing,” snapped her dad. You felt your dad reach an arm around, gently grasping your forearm and holding it up.

“One girl has only defensive injuries. Bruises, nail marks. The other has scrapped knuckles, two broken fingernails and can’t look me in the eye. Guess which one is which,” growled your dad, his hand still gentle as he lowered your arm to your lap. Mara’s parents didn’t look like they were about to backdown though.

“There are witnesses. This is ridiculous. Mara acted in self-defense then,” said her mom. You glanced at the principal, his words caught in his throat and you couldn’t help but smile for a moment.

“Oh so now her story is changing?” poked your dad.

“No!” said her mom. “Your daughter said something so vile and threatening-”

“To her bully? Did Y/N say something like that to you Mara? Did she say something because her bully’s been so mean to her?”

“Don’t speak to our daughter!” shouted her dad. Mara glanced at you, as if you’d somehow help her. Meanwhile this was turning out to be the best day of your new school yet.

“I don’t hear her denying she was bullying Y/N? In fact, I don’t hear her saying anything. If it’s so abhorrent and you felt in so much danger, why don’t you tell us all what it was that made you act in self-defense, hm?” said your dad, his focus narrowed in on Mara.

She was so fucked and she knew it.

“I said don’t-”

“Alec,” interrupted the vice principal, his focus turned onto Mara as well. “Mara. Answer the question.”

But she couldn’t. She was floundering, face turning red under the interrogation.

“Tell the truth and the Arlen family,” growled your dad, pointed straight back at her parents, “Will not press any charges.”

Mara contorted her face before throwing her hands up. “She called me insecure and said I should get help for that so I got mad and punched and kicked her.”

“And why did she call you that?” cut in your dad, laser focused on Mara. She closed her eyes, lowering her head. “Mara.”

“Because I’ve been bullying her because my boyfriend said hi to her and said we should get to know her because she’s new but I know he just wants to get in her pants so I told all my friends to keep her away from him no matter what.”

“I expect an apology,” he said. She looked up, eyes full of unshed tears. “Oh, not to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, barely looking at you.

“Thanks. I don’t accept it and that is perfectly within my rights,” you said.

“Regardless, Mara you’re suspended for five days out of school. Y/N, you’re suspended for two. We have a zero tolerance policy on fighting,” said the principal.

“She didn’t fight,” said your dad, his voice stern.

“It’s a rule,” said the principal.

“Fine,” said your dad, grabbing your bicep and pulling you to your feet. “Let’s go get lunch out, maybe catch a movie.”

You couldn’t hide the smile on your face as he led you out, his hand falling away when he looked over his shoulder. “Three more things. One, I fully expect punishments for the students that lied about what they saw. Two, I hear of anymore bullying happening at this school to any kid, I will make it my personal mission in life to get you fired and three? You people get your daughter in therapy sooner than later because that’s the sort of thing that gets her tossed in jail when she’s older.”

He tossed your backpack over his shoulder as he led you out to the hall, hand on your back leading you towards the front doors. You grinned as you stared, his face blank when he opened the door to fresh air.

“That was fucking awesome,” you said, jogging down the steps and over to the truck. “You went full cop mode and scared the shit of her! That was-”

“Are you okay?” he asked when you sat in the passenger seat. You tilted your head when he cupped your cheeks, running his thumb over the scuffed up skin on the left. “We need to clean that.”

He pushed up your short sleeves, finding more bruises, a few older ones, before trailing down to your nicked up arms.

“Y/N, I know you’re a good kid that doesn’t like to get in trouble but promise me something?” You nodded when he fixed your braid behind your ear. “Next time someone touches you without permission, you lay their ass out.”

“You told me I shouldn’t hit people.”

“Yeah, well the little bitch would have deserved it.” Your jaw dropped into a grin, his attempt at holding a blank face faltering, a smile creeping up. “Yeah, I know I said not to call people that but that kid’s a psycho waiting to happen. Promise me?”

“I promise,” you said, getting a kiss on the forehead. “How’d you know I didn’t start the fight?”

“I know you. I also know there would have been no fight because if you had thrown the first punch, that girl would be knocked out.” He stroked your cheek again and sighed. “No headache? Anything like that?”

“She punches like a pussy.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Too far?”

“Just a tad. Come on. Let’s go enjoy your suspension.”

Later That Evening

“Alec’s my second cousin, such a dickhead,” said one of dad’s officer’s, the blonde woman named Jenny you’d seen last night. “Mara’s always been awful.”

“Jenny,” chided your dad in his office, chowing down on some chinese takeout from behind his desk. You gave her a smile, eating from your carton as she set a file down in front of him. “Don’t be a bad influence.”

“If I were her, I would have decked the little shit,” said Jenny. Your dad rolled his eyes and read through the file, Jenny stealing a fortune cookie for herself. She leaned against his desk and offered you a smile. “So besides the school being crap thing and your dad dragging you to murder scenes, how do you like Montana so far?”

“Jenny,” he said again, glancing over the top of the file at her.

“It’s a lot less boring than I thought it’d be,” you said, offering her one of your egg rolls.

“Thank you,” she said, popping it in her mouth, returning her attention to your dad. “Both vics had traces of a yellow substance in their air passages.”

“Rat poison?” you asked, both of them slowly turning their heads towards you. They stared blankly as you chewed. “It was in that new hunger games movie, they killed a guy with it.”

“Wow,” said Jenny as your dad closed his eyes. “That’s impressive.”

“I don’t even…” he sighed, rubbing his jaw as he flashed open his eyes. “So rat poison killed them. Why make it look like a murder suicide then? This person must have known we’d do autopsies.”

“Unless they didn’t,” you said, earning a glare from him. “Hey, people are dumb. You taught me that when I was like eight.”

“Y/N-”

“No, she has a point,” said Jenny, picking up her copy of the file and glancing through it. “Who is smart enough to use rat poison but dumb enough to not realize we’d find it and try to cover it up?”

“No one, that’s who,” said your dad. You bit into another eggroll and shrugged. He threw his hand back and groaned. “Fine. What’s your theory?”

“Well, a kid is dumb enough,” you said. “Maybe they watched that movie too.”

“Genius plan except that couple had no kids,” he said. You finished your bite and shrugged. “What?”

“Weren’t you the one that also told me people aren’t always what they seem and not to trust someone just because they were nice? They could have been whackjobs.”

Jenny cocked her head, glancing at your dad. “Kid has a point, Arlen. It was a large property. Entirely possible we missed something.”

“Fine. We’ll check it out first thing,” he said, nodding to you. “You might as well come along Ms. Detective, since you’re out ot school for a few days.”

“Good with me. As long as it’s not early. I don’t do early,” you said, a tiny smirk on his face that told you you’d be up at dawn.

The Next Afternoon

“What’s going to happen to him?” you asked as your dad drove you both home after a long morning. He was quiet for a beat. “Will he go to juvie?”

“Maybe. Maybe a hospital for people like him. Either way, it’s a better situation than he was in,” he said. He tapped the wheel, his lips pursed. “You know I don’t want you to be a cop right?”

“I know. It’s just…it’s easy to talk to you about your work,” you said. He nodded, turning off to the road just a minute drive from the house.

“So can you rent this movie with the rat poison?” he asked. You stared, his eyes flickering over for just a moment. “I thought Katniss took out the capital. How can they have another movie?”

“It’s a prequel, about Snow.”

“Whoa, Donald Sutherland Snow? They made a movie about that jackass?”

“Well, she wrote another book and then they made it into a movie. It was really good cause you can see how he’s a complete narcissist and he goes from this actually mostly likable guy to the jackass in the other movies.”

“Okay, I definitely have to see this.” He pulled into the driveway, your gaze fixed on him when he turned the car off. “Unless you don’t want to watch it?”

“No I just…I miss when I’d make you watch the hunger games and you’d make me watch the dirty dozen and that was our thing.”

“Still our thing,” he said, brushing his thumb over the healing scrape on your cheek. “How’s that feeling today?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“I know, I know. I worry.” He opened the door and smiled as he popped out. “Alright little criminal. Go do that homework you ignored all day while I make us something to eat before our movie.”

“Really? Come on. I’m still suspended tomorrow. Can’t I do it over the weekend?” He looked up like he was thinking about it, a small smile crossing his face. “Thank you!”

“You’re helping me with dinner, missy.” You didn’t really mind that fact though. Making dinner together and watching a movie? That was normal for the two of you.

A few hours later when you were bundled up under a blanket together on the couch and pressing start, you finally felt like it was a normal thursday night, no more tension or awkwardness in the air. And while murder investigations and school fights were certainly interesting, a little slice of normal again felt damn good.

_________

#big sky #beau arlen #beau arlen x daughter!reader #beau arlen fanfic #big sky fanfic

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peterparkersnose · 2 years ago

Text

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pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: attack description, clicker attack, nightmares, anxiety, wound description, angst, denial of feelings, alcohol mentioned, swearing, mentions and descriptions of gun use, near death experience (if u can’t handle the game don’t read)

HAPPY LAST OF US DAY!!!

a/n ive played tlou 3x and tlou2 2x (going through my second round rn) so shut up pls i dont want any of the ‘you only like joel bc hes pedro’ fr come on ive been playing this game since i was 12. (i’m not like other girls 🥵) jackson joel just does something to me mmmm. wrote this nov 18 ‘22 saved for today

Don’t forget 9PM EST on HBO Max

summary Y/N gets attacked by a clicker during an intense time with Joel

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read time: 12 mins 28 seconds

You could feel the air escaping your lungs at a dangerous rate. The rifle at your side slammed against your thigh as you kept running. The thick forest was just as you remembered it; wet, cold, and dark.

You were outnumbered. Mostly runners, but you spotted a few clickers. The brush on the forest floor wasn’t helping. Your heavy breathing and the sloshing of your boots against the snowy ground were making too much noise.

Where the fuck was Ellie?

3 bullets. Rifle was empty, spent that on some sharp shooting up the hill on some runners you and Ellie found in the town. How stupid were you? Those were an easy kill with a knife. But your childish games on who could get the best headshot left you empty.

Your heart dropped as the rock formation appeared. It was too high. It covered the forest like the earth split into two. That is when you came to terms, and you had to come to it quickly.

You were going to die.

Soon enough, the first runner appeared. Easy kill. One down, maybe 7 to go?

Where the fuck was Ellie?

The next one came. Two down. Three at a time now? A fucking clicker followed them? You wished the brush was tall enough to hide in.

It was useless fighting off three runners at a time with a clicker on their heels. This was it. Death.

The stone wall was cool against your backside. You hugged your knees to your chest as you pulled out your handgun.

At least the clicker would have a good meal.

Shot- one down. Shot- another. The clicker sped up. Shot, wounded but not dead. Quick slice with the knife. Dead.

The shrieking screams of the clicker engulfed your senses as the monster came running at you. It’s flailing arms we’re the last thing you were prepared to see.

You felt the hands on your shoulder. Dead hands of a monster, unspeakable to most. The hands grabbed your shoulders, but no bite came.

Just blinding white noise and a splatter on your face.

You had convinced yourself you were dead. You would never see anyone again. You had died the same death as your father years prior. The death that left you alone.

“Dad?” you managed to mutter out.

The white noise turned into ringing as two hands held your shoulder and shook you.

“Y/N? Y/N please, are you okay?”

Ellie.

“Maria I found her! Here!”

Cloth material wiped over your eyes and they opened. Ellie, splattered with blood stood in front of you with the most panicked look you had ever seen on the girls face.

“Your okay!” she yelled at you, wrapping her arms around you.

Sitting besides you two was the headless clicker that should have killed you.

***

You should be dead. Get this horrible life over with. Dead with your father, with the mother you never knew. Living a life without this disease, these creatures. Free of pain.

When you woke up in the medical wing you were pretty sure almost the whole town was there. You felt like an item on display at a museum. Looking over all the eyes, you most definitely were not searching for his. The whole reason you volunteered to go out with Ellie that day instead of Dina. And of course, he was not there. Why would he be?

“She’s awake!” someone yelled from the crowd. Every eye in the room seemed to fall on you at once. The nurse pushed past the group of people and went to your side.

“For heavens sake! Get out!” the nurse yelled to the group of onlookers. “Give her some goddamn space.” you heard from the crowd as people started to walk towards the exit.

Everyone wanted a look at the girl who survived a clicker attack.

“Hey,” she said, slowly approaching you and sitting on the chair next to your bed. “Ellie!” you exclaimed, embracing the girl tightly. “What happened?” you asked Ellie, releasing your grip on her and settling back into the bed.

The bond had been there since the day you met her. You always remember the look of the scared little girl on the back of Joel’s horse when they first entered Jackson. The bond you two had helped her grow into the person she is now. Ellie had always described you as an older sister. But Ellie was always there for you, and you for her. She was your best friend, platonic soulmate. And a damn good shot.

“I killed it,” she said bluntly. “I-I came at the right time it was about to bite you and- you should have seen it Y/N my shotgun did a number on that thing.”

“A-am I infected?” you asked, looking down at your body for the first time. Your tank top was still on, your jacket was missing. Your jeans were covered in dry blood and smelt of pine needles.

“It’s been three days. You got some pretty nasty scratches though. Sick looking if you ask me. Scars of a warrior.” she added, referring to her tattoo.

And that’s when you saw them. The claw marks were sewn shut on your left shoulder. Your eyes widened as you began to panic. You began to squirm and the pain set in.

“Hey, hey calm down. She took care of you. Best nurse in town, I made sure.” Ellie said, grabbing your good shoulder and stroking your arm to calm you down.

“The doctors said if your vitals stay stable for the next few hours you can go home. Dina and I cleaned up the place for you,” Ellie smiled, stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What have people been saying?” you asked, holding her hand tightly in yours. “That your a hero. You cleared out that building and we found a stash of food that’s going to last for… well, probably a good year. That’s amazing Y/N! They found baby formula for JJ- tons of it. You were right it was the old warehouse.”

A small smile rose to your lips but Ellie could tell what you really wanted to hear about.

What Joel had been saying.

And Joel hasn’t said much. Tommy had told him a brief description in passing of what happened when it was happening. He figured you were dead when they sent out a rescue wagon for you. He even watched as Maria’s horse lead in your body. Ellie was sitting with you in her arms screaming for a nurse, your whole left arm was covered in blood. What was visible of your face was white as a sheet and you weren’t moving. Joel had to silently give up the inkling of what could have been. Hell, you were the first girl who he even considered after his divorce over thirty years ago. It had to end one day and he had to silently agree with it.

“I don’t…” Ellie began, following with a sigh. “Y/N, don’t get yourself worked up over it. It’s not worth it.” Ellie began, knowing her friend too well. “Did he even come and see me?” you asked, looking to Ellie’s eyes. She couldn’t look into yours. She closed her eyes for a quick moment and shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Am I a fool?” you asked her. “I’m not sure,” she replied, weary.

The whole reason you went with her instead of Dina was because of Joel. You most definitely could not face him that day after the previous night.

He had knocked on your door a little after nine. He noticed a change in your demeanor today when he came in the room while teaching the some of the kids how to shoot. He wanted to make sure you were okay. Joel felt like he had some responsibility over you to make sure you were always okay because of what happened.

Joel was the one who was with your father when he died.

Sure, he was older than you. You weren’t sure exactly, but he was younger than your father by many years. The attraction from your end started when you saw him drunk off his ass during a celebration dancing with Tommy in the bar. It was the most unconventionally attractive thing, but it flipped some switch in you. When your dad died he taught you how to perfect your aim and kill efficiently. Never crossing any line because you were his dead friend’s daughter. And you were so close to Ellie. Ellie wasn’t too fond of your crush that you confided in her, but she grew to love the idea. Her family.

He came and visited you a little after nine. You were about to slip into bed before you heard the knock on your door. The night was cold and your pajama pants and thin tank top was not cutting it. You invited him inside. He had brought you a tiny gift to lift your mood; a bottle of gin. Your favorite. And you two drank at least half of that bottle of gin. You talked about everything from your father’s death to the time Tommy accidentally washed his clothes with Maria’s pink bra and still has an abundance of pink clothing to this day. The gin was most definitely speaking when you told him how you felt.

And he left.

“Let it go for now- okay? We’re gonna get you out of here and back home.” Ellie reassured you. Nodding your head, you fell back into the cold bed and closed your eyes just wishing it could all go away.

Home was empty as it could be. The bottle of gin sat on your coffee table. Your bed was made for the first time in years. Your work station was organized and all of your pens and art supplies were cleaned. You had remembered when Joel gave you those pens, he found them one day and thought of you. Your rifles now hung on your wall. Definitely was Dina’s idea, but you liked it. A tiny gift wrapped in a beige paper with a tiny bit of twine around it sat under your newly mounted rifles.

“Woo hoo. Christmas.” you said to yourself sarcastically. Kneeling down, you opened the package.

Bullets.

For safe keeping, ~Maria

Of course it was from Maria. She always played the mother you never had when she wanted to.

The immense feeling of sleep hit you like a brick wall. I guess being attacked by a clicker and living was a strenuous activity. All you wanted now to do was sleep. Unmaking the nicely folded sheets, you melted back into your bed. The sun was setting in your window and the horses were coming in for the day. You could hear them trotting past your window. You wondered if Joel was just feet away. It was what now… Thursday? You couldn’t remember if he still did the Thursday shift or if he switched with someone else. Who cares, sleep was creeping up slowly and the thought of Joel set you out cold.

The forest was blacker than usual. Without a doubt, you recognized where you were. Running again. All you seemed to do was run now these days. Taking a brief look back while you ran through the forest, you stopped as you realized a whole hoard of clickers were just at your heels. You didn’t have time to react. They were on you ripping your flesh off your body. The dream never seemed to end. You felt each bite and tear of your flesh until-

“Y/N!” Maria screamed, shaking you awake and still being mindful of your wound. “Fuck!” you screamed, sobbing into her arms. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” you continued, squirming in bed as she held you.

Your door was wide open and it was now pitch black out. The screams alerted security, and they called for a search of the town. Tommy quickly found the source of the screams and sent Maria in.

Standing outside your door was Tommy, peering in on the sight of his wife with you.

“Gather people. She needs to be watched.” Maria commanded Tommy as she held your shaking body. Too many people had left their homes now to look at the scene and disrupted the peaceful night.

Ellie sat with your head in her lap, slowly stroking your hair trying to get you to fall asleep. “Don’t worry. Nobody in this town will let anything happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The whole previous night you didn’t sleep. You stared at your wall and just thought. And that whole day you delved yourself in drawings you hadn’t finished or poems you had the inspiration for. Took a shower. You looked through your closet and picked out a fresh outfit. You tried all the little things that usually worked on your old self, but your old self was gone.

That bottle of gin sat on your coffee table and haunted you throughout the day as well. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, or the mindset to drink it. So there it sat. Pitiful.

You were at a loss for words. No words could describe the immense amount of pain re living that memory caused last night.

Ellie began to hum a tune. It was sweet and reminded you of something innocent. Your eyes began to get heavy. “You ready?” she asked, fluffing up your pillow. Reluctantly, you shook your head yes.

The absolute end was there and tiredness finally seeped in. Distraught sleep left and peaceful sleep took its place.

Ellie dimmed your lamp and smoothed the covers on your bed. It reminded you of the time you took care of Ellie years ago when she was sick. “Sweet dreams,” she said, giving your forehead a brief kiss.

Mumbling was heard outside your door, but you didn’t care.

The field was beautiful. Finally, peace. The flowers stemmed beautifully and the sun shown down on your face. Your hands ran through the fresh green grass. Laying in the rays, you suddenly felt the field get smaller. Sitting up, you realized the sun had disappeared and the field was getting smaller and smaller by the second. The sudden edge of a forest was getting closer and closer. And then with one blink you were back. The forest erected around you. You were back.

“No, no…” he heard from your house. Joel’s interest peaked from the grounds left in his coffee mug to the silent struggles in your bedroom. He lifted himself off your porch chair and looked through your window. You were writhing in bed.

“Ellie!” you let out the first yell. It was so loud that it startled Joel to his core and began a flight of panic. Joel didn’t hesitate to burst your door open. “Ellie don’t leave!” you yelled again.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting your shoulder. A loud groan of pain came from your lips. Joel’s heart sank as the feelings on guilt he felt for letting you go on patrol that day set in once again.

“Y/N!” he whisper yelled, yanking your body over to face him. Your eyes shot open. Ripped from the dream into another one.

You looked him up and down. This wasn’t real. It was another dream. Tears welled up in your eyes as you shut them tight, praying you would wake up somewhere else.

“It was a bad dream,” he whispered, resting his hand on your thigh. His thumb patiently rubbed your thigh as your breathing sped up. Your legs matched up perfectly, knees facing him. Your face was buried in your hands that were now grasping at your eyes.

“Stop it,” Joel hissed, grabbing your manic hands tightly. “This isn’t real,” you cried out, sobs following it.

His heart seemed to break into a million pieces when you started to full on cry. The last time he dealt with a crying girl it was Ellie. Wait- no, maybe it was Sarah. He honestly wasn’t sure, but it was most definitely years ago.

“Everything is alright. I know how it is. I-I didn’t sleep for a few days after my first clicker encounter. Those things are nasty fuckers.” he said, his hand returning to your thigh trying to soothe you. He was clueless on what he was supposed to do.

At this point, you realized you weren’t dreaming. He was here. His hand was on your thigh. He was sitting on your bed. You were in a tank top that cut a little too low for your liking.

Your teary eyes looked up and met his. He hadn’t moved his gaze off of your face. He gave you a soft reassuring smile.

Joel cursed himself for letting his feelings creep back in. This was wrong anyways, he felt sick any time he thought about you. The pit of his stomach couldn’t handle it much more, he had pretty much forgotten about you (as much as he would like to admit). But when Tommy assigned him second watch of you that night, he just knew it had trouble written all over it.

“Go back to sleep now. Pretty girls need their beauty sleep.” he said, instantly regretting it.

That line worked on Sarah, but in a whole different way with a much different meaning. He wanted to suck back in the words as fast as he said them.

Letting a tense breathe go, he steadied himself on your bed frame and made his way to the door.

He had made his way to the door as you spoke.

“Joel?”

His hand stopped his motion as it rested on the top of your door frame.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.

“W-will you stay? Just for a little bit.” you said, stuttering as you realized how large his body was compared to your door.

He paused. “I suppose.”

You moved your legs so he would have enough room to sit next to you. You heard his knee crack as he sat down on the low rise bed. His legs sat upward as he leant a hand behind your legs to steady himself.

“I’m sorry.” you said. It had to be said, what better time than now? “I don’t want to hear your apologies.” he huffed. “It was inappropriate.” you spit out again. “No- Y/N, stop. Please.” he asked. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Every time I sleep I go… back there. I can’t.” you whimpered. He sighed, groaning and wiping his brow.

“What would you like me to do about it? I can’t do anything.”

“Stay.”

Joel was left confused on how your calmness met his angry tone. He knew you well, he was surprised you weren’t screaming in his face. You didn’t take shit. You were being patient for once in your life.

Oh, how you’ve changed since the attack.

“I’m here. What more do you want from me?” he asked. His tone had extra edge of anger to it that was fueled with a faint passion.

In the darkness, you reached for his hand. It was coarse and dry, with many various scars and callouses you could feel just with a slight touch. He instinctively pulled back a bit, but gave in within the second. Wrapping your fingers with his, you places his hand back on your thigh.

“Y/N I-”

“The thing you were doing before on my leg. It was nice.”

“Oh,” he said, defeating the original thought from his head. His thumb began slowly moving in circles once again.

You were showing him what you needed.

He watched as your sad face closed your eyes and sighed. You felt safe for the first time in days.

Joel felt the pit in his stomach widen and fully consume him. The girl who practically raised Ellie from when she arrived; his dead friend’s daughter; one of the best damn killers in all of Jackson; Y/N. God, he was in so much trouble with his morals.

“I’m too far deep in this shit,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him. “What?” you asked.

“I can’t…” he said, beginning to shake his knee up and down. “What?” repeated yourself in a confused tone.

His strong body swept over yours. He grabbed your shoulder ever so softly and perched you in his arms. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

No initiative had to be made besides the movement of your lips against his. Your hand wrapped itself in his hair, playing softly as he held your back strongly. A slight moan came from his lips that he instantly regretted when you accidentally tugged ever so slightly on his graying strands of hair. For the split second that you two separated gasping for air, he pulled you tighter.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been fighting this,” he whispered on your lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you sighed, staring back at his scruffy face.

Joel came back to his senses. He felt different. He could never go back to the same person he was a minute ago. His world revolved around something new. No more obsessing over patrol and how to appease Tommy. No more worrying over how Ellie could handle herself. No more worrying about his aching joints and the fear of getting older. Something new became the center of his universe. He had folded.

The girl laying in his arms who now rested her head against his chest.

“You really need sleep darlin’,” he sighed. You sighed in resistance.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, looking down at your exhausted face.

“Please.”

You moved over in your bed as he made himself comfortable. Joel never realized how much larger he was than you until he slept with you in his arms.

You layed on his chest as one arm wrapped around your shoulders. His hand rested comfortably on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” you whispered. He placed a small kiss on your head. Your arms wrapped around your stomach, making yourself more comfortable in his embrace. The only sound in the room was your soft breathing.

“Go to sleep now. Your safe with me, my sweet girl.”

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @jmillerswife

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princessanonymous · 5 months ago

Text

Of Trials- Part 3/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part

Story Chapter list

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

The courtroom smelled of polished wood and old paper and ink. It was a grand place, decorated intricately with carvings in the wood. Each wall told the story of great pioneers, from the Original Sire to, the great Vlad, without forgetting the lady Carmilla,

The judges all looked different from the second – the first seat was surprisingly empty – to the last, the ninth. Some of them, he recognized, like Madame Rossignol, and he wondered why such a woman was ever voted to be part of the council for the next 18 years. There were three men and five women. He took note of two elderly-looking people, a man and a woman, with graying hair. It wasn't every day that he saw vampires turned at such an old age.

For his part, Dorian sat poised on the defendant's seat, looking up at the members. It wouldn't do to appear unruly on such a night, so he had taken great care to look presentable.

"Dorian de Beauvoir," called the first judge to stand up, the man who looked old with a gray beard. Despite his late stage of life, his burgundy eyes remained vibrant, contrasting with his dark skin. "You have been accused of the siring of an immortal child, a crime that, as you must already know, is punishable by death." There were whispers, but he held his head high. "We ask you now; how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he answered, portraying no hesitation. There were even more whispers, and he himself was astounded by his own ability to remain calm.

"Very well," nodded the man, "I, Marius Thorn, member of the vampiric council, therefore announce the beginning of this session." He regained his seat.

On the fourth seat to his left, Madame Rossignol rose. She cleared her throat, then frowned at him. There was at least one person on his side, it seemed. He did not particularly like the woman, but the support wasn't unwelcome.

The atmosphere grew tense as the other judges exchanged glances. Dorian’s mind raced, but he kept his exterior composed. He knew that any sign of weakness could be detrimental. The charges were severe, and he needed to maintain his dignity.

Madame Rossignol's voice rang clear and authoritative. "We must remember that each accused is entitled to a fair trial. Dorian de Beauvoir stands before us, claiming innocence. We owe it to our laws and traditions to hear him out fully."

“Duke, when did you first come in contact with the young (Y/n)?” the interrogator asked, her voice slicing through the tense silence of the courtroom.

“Autumn of 1856," Dorian responded, his tone measured. "I am unsure of the specific date."

"And her parents?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

"Dead," he replied, his voice devoid of remorse. He believed firmly that it had to be done; they were links to her life that needed severing.

The interrogator raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more to the story. "Before or after your encounter with her?" she asked, her tone sharper.

"After." His responses were succinct, unsure how his admissions would be received.

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Were you responsible for it?”

He hesitated for a moment before acquiescing, "I was," he finally admitted.

Most in the courtroom remained stoic, but a few whispered amongst themselves in disapproval, viewing his actions as a significant risk to their status of secrecy. Their concern was not for the mortals, but for the potential exposure his actions could bring to their kind.

He glanced up at the spectators' seats, something he had avoided since the trial began. His gaze first fell upon Elizabetta, the vile woman seated in a prime spot with a perfect view of the proceedings. When their eyes met, she waved at him mockingly. His eyes narrowed, and he quickly looked away.

Finding Killian was not difficult; he sat at the very front, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. Dorian scanned the area around him, searching for his daughter. His eyes landed on his partner again, silently conveying a clear message: 'Where is my daughter?' Killian didn't respond, averting his gaze, causing Dorian to grip his seat in frustration.

"Duke, I believe you were asked a question," Madame Rossignol's voice cut through his thoughts, bringing his attention back to her. He quickly apologized. "When did the decision to turn the young girl first come to mind?"

"A few weeks after our first meeting,” he replied after clearing his throat, though his eyes continued to wander, searching for his child.

"How old was she at that time?"

"Eleven years old," he answered. Noting their outrage, he added, "I did not plan to turn her until her twelfth birthday."

"And when did you turn her?"

"A week after her birthday," he stated plainly.

Madame Rossignol leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "And that, even while knowing the risks of turning a child," she said, her tone heavy with accusation.

"She was twelve," he reasoned with a scoff, defiance in his voice.

Another woman stepped forward to stand beside Madame Rossignol. "Be that as it may, the law against immortal children takes many factors into account: their age at the time of turning as well as their own self-control." She glanced around at the onlookers. "I am sure you all remember the case of Maxim Penryhouse."

Everyone did, of course. The boy and his sire had created such chaos within their society, leading to years of suppressing rumors and whispers about vampires in the country. Maxim had been deemed an immortal child despite being turned at fifteen. Both he and his sire had their daylight rings removed and were left to burn under the sun's unforgiving glare.

"She can control herself," Dorian hissed through gritted teeth, desperation creeping into his voice.

The second woman looked expectantly at Madame Rossignol. She bit her lip, her brows furrowing into a soft frown. “It is neither true nor false," she declared, her power to recognize lies revealing the uncertainty of his statement. This ability was precisely why she held her seat on the council.

Dorian drew in a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching. "By the gods," he whispered to himself, feeling the weight of his uncertainty. Even he was unsure of his own answer now, and he suddenly felt awfully foolish.

The courtroom seemed to close in around him as he grappled with his own doubts. His gaze flickered back to the spectators, finding Killian once more. His partner’s face was stony, unreadable, offering no comfort or reassurance. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint murmurs of the audience.

Madame Rossignol's voice cut through the tension. "Dorian, the council needs assurance that the child you turned can indeed control herself. Her actions, should they go unchecked, could expose us all."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand. She is different, though. She has a strength of will that is rare. I have faith in her."

The younger judge with piercing green eyes spoke again, skepticism clear in his tone. "Faith is not enough. We need evidence. We need proof that she will not be a threat to our secrecy. Bring the girl in."

Then, the door swung open to reveal (Y/n). His child hesitated to step forward, but beside her stood a man whose very presence commanded respect, a testament to the centuries he had witnessed. His skin was a golden tan, and his ebony black hair fell in waves.

His gaze was sharp, dark eyes seemingly aware of everything happening around him. This was a man who could not be caught off guard, having seen it all. Their eyes locked, and Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. Mikhail smiled at him, his sharp white fangs gleaming in the candlelight.

Dorian stood, driven by a sudden urge to pry (Y/n) away from Mikhail, to scream at him, attack him, or worse—but he was promptly ordered to settle down again. With great difficulty, he complied, feeling utterly powerless. If his sire dared to harm her, though, Dorian would not hesitate to pounce.

Mikhail rested a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder and crouched down to whisper something in her ear. (Y/n) nodded with a small frown. Mikhail straightened, looked at the council members, and nodded in turn.

"Very well," Madame Rossignol said, "let the human in."

This time, a door opposite the one (Y/n) had entered through opened. A young maiden, who could not have been older than twenty, was forced in, shoved by two vampires. She struggled and pleaded for her life as she was thrown at (Y/n)'s feet.

"What is this?" Dorian demanded, his voice tight with fear and anger.

"A test. To assess her self-control."

He knew what this entailed: one sip of the human’s blood, and (Y/n) would sign both their death sentences.

(Y/n) did not react to the human trashing and weeping, demonstrating her remarkable ability to control herself. She wasn't a rabid animal ready to pounce on anyone, obviously. Her restraint, however, was only the beginning of the ordeal.

When the mere sight of the mortal failed to incite her, the woman was slashed, a shallow cut on her neck causing blood to pool on the floor. "Please!" she cried out, desperately clutching her neck in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow. "I don't want to die! Have mercy!" Yet he was certain his child was not listening; the sweet scent of the blood was probably more enticing to her at this moment. She wasn't one to care about the pleas of her victims.

"(Y/n)..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, as he saw her eyes turn red and her canines grow. He witnessed the fierce battle within her as she fought to restrain herself, to resist giving in to her primal instincts.

She approached the woman slowly, and he blanched, hoping—no, praying—that she would turn away, that she wouldn't seal her own fate and—

She put both hands over her mouth, clenched her eyes shut, and turned her head away. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling a breath of relief, as he heard the onlookers whisper amongst themselves.

(Y/n) was led out of the courtroom by the same man who had escorted her in. Once again, he whispered something in her ear and flashed Dorian a grin. The tension in the room was palpable, but for now, she had resisted.

The next hour was a blur to him as he awaited their decision. Fairness was not a word in vampires’ vocabulary and this test, Dorian knew, was more for theatrics than anything. It was for them a small, yet entertaining performance that wasn’t likely to change their mind had they already deemed him guilty in their cold, unbeating hearts.

Mikhael sat on the only empty seat reserved for the council. He supposed he should have expected him to have this seat, Dorian thought bitterly. Why him of all people?

He had to wait hours before the sentencing finally came. As the last member of the council advanced to announce their decision, Dorian stood rigidly unable to think of anything other than the next words that would come out of his mouth.

The burly man shuffled papers in his calloused hands and cleared his throat before speaking in a gruff voice. He rambled on about the evidence, summarizing the entire session as if they hadn't all been present. But finally, the words Dorian had been anxiously awaiting were directed at him: "Dorian de Beauvoir, this court has found you not guilty of the siring of an immortal child."

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he nearly collapsed, pulling his face into his hands and sighing deeply. Dorian had never imagined he would feel this light again.

"This is preposterous!" cried out someone in front of the spectators box. It was Elizabetta who had risen to protest, "She is clearly–"

"This council has made its decision," warned the first council member, "Are you questioning it?"

"That child, as well as her sire should be -".

"Elizabetta," snapped Mikhael, and Dorian couldn't help but flinch at the authority in his voice. "Your opinion on the matter is neither here nor there."

He watched as Elizabetta quietly sat down, shooting Dorian a bitter look. He instinctively wanted to listen, or just make himself as small as possible because, while these words weren’t directed at him, he felt as much like a scolded child as she did.

⊱ ────── {⋆☾⋆} ────── ⊰

As he left the room, he soon came across Killian. He smiled and held him in a tight embrace, resting his face on the crook of his neck. Killian smelled of spices and wood. Stepping back, Dorian asked, "Where is she?"

"Outside, that's what they told me," Killian answered, and they walked together towards the entrance.

Opening the door, Dorian's eyes scanned the entry hall until he spotted her. (Y/n) was engaged in conversation with his sire. Dorian quickened his pace until he reached them.

She turned around at the sound of his footsteps, giving him a bright smile. But on the corner of her mouth, he noticed blood, and her eyes were red.

"You're here!" she cried out happily, though she didn't move away from his sire, who was also smiling.

"We are," replied Killian, stepping forward with a handkerchief to wipe the red liquid off her mouth. "When did you feed?"

"Just recently," she chirped. "Mr. Mikhael told me I could have the screaming lady after the trial."

His sire pinched (Y/n)'s cheeks affectionately and remarked, "What a sweetheart she is." Then he looked up at Dorian. "You chose her very well, Dorian."

"Get away from her," Dorian ground out hatefully. Killian shot him a surprised look.

The older vampire raised both hands mockingly. "I do not wish her any harm, Dorian."

Killian leaned in to whisper in Dorian's ear, " (Y/n) and I will be waiting outside."

He left promptly without waiting for a response, clearly uninterested in being part of any quarrel between Dorian and his sire. Was Killian even aware that this was the blond’s sire? Now that he thought of it, he had never mentioned him to the other as he had always wished to squash any memory of the older vampire.

Dorian watched them depart but reluctantly remained behind.

"A lovely little family you have," commented his sire casually.

"You do not get to do that,” seethed the blond.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Pray tell, what do I ‘not get' to do?"

"You may not just waltz in. This is my family, you may not come into contact with them."

Mikhael stared at him, and Dorian found himself unable to hold his gaze. "I... apologize for Elizabetta's actions," Mikhael said after a moment. "I can assure you that she prepared this entire thing without my consent."

He hummed thoughtfully, processing Mikhael's words. "So she is indeed yours."

"Younger than you. She is good and took to our way of existence very quickly. Though not as quickly as you," Mikhael acknowledged.

Dorian's eyes narrowed as bitterness settled within him. "Of course. This must be why you left me to fend for myself the same night you turned me."

"You turned out so well," justified the older one, “mature and independant– more than your sister would ever be." Dorian scoffed, "I am serious. It had not been an easy decision, but I did it nonetheless, despite my instincts telling me to come back. You were the first vampire I sired and to now see you with your own little fledgling is heartwarming.”

"You would do well to remember this sight as it is one you will never gaze upon again," Dorian stepped forward, pointing a finger accusingly. "I know what you are trying to do. You’re attempting to get close to our girl so you can approach all of us and play happy little coven as if nothing happened. I will not allow that."

"Dorian..." Mikhael whispered, his eyes narrowing in response.

"NO! YOU LOST ANY CHANCES OF THAT THE NIGHT YOU LEFT ME—THE NIGHT YOU MADE ME FEAST ON MY OWN PARENTS' BODIES BEFORE VANISHING INTO THE NIGHT!" Dorian's voice echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone present—judging him, questioning him, and perhaps even scoffing at him. But he paid them no mind.

It took him some time to collect his thoughts and calm himself once again and, when he did, his gaze hardened. "I will now step away. We will say our goodbyes and go our separate ways," Dorian declared firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Am I clear?"

He looked as though he might argue, but then he smiled and chuckled, disregarding the curious onlookers just as Dorian did. "I see myself in you. Even now, I do not regret turning you," he sighed. "Good evening to you, Dorian."

His hands trembled, and words failed to come out as he sent a final gaze and curt nod toward his sire. Turning on his heels, he left swiftly.

Arriving at their carriage where Killian and (Y/n) were already waiting, he collapsed into Killian's arms, using him as his lifeline. Dorian didn't care about (Y/n) seeing his tears at that moment; he just needed comfort.

"What is...” Killian began, concerned.

"We must go, Killian," Dorian interrupted, his voice cracking. “Let the three of us leave Britain behind."

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere vampire #yandere father #obsession #yandere #vampire #platonic #x reader #reader insert #child reader #yandere x reader #fanfic #(y/n)#female reader #vampire reader #dorian isnt ok #once again

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aki-shun · 9 months ago

Text

Concubine Of The Red King [M!Reader x Riddle Rosehearts]

This may be the last request I write under my old system. New rules and lists will be arranged in the pinned post.

First This post was created by request.

Requester: @delightfulcupquakequeen

TW: Omegaverse, mpreg, there's a lot of time skips

You had tiring and busy days as Riddle's husband and the other king(?) of the country. Fortunately, Riddle kept you away from matters like politics and heavy management so that you wouldn't have too much trouble, and included you in the palace and some internal affairs that even you could handle.

These duties also include palace soldiers and servants. And these two cute idiots you follow. Ace and Deuce were among the new employees who came to the palace as guards under Cater, one of The Left Wing Guards.

And those two idiots might have made Riddle a little angry. By eating some tart. Oh, the expressions on those two's faces when they appeared in front of Riddle looked so innocent and stupid that you asked your husband to forgive those two.

You go behind the chair where Riddle is sitting and hug him from behind. In return, he kisses your hands and arms around his neck.

Is there something wrong, Riddle? [N] Those two fools drank coffee at afternoon tea time. It's tea time! [R] Ohh, honey, but those two were on night duty last night and had to stay on day duty today too. I'm sure it's to relieve their insomnia. [N]

They could also drink tea, why that dark bitter stuff..! [R] Maybe that's why coffee is said to be good for insomnia. gigles [N]

Hah, you always find something to defend these two. [R]

You've heard of the heat of Omegas or the heat of Alphas, right? For some reason, the nights were very noisy at that time :)

Now let's look at what we have: an out-of-control Riddle, a Trey trying to calm his King down, Cater finding himself in this situation when he comes to pick up his two idiot soldiers, two idiots who are excited to be so-called 'uncles'. Good luck.

No matter how much you like it when your strawberry man is fussing over you, this is only the 4th day of this poor pathetic panic and you're not sure if you can handle it for the whole pregnancy.

Riddle, can you give me back my papers? I can't do my job. [N]

You need to stop doing your work and lie down. If there is one thing you have to do, it is to rest..! [R]

What are you reading? [N] … Political science. Anyway, forget the book. Did you like the tart? Trey's mother made it for you. [R] Of course, his mother's hand is delicious as always. Here, have a slice. [N] No, it's yours and your baby's. [R] Riddle is just a slice. I don't think I could finish a whole tart. [N] No way, that's your- [R] Riddle, my dear, or do you want to upset me? [N] WHA- Just a slice. All the rest is yours. [R] Eat.it.all. [N]

Honey, it's only 3 weeks old. And just a few papers and documents. [N]

But these will tire you..! [R] My dear, nothing like this will happen. [N]

But this book does not say that. Excessive stress can cause premature birth or worse, leave a diseased mark on the baby. [R] Didn't I forbid you those books? [N]

But- [R] Riddle, those books are almost 500 years old. Of course, some of them may be real, but there is a doctor in the palace. If something happens, we call him. [N]

You should be stress free. [R] Your stress is what makes me stressed. [N]

… I'm not stressed.. [R] Yes you are, oh Big Seven. If anyone were to see us, they'd think you're pregnant. Now give me this book- [N]

After 5 months

Riddle prevents you from talking to most people (Ace&Deuce). No, he's not a yandere. He's just trying to stop you from talking to people he thinks will stress you out. As your belly grew so much, his panic also grew. He came up with a name for the baby according to the rules of the Queen of Hearts. Don't think that you can now do the things that you were able to do by forcing him out of your hands at the beginning of your pregnancy. It is strictly prohibited. You need to eat healthy and properly and get healthy air in as peaceful an environment as possible. Also, do not look at fire or anything similar for a long period of time. He read that such things change the baby's physical characteristics. Yes, Riddle is still reading those old books.

You don't know if it's a good thing to use Riddle's fears to get some control, but at least some things are under control.

Riddle's ear is on your belly. He gently caresses your belly with his hands. Hearing and feeling his child's first kicks makes him feel something.

I think he gets a little excited in front of his father.

Just like the baby's kicks, you could hear the excited heartbeat of your husband, who had a face as red as his hair. Riddle relaxes as time passes and the doctor confirms that you and your baby are healthy. Of course, we should not forget Trey's share in this. Cater does this by keeping Ace and Deuce away from Riddle as much as possible. Still, Riddle grew a little tolerant of the pair.

I didn't know that the king could make such a face when he was embarrassed~. [T] Trey..! What are you doing here..! [R] I'm here for King [name]. I brought the things he asked for from the chef. [T] Hmm? What did you want from the chef, dear? [R]

...

…

Riddle tried and failed to impose a kitchen ban. Of course, he withdrew this decision after you threw all the books in his library at his head. He loves you, but please, when you crave those things, please crave them in places where he can't see you. He can beg for it.

Are you seriously going to eat that thing? [R] (Name who eats lemon peels with 3 types of chocolate on top plus curry and chili peppers as decoration) Why would I ask the cook for something I won't eat?? [N] .. Doesn't look very healthy [R] Riddle, My Dear, nothing is too healthy. Besides, it's not me, it's the baby who wants this :( [N]

When that thing is born, it will learn from me personally what it needs to eat. [R] You're being rude >:( [N] I am not. [R] … [N] Ughmm I mean- [R] Do you think bell peppers stuffed with peanut butter and cheese and topped with plum marmalade are delicious? [N] …….. I- [R] TREYY I WAN- I MEAN BABY WANTS SOMETHING [N] You won't eat that thing >:( I don't want to lose my precious ones that are and will be. [R]

Of course, there are many difficult parts of pregnancy and some things are difficult for some people that they still can't get over… That's why we're skipping those parts because that's how this AU works :) (while looking at these topics on the internet, just in my mind it was like 'Why do you still want children despite this?!' So thank your mothers or omega fathers for having the courage to give birth to you, or not, I don't know)

*3.27 a.m.

Riddle..riddle.. [N] Wakes up Hah, did something happen?! [R] No, you didn't just say goodnight to me before going to sleep :) [N] Oh I'm sorry, good night my strawberry garden. Yawn [R] My water just broke :) [N] So good night…….WHAT?! [R]

The entire palace was awakened by the sound of Riddle running and screaming. You may have suffered from physical and partly mental problems of pregnancy, but this man suffered not only the mental problems of pregnancy, but also mental problems that were not in the pregnancy mental. These loads are too big for his body 😔

Just the facts, labor was painful. Don't expect anything, but if you keep pulling your husband's hair to ease your pain, your baby will have a bald father when he is born. Instead there's Ace and Deuce, pull theirs, Riddle thought, but then he knew he had to take on that role as a wife here so he didn't mind hanging on and going bald.

This is a girl, your majesty. [Nurse]

Hey, a light from the sky hits Riddle's head, what is this? Ooohh this is a 'Daughter Dad Personality Overload'. This is valid for all fathers. If your father is not one of them, the internet was probably cut off during the installation. Sorry :(

Ohm OHm anyway

This is my daughter.. I have a daughter. [R] Our daughter, we have a daughter. [N] Yes, yes it is. [R] … He looks like a red pepper, just like his father. [A] Ace! You're just insulting his majesty, just say she's little as his father! [D] Who let these two idiots in, they woke up the baby! [R] I think they woke up to your shouting.. [C] Did you say something Cater??! [R] I didn't even open my mouth.. Whatever he said, Trey said. [C] …. Really..? [T] It really looks like red pepper. [N] Dear, you to? :( [R]

And they left. And she came .. 🙄

I see that I am the last one to be informed about the birth of my grandchild. [R.M.]

Mother-in-law.. Good luck.

Riddle give me my grandchild. [R.M.] Uhm okay mom. [R] Your Majesty, do not forget what I used to be. [R.M.] Well..your majesty. [R] Hmm, what's its name? [R.M.] Rose, your majesty. [R] Hah, it's like a villager's name. Her name will be Garnet 6. Elizabeth Riddle Risel Brizar Gisel 5. Mary. [R.M.]

Your majesty, I think your grandson urinated on you. Most likely it means a NO to the name you gave it :) [N]

….

drip drip drip

As they say, the daughter attracts the father. The baby may apparently be riddle 2.0. But you shot that thing for 9 months. Of course she will look like you.

If you don't like this article, that's not my problem, okay? I was traumatized by the pregnancy video I watched. I need therapy.

And I hate her(the short kings mom)

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #male reader #twisted wonderland × male reader #twisted wonderland × bottom male reader #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland riddle #twst riddle #riddle × male reader #omegaverse

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thatsrightice · 1 year ago

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Ron was in the elementary school when he first met Tom. The teacher introduced him as the new kid joining their class, asking everyone to welcome him with open arms. Ron looked at the name written on the board and just couldn’t help himself.

“Woah! You have a long last name!”

Tom didn’t respond, just kind of stared back until the teacher ushered him to an empty desk.

Tom was a quiet kid, kept to himself and never really spoke unless it was to answer the teacher’s question. He never really had any friends, mostly just read big books with small letters that made Ron’s head spin.

Jack took Ron’s spot at the lunch table one day so he decided to take a seat across from Tom. Ron thought Tom’s lunch box was cool and told him so. The boy’s eyes lit up and informed him it was a F-5 Freedom Fighter, saying that it wasn’t anatomically correct as its fuselage was far too long, whatever that meant, so Ron just smiled and agreed. They already had a Tom in their class and that’s when Ron decided to call him Tommy.

Ron always sat with Tommy at lunch from that day. They quickly became inseparable, doing everything together. Tom was crazy smart and knew everything about everything, especially planes, but he never really made Ron feel dumb when he helped with a long word or a difficult problem. They kept each other company, Tommy didn’t exactly have any other friends since moving and Ron didn’t have a need for any other friends. Tommy was his best friend, even when he talked about airplanes a lot Ron didn’t mind; he decided they were pretty cool too.

One day Tommy exclaimed declared that he was going to be a pilot in the Air Force when he was older, taking down bad guys and protecting the country. Ron was impressed as he didn’t even know if he was going to pick pizza or lasagna at lunch that day. Monday rolled around and Tommy showed up to school with a black eye and a new tune.

“I’m not going into the Air Force anymore,” he had informed Ron.

“Why?”

Tom shrugged. “I’m just not.”

Ron had a feeling he knew why. Tommy would show up with bruises once in a while, said it was from falling out of his bed or climbing a tree, and this time he was hit in the fact playing baseball. But Ron was confused because Tommy never fell out of the bed at their sleepovers and Ron was confident he was the best tree climber like ever. But Tom said he was okay and that’s all that mattered.

But Tom’s dad? That guy was scary. Ron had only met him a couple of times but when he did he wanted nothing more than to run away. Tommy was terrified. The look on his face when keys jingled in the lock was one Ron would never forget. They’d abandon their game and run to Tom’s room, a book shoved into Ron’s hands. They’d sit on the floor and read until the man paused in front of the doorway, nodding in approval at the two boys, and then proceeding down the hall out of sight.

Thankfully his father was away on trips a lot so Tom’s mom let him spend the night at Ron’s house sometimes! Tommy would always tell Ron that his mom was super cool and Ron would agree, his mom was the coolest. At one of these sleepovers Mrs.Kerner asked Tom what he wanted to be when he grew up, but Tom got quiet.

“He wants to be a pilot!” Ron exclaimed, but Tom shook his head.

“I’ve got to join the Navy, like him.” Like his dad, he meant.

“Well why don’t you be a pilot for the Navy?” Ron’s mom asked, setting a plate of apple slices and peanut butter on the table.

“But he said the Navy doesn’t need pilots.” Tom took an apple slice.

“Sure they do! Someone’s gotta protect those boats. You know, Ronnie, your great uncle was a pilot for the Navy in World War II.” Tom’s eyes snapped wide open, staring in awe at Ron.

“I can be a pilot and be in the Navy!”

“What about you, Ron?” His mom asked. “What are you going to be?”

“A pilot for the Navy. Then we could fly together!” he nodded firmly and his mom laughed. And he’d swear he’d never seen Tom smile that bright.

The happiness was short lived as about a month later Tom informed Ron that his family was moving again. He’d never seen Tom look so devastated.

Years went by and Ron moved on, as children do. When he hit senior year of high school it came time to decide what he wanted to do with his life, but he was stumped. He confided in his mom such thoughts one night while she was doing the dishes and she smiled warmly. That’s when she informed him of his longtime desire of becoming a Naval pilot when he was young, reigniting the memories of his best friend, Tom. “Two peas in a pod you boys were” she had said. Something clicked and he had made his decision, applying to the Naval Academy and getting accepted, much to his surprise. He hugged his mother, gave a tearful goodbye with the promise to call, and watched her leave.

“Excuse me.”

Ron turned around, a man stood in the doorway of the dorm across from his.

“F-14 Tomcat or F-16 Fighting Falcon?”

“Huh?”

“In a dogfight, who would win? The F-14 Tomcat or F-16 Fighting Falcon?”

“Leave him alone, Bill,” a voice from inside the room shouted across the hall. “We don’t even know what it’s capable of.”

Bill scoffed as he rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his face. He turned back to Ron and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Bill Cortell. And that a**hole is my roommate, Tom.”

“Ron Kerner.” They shook hands.

“So where are you from, Ron?” But before Ron could respond Bill’s roommate emerged from the room, leaning agains the doorframe.

“San Diego, California. Sunset Park Elementary School.” Ron just nodded, confused as fuck.

“Tom. Tom Kazansky.”

As they shook hands, Ron couldn’t help his grin.

“You have a long ass last name.”

The blonde merely raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

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enhasparadise · 1 year ago

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THE LOVE SECRET.

— a lee heeseung written series; prologue.

love, the definition of pain and crying, except maybe with the high school hockey captain.

SYNOPSIS. love. it was something that was all around her, and romance shows weren't helping her get a good picture of love. Jang Haerin has always seen love as something magical so when her first and long relationship ended her heart kept hurting. She had simply never imagined that the next day the hockey captain was going to offer her this kind of thing.

"love has its secrets, I can show them to you"

PAIRING ・ hockey captain!heeseung x shy reader

GENRES ・ romance, fluff, slice of life, college au, strangers to lovers!

FEATURING ・ ENHYPEN heeseung, jake, sunghoon & ni-ki, TXT yeonjun, beomgyu, NEWJEANS hanni, P1HARMONY soul, jongseob, STRAYKIDS hyunjin, seungmin, jeongin.

STATUS ・ UNFiNiSHED / ONGOiNG / iNCOMPLET

DATE STARTED ・ 19/06/2023

TAGLIST ・ @misoxhappy @h-hazwie @mxnuilx97 @luvistqrzzz @axartia comments to be added to the taglist !

MASTERLIST | NEXT

0. NEVER LISTEN TO OR BELIEVE THE WORDS OF BOYS

A breakup?

It was probably one of the last things Haerin could have imagined on such a beautiful spring day.

The same morning she had gotten ready as usual, a pretty cute outfit while remaining classic enough not to receive comments from the boys while her hair was done in two braids falling on her shoulders. Without forgetting her usual pair of glasses that she had to wear every day.

The young girl had never really known love, it was true that this was her first relationship with a boy, and more precisely with Park Sunghoon, one of the members of the hockey team. Which was equal to being one of the most popular boys in high school.

And being one of the most popular students meant that the girls were interested in her boyfriend. After all, he had all the qualities for young students to have feelings or simply the desire to be close to him. Which had always made the young man laugh, but not his girlfriend.

Haerin knew nothing about love except what she had seen in her many series, many dramas she had watched over the years. But never, no, never had she expected something so violent, so painful in her chest. This urge to cry had directly invaded her and she had believed that she would never be able to listen to Sunghoon's words.

Park sunghoon was just an asshole. even if she didn't want to admit it to herself, she meant it.

"Listen Haerin I don't even know who told you that stuff but it's completely wrong!" Sunghoon seemed genuinely annoyed by the girl's behavior.

"Completely wrong? Sunghoon every day I hear your name come out in girls' conversations I know they like you. I.. I don't want our relationship to remain hidden any longer.."

"Sweet heart you know why I don't want our relationship to be known to everyone. You risk being insulted or even hated by all the other girls.."

"And if ever one of them came to see you to take my place what would you do?" The girl had tears in her eyes, forcing herself not to cry in front of her boyfriend. "What would you do in this situation Sunghoon tell me."

"What would you think if another girl suddenly appeared in the hallway I would accept her as my girlfriend?"

At the same time footsteps were heard, almost breaking the conversation Kim Chaewon had just appeared in the hallway. Almost like it was all foretold, it was all written that way, and therefore it revealed the truth through the words or rather the lies that Sunghoon could tell from the beginning.

"Sunghoon darling I've been waiting for you since a while ago.. I thought you left right after your training but I ran into Heeseung and he told me that I could have found you here.." Chaewon uttered that without even paying attention to Haerin, just before turning his head towards her. "May I know what you are doing here, and why are you talking with my boyfriend?"

"Y-your boyfriend?"

"Chaewon wait for me outside you want.. I need to tell him a few things and then we can do what you want"

It was in a heavy silence that the young girl had left the two young teenagers without really understanding what could be happening.

Haerin, on the other hand, felt like an idiot. How could she believe the words of the young brunette when this young girl had just arrived in the hallway calling him as her boyfriend? Her heart was starting to hurt her.

She was beginning to understand what had happened.

She didn't even need to hear the words of her "boyfriend" anymore, having already understood everything, she no longer had the strength for anything.

A silence was born in the corridors where they were, as if none of them intended to continue the conversation.

But Haerin needed an answer.

She needed to reassure herself about all this.

And above all she needed to understand who this young girl was for Sunghoon.

Of course she knew Chaewon, she was one of her classmates who was on one of the most popular, but she would never have believed that. She didn't want to believe it. Not believing it until Sunghoon told him the truth.

"Can you explain that to me then Sunghoon? Why did she just call you darling or even boyfriend?" Small tears had just flowed down her cheeks. "Don't tell me it's because of her that you didn't want our relationship to be shown in high school? It's because of her that you didn't want to do anything, right? Who is she Sunghoon?

A sigh left the lips of the young man who unfortunately understood the situation. He couldn't hide anything anymore. It was too late and all because of his real girlfriend who had come down the hall. Sunghoon couldn't lie anymore he had to tell the truth.

"Haerin listen to me.. I know what you think and unfortunately it's true. Chaewon and I have been together for a few months now and I couldn't talk to you to end our relationship.. I.. I didn't want to make you suffer I knew I was your first relationship.. but now I think I have no choice.."

Sunghoon's voice was way too calm for the current situation, how could he say that so calmly when Haerin was in pain? That he was breaking her heart?

"So for months you cheated on me with her?" She couldn't hide her sadness anymore and it could be heard in her broken voice and it could be seen in the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Sunghoon I would have much preferred you to leave me at the right time rather than cheating on me with her and let me know that way. It hurts my heart so much. I don't even want to talk to you or continue this conversation."

Leaving Sunghoon and leaving him alone in the hallway she let all her tears flow, the sounds of her sobs could be heard throughout the hallway.

"Don't even think about coming to see me Sunghoon from now on I don't want to have any contact with you anymore.. stay away from me.."

It was the last sentence she said to Sunghoon and was certainly the last sentence he heard from her when she finally left the hallway.

Running in the corridors she did not even look where she was going, only trying to leave the building to go home and lock herself in her room. Tears continuing to run down her cheeks she couldn't even see where she was going, her vision slowly starting to blur.

His heart ached.

Sunghoon had broken his heart.

She didn't want to hear from him anymore.

His helmet on his ears, his hands in his pockets Heeseung didn't even have to look where he was going, this road he did every day and it's not now that he was going to forget it.

His feet seemed to move on their own.

Getting carried away by his music he closed his eyes from time to time while he seemed to be humming.

At this time most people were present in the corridor so he had a certain freedom from that.

A smile appeared on his lips as he soon arrived at his destination.

The boys' locker rooms weren't far away.

Unfortunately he was blocked by something.

Well, something had hit him.

No, not something but someone.

Not having looked where she was going Haerin had directly come into contact with Heeseung's chest, falling the second after on the buttocks while letting out a cry.

In addition to being crying, something she hated, she had just been seen by one of Sunghoon's friends. Hockey team captain Lee Heeseung.

Oh god this situation was embarrassing.

But still, she couldn't stop crying. Catching Heeseung's gaze as he took off his helmet, she burst into tears, remaining in that position, sitting on the cold hallway floor.

She couldn't stop crying, she almost felt sick to her stomach even more than a few seconds ago.

Heeseung did not even have time to understand that he was directly posed next to the girl he only knew by sight, trying to understand the situation that had occurred before. Even if in reality he had to know it a little since he had seen him with Sunghoon when he had left the locker room earlier in the day.

"Sunghoon.. he's just an idiot.."

The girl's voice had just come through, her voice oddly flat and broken. Heeseung didn't know what to say, unfortunately not having the ability to comfort people in difficult times.

"And why so? Did he do something to you?"

Without any noise, except that of her sobs, she had nodded.

A positive response.

Heeseung could therefore understand that it was his fault that the girl was like that.

"I have the right to know that he did to you?" Noticing that the two teenagers were sitting on the ground he sat up before reaching out his hand to help him up. "Come on, get up and explain the situation to me right after, okay?"

Again in a rather strange silence she accepted and found herself just afterwards with Heeseung in the corridors, explaining to him then the previous situation.

And strangely her tears had finally diminished.

Explaining her situation as she went along to the young man, Haerin didn't know much about Heeseung she couldn't lie to herself but there was one thing she knew about him, he was listening no matter what. So she could confide in him, but she would never have imagined that he would say that to her.

"Sunghoon is just an idiot who doesn't realize what he's got and prefers to play with something else.. his romantic relationships aren't the most innocent."

"What do you mean by that ?" Turning her gaze to him she waited for answers to understand what he wanted to talk about.

"Sunghoon doesn't respect his girlfriends, I think you must have noticed, right?"

She didn't need to answer he knew he was right, Sunghoon doesn't respect girls, especially not his girlfriends.

The two young teenagers continued this discussion as they walked. Heeseung always having to go to the level of the locker rooms, his two there had therefore headed towards this place.

As the discussion progressed, the girl began to learn a lot about the young boy she had considered to be her boyfriend, and thanks to Heeseung she could tell, Sunghoon was just an asshole.

Finally arriving in the locker room Heeseung allowed Haerin to follow him, after all no one was present there at that time so it was not a problem.

This feeling slightly uncomfortable she had therefore followed him and, after he put his bag on the bench right next to the lockers and opened his locker to retrieve what he wanted he turned to the young girl .

"You know, love is not easy."

"I believe you Heeseung.. it was just my first relationship, I don't know anything about love.."

"Nothing at all ?" She nodded her head in the negative, which let a slight smile appear on the young man's lips. "Well if you need advice or things to know I can help you."

Picking up his things so as not to stay in this place, he hastened to leave the room to finally leave high school and be able to return home.

"Love is not easy and has a lot of secrets you know.. it's not something that is known one hundred percent but if I can offer you something that's it. If the love to its secrets I will be ready to show them all to you, to tell you all and to bring them all to life."

Haerin's heart skipped a beat.

How could he say that while remaining calm?

Did he know what he was really saying or was he just joking?

No, looking at him it was not possible, the tone of his voice was way too serious.

So why did he just say that?

"So, what do you think about it?"

Seeing that she still did not answer, and that they had just arrived in front of the school gate, he took out a pen and tore up a piece of paper to write down his number and handed it to her.

"Here, take this and you can tell me your answer in a few days, I'll let you think about it." A soft smile appeared on his lips "But think about it, love has a lot of secrets you know.. and since you don't know anything about it, it's a subject you don't know, I can show you all its secrets. To help you know more about love so that you can finally understand Sunghoon's behavior."

First chapter, it starts like this I hope you like it haha ^^

Do not hesitate to tell me what you think since it is the first time that I write this kind of fanfics. thank you to those who will read this fanfic and who will want to know the rest!

The sequel will be coming very soon, I hope you like it! thanks for reading ! <333

I know it's not the most incredible but it will improve as the chapters go by so stay to find out what can happen ^^

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angelagiarratana · 1 year ago

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Comfort Call

After a joke hits too hard Angela steps out to call you <3

It was no secret to anyone at SMOSH or in her life that Angela's love language is bullying. She loves comedy and jokes more than anything in life. So people knowing her well enough to know how to bully her, makes her feel seen and heard. Until today, her emotions were already heightened. Since her alarm went off that morning she felt stressed. Then her water wasn't working because her neighbor fucked up a pipe, so she couldn't shower. After fighting her hair to do something, she dropped her mascara wand onto her white t-shirt. A long, deep breath seemed to get her to work that day.

You two usually had breakfast together due to living on the same block, but you had to go to work early that day. Angela felt weird for a few days so she decided to sleep in. She knew that if she had chosen to see you, she would feel better and probably have a shower. Putting the car in park at the studio after traffic, she realized she left her coffee and lunch at home. Today sucked.

During the first two shoots, she kept fucking up the rules of games and lost both. She felt incredibly defeated today. She knew your lunch had already passed so she couldn't step out to call you. "Angela, I'm running to the gas station, do you wanna come?" Chanse held out his wallet signaling he was leaving. She decided it couldn't hurt to get out into the sun for a bit. Walking with Chanse helped her calm down a bit, until she dropped her pizza on the sidewalk, "Fuck my life bro!" Chanse could tell it was a day so he ran back and bought her another slice while she did the last shoot.

Filming a 'Let's Do This' with Courtney, Ian, and Damien seemed like a good last shoot for the day. Angela assumed wrong. For some reason, she felt incredibly stressed once they started rolling. Her legs started bouncing and her stress soon turned into anxiety. During Damiens presentation he made a joke that just rubbed her the wrong way today. "Well fuck me I guess!" Courtney turned and grabbed her arm sensing her emotions. Courtney mouthed to her, "Take a deep breath." Courtney knew Angela would get in her head sometimes and forget to breathe. "Cut! Let's take 5 while we reset!" Angela stood up and grabbed her phone off the cart, speed walking to the parking lot.

The sun was beaming on her back as she quickly dialed your number.

Ring, ring

"Hi AG." Your voice sounded like honey to her right now. Hearing it immediately set off the waterworks. "Hey, talk to me." You reassured her over the phone. She took a deep breath, "It's just been a bad day and Damien made a joke that just stung for no reason today. I just needed to hear your voice." Your heart broke into a million pieces. "I'm really sorry my love. Do you want to keep talking about it, talk about something else, or just listen to me talk?" Angela smiled because you knew exactly which 3 things would work, "I wanna listen to you talk." You could hear the smile in her voice, "Uh, let's see. Oh!" You chuckled, "I accidentally told my boss 'your mom' today and Kate, my coworker, said 'That is such an Angela thing to say'. You laughed again, and Angela's smile grew. "So my boss called me into his office to ask about the production schedule for a film we're starting production for soon. So I sat down and started telling him about how I need to hear back from a couple more people and he said 'who?' and my immediate answer dude," you laughed loudly, "was to say your mom!" Angela laughed with you this time. "You are amazing." You blushed at her words, "For my stupid jokes?" Angela laid her head against the wall, "Yes."

Courtney stuck her head out of the door, "Hey we've got a minute till rolling." Angela smiled at her, "Hey y/n I need to go back in, thank you." You spun around in your chair, "Of course AG, do you wanna come over later?" Angela got butterflies every time you invited her places, "I would love that, I'll see you at 7:30?" You looked at the clock, you were gonna finish that schedule before 7 if it killed you, "That works, go be your funny self." You gave her a kiss through the phone and hung up.

Angela walked onto set feeling refreshed and so much better.

#angela giarratana x reader #angela giarratana #angela giarratana x y/n #angela giarratana fanfic #smosh

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oddinary4bts · 2 years ago

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The Forgotten Spaces | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there will be mature content in later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: nausea, hangover, the park jimin effect, drinking, cursing? a time skip of a month

☆word count: 9.6k

☆a/n: why is posting making me anxious? fun fact, I'm posting from New York City this week! Went to the two first Agust D concerts ayyy

☆a/n pt2: always and forever thankful for @moonleeai and her dedicated work as my beta reader <3

☆series masterpost here

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, May 19th

Jungkook feels sick. Sick of everything, but mostly sick because his hungover has kept him in bed all day. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to pull up for dance practice later. All he knows is that his room has been spinning whenever he wakes up from naps, and that he fucked up majestically last night.

He doesn’t quite remember everything he said. He just remembers you, in his room, and then you being gone, replaced by Jimin and Taehyung.

The only thing he knows is that you know. The text that’s been sitting on his phone all day is reminder enough.

[11:12 am] You: hey, i hope ur okay this morning.. if u ever wanna talk about last night, we can grab a coffee or smth😌

He doesn’t know what to say, so he hasn’t replied. Because he’s not okay at all, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Especially not with you.

Especially not when he hasn’t been able to eat anything since the first time he woke up today. It’s nearing 4 pm now, and he technically needs to be at the studio in two hours. Hobi already said he’d pick him up, but he’s still far from being presentable right now.

Jungkook groans, hiding his face in his pillow. You come up in his mind, the look of horror on your face last night making everything spin around him twice as much as before. Whenever he closes his eyes, you’re there, and he almost hopes to go blind.

Though he’s pretty sure you’d find a way to haunt him even if he was blind.

Another groan escapes him, and he turns his head to the side as someone knocks on his door. “Uh?” he lets out, loud enough for whoever it is to hear.

He’s surprised to see it’s Yoongi as the man opens the door. “I made you soup,” Yoongi says, and sure enough he is carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup on top of it.

Jungkook expects the thought of eating to make him feel worse, but surprisingly enough, no nausea rises inside of him. Instead, he realizes his stomach feels dreadfully empty, so he forces himself to sit, wincing at the throbbing pain at his temples.

It’s almost enough to make him forget the pain in his leg.

“Did you take any painkillers?” Yoongi asks as he puts down the tray at the foot of the bed. “And have you drank any water?”

“Yes and yes,” Jungkook replies, voice raucous from disuse. “Pretty sure I could use some more painkillers though.”

Yoongi nods, watching his younger friend carefully. “Do you need me to go get you some?”

Jungkook slowly shakes his head no. “I need to get out of bed if I want to make it to dance practice.”

At that Yoongi laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Jungkook frowns, glaring at Yoongi. “I’m very capable, I’ll have you know.”

“Your room smells like someone died in here.”

Though he’s usually sensitive to smell, Jungkook’s hungover state keeps him from being able to tell if the room really does stink. “Tae and Jimin cleaned up.”

“Then you must be the dead body,” Yoongi says, in that deadpan kind of way of his. He shrugs his shoulders, before adding, “Anyway, just eat and then take a shower. I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Jungkook nods and watches as Yoongi makes to move out of his room. Yoongi’s at the door when Jungkook says, “Hyung?” Yoongi turns around, a quizzical look on his features. “Thank you for the soup.”

A smile breaks out across Yoongi’s face. “Anytime.”

And then Yoongi leaves, shutting the door softly behind him, and Jungkook is left alone once again. He looks down at the soup, and he realizes he really is hungry. He pulls the tray closer to him, making sure the soup doesn’t spill over the rim of the bowl, before grabbing the spoon.

The first spoonful of soup has his eyes fluttering shut with delight. Yoongi’s always been an amazing cook, and he hasn’t disappointed today. It awakens Jungkook more than anything else could have, and he’s finished the bowl of soup so quickly he almost considers eating the tray.

He’s still famished, but at least he’s got something in his stomach now. It’s enough to get him to stand from his bed, and though everything wobbles for a few seconds, he’s able to start gathering what he’ll need for his trip to the shower.

The shower really helps make him feel human again, and he’s relieved. As he steps out and looks at himself in the mirror, eyes dipping to his scars, he feels ready to confront the whole world if need be. He won’t have to bail on dance practice after all.

He’s down in the kitchen, eating some reheated pizza from last night, when Hobi arrives. His older friend pats him on the back, before putting down a Gatorade in front of him.

“Thought you’d need this,” he says, before climbing on the stool next to Jungkook.

Jungkook chuckles, immediately uncapping the Gatorade to take a long swig. It’s the last thing he needed to feel as good as new, and he offers Hobi a wide grin as soon as he puts the bottle down.

“I sure did,” he says, and the two friends laugh.

One thing that doesn’t change though, is the heaviness in Jungkook’s heart. Because if you know, then it’s just a matter of time before the rest of the crew knows. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to deal with everyone pitying him at the same time.

Maybe then he’ll just have to dip again.

Jin comes into the kitchen, and he stops as he sees Jungkook and Hobi at the counter. Valeria trails behind him, and Jungkook is struck dumb once more.

He never thought Jin would be able to pull the girl. He’s still surprised that she does exist, and whenever he’s alone with Jin he makes it a priority to remind his older friend.

“Sup’ losers,” Jin says as he starts moving again, heading towards the fridge to store the bottle of rosé wine he’s holding. “Surprised you were able to get out of bed.”

He says that over his shoulder looking right at Jungkook, who rolls his eyes. “I’m not a senior citizen like you, I’ve still got youth on my side.”

“Listen you little shit,” Jin bursts out, and Valeria starts laughing. It has the effect of a calming shower on Jin, who only glares at Jungkook. “You’re lucky the lady is here. Otherwise you’d be dead.”

“If you’d be able to catch me, that is.”

Jin looks towards Hobi.

“Don’t ask me for help,” Hobi says, raising his hands in defense. “You’re all alone on this.”

Jin’s head turns towards his girlfriend next. She’s shy, and Jungkook has never really talked to her before. So when he and Hobi look at her too, she blushes, before shrugging.

Jin lets out a childish whine, before saying, “Alright then, I’m old.”

“We like you like that.” Valeria is the one that speaks, and Jungkook chokes on a laugh as he turns back towards Jin.

“You heard her.”

Jin is fake-glaring at his girlfriend, but then his features soften. “Yeah, but at least she’s pretty.” And just like that he moves out of the kitchen, pulling Valeria behind him.

“I’ve been told I’m pretty too,” Jungkook yells behind Jin, and Hobi laughs next to him. “He’s so whipped,” Jungkook says after a few seconds, just to make sure Jin is out of earshot. His comment makes him think about another couple that’s starting to form, and he turns to look at Hobi. “And you? What’s up with Jiho?”

Hobi chokes, flushing fully red, up to the top of his ears. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows as he tries to hold in the shit-eating smirk that wants to form on his lips. “What do I mean? Why did you invite her yesterday?”

“I –” Hobi says. “I just thought it’d be fun to hang with the crew…”

“The crew?” The smirk has won now, and it breaks across Jungkook’s lips.

“Well, you know, just like…” Hobi falls silent, before letting out a strangled laugh. “I honestly didn’t see it coming.”

It’s cute, and Jungkook’s smirk turns into a softer smile. “To be honest, me neither.”

“She’s got balls though,” Hobi says, laughing lightly this time. “She’s the one who suggested we should go on a date, after dance practice last week.”

All that Jungkook remembers of that night is that he walked with you after. The rest is a blur of anxiety and his leg hurting. But he’s not surprised that Jiho’s got balls: she has to be your closest friend for a reason.

“You said yes, I hope,” Jungkook says.

Hobi slowly nods. “Yeah. But I invited her yesterday because of that too. And we’re going to a restaurant she suggested tomorrow.”

Jungkook doesn’t have to fake the happiness that takes over him right now. He’s happy for his friend, he really is. For his friends, plural. Because Taehyung, Jin, Yoongi and now Hobi… They’re all happy. They all have met someone, someone to care for them where no one else can. Strangely, it’s something Jungkook doesn’t really want for himself right now, maybe because he’s too stuck in the past.

Too stuck trying to heal from the crash, knowing some parts won’t ever heal and refusing to give up the fight for now.

It brings him back to you. To last night, and to whatever he said. He wishes he could remember the words, just to know how bad he fucked up, but he doesn’t. He won’t remember, and he won’t ask you.

He won’t take you up on your offer for coffee. He knows pity when he sees it, and he abhors it. Especially when it comes from you.

Instead, he focuses on Hobi, on the smile that lights up his friend’s face as he tells him about Jiho, about how they’ve been texting almost constantly. It’s all Hobi talks about on the ride to the studio, as he mentions stuff Jiho told him.

Stuff she told him about her when she was younger, but also about you. About how you’ve been friends since the first day of kindergarten, when someone pulled her braids and laughed at her and you punched them in the face.

He’s not surprised child you would punch someone that deserved it in the face. He’s pretty sure adult you would do it too.

Hobi parks his car next to the studio, and they are getting out of the vehicle when Jungkook notices you walking, hands buried in yet another oversized sweater. You’re wearing yoga pants underneath, and your hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. You catch his gaze a few seconds after he notices you, and he’s about to smile at you when you just look away, walking in the building without once glancing back.

What the fuck?

Jungkook frowns, especially as Hobi says, “What happened with Y/n last night?”

For some reason, Jungkook immediately grows defensive. He shrugs, a little vehemently before starting to walk towards the door. “Nothing happened. Just let it slip that I got into a car crash.”

“So she knows?” Hobi asks.

Another shrug of Jungkook’s shoulders. He buries his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, just to hide the way he’s clenching his fists even though he’s trying to stay calm. “Yeah. So everyone will know.”

“I don’t think so,” Hobi says, and Jungkook glances at him, brows knit together. “I mean, she’s good at keeping secrets.”

“She’s probably already told Jiho,” Jungkook points out as they reach the door. He doesn’t see you on the other side, and that’s the only reason why he opens it.

“Well, Jiho didn’t say anything about you, if that can reassure you.”

Hobi has felt the switch in his mood, hasn’t he? Because his voice is careful, as if he’s afraid to spook him.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook lies. Because he really does care. He doesn’t want everyone to know. Because it makes it too real, and for now he still can pretend it hasn’t happened.

He wishes for it to stay that way.

Hobi doesn’t push him more, and a tense silence moves between them. Jungkook wishes he could go back to his previous good mood about his friends’ happiness, but he’s back where he was last night. Somewhere in the dark of his own mind.

Not a good place to hang, if he’s honest.

He already knows he’s going to see you when he reaches the studio. Somehow, it still makes his heart constrict in his chest, that same way it did last night. As if someone is clenching their fist around it, and it makes it harder to breathe. He shrugs it off, taking a deep breath to calm down, before looking around.

Everyone but Heather is already here. And no one is looking at him, no one seems surprised or seems to be pitying him. You don’t even act like you noticed him entering – you take off your sweater, dropping it in a corner of the room with your phone and your keys. He hates it, but his eyes follow the curves of your body, and he wants to curse you for only wearing a sports bra.

Your body is lean, the results of dancing for most of your life with a mother that used to be a ballerina. Jungkook is pretty sure she’s controlled everything you ate growing up, and drilled it so hard into your head that you can’t stand bad food now. He remembers, when you were younger and someone brought cake to practice to celebrate a birthday, you always barely took a bite before saying you were full. You claimed you didn’t like cake, but he always noticed the way you eyed it while everyone else ate.

He used to make fun of you for it, and today he knows he was an asshole. All he can hope is that your relationship with food is better now. And it looks like it is – you’re not as thin as you were before. You look healthy, and your skin and hair are glowing.

It takes him a few good seconds to realize he’s staring, as if something about you has changed. And he doesn’t know what changed, just knows that he feels struck.

You notice him staring, and you furrow your brows. “What are you looking at?”

It’s said aggressively. As if you’re angry. He only then realizes that you might be, and maybe that’s why you ignored him outside. He can’t for the life of himself figure out why you’d be angry – did he say something yesterday?

“Nothing,” he replies, and he looks away as his heart beats out of his chest.

You act like that for the whole of practice. For all the pity looks Heather throws his way, you send twice as many glares. It feels like last night never happened, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just a nightmare, and he never told you everything.

He knows you know though, because whenever he puts too much weight on his leg as he demonstrates the movements he has in mind, you clench your jaw. A muscle feathers under your skin, and then you look away. Shame passes on your features, and then it’s gone to be replaced with a scowl.

He’s getting tired of it by the end of practice, so he pulls you aside to talk. Jiho stubbornly stays next to you, until Hobi walks up to her and asks if he can talk to her, probably sensing that Jungkook needs some time alone with you.

You both glare at each other while the others filter out, wishing you good night. Jungkook hears Scottie teasing Lance about meeting up with a girl, and the last thing he hears is Lance telling him to fuck off before everyone is finally out.

It takes almost twenty seconds before you blink and say, “What do you want?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, folding his arms on his chest as he cocks an eyebrow.

You scoff. “With me? Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

Do you know or do you not? He’s a little confused as you just look at him, clearly expecting an answer. He’s dumbfounded – the last thing he expected from telling you everything was you being furious at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

It’s just a back and forth of questions at this point, with no visible answers in the distance. Indeed, you just say, “Do you think you did something wrong?”

It’s absurd, and it makes him laugh. Which, he reckons, might be taken as insulting. And of course you take it the bad way, because how else would you take it?

“You’re so fucking oblivious,” you grumble.

He’s still laughing. He wants to stop, but for some reason he cannot.

“What’s so funny?” you enquire, and your cheeks are turning red.

“Just,” he starts, “I don’t know. The last thing I expected from last night was you getting angry at me.”

You roll your eyes. “If you were looking for pity you won’t get any from me.”

That’s the thing. He doesn’t want any pity from you. And you saying so makes something warm blossom in his chest, and it sobers him up. His face falls serious, and he holds your gaze long enough that you raise your eyebrows in question.

“Thank you,” he says.

You scoff. “You’re fucking weird, Jeon.”

He shrugs. “That’s why you like me, uh?”

Your eyes widen, and you look so appalled he just starts laughing again. “Quite the opposite actually,” you say even though he’s laughing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I’m just relieved you haven’t changed.”

He really is. You have no idea how much.

“Okay?” you let out, and it sounds like a question. You scoff again, before adding, “Why didn’t you reply to my text?”

Oh, so this is what it’s about. You’re upset because he ignored your text. It feels absurd and stupid and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, so Jungkook just smiles and shrugs. “I genuinely don’t really want to talk about last night. I’m all okay today.”

And he does think he is, now that he’s talking to you.

You remain silent for a while, pulling at some dry skin on your bottom lip. You then brush a strand of hair that’s fallen from your ponytail behind your ear, nodding your head. “Understood. Won’t be nice to you again.”

“Oh please,” Jungkook teases. “You can’t resist it.”

He’s happy. The more he talks to you, the happier he is. He feels like he’s floating, and he wishes you’d both stay right then and there, in the studio, until the end of time.

He hasn’t felt so light in forever.

“Oh, I can, Jeon.” You fold your arms on your chest, imitating his posture. “Watch me.”

But there’s a teasing glint in your eyes, probably awakened by his own teasing demeanour.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your text,” he apologizes, because he feels like he needs to clear the air with you. He doesn’t want you to be upset with him anymore. “I genuinely didn’t know what to say, and I figured I was going to see you tonight anyway.”

You look away for the first time in the conversation. Your eyes move down, and he’s pretty sure you’re looking at the scar on his stomach. It makes it itch, and if he weren’t with you, he’d scratch it. But he resists, offering you a tight-lipped smile as you look up at his eyes again.

“Well, forget I suggested coffee then,” you say. You wink at him. “I’ll start being a bitch again now.”

“Please do.”

You look startled. “You want me to be a bitch?”

He laughs, scratching the nape of his neck. “No.” He scrunches up his nose, thinking really hard about what he wants to say. Only he doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he’s never talked to you before in his whole life. He can barely remember breaking down in front of you not even twenty-four hours ago. “Yes? Just be your same usual self.”

“Noted,” you say, nodding your head forcefully.

It’s cute, and it makes your ponytail swing behind you. He has half a thought to reach and pull on it, just to annoy you, but he resists.

Instead, he looks around, before resuming his attention on you. “Just, one thing.”

You hold his gaze, cocking an eyebrow in question as you purse your lips. “Mmh?”

“Please don’t tell the others,” he says. It’s a little more serious than he was just a second ago, but he feels like it’s needed to get the point across. “I’d prefer if they didn’t know.”

The corners of your lips stretch into a small, soft smile. “I didn’t plan on telling anyone. I figured you’re the one that should tell them if you want to.” You glance towards the door, and you’re not watching him when you add, “I think Bridget told Heather though. And I don’t know if Heather will remain silent”.

He doesn’t care if Heather tells the others. He just doesn’t want you to do it. It makes no sense, but at the same time it makes all the sense in the world to him.

“Yeah, I think she knows too.” He pulls at his piercing, letting out a small sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

You nod, and the room falls silent. He wishes he had more to tell you, but it seems you’ve run out of conversation topics, because you eventually wet your lips and say, “Well, I guess I’ll be going home now”. And then you laugh, shaking your head. “I was supposed to leave with Jiho, but I’m pretty sure she’s gone with Hobi.”

“Hobi talked about her for like an hour before we got here,” Jungkook admits, relieved that you provided a topic. “They’re going on a date tomorrow.”

You smile, widely, and he reckons you’re like him. Your friends’ happiness makes you happy, and happiness truly looks good on you. It makes your eyes sparkle, and you look like a kid who’s just received the perfect gift on Christmas morning.

“I know!” you yelp, taking him by surprise when you even clap your hands. “They’re going to the restaurant I suggested.”

There’s something warm in Jungkook’s chest. It just becomes stronger and stronger the more he looks at you, and it makes him feel wary. Enough so that he looks away and tries to tame it down.

“I hope everything will work out for them,” he says, and he scrapes his throat because the warmth is choking him up now.

“I’m sure it will”, you reply, confidently. “Jiho has been into him for like three years now.”

Jungkook feels bad for her, because three years ago Hobi was still with his ex. But it seems patience makes miracles, because she’s getting a date with Hobi now, isn’t she?

It makes Jungkook realize that sometimes, the right person for someone might have been around all along. They’ve just been blind to it. Now, that’s a thought that makes him want to get out of this room. To flee this cloud before it breaks, and he meets your gaze.

You’re watching him already, with a wistful look on your features. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He hates it. Hates everything that your little sentence makes him feel, so he just nods his head, before saying, “It’s getting late, I should hurry if I want to catch the bus”.

Your eyes widen. “I’ll order you a Lyft, come on.”

“No!” he refuses. “It’s all good.”

“But it’s late,” you insist, and you bend down to grab your phone on your sweater.

It offers Jungkook a straight view to your cleavage, and he freezes, right as pink dusts his cheeks. “I swear,” he reassures you, adding your name before continuing, “I’d rather take the bus. But thank you for the offer.”

You fake-glare at him. “Right, I’m supposed to be a bitch anyway.” You fold your arms on your chest, cocking an eyebrow arrogantly, and you look just like you’ve always looked when you say, “What the fuck are you still doing here? You’re wasting my oxygen.”

It makes the both of you laugh, and Jungkook just shakes his head. “Please, I know you love looking at me.”

You look offended, somehow, and you scoff. “I’d rather gouge my eyeballs out of my head instead of having to look at you for a second longer.”

“Ouch, that was rough.”

“You deserved it.” You shrug your shoulders, before motioning at the door in a swooshing motion. “Now, go lick your wounds somewhere else.”

“Aren’t you leaving too?”

You glare at him now, and you’re so good at it he almost thinks you’re angry. “Why, do you want to walk me home?”

His mouth falls open. Would you let him walk you home? For some reason, he’s pretty sure you’ll punch him if he even suggests it. So instead, he chooses to say, “And suffer the whole way? Nah, I’m good.”

It’s a low-key mention of his injury. You immediately catch on to it, and Jungkook hates the look that takes over your features. He thought that you didn’t have pity for him in you, but it seems you do. You do and it feels like the fist around his heart is back, and the air burns a little.

You seem like you want to say something, but he’s quicker than you.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jungkook.”

“No, I’m serious, don’t you fucking look at me like that.”

And just like that the light atmosphere shifted back into darkness.

You scoff, shaking your head. “And here I was starting to think that you’re a decent guy. Never mind, Jeon.” You scoff once more, and the corners of your mouth are pulled down in a look of pure disgust. “I’m going home.”

He lets you go. He doesn’t even look at you as you pick up your stuff and leave, not once glancing back.

No matter how enjoyable this interlude in your usual relationship was, Jungkook prefers the usual hate. It’s safer, more comfortable, and a habit that protects him from the vulnerability.

Why then is he staring at your text two hours later in his bed at home, unable to fall asleep, wishing he didn’t say what he did?

In all truth, he knows why, he just doesn’t want to formulate the thought. Doesn’t want to give it the power to exist in the confines of his brain. So he ignores it, shoves the warmth in his chest so far down in the hole occupied by his lost dream that he can’t really feel it anymore.

Only then does he feel safe again, but he still can’t fall asleep.

He hopes you’re not struggling with insomnia as much as he is.

Thursday, June 28th

The auditions for nationals are in a week. Seven days, and you’re still not sure you’ve mastered the choreography well. You’re anxious – have been for weeks now – and all you want is to lie down on the floor until everything is over.

Which, coincidentally, is what Lance has been doing for the last fifteen minutes, claiming he needed a break from Jungkook. Because Jungkook is worse than Hobi, making you repeat the choreography for stupid unnecessary things like Jiho’s hair was in her face or Scottie’s shirt rode too high while he was doing a certain move.

In May, when you learned about what happened to Jungkook, you had a few days of feeling bad for him. Wishing you didn’t get in a fight with him during that dance practice, wishing your relationship with him wasn’t just hateful.

It feels like there’s been too much history between you for it to ever change. Because you saw a glimpse of something else, for a few minutes that night. Jungkook was more open, calmer, and his expressions were set in a softer look. It was easier to be around him, more enjoyable, and you wished for a fleeting moment that it could last.

Alas, it only lasted a few minutes before he moved back to the harsh look he reserved for you, only because he assumed you were pitying him. Which, maybe you were. You don’t know. It’s hard to tell when you haven’t been through what he has, and when you can tell he suffers.

But you’re not sure if it’s pity or concern. You don’t think he can tell the difference either.

“Lance,” you grumble as you finish the choreography, heart beating out of your chest. “Get the fuck up we need you.”

Lance mumbles something incoherent, before turning his head away from where you’re glaring at him. It makes you look up to catch Jungkook’s gaze, and he immediately looks away the moment your eyes meet. He’s been doing that a lot now too. Where he used to glare at you or smirk insufferably, Jungkook just ignores you.

You don’t think you like it. But you’ve gotten used to it over the course of the last few weeks, so you just roll along with it now.

You’ve kept his secret safe. You thought it would be hard, especially to hide it from Jiho, but after a few days it just became normal. Jiho has more to tell you about Hobi anyway.

Because they’ve found time to go on dates every week since then. Sweet dates, with him picking her up and bringing her flowers and doing things that he knows make her happy. Even at dance practice, everyone can see how they are sickly into each other. You’re happy for Jiho, you really are, but it’s starting to feel a little lonely.

At least you’ve got Jo and the other girls now too. You’ve met the mysterious Kiko now – a sweet girl with the voice of an angel – and your girl’s nights with Jiho have turned into Thirsty Thursdays. You haven’t understood the meaning of the Thirsty yet, considering all of them are dating now, but you just roll along with it.

It’s led to fun nights, and that really is the only thing that matters, right?

Tonight makes no exception. Jiho, Heather and you have dance practice until 10 pm, and then you’re supposed to meet with the girls at a bar on their side of town. Which means you’re already dressed up, though you put on a sports skirt to avoid showing off your ass to the rest of the boys. Not that it would matter – Scottie is not interested in women at all, Lance only has eyes for Chaeyeon now, Hobi is way too respectful for that and Jungkook doesn’t even look at you anymore.

You scoff, glancing away from Jungkook to settle your gaze back on Lance. “Get up,” you repeat, before walking over to him to kick him in the ribs. “Or I’ll tell Chaeyeon how much of a loser you are.”

He fakes offence. “Me, a loser? Nah, we’re going to win this shit.”

The sudden confidence is a boost to everyone’s mood, and soon enough you’re back to dancing, with a much-needed vigor. It’s enough that Jungkook lets you go after you’ve done the choreographies two times more, telling everyone they did a good job.

“Same time Saturday,” he says.

You think you notice him looking at you in the mirror, but as soon as you turn your head in that direction he’s already glanced away, focusing himself on typing something on his phone.

“We know,” Lance says jokingly, before punching Jungkook in the shoulder.

Jungkook snickers, and he deadpans, “You were two hours late last week because you were too busy with your girlfriend”.

“Can’t blame me,” Lance says, shrugging his shoulders. “Chae comes first, the rest of you can suck it up.” It’s cute and endearing, and your heart feels warm as Lance glances your way. You have no idea what brings him to think of that, but he scans the whole room before suggesting, “We should rent a cottage. After the auditions. We should all get shitfaced for three days straight.”

Hobi laughs from where he’s standing next to Jiho. “Scottie is too young for that.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-two!” Scottie exclaims. “I can get shitfaced.”

“You’re a baby,” Heather puts in. “Just accept it. I refuse to acknowledge the fact you are major now.”

Scottie rolls his eyes, placing a sassy fist on his hip. “Then sucks to be you because I am, and I’m going to get shitfaced with Lance. Right?”

Lance has a large grin on his lips. “Damn fucking right.”

“As long as we get a cottage with a hot tub I’m in,” Jiho says innocently. Hobi cocks an eyebrow as he looks at her, as if he didn’t just say Scottie can’t go. “What?” Jiho adds, shrugging her shoulders. “A cottage weekend does sound like fun.”

It does. It really does. You haven’t gone to the countryside in years now, and you can already picture a cute, picturesque cottage on the side of a lake, with a long quay you can lie on and stargaze. The cottage has a fireplace, a circle of rock in the middle of which flames burn at night until they turn to embers and you roast marshmallows on it. You can almost feel the warmth of the hot tub, and the laughter of friends seems to almost overtake your ears…

Yeah, you’re due for a trip out of the city.

“I want marshmallows,” you say, sighing dreamily. “I haven’t had marshmallows since like…”

“Since the camping trip when we were thirteen? When Jisung got shit on by that seagull?”

You burst out laughing at the same time as Jiho does, right as the memory comes back to you. It had been a fun camping trip, with Jiho’s parents renting a camper. They had invited you along on their trip, and you had gone to the beach with them.

Good memories indeed.

Your laughter recedes, and you notice everyone is looking at you. Even Jungkook. His eyes are a little widened, as if he’s surprised, and there’s a light flush on his cheeks when he looks away.

It’s the strangest sight to see, and you’re unable to shake the feeling away while you get ready with Jiho later to rush to the bar where Jo and the others are already waiting for you. Jiho notices your unease as she applies your eyeliner.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you immediately say, way too fast for it to sound casual.

She just cocks an eyebrow and keeps applying the makeup. At least she has the decency to ignore the blush that creeps on your cheeks.

“It’s just…” you sigh, and turn your head when she starts to work on your second eye. “I don’t know.”

“Jungkook?”

You want to kill her for knowing you so well, so you remain silent, choosing peace over violence.

“I’m going to say something right now that might make you want to kill me,” Jiho says, lips pursed.

“I would advise not saying it,” you mumble and she playfully pats your cheek.

“Don’t move.” You pout, but obey nonetheless. She continues working in silence for a time, before saying, “I know about the accident”.

Your heart stops in your chest, and you’re pretty sure all colours have drained out of your features. You still try to play it cool, saying, “What accident?”

“February last year? Jungkook got injured, then ghosted us. Ring a bell?”

You can’t really pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about, can you? “How do you know?”

“Hobi told me,” she admits. “He made me promise to never talk about it, but he mentioned you knew already.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” she reassures you, having sensed your discomfort. “Actually, it tells a lot about your relationship with JK that you respected his decision.”

You scoff as she pulls the eyeliner away from your face, putting it down on her vanity to grab her La Neige lip tint. “My relationship with Jungkook? We’re not even friends.”

“Why though?”

It’s a good question that just pisses you off further. “Because he’s a dick. He told me about the accident and got angry at me for looking concerned and then he started ignoring me.” You chuckle bitterly. “It’s not like I’m going to try and make him talk to me. I don’t give a shit about him.”

Jiho is silent for a long time. Far too long for it to be normal. Like she doesn’t believe you at all and is waiting for you to realize. You’re just as stubborn, so you don’t say anything as she puts the lip tint on her pretty lips.

It makes for an awkward two minutes, but she’s the one that breaks first. “You don’t believe that.”

You furrow your brows. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

She laughs. Not in a mean way, probably just because your cheeks are burning and she believes she can read you like the back of her hand. “Because you don’t believe that.”

You fold your arms on your chest, sitting back in the chair she’s forced you to sit in while she did your eyeliner. You remain silent once again, clenching your jaw as you choose not to get upset. You’re not sure it works, and Jiho just playfully punches you on the shoulder.

“Calm down, babe,” she says. “He’s changed.”

“He’s still an ass with me,” you point out. “He’s changed with the rest of you guys, but he’s even worse with me. He’s been completely ignoring me for weeks.”

“Because he’s scared of what you think about him.”

“He doesn’t give a shit about what I think of him? He’s made that clear enough.” Jiho goes back to her infuriating silence. And you don’t want the conversation to keep going in that direction, so you ask, “How has it been going with Hobi anyway?”

She flushes red as she always does whenever Hobi is mentioned. “Do not think this conversation is over,” she says, threatening you with the lip tint bottle. “But it’s been…” She chuckles. “It’s been great. I think we’re pretty much official now.”

It’s disgustingly cute. It makes you think of Lance and Chaeyeon, of Heather and Bridget, Jo and Taehyung and Kiko and Yoongi…

It makes you feel lonely, like Lance did earlier. It’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to growing up, so it’s easy to let it slide over you instead of letting it fester inside.

“Look at you,” you say teasingly. “Who knew you’d pull your lifelong crush?”

“Lifelong?” she snickers. “I’ve had a crush on him for like two years.”

You throw a no-bullshit look her way.

“Okay maybe three…”

It makes you both laugh, and it diffuses the situation that was escalating just a moment ago. You’re relieved, because you’re pretty sure if she mentioned Jungkook just once more you would have blown up in her face.

You take shots downstairs with Jisung and Felix before going, and you giggle in the Lyft on the way to the bar the other girls chose. As per usual, you’re the two last to get there – fashionably late is the way to go, right?

It takes you way too long to realize girl’s night will in fact not be girl’s night. Yoongi is the first you notice, maybe because he’s looking at the exit when you walk in, as if he’s just waiting for the right time to bail. He nods as he sees you, and Kiko turns. She smiles her shy smile, the one that doesn’t show her teeth, and she nods as well, almost a copycat of her boyfriend.

Then it’s like a domino effect, and everyone turns to look at you. Nine pairs of eyes, all on you: Jin, Valeria, Taehyung, Jo, Bridget, Heather, Kiko, Yoongi and Jimin. The latter offers you a secretive smile.

You might have been texting him a little. Nothing serious, but he does appear in your dms once in a while, replying to a story you posted. You always decided to ignore him, only liking his replies, but tonight there’s something in the way Park Jimin is looking at you, sitting there, that makes something warm trickle down your spine.

Maybe because of your conversation with Jiho. It’s hard to tell, and your best friend pulls you towards the rest of the group before you can figure it out. The feeling only increases tenfold when you stop next to the table, and Jimin gets up to greet you, quickly followed by the others.

You hug everyone, and Jo holds you a second longer. “Sorry for inviting the rest, Tae begged and I figured…” You pull away from the hug, and she does have a sheepish look on her features. “Thirsty Thursday doesn’t mean no men?”

You laugh at that comment, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

And really, you don’t mind. You like hanging out with them all. You’re relieved they didn’t think to invite Jungkook though, because one thing you’ve figured is that, where Jimin goes Jungkook usually follows.

The night starts off with talking and a few drinks with the group, until you find yourself intoxicated more than you have initially planned to. It doesn’t really matter – you have a day off tomorrow at the internship. Indeed, it only goes from Monday to Thursday, since the lawyer you follow takes the day off on Fridays for the whole of summer.

So you drink, and when they clear a spot for the dancefloor, you let Jiho pull you to it. Let her dance with you, like you usually do when you’re trying to get a guy’s attention. You reckon she’s drunker than you – she’s a giggly mess and she keeps stepping on your feet, which she never usually does. It’s fun, and you feel some anxiety peel away from your skin as if you’re an onion and someone’s about to cut you up to pieces.

You do feel like somebody is about to cut you up to pieces when Jimin moves closer to you, and the smirk on his lips sets something on fire inside of you. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. It doesn’t matter because you pull away from Jiho to move closer to him, almost instinctively.

It’s like he fits like a glove. You face him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him into the dance as his hands find your waist. One of them slips to your back, and he presses you against him as you move to the music, the rhythm a sensual dance between the two of you.

“Hello, you,” he purrs, and you look up at him.

“Hello,” you reply in the same tone, and he makes you spin until your back is facing him. He’s impossibly close and as his hands guide your hips, your eyes trail up.

You entirely stop moving when your gaze meets Jungkook. He’s standing near the door, clad in different clothes than earlier today, but in that same black shade he seems to adore. He also has a chain, with large links that give a rougher vibe to him.

The look on his features is rough too, especially as Jimin leans to speak into your ear. “I thought you might want to piss him off.”

You chuckle, turning your head to gaze at the man behind you over your shoulder. It brings your face way too close to his, and you have to resist the lava in your blood that makes you want to close the gap.

It’s the self-destructive kind of magma, and you don’t feel like indulging in it. Instead, you purr, “Why do you think I’d want to piss him off?”

Jimin chuckles, and you turn your head away from him because damn him, his lips really are inviting. “He’s been a little shit at home. I assume he’s been that way with you too.”

You laugh, and it’s bitter, angry. It surprises even you. “He’s been ignoring me.” You turn in Jimin’s arms, until you’re facing him. You keep your head hung low, enough so that he can’t lean down and press his lips against yours. Jimin is a gentleman though, you know he’d never kiss you without asking for consent first.

“Explains why he’s been a little shit then,” he says matter-of-factly. He straightens a little, putting a comfortable distance between your faces.

“And you think this little show is going to piss him off?”

He smirks, tilting his head to the side. All the while he’s been making you move to the music, and you know to outside gazes you look like you’re flirting. Can planning to piss Jeon Jungkook off count as flirting?

“Oh, I know it will,” Jimin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Jungkook wears his emotions on his face.”

Maybe he does. Around you, his emotion is usually mostly contempt, so you don’t really know.

“What do you gain from pissing him off?” you ask, and you genuinely wonder. What is Jimin trying to do?

“Nothing,” he admits. He purses his lips, before offering you yet another dashing smile. “Mostly I just want to see what he’ll do.”

Jimin pulls you a little closer, and his forehead presses against yours.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, as your heart beats like a hammer against your ribcage. Hell, even if you’re not really into Jimin like that, he’s Park Jimin. You don’t think anyone in their right mind could stay indifferent to him.

“He’s looking right now,” he replies. He chuckles, before saying, “Now, let me tell you what you’re going to do”. His lips move so close to you it feels as if your brain is short-circuiting in your head. “You’re going to act as if I’ve just offended you, and you go to the bathroom.”

“Why?”

“He’ll follow, and maybe he’ll finally…”

Jimin never finishes his sentence. Someone bumps into you, and it breaks the contact between you and him. Instead of pulling you back in, Jimin motions towards the bathroom, offering you an encouraging smile. You’re stunned for a moment, and you hope it does the trick. You hope you really do look offended, because in truth, you were enjoying Jimin’s proximity.

You don’t like that you were. It feels like you shouldn’t be enjoying his proximity at all. He’s not even really your friend anyway.

You don’t have a choice but to follow his advice though, and you turn around, beelining straight to the bathroom. You make your way through the crowd, scrunching up your nose in disgust at the sweaty guy your hand accidentally touched, and a few seconds later you finally find the line to the bathroom.

It’s a unisex bathroom, with three stalls that are currently all occupied. There’s a guy in front of you, and you glare at him as he smiles at you. He frowns, but it works and he turns back around. A stall frees up a little under a minute later, and you’re mindlessly watching a girl washing her hands when a large hand finds the small of your back.

You startle, and you turn around fully ready to knock some sense into whoever it is, until you see it’s Jungkook.

You freeze for a few seconds, and then let out a laugh as you realize whatever Jimin was doing worked.

“You and Jimin, uh,” Jungkook says bitterly, and his hand clenches into a fist where it falls at his side.

You cock your head to the side. “So you’re talking to me now?”

He plays with his piercing in silence, before scoffing. “I was never not talking to you.” You widen your eyes and let out a disbelieved laugh as you fold your arms on your chest. “I’m serious,” he adds. “I just…”

“Don’t even try to explain, Jeon, save your oxygen.”

He’s frowning now, and you reckon he probably has the same expression on his features that you have on yours. “I thought you said you weren’t going to flirt with Jimin.”

“That was over a month ago,” you point out. “People change, unless you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, chuckling bitterly. “But Jimin? There are dozens of guys in this bar, can’t you just choose someone else to fuck?”

You’re starting to see red. You feel it in the tremble that starts deep down in your core, before taking over the whole of your body. “I’m not going to fuck Jimin. He’s just a friend.”

“You dance with all of your friends like that?”

You turn away from him, hoping one of the stalls will be free now, but you’re in no luck. He grabs your arm, forcing you to turn back around. Your eyes drop to his hand on your arm. His fingers are gentle, way gentler than his features. “Fucking let go of me,” you snap. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t know what part of getting into an accident made you want to act like you’re just a fucking victim of everything around you but my life has nothing to do with yours. Why do you fucking care?”

He looks stunned. “I… What?”

His confusion douses your fury, and you furrow your brows. “What do you mean, what?”

“I don’t care.”

You don’t know who he is trying to convince right now. And you don’t feel like getting to the bottom of it with him. In fact, you really don’t like the look on his face, and you just want to put distance between you and him. So you roll your eyes, before saying, “Alright then, leave me alone, Jeon. I won’t dance with Jimin again.”

He doesn’t even look happy or relieved that you’re saying that. Instead, his features fall a little, moving from a frown to a sad expression that makes something stir in your chest. “I… If you want to get with Jimin, you can.”

Now, you really are confused. “You come here to be a little bitch about this all and now you’re saying it’s fine?”

He pulls at his piercing, and his eyes flicker to the man that walks past you, indicating that a stall must be free now. “Yeah. If that’s what you want, who am I to tell you not to do it?”

You don’t know. You have no idea how the conversation managed to take this turn, so you wet your lips, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “I was being a dick. You’re right, I should stop acting like I’m a fucking victim.”

Now, your heart really does ache in your chest. Because what you said was inconsiderate, and you don’t even really mean it. Not the way that he interpreted it though, that’s for sure.

“Jungkook…”

“No, it’s really okay,” he says. He still looks sad, but he offers you a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry.”

Just like that he’s walking away, and why are you following him? You stop him by grabbing his arm, just like he did to you a moment ago. You hold on to him longer than he did to you, because his skin is warm under your fingers. His tattoos didn’t take away the softness of his skin, and you don’t really want to let him go. Not just yet.

“I didn’t mean it.” You look him in the eyes as he turns just enough so that his gaze can meet yours. “I got angry.”

“No but you’re right,” he insists. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know why I don’t like you talking to Jimin. You can do whatever you want.”

You let his arm go, albeit reluctantly. “If it can reassure you, I am not interested in Jimin like that. Like yes, he’s attractive, but I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

At that Jungkook laughs. It’s somehow melancholic, and you reckon you’ve brought his demons to the forefront of his mind tonight. “Jimin-hyung doesn’t do relationships, you’re in luck.”

“No,” you grumble, and you shut your eyes, as if you have to explain something to a thick-headed five years old. “I’m really not interested in Jimin. Like at all.” Your eyelids flutter open, and you catch the movement of Jungkook’s eyes as they snap away from you.

“Okay,” he lets out flatly. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

He looks genuine. You’d be angry at him if he didn’t really look as genuine as he does right now.

“Nothing’s ruined, I promise,” you reassure him and you offer him a small smile. “I was tired of dancing anyway.”

The word ‘dancing’ has his gaze trail to the dancefloor, and he bites at his piercing before glancing back at you. “Oh.”

You realize this is awkward. Because what you said really seems to have upset Jungkook. And you can’t really blame him, it was low. The only thing is, you’re not close enough to him to make him understand. So all you can do when he says he’s going to head home is wish him goodnight.

You feel horrible as you watch him leave, and he’s only just crossed the doors leading to the world outside when you break into a small jog. You make it outside in a hurry, just to see he’s leaning against the wall next to the door.

He seems startled to see you, and you feel just as startled to see he hasn’t really left yet.

“I was wondering,” you let out, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Are you going to come to the cottage? You didn’t say you would earlier.”

You have no idea why that’s come to your mind, but you’re just going to roll with it.

“Uh.” He glances down at his phone in his hand. “Am I even invited?”

You wet your lips, shrugging. “I mean, you’re part of the crew, of course you are.”

He holds your gaze for so long you think the Earth has time to revolve around the sun once before he speaks again. “Am I really part of the crew?”

You reckon he might need to hear it, so you don’t hesitate when you say, “Of course. We’d be nothing without you.”

At that the sad expression on his features melts away. It does so slowly, starting with his eyes. They crinkle at the corners, sparkling a little, and then it trickles down his face, until the corners of his lips tug upwards. It makes you smile too, and you just gaze at each other like that for a few heartbeats. It feels intimate, miles away from the usual bickering and hatred that you share.

It’s new, but it doesn’t feel scary. Jungkook doesn’t feel scary when he’s smiling softly.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he finally says.

It makes you blink, and it’s like the scene is coming back into focus. You realize there are a couple of people smoking a few meters away, and a soft breeze pushes the smoke towards you. You hate the smell, but somehow you can’t shake the smile from your lips.

“Good.” You nod once, and you glance towards the door. “I guess… I guess I’ll let you go home then.”

He nods too, and he tilts his head to the side. He’s surveying you with those big eyes of his. They shine with stars right now, as if his happiness brings the constellations to his gaze. Or maybe it’s just the reflection from the streetlights and car headlights, but it’s beautiful.

Jungkook has beautiful eyes.

“Just waiting for a Lyft,” he says, motioning up with his phone.

You worry at your lips, before flattening your skirt mindlessly. “Is it going to be here anytime soon?”

He looks at the rectangle of light, face falling serious. It takes him a few seconds, but then he nods. “Yep. Should pull up pretty much now.”

You glance at the two sides of the street, and sure enough a car slows down until it stops in front of you. “Alright then,” you say. “Good night, Jeon.”

You don’t usually say his last name like you said it just now. It feels different, in all the right ways that it can.

“Good night,” he echoes, tentatively adding your name at the end. “I’ll see you at practice Saturday?”

“Yes. See you then.”

You’re grinning like an idiot when you’re home later, thinking of the interaction. It felt refreshing to be with Jungkook like that. As if you can be friends.

You never imagined you would want to be friends with him, but somehow tonight you want it. It only doubles up when a series of texts appears on your screen, hiding the top part of the anime you’re watching in bed before going to sleep.

[3:02 am] unsaved number: lmaooi jmin saud i cockblocled him😂 [3:02 am] unsaved number: cockblocked* [3:02 am] unsaved number: sry im drunk

You laugh softly, turning on your back as you pause the anime. You go to the conversation, and you’re about to reply when he adds,

[3:03 am] unsaved number: plz ignorr this

You don’t hesitate when you save his number under his name.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

What do we think of this chapter?? Enemies to lovers not too enemies anymore uh? Hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!

Taglist: (strike-through means dumblr is not letting me tag you my bad)

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k-s-morgan · 1 year ago

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Those Gentle Slopes: Snippet 2

Another snippet - this is a long one!

-------

Falling asleep was impossible. Ciel curled into a ball, trying to get warm, staring at the black sheep Sebastian had given him.

It was a ridiculous gift, but he might have gotten attached to it. A little bit.

He kept it hidden, but with how cold and oddly empty he’d been feeling the last several days, indulging himself and bringing it out didn’t seem like a bad idea. Now it decorated his bedside table, visible even in the dark, and a tiny glow of warmth flickered in him at its sight.

It was two o’clock in the morning, and Ciel was stuck between dozing off and being awake. His body plunged into a sleepy trance, but his mind was alert, tracking the passing of time and the sounds his manor was emitting.

That was why when the air shifted, Ciel instantly noticed it. The enticing smell of night and sharpness spread through the room, more distinct now than it had ever been before. Was it because of some traces of Sebastian’s blood that still wandered through his body? Ciel always felt attuned to his presence, but he’d never sensed it so startlingly well.

A formless shadow moved towards him. It lingered for a couple of minutes, as if undecided about what to do, and then it shifted and grew until Sebastian emerged from within. Contrary to Ciel’s expectations — hopes? — he didn’t look at him. No, he stared at the sheep, his lips pursed tightly in consideration. Finally, he reached for it, his slender fingers wrapping around it with slow but grim certainty.

And suddenly Ciel understood. He understood, and his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. An icy chill burned him, and when he tried to speak, he realised that he couldn’t. A huge knot was blocking his throat.

Sebastian had come to take his gift away.

It was so— petty of him. So unprovoked, so unfair — Ciel was breathless with how betrayed he instantly felt.

It wasn’t his fault that some wretched demon had chosen to put a curse on his soul and that Sebastian could no longer sense it! Yes, it was a problem, but a problem that wasn’t permanent. They could deal with it. They would deal with it, if only Sebastian wasn’t like this, if he didn’t act like Ciel was so repulsive that he couldn’t bear to even look at him!

The hurt was crushing. Every part of his body throbbed with it, and Ciel thought that if Sebastian were to murder him now by slicing him open, they’d both see the unnatural bleeding redness of his insides. How many more injuries was he supposed to take before this internal bleeding killed him?

Desolation demanded that he shut his eyes and pretend that this wasn’t happening. He didn't want to fight, he didn’t want to risk betraying the devastation that had been slowly gnawing on him all these days. Sebastian had already seen enough. Maybe it was better to hide and to forget about the world at least until the morning. Every moment of reprieve was a blessing.

Ciel almost did just that. The temptation to give up, to wallow in his misery was strong, but the glow he’d felt from watching this stupid figurine blazed into a spark of fury, and he clung to it with all he had.

He needed to get angry. And if he couldn’t, he had to pretend that he was — at least that he was more angry than hurt. Soon enough, his stupid brain would catch up.

“What are you doing?” he asked coldly. Sebastian almost flinched. His grip around the figurine loosened before tightening again.

“I didn’t realise you’re awake,” he said. Ciel had to swallow this insult.

“This doesn’t answer my question.”

Sebastian licked his lips, glancing at the sheep before finally looking at him. His eyes were guarded.

“This wasn’t supposed to be a permanent gift,” he said smoothly. “I have—”

“Liar.”

Sebastian halted. A familiar mix of annoyance and surprise crossed his features, but before Ciel could pounce on it, the distant mask snapped back on.

For a moment, Sebastian regarded him with cold eyes. Like this, he was a stranger, unfamiliar and untouchable, and the pang of loss that seared through Ciel almost left him gasping for air.

Almost. He’d be damned if he showed any reaction.

“You have no need for it,” Sebastian uttered at last. He rolled the figurine in his fingers. “I made it from the essence of my power. You receive no benefit from it. If anything, it is poisoning you.”

“Poisoning me how?”

Sebastian hesitated again, and a dark feeling stirred in Ciel. It was obvious that he was being fed more lies. Was he supposed to believe that this indifferent version of Sebastian cared about the effects of his gift when the real Sebastian, the one who had given it to him, hadn’t bothered? As if.

“Tell me the truth,” Ciel hissed. Hissing was good — it masked the pathetic wobbling of his voice. “Tell me why you are really taking it.”

He caught the second in which Sebastian decided to stop pretending. His expression cooled further. A sneer twisted his face, and the look he sent him was vehement, full of unexplainable bitter resentment.

“I am taking it because it is turning you into something you are not.”

With the way it sounded, Ciel was certain it was another insult. Only he couldn’t understand it.

Sebastian had to know it. He tilted his head, looking at him, searching for something and, based on his mounting frustration, not finding it. This maddening stare was enough to make Ciel’s hackles rise.

It’s not my fault, he wanted to cry out. My soul is still there even if you can’t see it. Why are you punishing me for it? It’s not how we are.

Only it was, wasn’t it? Sebastian was a demon, and in the end, hunger was what mattered most to him. How many times did Ciel have to remind himself of it for the notion to finally stick?

He had a feeling that if he asked for elaborations, Sebastian would say something even more terrible. In a way, it was graceful of him to stay silent. If Ciel wanted to protect himself from other blows, he just had to use the easy solution and to shut up.

But using easy solutions was never among his strengths.

“Turning me into what?” he asked carefully. A shadow flickered across Sebastian’s face, and then he sighed.

“It is turning you into someone special,” he said. He sounded disappointed, and though it was the blow Ciel had been waiting for, it still had him flinching. “Someone more than a human. The more you are surrounded by my energy, the bigger effect it has on you. It makes you see things that you would have never been able to see otherwise, and this… this adds colours to you that you simply lack in reality.”

Ciel frowned, trying to make sense of it. Sebastian’s energy was making him special? It gave him some abilities he shouldn’t have? He didn’t notice any extraordinary changes in himself.

But based on Sebastian’s grim look, he was the only one.

“I can see it clearly now,” Sebastian murmured. “You are…” he paused. More hesitation; another flash of resentment. “Without your soul, you are an aesthetically pleasing package with nothing of substance underneath. It is not your fault. After all, all humans are simple-minded. But it fooled me into perceiving you differently, and I am not going to repeat this mistake again.”

“Simple-minded,” Ciel repeated softly. He felt strangely disconnected from his own body. “I am simple-minded?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. His uncertainty was palpable, and Ciel could hear it echoing in his voice when he said, “Perhaps less so than other people.”

#my fics #sebaciel #black butler #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis

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givemea-dam-break · 2 years ago

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that funny feeling (locklyle)

a/n: this is my first locklyle fic please by kind lmfao. convinced to write this by the amazing @neewtmas and @waitingforthesunrise, so i hope you all enjoy this - it was inspired by the locklyle angst playlist a bunch of us have going so be warned :) this also brings holly munro into the story, but don't worry if you haven't read the books because i don't mention her too much. it isn't too long since i'm just testing the waters for my locklyle stuff lol

warnings: big sad taglist: @wellgoslowly @galactidiot

part 2

The days were beginning to melt together.

How long had he been lying here, hoping, praying, for Lucy to come back? For her to walk through the front door, bags in hand, declaring that she was coming back? That she never meant to leave? A few weeks, maybe. Or was it months? He had lost track of time.

Her absence was a tangible thing, something that he could reach out and feel so acutely that its sharp, jagged edges sliced his fingertips and cut deep into his heart. But, even still, sometimes he'd forget. He'd make her a cup of tea in the morning, just how she liked it - more milk than he or George would take, sometimes with a spoonful of honey if she wanted a little sweetness - only for it to sit atop the counter, growing cold. Neither he nor George had the heart to empty it into the sink. Holly would arrive, expecting it, and dump it out, but Lockwood knew that it pained her to do so too.

Waiting was useless. There were things that needed to get done. Cases for Lockwood and Co were piling up after the antics of last November, and they were steadily gaining a reputation. He needed to focus on that. On the thing he had always wanted.

But what was it worth when the one person he wanted most wasn't there, right by his side?

Part of him hoped that Lucy would see his pictures in the newspaper. Maybe she'd miss him as much as he did her, maybe it would be the thing that made her realise that she didn't need to leave. That she could come back.

He still couldn't make sense of her sudden resignation. She was worried that she couldn't control her Talents well enough, that she'd put them all in danger. But how could she? When she was the very thing that had saved Lockwood time and time again?

So, there he lay, sprawled on the attic's bed. The bed she once lay in night after night for years now. It still smelled like her; of lavender and some nice soap he couldn't distinguish. His excuse? This room was once his, and he was feeling reminiscent. He missed looking out of the window onto the street behind Portland Row, down into the back garden where the apple trees stood tall. He missed the warmth that flooded the room during the day, and the calm, soothing cool at night.

Everyone knew better, and he knew that, too.

Sometimes he'd just lie there, thoughtless and quiet. Other times, he would talk as if Lucy was there in the room with him. He'd practice his speech, the one he'd use to finally get her back, gazing at the picture he kept on her nightstand - one of the two of them and George she'd taken on an old camera she'd found stuffed in the wardrobe. She'd run down the stairs excitedly, demanding a picture, and George was forced into it, which his half-smiling expression showed. If Lockwood looked close enough, he could see the faint green glow on the lower right side of all of their faces from Skull, who had been pulling horrid faces at them.

He loved that picture with his whole heart. Her smile, so radiant, was completely and entirely entrancing, and she just seemed so, so happy with her face pressed up against his. So what went wrong?

Heaving a sigh, he released the pillow he so often clung to desperately like a child, and sat up. There were things that needed to be done. Research for a case. Make some new salt bombs. Have a shower. Had he already had one? He couldn't very well remember.

He could hear George clattering around downstairs doing God knows what - he wasn't too fond of the idea of finding out, petrified at the thought of finding his best friend half-naked doing some sort of yoga again - and there was Holly just down the stairs, muttering something or other. She did that often now. He could never tell what it was she was saying, but he recognised the lost look in her eyes. She and Lucy may not have been on the best of terms, but she missed her. Badly.

This was always the worst part. Starting the day.

Without Lucy, the whole routine felt empty. Where was her smile, or her snarky comments directed at Skull, the same ones he often worried were actually for him? Where were those bright eyes that would look at him with such happiness when he paid her a - supposedly - mindless compliment? Or the moments where she'd put him in his place with just a few words? Oh, how he missed those dearly.

It always left a funny feeling in his chest, thinking about those times. A mixture of a strange grief, a mourning for someone who had not died but rather had left of their own volition, and of horrible loss, almost like losing a limb. Like losing a crucial part of himself. Because, really, that's what Lucy was to him. She was everything.

Even still, he dragged himself from her bed, lingering for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom like he always did, before trudging down, down, down to the kitchen.

Relieved to find George not in the midst of a horrific yoga demonstration, but rather shoving pots and pans into the cupboards, he brewed himself some tea.

He tried to ignore the way his hand hovered in front of Lucy's mug, which was stained from the tea they never seemed to be able to fully scrub away, and sat at the table, staring into the murky brown of his brew. Lucy always made it look so much more appealing.

No matter how hard he tried to disregard the little things, she seemed to be everywhere he looked. There was a sketch on the thinking cloth of Inspector Barnes as an elephant, tooting his trunk. And, there, the vase of flowers she'd set during their last meal together, a bundle of long-since-wilted lilacs she'd picked from the back garden. Over on the counter, there was a large circular ring where Skull would often reside, covered by a teatowel, and it was as if his evil had seeped from the silverglass and into the countertop, never to be removed.

Lockwood wondered if Skull, as crude as he was, was at least keeping Lucy company. He'd hate for her to be on her own.

"I don't know how Holly does this," George grumbled. He shoved another pan into the cupboard haphazardly. "It's impossible."

As if on cue, the pans toppled, crashing down around George and onto the floor. Holly appeared seconds later, scolding him as she easily slotted them in and shut the door.

Like every other day, there was a certain tension in the air that none of them seemed to be able to shake, no matter how hard they tried. Holly could bring all the almond-iced doughnuts she could carry; George could make the most absurd comments to ever have graced this earth to make them laugh; hell, Lockwood could smile and charm all he wanted, but it never amounted to anything. Not without Lucy.

He had been searching for a reason to get her back since the day he'd left her at that café, too frustrated and dejected to even try and continue the conversation. Were there any cases he could hire her for now that she was an independent agent? That seemed like the only logically sound way to get her to be with them again. To be with him. He couldn't just turn up to her new flat, so far away from Portland Row, and beg her to come home. No matter how badly he wished he could.

So, he picked up his newspaper and flicked through it, hoping to forget about her for just a moment.

But it was impossible. How could one simply forget about Lucy Carlyle? Lucy Carlyle and her jibes; Lucy Carlyle and her beautiful smile and eyes; Lucy Carlyle and the warmth she provided Lockwood with. Especially when her adverts were in the paper.

Lockwood could not forget about her for even a moment, something he had come to realise every single day since she'd left. Not after she'd allowed him to feel. To feel pure joy and humour and wonderful frustration and love.

That's perhaps what hurt the most about it all. Not her reasoning. Not the suddenness of it. Rather, the things she'd arisen inside of him, feelings he hadn't truly allowed since the deaths of his family. Letting people in was far too real, and he didn't want to permit them to the same fates as the other people he had loved and lost. But Lucy, oh, Lucy. She was supposed to be different. She was supposed to stay.

But she left, and he missed her more than should ever be possible. He knew he should've expected it, but he had allowed himself to hope. Lucy had sparked that hope inside of him, and even now it still lingered, waiting for her to return.

He was stupid for it, he knew. It was the only thing that kept him going - the notion that she may decide that she was wrong and come back to him. But it was unlikely to happen. So he had to come to terms with it, as would Holly and George.

And, so, her seat would stay vacant. Her mug would remain stained. Lockwood would creep into her room at night, falling asleep under the watchful eye of her photograph. All the while, she would sleep beneath a different roof, under the same sky, so, so far from him.

#locklyle #anthony lockwwood x lucy carlyle #lockwood x lucy #lockwood and co fanfiction #locklyle fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #george cubbins #holly munro #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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cinebration · 2 years ago

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Already Awake (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Part 2; Request]

Hii can you please write part 2 for "Already Awake" please i love it so much

And i just wanted to say i love your writing❤❤❤❤—Requested by anon

Part 1 | Part 2

Tagged: @constantshitposter, @whiskeywinter89, @beautifulsweetchaos, @dreamingaboutyousworld, @itsrubberbisquit, @pretty-toxic-revolver, @the-soot-sprite

Warnings: none

Gif Source: dobrien

Everything ached with the fire of a thousand suns, and yet there were still miles to go before you arrived at what you hoped was salvation. To be delivered from this not-dream, you had to travel across the Continent beside the gruff, almost surly white-haired man whose help had been reluctantly given after seeing how piteous you were in this strange land.

Having never ridden a horse before, you were ill-suited to it. The rhythm of the horse’s trot eluded you, reminding you of your old piano lessons. Your teacher, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, had a voice like a whip when you failed to adhere to the metronome. If ever you had disbelieved that rhythm had never been your strong suit, your inability to match the horse’s stride painfully drove the point home.

The sharp chill of the encroaching winter in conjunction with every jolt of pain through your joints from the horse’s trot convinced you that you were not slumbering at all. A faint spark of hope burned in a secret part of yourself, whispering, It’s still a dream, just a vivid one. You’ll forget upon waking.

It grew dimmer with each passing day, burning brightest only in the morning as you emerged from real sleep into this other world. In the wee hours of the morning, the sun cresting above through the trees, its light more diffuse each sunrise as winter drew nearer, you prayed—to whom, to what, to whatever was necessary—that you would wake properly. Bargaining, you offered to sacrifice reading fantasy, even watching it on TV, if only you would be delivered.

If the man, Geralt, hear you in those moments, he kept silent, preferring his own company. The gruff, brooding type had always been one of your favorites in stories, but sitting beside the real thing, sharing silent meals, was less disappointing and more unnerving. You weren’t sure the man was fully or truly human, and you couldn’t help wondering if he was leading you to certain doom.

“How much further?” you asked on the sixth morning, the words a pained croak as fire lanced up your battered back.

“Another two days,” he answered as gruff as he always did, his voice rasping like coal.

“Two days,” you muttered, suppressing a tired sob. “Two days.” It seemed an eternity, the whole week several eternities.

The horses plodded along at a leisurely pace in the early morning sunshine slicing rays through the trees lining the road.

“Will they be able to send me home?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You twisted in your saddle, winced as more pain shot through you, and dared to look at his rugged features.

He fixed golden-yellow eyes on you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“There’s no guarantee?”

“Nothing is guaranteed.”

Strangling a noise of distress, you clenched tight the reins of your horse until your knuckles turned white and fresh pain crackled up your forearms. The tiny spark of hope dimmed further, a mere ember in ash.

You didn’t speak again until dinner that evening. The fire crackled and blazed comfortingly, but you loathed the sight of it. You never wished to see a campfire again.

“Who are they?” you asked, chewing on the tough jerky Geralt had produced from his pack. “Your friend.”

The man hesitated long enough for you to wonder if he had heard you at all. “A sorceress,” he said at last.

“A sorceress? With real magic?” The words rang in your ears, hitching your breath and skipping your heart. Magic? Well, of course, you reasoned. If this is a fantasy world, then magic should abound.

Geralt grunted assent, a shadow darkening his rough features. A chill clawed up your spine as you saw the ominous cloud flicker over him.

“Is that…is that a bad thing? Is she a bad thing?”

“No.”

“A-are you sure? Because it doesn’t sound like you are.”

Geralt closed his eyes, his shoulders hunching minutely beneath his leather coat. “It’s…complicated.”

Your guts twisted. “Complicated for me or complicated for you?”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Both, I would imagine.”

“Great. That’s just…great.” Between the pain and the unexpected news, you lost your appetite, shredding the jerky with your thumbs instead. “There isn’t…there isn’t somebody else?”

“Not with the same kind of power.”

Night birds called from their perches in the trees as the fire cracked and popped. You forced yourself to eat more of the jerky, hearing your mother’s admonition to clean your plate. Your vision blurred as you thought of her.

“I don’t even know how I got here,” you mumbled, your throat tightening as you felt sobs building in your chest. “If I don’t know that, how will your friend know how to send me home?”

The man offered nothing but silence.

Shifting on the log, you gasped with pain as new waves of it rolled through your legs and torso. Curses flew from your lips as you struggled to find a spot that didn’t ache, anything for a slight reprieve. Tears spilled down your cheeks despite your valiant efforts to stop them.

Slumping onto your side, you curled up beneath the cloak the man had given you, the flames of the fire wavering before you. The ground was too hard, the air too cold. Everything would hurt forever, and there would be no relief.

“You shouldn’t have told me I was awake,” you cried. “You should have let me believe I was dreaming.”

Geralt remained silent.

#Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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zeeamoe · 2 months ago

Text

The Boy That Sits Alone In The Front Row Always Wears A Black Sweater

Original story Words: 3,230 Genre: Romance, Drama, Slice of life Warning(s): Self-harm

Even when it was in the middle of summer, he would always wear his black sweater. No matter how hot it gets.

One time, the air conditioner broke down. It wasn't fixed until the next two weeks. And since our class is on the second floor, there wasn't a lot of wind coming through the window. It was like being stuck in a giant oven for two hours, yet he still wore the sweater.

I can understand why he had to suck up and bear with it on the first day it happened. Of course, all of us had to, with whatever outfit we put on that day.

We had two more courses that took place in that room. Each lasted for two hours. So, a total of six hours per week in the furnace.

I still don't understand why they didn't just schedule those classes in a different room.

The second day, knowing that I was going into the oven for another two hours, I knew I had to wear something that would keep me from being baked alive. But we had another class in a different room before that, so I decided to wear a thin shirt with a tank top underneath. Then I unbuttoned it and left it that way for the next class.

Everyone else was wearing less outfit compared to the day before, but he still wore the thick black sweater from yesterday.

Did he forget?

Did he assume the air conditioner would be fixed in one day?

I didn't think much about it, but then he wore it again in the next class.

And kept wearing it until the air conditioner was fixed.

Because of this, I sometimes glance around the room during class to see what he was wearing. Just out of curiosity. And after I got my confirmation that he was, in fact, wearing a black sweater, I didn't pay attention to him any longer.

But then I noticed during that time that whenever I looked for him, my eyes would always land in the same spot for every class.

He would always sit in the front row. And he would always sit in the corner. Didn't matter which corner. If I didn't see him on the right, then he must be on the left.

At first I thought, 'Wow, he must be a real nerd to sit in front everyday and listen to the lecture.' Until I glanced at him one day and he was playing candy crush on his phone.

Oh. He wasn't paying attention.

In fact, he was playing a different kind of game at random times during class. Was he not afraid to get caught?

Then I noticed that the professors never called on him. They never turn to look at his direction at all. As if he had no presence.

So, maybe his seating choice was a strategy?

I concluded that he was the type of person who didn't care about college that much but only enough to never skip class and get a passing grade. However, I was proven wrong.

In one of our classes, we had a pop quiz. The professor stated that it was a pre-test for the next chapter, so it was fine even if we flunked it. And I thought, 'There was no way in hell that guy could get a passing grade!'

He got a perfect mark. Everyone else barely got half of the questions correct.

How is that fair?

Another thing is that he never talked to anyone. The seat beside him would be empty, or someone would sit there but they were obviously not his friend. Because he didn't interact with them at all.

What is this? The guy with no friends who plays games everyday is secretly a genius? And what's with wearing the same black sweater everyday? Is that part of his mysterious persona?

Does he have multiple black sweaters? Or does he use the same disgusting sweater everyday? Hopefully he washes them over the weekend.

He's a peculiar human. But is he interesting enough for me to befriend and get to know him? Nope.

He was the type of person that if you didn't put in any kind effort to get close to him, you might never interact with him at all. He seems to purposely not be acknowledged by anyone and stay invisible.

Strangely, despite observing him these past few weeks, I don't think I can accurately describe his face. I don't think I can even accurately imagine what he looks like.

The only time I managed to see his face was when I walked into the classroom. That is, if he had arrived earlier than me. Most of the time, he did. But even then, he would be looking down on his phone or looking away from my angle.

It wasn't until halfway through the semester that I got to talk to him.

I had a different class that day before the one with him in it, and I sat in the front row because I had to do a presentation. My phone was running low, so I charged it in the corner and left it there. After that class, I grabbed my things to move to the third row because I didn't want to stay in the front, but I forgot my charger in the socket.

I only realized it in the middle of the next class because my phone was running low again.

Fortunately, the black sweater guy was sitting exactly where I sat, and I was directly two rows behind him.

The row between us was empty so I had to call out to him.

"Hey!"

I had to whisper, of course, so as not to bother the lecture.

Ah, what was his name again?

"Psst! Hey!"

The guy turned to his side to see that there was no one sitting beside him, then he looked back confused.

"Yes! I'm calling you! I left my charger under your seat. Grab it for me, yeah?"

He didn't answer me.

He just silently unplugged the charger and handed it over.

Since we were two rows away, he had to get up and stretch his arm out.

That was the first time I managed to get a good look at his face. And I caught sight of his wrist when the sleeve of his black sweater was pulled back a bit.

Thin faded lines came to view.

I saw something that I shouldn't have. But he didn't notice what I saw.

"Thanks," I said as he turned away and sat back down.

I knew that he always crossed my mind every once in a while, but that was the first time I couldn't think of anything other than him for the rest of the class.

Should I say something?

I had to do something, but what can I do? Tell him to get help? Would he do it if I told him to? Should I help him? What rights do I have? He obviously didn't want anyone to get close.

Should I just pretend I never saw anything?

Maybe everything is all right now. Maybe he wore the black sweater to cover up his past and hoped no one would ever bring it up.

Besides, someone with good grades wouldn't do that to themselves.

Someone with a smart head wouldn't throw away their future, right?

I can understand if it was someone who struggled to get through college.

If it was someone who had to make their own notes and spent hours and hours reading and absorbing them far before the day of the test.

If it was someone who, even after all that, might still not get a passing grade.

Or someone who, after all that, got an average grade. But it was like a miracle that it brought tears to their eyes and they celebrated.

But that's not me. Because I never put in that much effort.

I've tried that before and got disappointed.

What's the point in wasting your time to study when you know you're going to fail anyway?

I feel so miserable every time I get my results back that I have to surround myself with other people. If they do worse, it makes me feel a little bit better.

And I might be failing one of my courses.

The one where he keeps getting perfect marks. Actually, he gets perfect marks in all the courses I have with him.

He comes into class just enough before being considered late, plays on his phone the whole time, leaves early, and aced every test.

Must be hard to live with such a great mind.

Finals week was around the corner and I considered giving up.

I didn't get a passing grade for midterm. And I didn't have enough marks on my assignments to cover that. If I didn't get at least an A on the last project, I have to retake the class.

So, I did what every college student does when they got desperate to pass the course.

"Can you do my final project for me?"

I managed to talk to him after one of our classes where he didn't rush out of the room the moment our professor concluded the lecture.

"You always get perfect grades, right? Do my project and I'll pay you. It doesn't have to be good, just enough to get an A."

He frowned with an annoyed expression.

"No."

"Kidding! I meant to ask for help with my project. I'm serious about paying, though. Help me out?"

"No."

"What? What do you mean 'No'?"

He walked past me without responding.

"Ah, wait! If I don't get an A, I have to retake this class and I can't afford that. Please?"

He kept walking.

"I really was joking about asking you to do my project. I just need some pointers. Tips! Or... if you have any notes?"

I continued to follow him and pester him about the project. I didn't have any other reason I could use to talk to him.

He didn't completely brush me off or pick up his pace. He just kind of ignored me.

"Please? I'm desperate. And If you do have any kind of notes, I'll buy them. But I might ask you a lot of questions, though, because I might be too dumb to understand it. Or if you're already working on your project, can I see them? Just for a reference! I swear I won't copy them. I will even send you my own project before submission so you can make sure of that. Anything is fine! Really!"

"I don't care."

"Ouch. I'm not really asking you to care, though. Just help me out this once! I'll owe you anything. And did I mention that I'll pay?"

Unexpectedly, he stopped and threw a tired look at me.

"You said you can't afford to retake the class, but you'll pay me to help you?"

Busted.

"Well, I kind of hope we can agree on the best price for the both of us!"

"Aren't you just lazy?"

"No? Well, a little. No, but I will do my project on my own. I just need a little help."

"Stop following me."

Pretty funny that he only said that after we got off of campus grounds. But I ignored his wishes just as he ignored mine. He didn't complain that I was still obviously behind him.

"But have you started working on the project? You know it's worth like 30%, right? I imagined someone like you must have started working on it the moment it was announced, you know?"

"Someone like me?"

He didn't even turn to look my way as he said that. He sounded tired.

"I don't know, you always get perfect marks, even on quizzes that didn't matter. You always get the best score. You know some of them won't affect our grades, right? And you always sit in front for some reason. Are lectures that interesting? That's an opinion I can never understand."

"No."

"Sorry?"

"I haven't started. Also, I don't listen to the lectures. I play games in class."

Yeah, I know.

"Really? Then how do you keep getting top marks? Oh! Did you cheat? Have you been cheating on tests the whole time? Am I asking the wrong guy to ask for help?"

He paused for a bit.

"Yes."

Was that... a joke?

I guess he just said that to make me stop asking for help.

I laughed at him.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Ask anyone else for help."

"Nooo! All my friends are dumb! I mean, I'm dumber, but they're still too dumb to help me get an A!"

"It has to be an A?"

"I got 33 on midterm!"

"...and your other-"

"Everything else adds up to 36. I did the math already and I need at least an 85 to pass. That is at least an A."

"Heh."

He just chuckled! This motherf*cker. He's the type to laugh at others' misery, huh? I guess I'm not one to talk.

There's a student housing right across our campus. I thought we were walking there, but we went past it. I guess now I know why I never saw this guy around whenever I visit my friends in the dorms. He probably never hung around after class.

Instead, we stopped at a tall apartment building. It looked more like a place for businessmen rather than college students. It looked expensive.

"Wow, you live here? This place looks nice! Oh, it's like 5 minutes from the subway, too!"

"Why are you still here?"

"You're helping me with my project!"

"I never agreed to that."

"Why am I here then?"

He gave a long sigh and walked into the apartment. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't put in more effort in kicking me out.

The inside of the building was even more luxurious than what I imagined. Apparently he lived on the 18th floor. He must have a great view of the city. No wonder he always went straight home after class. I would too. With an apartment this cool, I wouldn't mind staying in everyday either.

We stopped in front of the door to his apartment.

Again, I'm surprised he let me into the elevator.

"Warning. It's messy."

"Got it."

At least he has some manners. Classic. Everyone always says their room is messy, but it's never as bad as they say.

The moment he opened the door, a foul stench of garbage attacked my nose.

He went inside like it was nothing and turned on the lights.

"Make yourself at home."

There were water bottles everywhere. A garbage can beside the kitchen sink was filled to the brim and surrounded by random plastic bags that were also filled with trash. The air was stuffy. Some furniture was piled with dust.

I didn't hesitate to make a disgusted face.

"You mean make myself at a waste disposal site"

"You can always leave."

This time, I gave a long sigh.

The smell was so pungent that it was speaking in my head, 'Hey, it's not worth it. At least you tried. Go home.'

Wouldn't he get any complaints from this?

How does he live with this? Wait. How does he not smell on campus?

Oh my god. Does he not wash the black sweater after all?

"How come I never notice that you smell?"

"I shower."

"But wouldn't this smell stick?" I waved around my finger to point at his whole apartment.

He just shrugged.

"If it works, it works. No one ever said I smell."

"That's because you don't have friends."

Oops. That slipped out.

He didn't look offended, though. He just stared at me with the same annoyed look.

"So, now I'll say it. You smell."

"You're not my friend."

"Well, as someone who is not your friend, I declare that you smell."

"Leave," He said, closing the door.

"Wait! Wait- Alright, I'm sorry. I'll help you clean, and you'll help me with my project."

"No," He said, closing the door again.

"Okay! I'll clean! And you'll help me with my project!"

"No-"

"Just let me clean! Then we'll talk."

We stood there silently. Him, still holding the door to close it, and me, still pushing the door to keep it open.

After a few seconds, he let go of the door without a word and lay down on his bed. He pulled out his phone to play the same games he would play in class.

Alright, it was time to get to work.

I started with throwing out all the trash with plastic bags into the garbage room. It wasn't even that far, only about five rooms away, just at the end of the hall. Then I had to stuff all the scattered garbage into more plastic bags.

"Where do you keep extra plastic bags? Oh gross, do you just stop getting them once you've run out? Why do I keep seeing Chinese take outs and different kinds of instant ramen cups? Do you not eat anything else?"

He didn't answer any of my questions, so I kept yapping and babbling anyway.

It was a hassle to get rid of the plastic bottles. Some of them were far deep under the bed or the sofa. He didn't even offer to help me move the furniture around to get the ridiculously hidden trash that has been there for who knows how long.

I opened the window to get some air circulation, but because there was so much trash to pick up, I ended up drenched in sweat anyway. It was a good workout session. And after all the trash was gone, I realized the apartment was way bigger than it seemed when I first walked in.

Tired, I dropped myself onto the sofa. It was still a bit dusty, but I was already dirty anyway, so it didn't matter.

He finally got up from his bed and looked around. He didn't seem to be impressed, much less appreciative.

"You're done?"

I answered slightly out of breath, "No... This apartment is pretty big. How much is rent?"

"I don't rent it."

"You bought this place?"

"My parents did."

Son of a b*tch. He's smart and rich? Also, he's not bad looking. If he wasn't disgusting and a loner, he might have gotten himself a girlfriend by now.

"By the way, I couldn't find any vacuum or a broom. I don't think I've seen a mop either."

He didn't respond.

"You don't have them do you? Ugh. Fine. I guess that's it for the day. I'm going home."

I got up from the sofa and walked towards the door.

He didn't stop me. But when I reached for the door handle, he called out.

"I thought you needed my help with the project?"

"Yeah, I'm too tired by now. Nothing you say will get stuck in my head for more than 2 minutes. Let's talk about it next time."

"Next time?"

"Well, I have to get a broom or something to get rid of all that dust! Maybe a mop, too."

I walked out of his apartment and closed the door.

I didn't see his face, but when he asked about 'next time', I thought I heard his voice differently. As if he had said it in a slightly hopeful tone.

Perhaps I imagined it.

Click here for part 2 ^^

#tw: sh #slow burn #original story #writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #romance #friends to lovers

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