#and now i will go sniff around to see who else has done this game and send lots of wip asks >:) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

direwombat · 1 year ago

Note

a possessive kiss that is meant to stake a claim . + Sybille and Jacob?

another installment of me chipping my way through the prompts in my askbox. have a late-game katc moment where the gang (guns for hire) find out that syb's a peggie now :)

2.2k

It isn’t uncommon for Sybille to disappear for days on end.

She’s a private person who values her alone time, and considering how much she’s done for the county since Joseph declared the Reaping, Grace is willing to grant her privacy. Without her, John would still be terrorizing the Holland Valley, and Faith — or, Rachel, as she’s going by nowadays — would still be infecting everyone’s minds with Bliss. Without Sybille, the Resistance wouldn’t have been able to organize in the way that they have.

Without her, they’d still be fighting for survival, rather than making the organized efforts in dethroning Joseph Seed from his reign of terror. She stepped up when no one else would and became the leader the county needed.

The poor woman has been to Hell and back more times than Grace cares to count. The woman works herself to the bone and barely sleeps. If she decides she needs some time to disconnect and get some rest, Grace isn’t going to stop her.

Even machines break down if they’re not taken care of properly.

But, after going a week without hearing from her, Grace starts getting antsy, and after another few days of radio silence, she decides to take matters into her own hands.

She has a map of the Whitetails spread out over the table of one of the booths at the 8-Bit, desperately trying to get Nick, Hurk and Sharky to fucking pay attention. Last she heard, Sybille was in the Whitetails, which means that odds are she’s being held prisoner at the Veterans Center. And that means doing recon is essential.

Jacob Seed is fucking smart. They can’t just go in guns blazing if they want to rescue her.

“You know who’d be real good help here is Boomer,” Sharky says. “That guy could sniff out every Peggie in a ten mile radius! Locks onto Peggie B-O like a fuckin’ missile.” His grin falters and his heavy brow furrows as he frowns. “Where is he, anyways? I ain’t seen him around in a while.”

“Might’ve gotten captured along with Syb,” Hurk says thoughtfully. “She said that John was gonna send ‘im up north before she freed ‘im, right?”

Nick groans in dismay. “Shit, Jacob better not be turnin’ him into one of the Judges. I don’t think I got the heart to kill old Boomie if he attacked me, y’know?”

“All the more reason for you all to focus,” Grace grits through her teeth. “Now, can we please —”

“Hey, y’all?” Adelaide calls from where she stands behind the bar, fixing herself her third cocktail of the hour. “I ain’t gonna say you’ll all want to see this, but, uh… I think y’all should.”

“What is it, Mama?” Hurk asks.

“I don’t — I can’t…” It’s the first time Grace has ever heard the woman at a loss for words. She’s usually so easy to joke -- the more serious the situation the more inappropriate the comment -- but when Grace locks eyes with her, all she sees is fear. “Just come look at the TV.”

Grace’s stomach drops.

Ever since the Cult took over, nothing good has been playing on TV anywhere in the county. Most days it's just broadcasts of Joseph’s sermons interspersed with other programs that are blatant Cult propaganda — cult song sing-alongs and storytimes led by the former-Faith, John’s alleged “self-help” programs, and, perhaps the only useful things that play between segments: Jacob’s five-minute survivalist tips. But every now and then, the Cult puts out something new. Something that looks more at home in a horror film than it does on public television.

The broadcast of Deputy Pratt, ankle deep in water, tied to a chair, sobbing and pleading for his life will forever be burned into Grace’s memory.

She and the boys slip out of the booth and all cautiously approach the television resting on the bartop. The video quality is poor — dark and fuzzy — but when she makes out the figure on the screen, she claps a hand over her mouth.

“Shit,” she breathes.

At the same time Nick cries out, “Jesus Christ!”

Standing, at attention, before the red-and-black version of the Peggie flag and dressed in the garb of the Chosen is the Deputy. She stares into the camera, her face calm and expressionless. No fear or anger; she remains stoic as the soldier she is.

The camera zooms in for a moment and then back out, focusing on her face before the voice of Jacob Seed sounds from offscreen. “State your name for the record.”

“Sybille Marie La Roux,” she answers.

Jacob steps forward, just enough so that only one of his broad shoulders is in frame. “Do you, Sybille Marie La Roux, solemnly swear to support and defend the Project at Eden’s Gate against all enemies, both foreign and domestic?”

The words ring bizarrely familiar in Grace’s mind, and it takes her a moment to recognize them as a bastardized version of the Army’s Oath of Commissioned Officers. Her breath hitches and dread roils in her gut. It twinges painfully when Sybille answers with a firm, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you swear to bear true Faith and Allegiance in the Father and the Project?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bullshit,” Nick hisses under his breath. Bullshit, she’s swearing this oath of her own free will. Surely, Jacob did something to coerce her into this.

But what if he didn’t? What if she is joining the Cult of her own volition?

Grace’s jaw clenches so tight that her ears ache.

“And do you swear to well and faithfully discharge the duties asked of you by the Father and your Commander?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jacob steps further into frame, completely obscuring Sybille from view. There’s the distinctive sound of a knife being unsheathed and Grace catches the red flash of its handle as he appears to lift one of Sybille’s hands and presses the blade against the soft flesh of her forearm. “Then in the name of the Father, I appoint you Judge, Jury, and Executioner of Eden’s Gate.” He wipes the knife against his jeans and slips it back into its sheath, and lifts his hand to draw something on the woman’s forehead. “May you act as God’s Divine Wrath and enact His judgment against our adversaries.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leans down to pick something up and then moves to circle behind her, revealing the red cross he drew on her forehead. It matches the blood that stains the faces of the wolves he’s tortured into submission. Leaning down, his lips brush the shell of her ear and he eyes the camera with a sadistic smirk.

Even where she stands, miles away from the Whitetails, Grace barely suppresses a shudder. It may be a video recording, yet she still feels like he can see them through the screen.

“Praise be to the Father,” he says, low and breathy, with the intimacy of a lover.

Sybille lifts her hand to her forehead in salute. “Praise be to the Father,” she repeats.

What happens next stuns everyone into utter silence.

As Sybille’s hand falls back down to rest by her side, Jacob is wrapping a hand around to cradle her jaw and tilt her head up and towards him. It’s so quiet that Grace nearly misses it, but he mutters a quiet, “Good girl,” before leaning down to capture Sybille’s lips in a devouring, open-mouthed kiss. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans back against him, allowing his tongue to plunge hungrily into her mouth. Small, whimpering moans are pulled from her every time their lips move. As she tilts her head back to give Jacob easier access, the red scarf wrapped around her neck slips, revealing a band of leather wrapped around her throat.

A sharp gasp flies from Adelaide’s lips and she covers her mouth and nose with both hands, muffling the quiet “Oh no…” as her eyes go wide. Nick’s face goes red. Whether it’s in anger or second-hand embarrassment, Grace isn’t sure, and both Hurk and Sharky’s mouths hang agape, absolutely dumbfounded.

The Chosen uniform, the collar, the kiss — Jacob might as well be fucking her on camera. Not only has Sybille pledged her allegiance to the Cult, but she’s allowed herself to be claimed by one of the most ruthless men Grace has had the displeasure of meeting.

When they part, Sybille’s lips are swollen and her eyes are glassy. Jacob’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back and holding her against him. Her head leans back and she melts into him,, seeming to forget that the camera is still there.

But Jacob doesn’t. Piercing blue eyes focus back on the lens to address those watching. “Let it be known to all who stand in opposition to the Project: the Sword of Justice will be swift and merciless.” Everyone lets out a horrified gasp when he lifts Eli’s head — severed from his body — into frame by the hair. “Your sins will be weighed and judged. Those deemed worthy, those deemed willing to repent, will be spared. Those who aren’t…” he trails off, lips quirking smugly upwards as he glances at the decapitated head in his hand, “...will be set free.” His gaze snaps back to the camera. “This is the will of the Father.”

The video cuts out, replaced by static before it begins to loop.

Adelaide turns the TV off, and all those gathered stare at the blank screen in horrified silence.

Sharky is the one brave enough to shatter it. “W…we’re gonna help her, right?” he asks, looking to the rest of the group with round, pleading eyes.

“She’s gotta be brainwashed,” Nick says shakily. The flush of his face has given way to a sickly green. “The conditioning…there’s gotta be a way to deprogram her,” he says before tacking on an uncertain, “Isn’t there?”

Adelaide’s brows knit together, and she looks to the boys apologetically. “Sugar, I ain’t so sure there’s anythin’ we can do.”

“Why not?” Sharky asks. His voice is small, almost childlike.

Grace’s stomach churns. “Because she’s exactly where she wants to be,” she says grimly.

“What — how…?” Nick stammers.

Adelaide taps at her throat. “The collar, honey,” she explains. “Y’all’ve met her. You think she’d be wearin’ that if she didn’t want to? You think she’d let him do that to her on camera if she weren’t at least a little into it?”

A wave of disgust washes through Grace. To think that the woman who helped her defend her Pops’ grave and saved Falls End — the woman she looked up to as a leader and commander — is now Jacob Seed’s pet.

“I’ll be damned,” Adelaide sighs. “The military kink I kinda expected, but I ain’t ever woulda pegged her as a sub.” She knocks back the martini she’d been holding in her hand and grimaces again. “Guess we know why we ain’t heard from her or Eli in a while.”

“Fuck,” Nick hisses. “Shit.” He drags his hand over his face and rubs at his beard. “How — how the hell did we miss this?”

Grace sighs wearily and leans over the bar, pulling up the first drink her hand touches. Unscrewing the cap, she doesn’t bother with a glass and drinks whiskey straight from the bottle.

At first she thought the delegation of missions was just Sybille being a good leader. It’s impossible for her to do everything, and, at the time, it made sense to have teams attacking outposts and doing what they could while Sybille was elsewhere in the county. But then she thinks about how much time Sybille had spent in the Whitetails — how whenever she disappeared for days at a time, it was always when she was up north. How she was always so irritable, almost volatile, whenever Grace had asked about how her “solo-missions” went whenever she returned.

It’s easier to spot the red flags in retrospect. Hindsight is a bitch like that.

Sybille always played things close to her chest, hiding problems until they couldn’t be hidden anymore. Ever since the night she dug herself out of her own grave and struck Joey during Burke and Virgil’s funeral, Grace has known that something was wrong with Sybille. But she always assumed that they were close enough — that she was trusted enough — that she would confide in her if something was weighing on her shoulders.

And maybe that’s Grace’s fault. Maybe she should have pressed harder or checked in more often.

Not that it matters anymore. They all missed the writing on the wall, and while Eli was the first to bear the consequences, he certainly won’t be the last.

The county’s greatest hope has turned into its biggest nightmare, and now they need to figure out how to fight it.

Abruptly, the door to the 8-Bit swings open with enough force that it bashes against the wall. They all whip around, pulling their sidearms from their holsters.

Stumbling through the door is a man dressed in Peggie garb. His hair and beard blend into one dark, tangled mass around his face, and his bright green eyes are bloodshot and wild. Wheaty leans against him, his arm wrapped around the Peggie’s shoulders, while his other hand is pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozes between his fingers and he’s barely clinging to consciousness.

“My name is Augustine La Roux,” the Peggie says, looking to all of them with fearful desperation. “I need your help.”

#my writing #oc: deputy sybille la roux #r: define your meaning of war #is this the final version of this scene? no.#but it's fun to explore and draft things that happen so far from where i am currently drafting #wip: kneeling at the crossroads #my fic

16 notes · View notes

kageyuji · 4 years ago

Text

shortening his name except he thinks you called him another guy’s name

⤷ oikawa, bokuto, atsumu, suna, mattsun ; [gn!reader]

GENRE/WARNINGS: comfort(?), angst if you squint hard enough, mild swearing

NOTES: i will literally offer my hand in marriage if you reblog. and thank you to @/sugawaaras for giving me the idea for mattsun’s <33

━━ OIKAWA

even though he tried to be confident, in reality, his self confidence sat on a throne built from things he told himself in the mirror and compliments he never believed

so its not a surprise that his first reaction just... isn’t one. he’ll stop and replay it over and over again in his head to make sure he’d heard you correctly

and then his heart breaks — it actually hurts him, makes him feel like he can’t breath, and before he even knows it theres tears in his eyes

of course, he knows you’re never supposed to let the reason you’re crying see you crying

so he attempts to act like he’s more annoyed than that he just had his heart just obliterated

it’s not a secret though. through the pain in his eyes, anyone can see the shattered remnants of what was once his heart

“ru, can you grab my phone for me?” you called to your boyfriend from the couch, remembering that you’d left your phone in the other room.

it was quiet for a moment; not long enough for you to ask if he was okay, but long enough that the silence was odd. you heard heavy footfalls again, then saw oikawa standing just inside the room with a clear look of betrayal on his face.

“what?” you asked him, wondering if he was kidding around. you hadn’t done anything, there was no reason why he’d actually be upset with you.

as he stepped closer to you, you could see the tears whelling up in his eyes, and you were left to wonder what was wrong.

“what’s wrong? tooru, hey, are you ok?” your voice was much softer when you spoke this time. your heart dropped when you saw him step back at your step forward.

“so now you can call me by my name?” you think his voice was meant to be low and hostile, but in his struggle not to cry it came out strangled and cracked.

“what did... do you mean ‘ru?”

“yes! who the hell is that? if you wanted to-“

“no no, babe, your name is tooru. the last syllable of your name is ru. it’s just a shortening of your name, not someone else’s.”

you watched his lips form a smile and he let out something like a laugh, seemingly at his own confusion, and then the tears finally fell.

he’d walked into your arms soon after, with his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in the crook of your neck

“sorry... sorry for not trust- trusting you, i just-” his sentence was cut through with sharp breaths and hiccups, and then finally stopped with your own voice.

“it’s alright, i didn’t mean to scare you. we can cuddle if you want, hm?”

he was already struggling to keep himself from fully breaking down. but when one of your hands came up to pet his hair, a whine left him — you think it was supposed to be an ‘mhm’ to your offer — and his hands gripped tightly at your shirt, his arms around you getting tighter.

━━ BOKUTO

he doesn’t miss a beat, immediately looking up at you to wonder if he’d heard you correctly

it’s just a small spike of anxiety at first, but the more he lets the foreign name resonate with him, the more it makes him worry

he has to build up the courage to ask you who the other guy is, because he can’t do it right away, he’s way too nervous

he looks so sad as well, puppy dog eyes looking at you, seemingly just slightly worried

unbeknownst to you, his heart is pounding in is chest and with each passing second, it runs the risk of shattering

“‘taro!” your voice was a giggle as he left little kisses all over you. they weren’t nearly enough to leave hickeys, just little pecks across your face, your neck, your chest.

as soon as the name left your lips though, he stopped, golden eyes snapping up to look at you with a pain you’d never seen in them before.

you could tell he was definitely upset about something, but you had no idea what it could be. hell, the way he looked at you, it was almost as though you were the reason.

of course, you were unaware that bokuto’s first thoughts went to rintaro, middle blocker from the famed inarizaki. suddenly he was thinking of every time you’d ever spoken about the team, said how many fan girls they had, how many games they’d won.

he wanted to say something. he really wanted to ask what you’d meant. but the words seemed caught in his throat.

it wasn’t long before he couldn’t take it though, and he pushed the words out, despite the alarms going off in his head and his heart immediately jumping to his throat.

“who is ‘taro?” you didnt think you’d ever heard him sound so small. so timid, so close to his voice cracking with the tears he was holding back, so... scared.

“you? who else? i can call you kou if you’d prefer that though. you don’t have to look so upset.”

bokuto smiled then, relaxing the weight on his arms enough so he was on top of you. he supported himself enough not to crush you, but there was nothing more he wanted in the world right now than to be held by you.

━━ ATSUMU

he liked to consider himself a tough guy. he liked to.

but there were times whenever his support fell, leaving his world to crumble in his hands, slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold it all together

and when thought he heard a guy’s name that isn’t his own come from you, it felt just like one of those times

he was asking what you’d meant before his mind could even properly register your words

and by that point he didn’t care enough to replay the name in his head, his mind already caught up looking for the things he’d done wrong, the things he hadn’t done.

“oh, ‘umi, if you want to we can go to th-”

“what the hell?”

it surprised you how much venom laced his words, despite the fact that you’d done nothing wrong. the thought that he was being sarcastic or joking with you crossed your mind, but atsumu wasn’t exactly the best actor.

he couldn’t fake the look on his face, couldn’t fake how his heart had seemingly stopped just from the look in his eyes.

“what do you mean?” your voice was soft when you spoke now, no longer so nonchalant.

he lips pressed into a thin line and he set his jaw in frustration. it took him taking a deep breath to finally say, “you called me ‘omi.’ if you like-”

“tsumu.”

“no, i heard you, you called me omi. if- if theres...” he never finished his sentence. there was already a lump in his throat and he knew that if he were to say anything more, he’d cry.

“no, no. i called you umi. like your name just a little bit different.”

his face was drawn in a look on confusion. his eyes studied you, trying to look for any sign of you lying. but he trusted you, of course he trusted you.

he came over to hug you, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you heard him sniff, but you knew he’d deny crying if you asked him.

“i love you,” his voice made him sound so small, it was a level of weak and vulnerable you’d not seen from him.

“i love you too.”

━━ SUNA

the words “stay calm” had never been repeated in his head to himself so much

well, it was more like a string of curse words with “stay calm” thrown in occasionally, but he’d never felt so scared

the look on his face is annoyed at first, but it quickly starts to shift into one with a little more worry

he’s terrified, in all honesty. but he’s already told himself he’s not going to let you see that

“taro, can we stop by a corner store on the way home? i need something.”

your voice had been so calm. so why did it feel like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest?

he knew you hadn’t meant to. but why you’d even slipped and call him by another name in the first place worried him. it took him only a few seconds for his mind to land on bokuto koutarou.

bokuto koutarou, one of the top aces.

“well fuck you too i guess.” his tone may have been confused with one of anger at first, but you could tell that wasnt it. anger is a secondary emotion, you knew in reality he was hurt.

the only problem is, you didn’t know what. from his words you knew it was something you’d done. but there was nothing that came to mind.

“sorry? what did i do?”

suna hesitated for only a second before asking why you’d called him by another name. he took a deep breath immediately after speaking, your silence only breaking his heart more. as though it wasn’t already destroyed.

but your silence was born from shock and confusion, not being caught like suna had assumed.

“taro. like rintarou. like your name. who else would i be talking about?”

“uhm. koutarou? i don’t know, forget about it.” he’d never felt like a bigger jackass before; he never swore at you.

you smiled a little at his words and walked over to hug him. he hummed at that and pressed a small kiss to your temple, then buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“i didn’t mean to-”

“it’s ok, rin.”

━━ MATTSUN

he had to stop for a moment to let it sink in before he could react

after that there were too many emotions rushing through him to do anything for another few moments

in fact, his silence coupled with the distant, betrayed look on his face was somewhat unsettling

it takes him longer than he would like to question you, but it’s because he’s already preparing to collect his shattered heart after one of his worst fears becomes true

“why are you here?” mattsun heard iwaizumi’s voice and he smiled a little to himself, knowing that he must have been talking to you.

he’d been waiting for you all day, it seemed like forever since he’d last seen you. the only thing he wanted right now was to hold you.

“oh, i’m here to see ‘kawa!” you said happily. mattsun could hear the smile in your voice without even seeing you.

you were here for oikawa. of course you were here for starboy oikawa tooru, of course your boyfriend was just a stepping stone.

he was still frozen when you rounded the corner. the look on his face was concerning, you couldn’t remember the last time — if there ever was one — he’d looked absolutely terrified, the last time he looked so hurt.

“mattsun... are you ok?”

he didn’t answer you. it took him a few moments before he could finally speak, and even then his voice was different than it usually was. it was... pained? betrayed? whatever it was, you knew it wasn’t mattsun.

“did you really come here just to see oikawa? what happened to me being your boyfriend?”

it took you a few moments to try and understand what he was talking about. you’d never said that. hell, you always came for mattsun, not once had you ever spared oikawa a thought.

“no, babe. i said ‘kawa’, as in matsukawa.”

he seemed to melt at your words. that expression disappeared from his face, his body untensing. he moved to pull you into his arms, holding you close to himself with a desperation he’d not had before.

him thumb rubbed soothing circles on your back. you could tell he wanted to say something. but then he stopped right before the words left him, instead opting to make a joke to lift the mood.

“good, i was about to kick oikawa’s ass.”

“...we were having a moment.”

5K notes · View notes

ppersonna · 4 years ago

Text

swipe right - jjk | m

“ i wanna ruin our friendship. we should be lovers instead. i don't know how to say this, cause you're really my dearest friend “ - jenny, studio killers

♡ summary- after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?

♡ genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, jk is a minecraft streamer, brother namjoon, brother-in-law jimin, namjoon is kind of a himbo stay at home dad ngl, ex-boyfriend seokjin (mentioned but doesnt show up)

♡ word count- 9k

♡ warnings- mentions of a bad breakup (smh seokjin wtf??), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (u know the business folx), oral sex (m receiving), teasing, SO MUCH BODY WORSHIP, jk is a simp, slight dirty talk, lots of just talking during sex yall it happens, creampie, cum play, praise praise body worship praise, did i mention body worship, tit-fucking, cum eating, i think thats all.

♡ a/n - helloooo and thank you for your wait for this fic! i’m so happy its done and i loved writing it! it’s a little bit different feel for my usual style of writing (smut-wise) so please tell me your thoughts! i didn’t use dom/sub themes OR a daddy kink LMAOOOO praise me please. i hope you enjoy!! pls feel free to comment, chat, message, carrier pigeon, email, mail, WHATEVER U WANT, me. i love u babies. thank you to @kimtaehyunq for the sexy banner. and for @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia @untaemedqueen for the writing support and idea generation. i would be nothing without my council. and thank you to my beta editors @hobi-gif and @ughseoks and @hongism for the perusal and help in writing this!

Jungkook is the person you call when your world falls apart.

He answers, voice raspy from the late hour, and the second he asks you what’s wrong, the downpour of torrential tears you’ve been holding back finally escapes and you’re sobbing through the phone that you just lost the love of your life—that he left and with little effort on his part, and a lot on yours.

Jungkook listens to you—his heart aching deep in his chest at hearing the utter heartbreak that’s clear in your voice. You’ve never been hurt like this, and he’s desperate to hold you, to make it go away. He wants to drive over to Seokjin’s house and throw a left hook into his stupid, handsome face for making you feel you weren’t worth it.

Because if there’s anything in the world that Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re worth it. You’re worth everything. Add up all the money and all the gold in the entire world, and it still doesn’t meet a fraction of what you’re worth to him.

“Where are you?” He asks as he cradles the phone against one arm and pulls on his jeans.

You sniffle. “Jungkook, it’s 3 am.”

“So? I was up playing Minecraft,” He lies. “Where are you?”

You can’t help but laugh the tiniest bit, a sliver of warmth wrapping itself around your raw and exposed heart. Like a balm to a flesh wound. It doesn’t heal it, not yet.

“I’m at our park.”

Jungkook smiles as he grips the phone back in his hand. The park. The place you and Jungkook spent your childhood playing make-believe games, and formative teenage years loitering around smoking clove cigarettes to look cool.

“Give me five minutes, okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

Jungkook arrives with two minutes to spare. His beat up Nissan that he insists is “vintage” and “priceless” idles next to you.

He can see you through the darkened glass of your car—your mascara is running down your face, tears streaked through your flawlessly applied makeup.

You still look so beautiful.

And it angers Jungkook that all that time you spent looking good for Seokjin meant nothing to him.

He motions for you to come over, pats the passenger seat next to him and smiles as he watches you open the door and slide into the security of his familiar car.

“You cleaned your car,” you murmur as you notice a severe lack of McDonald’s trash.

He sniffs haughtily.

“The trash added character.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you as close to him as he can get you. The instant his arms wrap around your body, the floodgates open again and your once-quieted tears turn back into full-fledged sobs.

“I loved him,” you gasp through the pain in your throat.

He rubs your back, pats your hair gently, soothing you the way he has for years now. Through every breakup, through every family fight with your older brother Namjoon, through all the mean girls in high school. Jungkook is the north star—always consistent, always guiding you back to safety.

“I know, babe,” he sighs. “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right, who’s not just going to give up when things get hard.”

You choke back a cry against his Patagonia hoodie and bury your face further into the crook of his neck. He smells like Old Spice and the shampoo he uses, along with the smell of laundry soap you buy for him—he uses dish soap when he runs out and nearly broke his washing machine last time.

“I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid.”

Jungkook swallows hard. Tonight is about comforting you, not about feeling sorry for himself that you’re his best friend and not his girlfriend. He can’t help but think of what kind of life he would give you. He knows it’s one that wouldn’t end with you crying in a parking lot at 3 AM.

“You’re not stupid, you just loved him. And there’s nothing stupid about loving someone, even if it doesn’t work out,” he sighs as he cradles your head against him. It feels right having you there, pressed up against him and seeking comfort from the solace of his arms.

“Let’s go get a milkshake, yeah?” He asks as you pull your head up and look at him with sad, glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” you nod after a moment of staring.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with love, with hope. It makes the desperate, alone feeling inside you—disappear. Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then starts the shaky ignition of his car, that takes three cranks of the key before it turns over.

He sends you a look, a laugh evident on your face.

“Don’t even start,” he warns. “The engine is fine.”

“Whatever you say,” you snort as you wipe an errant tear from your face.

“It’s a certified classic car! I could get millions for this baby!”

As the weeks pass, the pain of losing Seokjin becomes further and further from your mind. You can get through the day without crying anytime you see something that reminds you of him and even start flirting with others without feeling like you’re cheating.

You just still haven’t reached the point where dating someone else even feels possible. You’re terrified of allowing someone close to you, letting them into a place where you’re inviting them to possibly hurt you. You’re not sure your heart is ready for it.

“I think you’re just scared,” your older brother Namjoon states as he warms up a bottle of milk in boiling water.

He cradles his new baby in one arm while the other works at the bottle of milk.

“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I just don’t think it’s the right time.”

Namjoon sighs and hands the gurgling newborn baby off to you and readies the bottle for you to feed your new niece, Jisoo.

“Look, Seokjin sucks, okay? I know you two were together for some time, but in the end, he wasn’t the right one for you. There’s someone out there who is the right one for you. You know how many shit frogs I had to kiss before I got my prince?”

You make a face as you feed Jisoo, who happily sucks and gazes at the lights above.

“You call Jimin a prince?”

Namjoon sighs dreamily as he watches the baby and thinks of his husband.

“The dreamiest prince,” he breathes, eyes closed in bliss. “But back to your problems. I think you should get back out there. Go on some dates, meet some people. No one is telling you to fall in love and get married tomorrow. Just go have some fun.”

You allow Namjoon’s words to mull through your mind. What could be the harm in joining a few dating sites, perhaps spending some time at the gym or grocery store flirting with someone cute?

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. I can’t be the only one giving our parents grand-babies. Soo needs a cousin.”

You smile down at the tiny bundle in your arms and imagine a future where you have a baby of your own.

“Okay, I’m not trying to get knocked up, Joon.”

“Whatever,” he sighs. “Help me choose a wall color for me and Jimin’s new master bathroom.”

Tinder’s changed since the last time you used it, years ago. It’s gone from any semblance of dating to strictly an app used to get laid.

It’s discouraging swiping through all the obvious fuckboys. Sure, a quick and easy lay sounds great, but you’re also trying to go out and enjoy real, traditional dates, and it seems none of these guys want to step foot outside of a bedroom.

The swiping left becomes almost monotonous. You’re sitting on your couch, watching some documentary about serial killers, when a startling profile pops up on your Tinder feed.

The picture that pops up is... Jungkook. You can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaps from your chest. His profile is so authentically Jungkook that you’re swiping right before you even know it.

Your brain doesn’t even comprehend what a match with Jungkook means, really. You’re still laughing as you click on the bubble to message him and send him as many laugh emojis as you can.

“Hey guys, what’s up, Kookie here with another Let’s Play Minecraft video for ya. Be sure to like and subscribe if you enjoy this kind of content.”

Jungkook’s headset is firmly wrapped around his head, mic next to his mouth and hands at the ready on his mouse and keyboard. He’s set and in the zone.

The game is well into play when the familiar chime of his phone goes off. It’s a Tinder notification—he can tell by the sound. He can’t help but roll his eyes, wondering what sort of boring conversation he’s meant to have with a girl who will probably ghost him, anyway.

He lazily lifts his phone and glances at the notification, before dropping it back to the desk.

His hand freezes on his mouse as he finally comprehends what he just read.

He just matched with YOU.

His best friend.

His secret, lifelong crush.

He sputters something into the microphone and stops recording his game, wildly grasping for the phone and unlocking it.

YN: 😂😂😂😂 is your bio a Minecraft pickup line?!

He pauses, attempts to collect his thoughts, before desperately typing on his screen.

JUNGKOOK: Why? 😉😏 did it work?

You spend the rest of your night jokingly flirting with Jungkook, sending GIFs and emojis in between the silly lines you’re using on each other.

Right before you’re about to head to sleep, Jungkook sends one last message.

JUNGKOOK: What if we went on a date lolol. Haha jk. Unless?? 👀👀👀

Your thumbs hover over the keys to your phone.

A date with Jungkook? Even though you matched with him, you’ve never thought of a date with your childhood best friend.

YN: alright, it’s only fair since we matched 😝 show me how you treat these tinder ladies

“I have a date with Jungkook tonight,” you tell your brother, Namjoon, over the phone.

Over the crying of your newborn niece, you hear Namjoon splutter in confusion.

“You what!?” He nearly screams. “Jeon Jungkook? Like... the annoying kid you’ve been friends with since fourth grade?”

You huff.

“He’s not annoying! He’s my best friend. We ironically matched on Tinder and… Well, why the fuck not? Nothing serious is going to happen. We’ll go out and have a story to tell about how incompatible we are.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear him speak to his husband.

“She’s going on a date with Jungkook,” he says over the muffle of his hand on the receiver.

There’s a shuffle, and the dulcet voice of your brother-in-law, Jimin, comes over the line.

“Girl,” he starts. “What the fuck?”

You chuckle as you move about your closet, trying to decide what’s appropriate to wear on a date with your best friend.

“It’s nothing!”

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin tuts. “You know the boy is in love with you.”

“Okay, Chim, you’ve been spending too much time cooped up with my brother. It’s affecting your grip on reality.”

“Sure, honey. I just tell it like it is. Don’t break his heart.”

You roll your eyes.

“I won’t break his heart because there’s nothing there, Jimin.”

“I’ll be expecting your call later.”

“Yes, dad. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. But really, don’t break that poor boy’s heart.”

You open your mouth to retort yet another reassurance that there’s nothing to break, but the line goes dead.

“Fucking Jimin,” you mutter as you throw your phone to the bed.

You can’t allow yourself to think that Jungkook might have feelings for you. It’s totally out of the questions. He’s your best friend. The guy who shoves Cheetos up his nose to make you laugh and falls asleep during every movie night with his face in the popcorn bowl. He’s just Jungkook. This date is just a funny way to hang out.

So, why do you care so much about what you wear?

You’re still standing in front of your closet, attempting to find something respectable to wear. It doesn’t matter that the last time Jungkook saw you; it was with mascara streaming down your face and a hoodie from Namjoon’s college swimming days and ripped leggings. Jungkook has seen you in nearly everything you wear, so your indecisiveness gives you pause.

Do you want Jungkook to be attracted to you? Do you want to do your best to look as presentable as you would for a normal date?

The thudding of your heart tells you that maybe you’re more interested in this being a date than you’re allowing yourself to believe.

You shake all thoughts off.

No, you won’t allow yourself to overthink a night that should just be fun.

You settle for a fitted and simple summer dress, tights and heels. Simple, easy, respectable but also showing enough cleavage and sculpt of your ass to ensure you look more dressed up than not.

Perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you’re ready.

JUNGKOOK: I’m outside!

ME: See you soon!

Jungkook taps his foot anxiously as he sits on the bench outside your apartment. His tight black jeans feel like a second skin on his legs, and the black button-down shirt he’s tucked in makes him rethink his choice of outfit.

Is he too casual?

He’s never really worn something like this around you. This is what Jungkook wears when he wants to seduce. This is what every girl he’s desperately wished was you got to see. The girls who swooned over his messy hair, the way his jeans display his toned thighs, the peek of skin at his throat.

Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.

Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like it.

He’s given no chance to ruminate anymore because you’re exiting the building and walking straight towards him.

He doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.

It’s as if you walk towards him in slow motion. Angels chorus around him and the setting sun sparkles on your face like a spotlight. There’s nothing in the world anymore, nothing but you.

You’re the most beautiful human he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” you smile as you approach him.

He continues to stare, eyes traveling over the soft curves of your cheeks and jaw, trailing down to the way your dress clings just right to each dip of your body. His throat goes dry.

You are without a doubt the girl of his dreams.

“Jungkook?”

It pushes him out of his reverie, eyes widening as he realizes he’s been staring at you for maybe a few minutes too long to play off as normal.

“Hey!” He coughs, attempting to right himself.

“You okay?” You ask, eyebrow lifted in concern.

“Yeah! Yup! Totally! I’m okay—a-okay, absolutely great.” He internally slaps himself.

“You clean up nice,” you smile as your eyes elevate up and down the lean form of his body.

“Oh?” He asks, taken aback.

In his daze, he never even realized what you’re thinking about him, rather only how intensely he was thinking about you.

“This must be the Jungkook that all the girls in college couldn’t stop begging me to hook them up with.”

His cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly.

“Ha, yeah,” he swallows. “You look r-really nice too. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since your brother’s wedding.”

The smile that he’s rewarded with nearly knocks him on his ass. “Thanks! It’s fun to dress up cute again. Jin hated this dress.”

A stab of pain eeks its way into Jungkook’s heart. Seokjin. God, how he hates that man.

“Well, uh, you can wear whatever you want with me!” He assures.

You loop your arm around Jungkook’s, saddling up to his side as you look at him expectantly.

“Well, are we going?”

Jungkook can’t help but smile at the sparkle in your eye, the way you peer up at him with those soft, cherry lips. He wants to capture them with his own, kiss you until you don’t remember Seokjin’s name ever again.

But he resists.

“Let’s go!”

You never thought you’d admit it to yourself. You never even thought it could happen.

But the date is everything you’ve ever wanted, and more.

Jungkook is still Jungkook, still just as silly and easy to talk to as he always is.

But he’s also charming. Flirtatious, even. He holds doors open for you; he rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you towards your table at dinner. He feeds you bites of his dessert and lets his eyes linger on the way your lips look wrapped around his fork.

Jungkook treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated. Like someone he wants to cherish for the rest of your combined lives. Someone he wants to take care of, build a future with, enjoy life with.

And as much as it thrills you, it absolutely frightens you.

It’s when you’re walking down the small river trail together that Jungkook slips his hand into yours and laces your fingers together. The once-steady beat of your heart becomes erratic. He continues chatting—as if holding your hand was a subconscious act for him. He’s knee deep in a story of his Minecraft server when you stop walking, causing him to pause.

“What’s up?” He asks curiously.

Your eyes glitter with anticipation, with fear, as you stare at the gorgeous man before you. He looks like a full course meal in his tight jeans and he makes you feel like a princess. You can suddenly see doing life by his side—no longer his platonic best friend, but as his lover and lifelong partner.

You say nothing. Instead, you simply close the space between you two by grabbing the buttons of his shirt and tugging his lips onto yours.

“Wha—oh, mmmmmm.”

Jungkook is still for a second as he battles the surprise, but jumps into action and cups your face with his hands, deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue past your lips and swirling it around your own.

Your bodies press close together. He can feel your breasts against his chest and he desperately wants to rip the dress off your body and worship you like he’s always wanted to.

As soon as the kiss started, it’s over. You’re pulling away with eyes wide with fear.

“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” you stammer awkwardly.

Jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.

“What? We were going to get ice cream?”

You can feel tears building in the corners of your eyes. You’re so confused, so unsure of what you’re feeling. You want to stay and kiss Jungkook until you’re clawing at the clothing on his body, pressing kisses to the firm column of his neck. You want to run far away, too scared to admit it to him you’re sure you could love him for the rest of his life.

You can’t lose that friendship. You can’t risk everything you love about Jungkook. He’ll only hurt you the way every boyfriend ever has.

“I don’t really feel well,” you swallow hard as you lie. Jungkook always knows when you’re lying.

His body stiffens.

“Okay, let me walk you home.”

You shake your head, already moving away from the man.

“It’s fine. We’re nearby. I’ll just run or something.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’ve already turned face and started running the direction away from him.

Jungkook watches, misty-eyed, as the girl of his dreams runs further and further away from him.

You’re sobbing as you finally reach home, out of breath and confused. The phone call to Namjoon is quick.

“Yo,” he says cooly as he answers the phone. His tone changes when he hears your whimpering sobs on the other end.

“Joonie,” you whisper. “I fucked up.”

“Oh god,” Namjoon quickly shuffles and calls his husband over, before putting the phone on speaker.

“What’s happened, baby?” Jimin’s sweet voice asks.

“I—I kissed him,” you sob, holding yourself close in the comfort of the elevator.

Namjoon and Jimin look at each other with knowing looks.

“We’re on our way over.”

Jimin knows the first order of business is to stop the crying. He places sleeping baby Jisoo in your arms, which quiets your whimpers enough as you cling to the tiny baby. He knows your weakness is sleeping babies.

Namjoon looks on anxiously, hates seeing his little sister upset and with no way to make it better.

Jimin’s been asked to take the lead on this, because he knows his husband's response is to cry as well—he gets emotional anytime he sees her cry. Namjoon agreed, knowing Jimin was better suited for the conversation.

“Tell us what happened,” Jimin asks quietly. You’re rocking the baby gently, sobs turned to sniffles. “Did something go wrong on the date?”

Your eyes peer up at your brother-in-law’s, a wounded look that makes Jimin feel sad. Namjoon clenches beside him, and Jimin lays a hand on his lap to soothe the protective brother.

“No,” you whisper. “That’s the thing. It was an amazing date.”

Jimin watches you curiously, but remains silent to let you continue.

“We had dinner, and we played arcade games and we walked around. And he was so… fuck, he was perfect. It was like dating the guy of my dreams.”

Jimin nods knowingly.

“And it surprised you how much you liked him.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “At the end, he was holding my hand and just talking about normal, stupid Jungkook shit, but this time it felt like more. Like, I felt in my heart that I wanted to be the one he always talked to about it. I wanted to be the one he came home to at night.”

Jimin pats your cheek lovingly, the care for his sister-in-law clear in his gaze.

“You don’t just like him, honey. I think you might even love him.”

You pull baby Jisoo tighter into your grasp and nod, pathetic tears slipping down your face.

“I just left him. Like, I ran away from him like an asshole.”

Namjoon grunts and takes a spot next to Jimin. “If he loves you, which I’m sure he does, he’ll still be waiting for you.”

Jimin nods and rests a hand on his husband's back. “But you better have one hell of an apology.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your phone calls. He doesn’t respond to your texts, snapchats or Instagram DM’s. He doesn’t even look at the TikToks you sent him! It’s becoming infuriating to get in touch with him.

You take matters into your own hands and storm to his apartment after work, the rising tension in your shoulders and stomach full of rocks an indicator of your anxiety about the future of this relationship.

Jungkook opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats. All the carefully crafted words exit your mind at light

speed and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed at the chiseled body of your best friend.

“Can I help you?” He asks, tone flat.

Ouch.

You push past him into the apartment you know so well. “Yeah, you could start by answering your phone.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and closes the door, then heads back towards the large gaming setup in the living room.

“My apologies for not responding to the girl who literally ran away from me on a date.”

Your cheeks heat uncomfortably as you stand in the center of his living room, arms crossed over your chest.

“Jungkook, listen. I’m—”

“Please,” he shakes his head as he sits down at the impressive gaming chair. “Save the apologies. I get it.”

“You don’t get it!” You say, exasperated. “You don’t get any of it! That’s why I’m here.”

Jungkook narrows a look at you then stands from his chair. Slowly, he makes his way towards you and stands inches from your face. The proximity of his bare, toned chest to your body makes your throat dry.

“No, you don’t get it.” His voice is threateningly quiet, completely different from his usual chipper tone.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He quirks his head sarcastically, and you’re struck by the sharp lines of his jaw. “Sorry for running away from the date? Sorry for going on a date? Sorry for making me feel like I had a fucking chance when you kissed me?”

You swallow hard and open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry too. For giving myself way too much hope that this could ever be something. I’m sorry for myself for thinking you’d at least respect me enough to reject me politely.”

“You always had a chance!” You can feel tears building in your eyes and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his chest like a drum.

He scoffs, a harsh and mirthless laugh. “Clearly not.”

“I just—,” you start. “I never saw you like that before and suddenly you became everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It was like getting hit by a train, Kook! Suddenly my best friend turned into the man of my dreams.”

He shakes his head, stepping back away from you.

“I really find it hard to believe you,” he whispers. “I can’t let myself hope.”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg as tears start slipping down your face. “Please believe me.”

“Just leave,” he sighs. “I hate making you cry.”

You want so badly to wrap yourself in his arms, cry into his chest like you always do when you’re hurt. But you stand still, frozen in your shame and embarrassment of hurting your best friend so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, before you spin around as quickly as you can and leave Jungkook’s apartment in a flurry.

He watches as the door slams behind you, eyes full of sadness and regret. As much as he wants to believe you, have faith in every word you said, he can’t allow himself to get his hopes up again.

He can’t watch you run away from him again.

“Welcome back to Kookie’s Wild Weekly Walkthrough!” Jungkook cheers as enthusiastically as he can through his microphone. “The weekly segment where I react to your Minecraft worlds!”

Jungkook needed to dive back into streaming to take his mind off of you. He hasn’t left his apartment in days, only subsisting on takeout and coffee. At least he was making more money and his subscribers didn’t seem to mind the up-tick in content.

“Tonight I’ll be walking through a creation sent by,” he squints at the username. “‘Kookiesgal95’ Aww that’s cute.”

He readies the content and starts his camera as he watches the YouTube link. His subscribers love his reaction videos—it’s a highly requested segment.

The video starts off easily, a generic Minecraft world that looks like a park.

“Hi Kook.”

The voice that reverberates through his headphones makes him pause the video quickly, wide-eyed with recognition.

It’s you. He’d know that voice from a million others.

Shit. He’s going to have to edit so much of this clip. He’s staring at the screen as if he’s just seen a ghost.

Unsteadily, he clicks play again and watches as you lead him through your Minecraft creation.

“I wanted to recreate something for someone very special in my life.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother to react to this anymore. This entire video is going to be worthless—there’s nothing he can say.

The video pans around the Minecraft setup and he can see what looks like handmade swings and merry go rounds.

“It took me a really long time to do this and an embarrassing amount of help from some twelve-year-olds on the internet.”

He laughs and is stunned by the wet tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“I re-created a park that is really special to my best friend and I.”

He feels his chest tighten and relax. The park.

“This is the spot where he held me when my dog died when I was nine. I still miss that dog.”

The view is on a spot next to a blocky oak tree. Jungkook remembers that day, remembers your heartbroken sobs as he whispered words of comfort to you. He misses that dog, too.

“This is where he and my brother got in a fight when we were eleven, because my brother called me a stupid-head. My best friend has always been protective of me, even from my own big brother.”

He can still remember pushing Namjoon around after hearing him call you names. He pushed Namjoon over and threatened to use his “big muscles” if he did it again.

The camera pans to an enormous structure, rather sloppily made, of a slide and monkey bars.

“This is where we first shared a joint in high school. I coughed a lung up and he ran down the street to a gas station at ten pm to get me a bottle of water even though I told him I was okay,”

The memory of the bewildered 7-11 employee plays through his mind. The man watched as a very stoned, very out of breath, Jungkook paid for a bottle of water in coins.

The video continues playing, moves towards what appears to be a parking lot made of cobblestone blocks.

“This is where he held me when my world fell apart.”

The break-up. The way you cried and cried and cried in his arms and he held you as if you were the only thing left on Earth.

“This is where he reminded me I’m worthy of love, that I’m not broken. This is where he held me like I was delicate, but treated me like I was unbreakable.”

His tears don’t stop. Jungkook feels his heart thundering in his chest like a summer storm.

He can hear your sniffles through the recording of the video—you were crying too. It pans around to the swing set.

“And this is where I’ll tell him everything, tonight. Where I’ll tell him how deeply I love him and how I want to make him the happiest guy in the world. In all of Minecraft and beyond. I hope he comes.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother turning his camera off.

Instead, he’s running to change out of his three-day-old clothes and bolt out the door.

The creaky, rusty metal of the swing set is deafeningly loud in the silence of your park.

It’s dark, just a few street lights around to illuminate the perimeter, but it’s otherwise only lit by the moon.

It’s getting cold. You shiver in your hoodie and kick at the dirt under your swing.

Maybe he didn’t see the video. Maybe he wasn’t going to show.

Maybe it was too late.

You spent hours working on the Minecraft world, staying up at all hours of the night to build and craft a poor re-creation of this park. The twelve-year-olds on Reddit had been invaluable and Namjoon definitely made fun of you for your creative assistants. But it had all been worth it.

“Fuck,” you speak out loud to no one, as you try to warm your hands in the pockets of your sweater. “It’s cold.”

“You should have brought a jacket.”

The sudden voice from behind startles you. You hop off the swing and whip around to face down the intruder.

Jungkook.

He looks so good. He’s wearing a thick coat and tight jeans. Your eyes take a delicious journey from head to toe.

He can’t help but preen at your blatant appreciation. He enjoys knowing you’re attracted to him, at least physically.

“You came.”

He nods and takes a nervous step towards you. He’s still far away, more than an arm's-reach away. You’re desperate to bring him closer, to pull him tight against your body and wrap yourself around him. You never want to be without his gentle touch again.

“I felt pretty compelled to come after you made all this in Minecraft for me.” He cracks a wry smile, a boy-ish grin that makes your heart flutter.

“It took me twenty-five hours and some teenagers to help.”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you. “I’m sure they were ecstatic to help.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, nervous at what he thinks about your in-game confession.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. He steps closer—one more step.

“Every word.”

His eyes are searching yours for the truth, desperately diving into the depths for validity.

“Why did you run away?” Another step.

You swallow hard, heavy tears brimming in your eyes.

“You went from being the silly best friend to being the person I could spend the rest of my life with. It all hit me. It’s always been you.”

One more step and now he’s just within your reach. If you stuck your hand out, your fingers would graze the soft puff of his coat, the delicate skin of his neck.

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I never thought you’d feel the same.”

You smile softly, timidly. “It just took me a little while longer to realize it.”

All at once, Jungkook closes the gap and holds you gently by your cheeks. His thumbs wipe at the moisture under your eyes.

“I promise to never make you cry again,” he whispers reverently.

“And I promise to never run away from you again.”

Jungkook smiles at that, cradling your face like you’re the most expensive and precious jewel.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, somewhat unsure of himself.

“I would like it if you would.”

As Jungkook presses his cold, plush lips to your own, you make a promise to yourself to never go a day without kissing him again.

“I can’t believe you’re in my bedroom,” Jungkook murmurs as he kisses at your face. After the park, Jungkook loaded you into his priceless Nissan and scurried home. You could hardly keep your hands off him as he drove you back to his place—reaching and caressing the spots on his body you’re dying to become familiar with.

“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” you remind him as he tugs up the hoodie you’re wearing.

“God, don’t be so semantic when I’m trying to fuck you,” he says before throwing the hoodie to a corner of the room. “You know what I mean.”

Jungkook kisses you again, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses you like you’re the last breath of air, and he’s greedy for every bit. He grips your hips, not too tight, and brings your body against his. You can feel him grow in hardness in his too tight, and it feels like bliss.

Teasingly, you grind your hips against his, making him shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he whines as he nibbles at your lip.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

He opens his eyes to level a look at you, pulling his mouth away from yours.

“You’re such a little smartass.”

His hands become feverish on your jeans, tugging apart the button and flicking down the fly. He pushes them down quickly, and you kick them off carelessly.

He can’t stop looking at you in your bra and panties, standing at the foot of his bed.

“Holy shit, okay, this is happening, right? Like, this is real?”

You smirk, pleased with Jungkook’s obvious excitement.

“Let me prove it’s not just a dream.”

Softly, you spin Jungkook around and push him down to sit on his bed. He complies easily, eyes wide and excited.

“If this is a dream, would you be able to feel this?” You ask as you unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. He doesn’t reply, simply watches you as you tug his jeans down to his thighs.

His cock strains hard against his tight boxers, and you run a teasing finger over the obvious bulge.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

“Feels pretty real, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

Your delicate hands gently tug at the waistband of his boxers and easily work them down enough to free the length of his cock. It springs out easily and your eyes widen at the impressive size. You assumed he would be at least average, but you’re looking at something definitely more.

“Oh wow,” you whisper. “You’re fucking huge.”

Jungkook grins. “All for you, baby.” The cockiness is palpable.

One solid grip around him wipes the presumptuous smile off his face, replaced with a gasping, shuddering moan.

“How about this? Not a dream?”

He struggles to find his voice, instead he’s gulping for air like a fish out of water.

“That’s what I thought,” you whisper before settling into a position on your knees. “I’ll admit, I’ve dreamt about this too. I always felt so ashamed for dreaming about sucking my best friend's cock.”

You press soft kisses to the head of his length, teasing the sensitive areas at the tip before kissing up and down the length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His evident desire for you encourages you, and your tongue swipes at the crown of his tip and swirls around it gently.

“Oh my god.” His eyes shutter closed and you trace the veins in his dick with your tongue.

“This h-has to be a dreeeaaaaam,” he whines as you make an exceptionally long stripe with the flat of your tongue.

You pull off for a moment, humming. He springs his eyes open and watches as you reach behind your back and unsnap your bra. Your breasts escape with a bounce and his eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets.

“What the fuck,” he whines. “You have the most amazing tits.”

He reaches out to grasp them and you slap them away playfully.

“Not yet,” you smirk. “Still trying to convince you you’re not asleep.”

He sucks in his breath and puts his hands back to the bed to steady himself, eyes never leaving yours (except to stare at the luscious curves of your body).

Grasping your breasts in both hands, you smash them together lightly in an elaborate show of what Jungkook wants most. You lean over his body and place the throbbing thickness of his cock in between your tits, allowing him to feel just how soft and warm they are.

“Shit!” He yelps, grabbing his sheets in a tight fist. “Are you really tit-fucking me right now?!”

Slowly, you lift your body up and down, allowing his cock to feel each stroke of your breasts. You nod at his question and continue to pump up and down.

“Still dreaming?”

He whines and shakes his head, already feeling so close to the edge. His cock is slick from your teasing licks and the pressure of your tits surrounding him had his mind spinning with desire.

“Ahhh, I’m so fucking close,” he warns.

You continue, speeding up the friction and pressure of your strokes.

“I want you to cum on me, Kook,” you whisper encouragingly. “Cum on my tits, please?”

Jungkook feels like he’s a wire about to snap, and your thick, sultry voice and incredibly perfect breasts are the snips that breaks him apart.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts. “Gonna paint your titties white, baby.”

His moans echo around the walls of his bedroom, small gasps of pleasure and your name escaping his perfectly plump pout.

His hot load splatters on your chest, and you stroke him through each pulse of his cock. You’re slippery with his seed now, and when you pull away from his spent length, you make a show of rubbing in his cum over your chest.

“Okay, definitely not dreaming,” he says in a daze as he watches you lift a wet finger to your mouth, popping it in to clean it off. “Who knew you were so fucking kinky?”

His confidence grows as he catches his breath. He can’t believe he’s sitting on his bed with you on your knees, breasts covered in his load. You’re suckling the cum off your finger like it’s his cock, and he’s desperate for more.

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrug.

Swiftly, he grabs you gently by your bicep and pulls you close, sucking at your lips until you’re both standing.

“I plan to find out everything.”

Suddenly, you’re switching positions and Jungkook is pushing you down into the bed. You lay flat in the center, body relaxed and eager for your best friend.

“What are you doing?” You ask. He’s still standing at the end of the bed, watching you get comfortable. Once he’s satisfied that you’re lying exactly how you want, he settles himself by your feet.

“Worshipping you,” he says as he lifts an ankle and presses gentle kisses to your calf. “Showing you how much I adore you.” More kisses, soft and sweet. “Showing you how I plan on treating you for the rest of your life.”

He takes his time, lavishing your legs with his mouth. He kisses and sucks at any spot, sexual or not. He mouths at the roundness of your knees, your firm hamstrings. He presses his love into the skin of your thighs, mouthing his praises with each kiss.

He reaches the dip of your hips and he gently kisses your exposed skin as he tugs your cotton panties off you.

“I have loved every inch of you since before I can remember,” he praises as his lips skim over the mound of your cunt. “And I don’t plan on stopping soon.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire, as if Jungkook lights a match at every spot his lips press against. Your eyes close, and you allow Jungkook to continue his pious worship of your body.

He teases around your folds, kissing your labia ever so gently—making you gasp. He doesn’t linger long, only kisses you enough to stir the licking flames of heat in your belly.

He kisses at your stomach, gently nibbling and laving at the softness there. You try to hide from him, try to hide your insecurities of your body in his thorough exploration, but he moves your hands.

“I know you don’t like this part of your body,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so pure and sincere. “But I do. I love everything about you.”

His tongue swirls around your belly button, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation.

“You’re so pretty. So perfect.”

He continues upwards, lips now trailing to your full breasts. He takes his time there, licking and kissing and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. It feels exhilarating—Jungkook’s mouth feels like everything you want it to feel like. His tongue is warm, and he bites with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the bed into his embrace.

His hands explore, taking stock of every millimeter of skin he can find. He wants to memorize every freckle, every bump, every scar and line. Your body is his paradise, and all he can think of is you, you, you.

One hand travels down your body as he moves his lips up your neck. It snakes down your stomach and deftly slides over your soaked core. You whine as you feel his fingers part your folds and dip into the wetness.

“So wet,” he says out loud, verbalizing every tantalizing detail of your body. “So perfect.”

His lips are finally at your own and you kiss him passionately, tongue swirling around his as he slides his two fingers past your clit and into your drenched hole. You gasp against his mouth, eyes widening as he slowly scissors his fingers into you and pumps slowly. It’s almost teasing, the way he fucks his fingers in you. Slow, firm movements with his powerful hands.

“Jungkook!” You gasp. He doesn’t reply, instead he bites at your lip and tugs, then trails his hot mouth back down to your nipples. He can’t get enough of your breasts and the slightly salty taste of him still lingering.

“You feel so good,” he says as he speeds his fingers up minutely. “So tight and wet for me.”

Your hips writhe in need. He’s giving you what you need, but not enough. You need more, more. You want to feel him, all of him, spearing you open.

“Please, Kook,” you groan. “I need you.”

He laughs softly against your nipple and sucks extra hard, letting it pop out of his mouth audibly.

“And I need you, my love.”

“Fuck me, please.” You’re desperate, thighs quaking from the slow teasing. “I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

Chills shudder down Jungkook’s spine and he’s powerless to say no, not when you demand it so well.

“With pleasure,” he agrees. He pulls his fingers from within you and copies your move, sliding them into his mouth to suck your essence off.

He’s never looked sexier. His eyes are dark chocolate pools of burning intensity, and you feel your breath become shaky as you watch him clean his fingers with precision.

After he’s deemed his fingers sufficiently clean, he settles himself between your legs. Easily, he lifts your hips and shoves a pillow underneath, elevating you to a more comfortable position. He grabs your legs and tosses each over his shoulders so they’re higher in the air.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he promises as he rubs the tip of his cock on your soppy slit. “Condom?”

You shake your head, appreciative of his question but desperate to feel him completely.

“Birth control. Regularly tested. Haven’t had sex in a while,” you blurt out. “You good?”

He nods in agreement. “Same. Well, except the birth control. But, I’d take it if they made it for men.”

“Jungkook!” You whine. Your best friend is so easily sidetracked. “Please, can you fuck me?”

He grins. “Tsk, someone is impatient.”

A low moan is rumbling in your chest as he continues to rub his thick cock at your entrance.

“I swear to god, you’re the biggest tease.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the biggest.”

Before you can react, he’s pushing past your entrance and sliding deep in your walls. Your position makes his cock feel deep, and he bottoms out and stills there, eyes closed in bliss.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “This is absolutely the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You wiggle your hips as you get used to the sensation of the delicious stretch.

“Please don’t tell me how many pussies you’ve felt when you’re balls deep inside of me.”

Jungkook turns his head and kisses at your legs resting on his shoulders, lavishing them with his praise once more as he keeps his cock buried inside your tight heat.

“Yours is the only one that matters. The only pussy I’ll ever be in for the rest of my life.”

“That’s a good answer,” you smile. “Now, fuck me, lover boy.”

Jungkook winks and grips your hips with his hands. He swiftly pulls out, enamored with the way his cock is already covered in your creamy essence, then eagerly pushes back in. He sets a pace and soon the sound of skin clapping on skin echoes around the room.

“Oh god!” You’re moaning loudly, unabashedly. You’re thankful that Jungkook’s old roommate, Yoongi, moved out to live with his boyfriend Hoseok months ago. He’d definitely complain about the noise for months. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good.”

Jungkook fucks into you with ferocity, speed and power gradually rising as he feels his core tighten with the coming anticipation of release.

“Mmm, you look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs. “Getting fucked by your best friend’s fat cock.”

He moves a hand from your hip, trails it up your body to squeeze at your breast, before he’s cupping your face once again. His hips snap against yours and he loves the way your mouth utters little squeaks and gasps with each deep thrust into you.

“God, my beautiful girl,” he groans. “Can’t wait to cum in this pussy, shit, you got me so fucking close.”

You open your mouth desperately and Jungkook easily slips his thumb in. You latch on quickly and suck, tongue swirling around the tip like you’re sucking another cock. It nearly sends him over the edge and the speed of his hips matches his desperate need for more.

“Fucking hell,” he bites back. He can feel his belly tighten, driven further and further to the edge by the constricting wetness of your cunt.

He pulls his thumb out and moves it down to where his cock spears into you, allowing your spit to swirl with his thumb around your clit. Your core tightens around him at the added stimulation and your back arches up in ecstasy.

“I’m so c-close, Kook,” you plead, as if begging for mercy. “Please, I want to cum so bad.”

The speed of his thumb increases, and he watches as your face twists in pleasure and desperation.

“Cum on my cock, baby, let me see you fall apart. Show me what I’ve dreamt of for so long.”

A high and wanton cry ripples out of your body as he savagely increases his speed, both his cock and thumb working overtime to drive you towards your end. The butterflies that erupt in your lower stomach make your moans louder, higher. You’re so close, closer than ever. It’s building to an incredible crescendo.

He can tell you’re close—he sees it on your face as your back arches and your fists grip his sheets.

“You look like a fucking angel, baby,” he whines as he soaks in the vision of you writhing underneath him. “I bet you cum like an angel, too. Let me see it, let me see.”

With just a few more swirls of his thumb and his deep, hard strokes, you’re soaring over the edge into a pool of nothingness. Your cunt pulsates wildly around his length, milking and stroking it with your tight walls. You throw your head back, moaning out his name at the top of his lungs, letting his neighbors know just who fucks you so well.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your juicy hole. “That was so fucking sexy.”

You grip his forearms, holding onto him tight and encourage him to go harder. “Cum inside me, Kookie, please. I’m all yours, make me yours.”

His heart feels like it might burst in his chest. He’s always wanted you to say it to him, to hand over your love to him like he does so easily to you. It’s all so much, so overwhelming, and the feeling of your hot cunt still fluttering around him sends him reeling into his own completion.

He spills into you, warm seed coating your walls and pooling inside your womb. He fucks himself through each throb of his cock until he’s sure he’s drained every ounce of himself into you.

Your legs slip off his shoulders easily, and he gently pulls himself out of you. He falls beside you, panting with exertion, and wraps an arm around you.

After a few silent moments of catching your breath, Jungkook pulls you in close to him until he can koala-cling to you, arms and legs both wrapped around your body.

“Mine,” he whispers as he kisses your head. “All mine.”

You return the favor, clinging to your best friend—boyfriend—like he’s your only lifeline.

“All yours.”

“So, you’re telling me, you got together because of Minecraft?” Jimin asks, pointing a fork in your direction. It’s been months now since your grand virtual declaration of love for Jungkook. Months of bliss and romance, laughter and companionship.

You were right all along. Jungkook is everything you’ve wanted in a man and more.

You’re sitting at your brother’s expensive dinner table, enjoying a meal with his family with your boyfriend at your side.

“Yeah, Jimin, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” you retort as you roll your eyes. “Minecraft and Tinder.”

Baby Jisoo is awake and in your brother’s arms, but she’s whining and wiggling to leave him.

“What’s wrong, Soo?” Namjoon asks with a pout on his lips. “Why don’t you want daddy anymore?”

Jimin snorts at his husband and you hold out your arms for your baby niece. “Come here, baby, I know you want auntie.”

Namjoon dutifully hands over his daughter, sulking that he’s been picked over for his sister.

You cradle the baby in your arms, expecting her to calm once she’s there, but she continues to fuss. She’s thrusting her arms out and nearly crying, reaching towards Jungkook who’s busy chowing down on Jimin’s homemade ramen.

“I think she wants you, Kook,” you murmur. He looks at you, then to the baby, then back to you, before he wipes his hands and face clean with a napkin.

“Oh, okay,” he whispers, slowly taking the baby from your arms with your help. “Hello, ma’am.”

Namjoon and Jimin laugh. “She’s a baby, Jungkook, not an elderly woman,” your brother teases.

Jungkook doesn’t listen. He’s too busy cooing at the baby in his arms and playing with her tiny hands. Namjoon turns his attention away and looks at you.

“Guess I won’t be the only provider of grandchildren for much longer.”

You playfully glare at him and turn away to watch your boyfriend. Watching Jungkook interact with your niece makes your heart swell, your soul sing. He’d be a perfect father.

“I swear, if he teaches her how to play Minecraft, he’s banned from the household,” Jimin grumbles. “This is a No-Nerd-Zone.”

Jungkook cradles the child and rocks back and forth, singing her a soft, made-up song, before he looks over at you.

“Hey, I want one of these,” he smiles. “Can we have one?”

You lay a hand on your stomach, a soft bump not quite visible yet. It’s only been one test, the lines faintly indicating ‘positive’ on the stick. You wanted to make sure, get confirmation before you spill the beans.

“Sure, Kookie.”

He grins and leans over to kiss you, before turning his attention back to the baby. “Okay, Jisoo, now let me tell you all about the Endermen.”

Jimin groans. “Oh my god, do not give Minecraft facts to my infant!”

tag list - @giadalin @nohayarcoirissintormenta @pjmislovely @xhazmania @marcoazam2 @eggbutnotyolk @feel-the-sunset @unicornbabylover @aretha170 @jeonmisha @hordanhearsawhooo

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #ficswithluv #jjk smut #bts fics #jjk fic #jungkook fic

7K notes · View notes

bellafragolina · 2 years ago

Note

A Irida with a reader who is the younger brother of Adaman that not many know about. Sorry about the lengthy scenario but just wanna give you info to act as a foundation. Anyways they were exiled before the game starts as they thought this clan feud is stupid and they should swallow their pride for the good this would bring. Since Adama is younger and has not proven himself he has to do this or else look weak. This leads to you going to the Pearl Clan.

ooooh, i like this. yes yes, i like this a lot.

🍓🍓🍓

When the Pearl Clan found you, alone in the wilderness, dressed in the scrapes of your old Diamond Clan garb, they’re unsure what to think of you. They house you at one of their smaller settlements until Irida makes it, and you tell her your tale. You spoke against the feud, and thought the clans should try to get along for the betterment of everyone, and Adaman. . . Your face crumbles as you tell Irida how Adaman banished you

Irida understands, at least somewhat. She doesn’t agree with the feud either, and would like for the neighboring clans to get along, but some are so set in their ways that they’re impossible to move. Besides, she also strongly believes in her Sinnoh, and though your ideas of who or what Sinnoh, and what it can do, are vague, Irida welcomes you tentatively into the Pearl Clan. Irida’s only advice is to keep any opinions of the feud close to your heart, lest you want to try Jubilife next. You agree to keep your opinions to yourself

There’s much suspicion surrounding you at first. Calaba doesn’t like you, thinks perhaps you could be a spy, but as the months pass and you aid her, she comes to trust you. Gaelic trusts you from the start, and is happy to have you around, often taking you training with him to help get you used to the cold. Lian takes some convincing as well, but caves easily after you let him ramble to you about rocks and Lord Kleavor. Paulina likes you from the start as well when Growlithe sniffs you and immediately melts into your petting (and also after she sees you’re still on decent terms with Iscan). Ingo, who understands how you must feel like an outsider, easily bonds with you

Irida. . . a part of Irida wants to hate you. You remind her of Adaman, determined and headstrong, and she wants to be annoyed at you. But she sees how you play with Lian and the other children. She sees how gentle you are assisting the elder members, how you listen to Cabala about herbs and to Gaelic about training. Ingo tells her about how you’re attempting to help his memory. She sees all of this, sees how you tell people stories of her kindness and great leadership, and feels her soul warm and heart beat stronger with the beginning sparks of love

Before any more can be done, however, Adaman appears at the village. He looks to you, he calls you his "brother," and hell breaks loose. People are gasping and whispering about you being the younger brother of the Diamond Clan leader, some with suspicion of you, others with shock that Adaman would banish his own brother. Irida, though, is more focused on the latter. As you curl into yourself and look away from Adaman, she strides up to the Diamond Clan leader, and tells him off

"All he wanted was a good relations between clans!" Irida snaps, stood before you. She glares up at Adaman, who backs away from her intensity. "He wanted what was best for everyone, and you sent him away, your own family!"

"I had no choice!" Adaman shouts back, desperation in his eyes as he looks between the two of you. You keep your eyes lowered.

"There is always a choice!" Irida says, taking your hand in hers. "And mine is to take in the brother you tossed aside. He is part of the Pearl Clan now, so go! You have no business here anymore!"

Once Adaman (begrudgingly) leaves, you quietly thank Irida for standing up for you. She assures you it's what a Clan Leader does for her people, but there's a noticeable blush on her cheeks. Later on, after you've received comfort from other Pearl Clan members moved by Irida's words, the Clan Leader takes you into her cabin. You both sit together quietly, processing everything that's occurred. Irida rests her head on your shoulder, holding your hand again. You lean into her, and press a small kiss to her brow

No one bats an eye at your sudden curiosity of Pearl Clan courting rituals the next day

🍓🍓🍓

i wasn't attempting to demonize Adaman in this, so i hope it doesn't appear that way. sometimes the choices we make have consequences, even if they're made with the best intentions

but i hope you enjoyed, lovely! have a great day!

~Renee

#irida x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader

55 notes · View notes

shunchitaro · 2 years ago

Text

Chota x Reader

Genre: Fluff Platonic.

The first game was done almost instantly and everyone was relieved, until they heard an agonized groan, turning to see Chota's leg on fire.

Karube had taken off his polo shirt, fanning it on Chota's leg until the fire subsided, leaving a blackened grotesque mark, and reddened flesh could be seen. Y/N had taken the card on the table and turned around to the sight, and her eyes grew wide with shock. "Chota!" She ran up to him "Oh my goodness, are you alright?!" Arisu placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey relax, we'll take him to the mall, there might be a med kit somewhere" He reassured Y/N, and she nodded.

They had found a med kit, and Karube went to look for blankets and pillows, while Arisu went to get food. Shibuki had tagged along so Y/N was left alone with Chota.

Unable to stand the silence, Y/N reached for the med kit, the bandages, and the alcohol. "Can I fix your leg for you?" She asked softly, making Chota glance up. He looked helpless, but there was something else bothering him.

"Y/N..why do you, Arisu and Karube stick with me? What's so special about me?"

Y/N's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I don't think I understand Chota, you'll have to explain"

He was fidgeting with his hands- one thing Y/N knew to be a sign of his nervousness. He let out a shaky sigh.

"Arisu..his family is rich. He may be a couch potato, but he's smart. Without him, we wouldn't have made it out that building. Karube, he may have gotten kicked from his job, but it doesn't affect him. He literally has a girl swooning over him. He may just be a person working behind a drinks counter but he's happy, and he's planned how he wants his life to go. And you? You're amazing. You rarely need to put effort into things because it somehow goes smoothly for you. You have problems, but you're strong and you can control your emotions."

"What does this have to do with you?" Y/N asked softly, sitting beside him.

"I'm not rich, and I'm not smart. I don't have my life together like Karube, I don't even know what to do with my future. I can't control my emotions like you do. I'm weak, and I can't protect myself. If I were alone in the game earlier I would already be dead." He sniffs, and Y/N realizes he was crying.

"I don't know why you guys stick with me. I'm not as good compared to you three, I don't have anything special about me. I'm just 'some guy' working at the bank giving his earnings to his mother."

"Don't say that."

Y/N's sharp tone makes him look up abruptly, startled as Y/N's glided her thumb below his eyes, wiping away his tears.

"You have potential, Chota. If you never took that video in the beginning of the game, Arisu would've never found the right door in time. Without your help, we'd all be dead."

He searched her eyes as she ruffled his hair, then pat his shoulder.

"You aren't like us, but you're special in your own way. You're caring, and you always put others before yourself. We stuck with you because you are our friend." She smiles softly, making him smile as well.

"Thank you, for treating me like someone important" Chota bowed his head slightly, and Y/N laughed.

"Of course you're important, Chota. You are our friend, and we won't have it any other way." Y/N replied, taking the bandages from the med kit.

"So will you depend on me for now, and let me dress your wounds?"

Chota felt a warm fuzzy feeling inside, it felt cozy and comfortable. For the first time ever, he didn't doubt his friendship with the three, and he accepted himself as who he knew he was. He felt loved. He felt appreciated. He felt like he belonged. He knew he could trust his friends, he knew that when it came to the time he needed someone they'll be there; and he can depend on them

"I'll depend on you, thank you for your care, Y/N."

#chota #aib chota #alice in borderland #aib #aib season 2 #reader insert #yn #y/n #aib x you #aib x reader #fluff #angst #chota x reader #fanfic #alice in boderland x reader

38 notes · View notes

just-another-mess-in-a-dress · 2 years ago

Text

Just a Little

YOI Snz Fic #3:

I just love Viktor okay? Like I love him... I love him. He’s so pretty so I had to make him suffer! There’s at least two more victims of this head cold... who will they be? 👀

Sequel (Prequel?) fic to ‘A Simple Kindness’ (which can be found Here!) Viktor’s horrific head cold at the Cup of China. Featuring Yakov being unwilling to babysit a twenty-five-year-old man, Chris being best friend of the year, and Yuri P. being unwilling to admit he cares.

Viktor was, in a word, fucked. He’s never felt so congested in his life, he can feel the tightness of his sinuses up to his tear ducts, and prom’s tomorrow. By which he means that the Cup of China short program is tomorrow and he does not have his act together yet. How can someone be so… stuffy and yet so drippy at the same time?

He’s positive he’ll go through the entire box of tissues Yakov’s brought to public practice before the hour is up. It’s one thing to have a head cold, it’s another to be Viktor fucking Nikiforov with a head cold. He has a reputation to uphold here and the cameras pointed at him while he is currently a mouth breathing menace are not helping.

His throat keeps drying out because he can’t breathe through his nose and every time he so much as sniffs it sends a tickle all the way up to his brain. But of course, it’s hard to tell which of those tickles will finally force a sneeze out of him so each of them catch him by surprise. The ice must be coated in a thin layer of sneeze spray and germs by now but he really can’t help it; and god this is humiliating.

Yakov had tried to tell him to stay at the hotel and rest, but Viktor has always had a hard rule about skipping practice. If he’s got a fever, no skating, anything else is fair game; besides, he agreed to only work on his step sequences which he can do in his sleep.

Right now, between his leaky eyes and running nose, he isn’t sure it’s possible for him to feel any worse.

“Ktt'schh!! Hehh…hehh'kshHEWW!” Viktor barely manages to avoid sneezing directly on one of his fellow competitors as he skates by.

He wishes he was in bed, any bed, even knowing that laying down means allowing the congestion in his head to drip down into his chest. He needs to get off his feet and rest his aching muscles. He needs to take a shower to loosen up the stuffiness of his headache.

“Ap’KSHHew!” He needs to stop fucking sneezing is what he needs to do. Or at least have a little warning, goddamn that one almost released more than a sheen of spray.

He skates to the edge of the rink and plucks out a handful to tissues to blow his nose into.

“You’re done for the day.” Yakov tells him gruffly.

“What time is it?” Viktor asks, his voice sounds thick even to his own ears. Not that he can hear well to begin with, seeing as his ears haven’t popped since his flight landed yesterday.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re done. Off the ice, now.” Yakov points to the exit of the training rink, Viktor skates lazily towards it as Yakov continues to lecture. “No going out tonight, be in bed by nine thirty at the latest I will be checking up on you so don’t get any ideas. Take the medicine in your room, the nighttime is in the blue bottle. I’ll send room service up with soup at seven make sure you’re showered before then.”

“I take it you’ll be busy then?” Viktor asks with a sniffle, swiping his skate guards from his coach.

“I have other skaters to prepare for tomorrow as well and I would like to mitigate contagion if at all possible. Not that you seem too interested in that.” Yakov rolls his eyes.

“Should I-”

“If you need anything contact the front desk, I don’t want you wandering around Shanghai unattended while you’re like this.”

“Heh-hehh-HE’hkMMPFF!” Viktor smothers the sneeze into his elbow and stalls when he feels the thick splat of mucus against his arm. Yakov hands him another bundle of tissues.

“Будь здоров.”

“Спасібо.” Viktor winces as he wipes his sleeve clean of gunk.

“Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Yakov pats his shoulder sympathetically before going off on his own.

Viktor rubs his forehead as he walks back to the hotel. The cold air feels nice against his inflamed nose even if his slightly fevered body doesn’t appreciate the chill. Viktor is reluctant to admit is that he wishes Yakov would be more of a present figure if he’s going to be so overbearing.

Truth be told, Viktor’s always seen Yakov as a paternal figure in his life and when he gets sick he longs for the role of caretaker to be filled. Viktor finds himself particularly useless when he’s ill, his body becomes so full of aches and pains that he simply shuts down for the time being. He’s been known to go days without a proper meal or even a shower when he’s truly ill.

And Yakov does care, even if he has a less than ideal way of showing. Viktor knows that he has other skaters to attend to. He also knows that Yakov is an old man who was raised in a generation of ‘grin and bear’ instead of the coddling Viktor would prefer.

He wishes Chris were in town, at least then he’d have company in his misery. And Chris would take care of him, with a lot of jests and teasing thrown his way. Alas, the stars didn’t align this year and the infamous duo had no overlapping competitions this Grand Prix. Viktor longs for the comforting presence of his best friend, his coach… anyone really.

Once he’s back in his hotel room he shuffles into the shower; the steam helps in the sense that his congestion loosens. The steam also has him sneezing fiercely every twenty seconds or so, leaving his throat sore with the effort of unrestrained releases. It seems like his nose is a running faucet that will not turn off even once his shower is complete.

The haggard face that stares back at him makes Viktor grimace. His red rimmed eyes that water and squint in the light, his bright shiny red nose that glistens with moisture, and he’s pretty sure his left lymph node is swollen enough that he can see it. His nose twitches as he moisturizes his face, irritated tears trickle down his cheeks that he is quick to wipe away.

He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, an involuntary moan slips out of his mouth as his eyes prickle with irritation again. For the umpteenth time that day, he reaches for a tissue to blow his nose. Viktor hates when he looks disheveled so despite feeling like crap, he continues with his post shower rituals.

While he’s running product through his hair his nose quivers against the scent, patchouli or something like that. His eyes go hazy, his chest rising in sporadic bursts, and just as he’s realizing what’s about to happen he’s pitching forward with the sneeze.

“Hhh’ktCHAH!” He winces as the mirror catches the mist of his sneeze, a cough tumbles out of him shortly after. The muggy steam of the bathroom is unrelenting, however, and one sneeze is not enough. Soon he’s caught off guard again. “Ha-ttKSCHuuh!... Heh-hheh-HEH… HEP’shttew!”

Viktor shakes his head after that display, mopping up the sickly sheen on the top of his lip but ignoring the mirror altogether. Screw covering, he exhausted and if sneezing will get the damn tickle out then he’ll sneeze goddamn it.

Under normal circumstances Viktor doesn’t particularly mind sneezing, it’s just a part of everyday life. The problem is these sneezes don’t seem to be doing anything for him and it’s such a damn bother.

Fresh from his shower, Viktor flops on his bed and pulls out his phone. He doesn’t bother with medication, it hasn’t even put a dent in his congestion or the sneezing so he doesn’t see a point. He’ll take the nighttime meds to knock himself out but what Yakov doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Chris~ I’m so sick 🤧😷🤧🤒

He flips through his socials as he awaits a response. The ice dancers free dance was today, apparently, and it seems that France has taken gold. Not that Viktor particularly cares, ice dance never quite enthralled him and their compulsory pieces tend to be… cartoonish, if he’s to be consulted.

I’m sorry to hear that dear.

Chris replies before Viktor can falls down a rabbit hole of ice dance.

Come take care of me 🩺❤️

Viktor takes a moment before sending the message to agonize over a stuck sneeze. The fluttering breath in his chest and the twitching of his nostrils leave him with the beginnings of a headache when the tickle fades.

Dr. Chris will be right there, honey 😘👨‍⚕️

Viktor smiles at the idea of that, not Chris being a doctor per say, but the idea of being looked after.

Thank you~ I’ll be waiting... Miss you!

“Hep’PISHEW- ugh.” Viktor groans when he sees the amount of spray coating his phone. Once he’s wiped the screen clear he sees that he has accidentally voice recorded that sneeze. He sends it to Chris followed by a laughing emoji.

You could post that somewhere and make bank.

Just sayin 😘😂

Viktor chuckles, which leads to a chesty cough, which leads to yet another sneeze.

Maybe I should, then someone who’s actually in China could come take care of me 😓🤔😉

Viktor gets a text from Yakov that he ignores outright. Chris fires back immediately with:

Well, you do need fluids when you’re sick… 😂🥵

The laugh that falls out of Viktor’s face is truly disgusting. The congested snort forces a glob of snot to fall out of his abused nostrils. Viktor can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed as he mops himself up. He takes a photo of the pile of tissues he’s accumulated in the past fifteen minutes and sends it to Chris.

I think I have plenty of fluid of my own thanks.

Viktor opens Yakov’s message and rolls his eyes when he reads it. A general message about expectations for tomorrow as well as the written instructions for tonight’s rest. He notes, with a smirk, that Yakov has put instructions to take his medication ‘regardless of if you think it helps or not’. Because somehow, Yakov does always know what’s going on in Viktor’s head.

He ignores the gesture, of course, only responding with a thumbs up before returning to his texts with Chris.

I’m sure those are filled with… fluid 😘

I hope you’re not too sick. I can’t imagine a GPF without you.

Viktor rolls his eyes, because of course this all goes back to skating. He knows that’s not what Chris means by it… really, he does. But the statement hurts just a bit nonetheless.

I think I’m in the midst of the worst of it.

The sneezing is bad and the headache is annoying, but I think I’ll be better tomorrow.

The tingling sensation in the back of Viktor’s sinuses returns, leaving him a hitchy, itchy mess.

“Ahh-huh…. Uhh… Huh… Huuh… Hap’TISCHOOO! Hh’EktSHUH! Ktshhoo! He’krCHUH! TeCHU! Hep’Chuh! Fu-uck… EtCHU!” Viktor groans at the sight of his splotchy, snotty t-shirt, resigned to the fact that now he has to change (and maybe shower again).

He blows his nose again and is shocked to find that even after that display he’s still able to fill a tissue. And he still has a congestion headache… damn this sucks.

As he’s throwing a shirt over his head he hears someone pounding at the door. Perplexed, Viktor clears the bed of tissues, it’s unlikely Yakov’s come to check on him, but who else would come to see him right now? Unless Chris has flown halfway across the world in twenty minutes to come see him of course…

When he opens the door he catches a flash of blonde hair disappearing into the room two doors down from his. Then his attention is drawn to the bags left on the floor. One of them is still warm as he lifts it to inspect its contents.

Viktor shuffles back into his room and opens the bags to discover a plethora of unexpected offerings. A large takeaway carton of soup with dumplings in one bag, Viktor is certain if he could smell it would be divine. In the other bag is an assortment of tea and candies (чербоний мак and bim bom to be precise).

With a bubbling chuckle Viktor picks up his phone to text the little fairy.

Yura~ thank you for the gifts! You must be really worried about me!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about old man.

And I’m not worried you’re just loud as fuck when you’re sick.

Such language! 😮😱

I got your candies and soup! I appreciate it!

Whatever.

Why’d you do it hm? If you’re not worried about me?

I didn’t do shit.

But if I did it’s because hotel food sucks and Yakov’s lame for not even giving you a choice.

I love you~ 🥰💖💓❤️

Yuri doesn’t respond to that, but he doesn’t need to. Viktor just appreciates that someone is looking out for him even if it is just a little bit.

#snz fic #snz kink #snzblr #sneezy!Viktor #cw mess #YOI #mess #cold #My writing

46 notes · View notes

delicrieux · 4 years ago

Note

CORPSE REQUESTS???? HELL YEAH ALRIGHT so maybe one where the usual lobby is streaming but with bretman rock and he‘s kinda picking up on that cute we-like-each-other-but-we‘re-too-stupid-realize dynamic between corpse and y/n so he teases them and calls them out on it?? Idk just an idea, love you!

･:* ☆ author’s note: yo! yo! this is ✨cute✨ also....funky monky friday!!!

masterlist.｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Typical game, typical stream, not exactly typical company. While Bretman is an unusual addition, he definitely adds a certain little something that not only makes the game funnier, but the dynamic more lively. If someone were to ask you if you could listen to him rambling for hours you would announce a resounding “Yes!” - well, no one asked, but you still told your stream that. They appreciated the honesty. Some of your followers, however, snuck in a few comments that vaguely read “u sure u don’t mean u could listen to corpse forever?” among the sea of keyboard smashes and emojis. You pretended you didn’t see them , focusing on that stupid card swipe that get’s you every time.

There are impostors among your group of friends, and your job as crewmate is to sniff them out. For some reason you have an inkling one of them is Sykkuno because he was just a bit too sweet during the last meeting, amping up the innocence in his voice to a suspicious extent; the second one, sadly, you are blind to. Though, if a surprise attack were to happen, you at least have Corpse beside you, guarding you while you do tasks.

The fairy-lights in your stream room twinkle and dim, your eyes lingering on Corpse’s in-game astronaut for a tad longer than necessary.

You have been following him this whole time like a lost puppy. Running in circles around his little character. At one point a chase ensued where he tried to catch you and you were laughing and you hope he was laughing too but quite frankly you were too afraid to check what the stream had to say because you figured it was going nuts.

A meeting was urgently called. You frown softly at the X’s sprung on some of your friends’ icons. “I’ll avenge you.” You mutter before unmuting your mic.

“Okay, so, it’s definitely not Corpse or (Name).” James chimes so quick you barely manage to catch him, “I passed them on my way to MedBay and she was just running circles around him while he was, I don’t know, AFK? I mean, yes, king, work! Give us nothing!”

“I dunno guys,” Sykkuno says after the laughter dies down, “(Name) has been acting pretty sus. Have you even done any of your tasks?”

“It’s not (Name).” Corpse opposes quietly, though his voice is drowned out by a cacophony of conflicting opinions.

“The hell, Sykkuno?” You exclaim, hurt. Is he trying to frame you? You knew something was odd about him this round, “What is this snake behaviour? Yes I did my tasks, Corpse is my alibi.”

“I was literally with her the whole time.” He confirms, all in that calm, baritone of his, “If she killed someone, I would have seen it.”

“How do we know you aren’t in cahoots?” Rae questions. Seconds tick by, draining the timer. This is getting nowhere. Worst of all, you’re slowly being led into the fire before they flame you. Honestly, you aren’t the impostor. If you were, you’re certain they would’ve caught you already. “I feel like (Name) and Corpse would be in cahoots.”

“Okay, good point,” James says, “but the body was found in Navigation.”

“They could’ve vented there.” Sykkuno offers.

Corpse hums, “Spoken like a true Impostor.”

“Aren’t you in Navigation, Sykkuno?” You grit.

“Yes, I, uhh, I found the body with James.”

“Sus.” You say. Your stream chat echoes it a thousand times. Maybe more.

“I don’t think it’s Sykkuno,” James mumbles, “but I also don’t think it’s Corpse or (Name). Like, I’ve seen them doing tasks around the map. Never have they been anywhere even close to a body.”

“Yeah!” Sykkuno exclaims, “Isn’t that suspicious?”

You gape at your camera, like you’re in the Office, before hissing a “How the fuck is not murdering people suspicious?!”

“Guys, seriously,” Corpse says with a light little laugh, instantly hushing the hectic conversation, “we need to vote or skip. I say we skip for now. (Name) and I have been together since I ran into her in Electrical before the first body was found. I really don’t know what else do you want me to say. Let’s skip, okay?”

A chorus of “Okay”s shakes the discord call - if it’s anyone that can convince them to do something, it’s Corpse. This talent of his is both frightening and wonderful. It’s good having someone defend you, though if he ever wanted to vote you out, you’d be done for.

Somehow, you think he wouldn’t do that, though. A smile almost slips onto your lips before you swallow it down. Incriminating. You will not appear soft on stream! Your audience would tease you all the way to hell and back.

Bretman, who had been eerily quiet through the exchange (or, possibly, accidentally muted his mic again), suddenly speaks up, “Y’all are too cute.”

“What? Who?” Rae asks.

“(Name) and Corpse. Don’t think we don’t see y’all coupling it up.”

You’re suddenly incredibly happy you always stream in low lights - it feels cozy, more personal somehow - because your cheeks flush with heat and you lean back into your chair, as if to get away from him and the screen and the game and what he’s saying. You dare a glance at the chat but it’s swimming from the influx of messages.

Corpse is quiet. You’re not sure whether that makes you feel better or worse.

“Oh my God, no kidding.” James says, the last one to skip vote, “They’re always like this, I swear, it’s the cutest thing.”

“What about me and Corpse?” Sykkuno asks, “I thought we had something special.”

“First you frame me,” You speak up, “and now you’re trying to take away my only friend? Cold, Sykkuno. Real cold.”

“Yaaaas, miss girl, don’t let him walk all over you!” Bretman cheers.

Thankfully, the timer ends, no one is flung into the void of outer space and all mics are muted again before Bretman can say anything else.

You feel nervous. Corpse’s astronaut stands next to you, immobile. Swallowing, you circle around him again. You grin when he follows after you. Good, so he wasn’t weirded out by that exchange after all.

Wait, why do you care so much anyway?

Well, whatever. There are still plenty of tasks to be done and you need to catch Sykkuno somehow. With renewed enthusiasm, you connect wires, thinking of a game plan.

“here from corpse’s stream, he just called (name) angel:)!!”

You briefly wonder if it’ll make it into his stream highlights. Something so insignificant, such an offhand affectionate comment...Probably not, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it. Just to know how it sounded. To know if it really happened or was it just a little white lie from his fans meant only to tease you.

You wish you would've missed that comment in chat. Because now, with your heart racing in your chest, that’s the only thing you can think about.

hope you liked it! xx

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband fic #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #imagine #imagines #reader insert #request #fluff

2K notes · View notes

matsbarzal · 3 years ago

Note

number 2 fluff with barzy please❤️

fluff #2. "i personally think i deserve more attention than this."

word count: 1.2k pairing: mat barzal x reader

Mathew Barzal wasn’t one that you could call starved of attention. But starved of your attention? Now that’s a different story. Especially when you add in his biggest foe, a four-legged creature with puppy dog eyes.

He was notorious for arguing that you didn’t spend half the amount of time on him that you did on others. Constantly pestering you, constantly trying to distract you from your work, doing anything in his power to prevent your attention and affirmations from slipping from him onto something else.

“Mathew, seriously, it’s one foster. The poor thing couldn’t stay at the shelter anymore, he was terrified,” you scoffed as you swung your finger through your keyring, your eyes never leaving him as he pouted towards you.

“But I’m allergic.”

“You know your mom and I talk every day, right? Do you know how quick it’d be for me to shoot her a text and ask about your allergies?” shaking his head vehemently at your words, the pout on his face growing larger and more prominent.

Plopping himself down on the couch, you tried to hold back the giggle that slipped from your lips. He was downright pouting like a child; his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes facing his lap as his knee bounced aggressively. He lookedlike a child.

“Mathew, are you kidding me? Fine. Whatever, I’ll go tell them he has to stay in the shelter then if it’s such a big deal,” throwing your hands up in exasperation, you dropped the keys on the table and stomped your way to your shared bedroom with Mat closely on your heels.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m being a dick. Let’s go, I’ll drive. I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to be a good person and do a good thing.”

That’s how you found yourself with a dog pressed in your lap, his head eagerly following the trees as they zipped by. He was a quiet little guy, a nine-month-old American Pitbull Terrier, given away by a family who ‘couldn’t handle his energy’ as the shelter told you. It was easy to see he was nervous, anxious even, to be in a car with two complete strangers.

The shelter told you he mostly responded to Apollo, but his former owners hadn’t done much to reinforce the acknowledgment of his given name. You and Mat were expected to change that, expected to train him enough so that he’d be able to go back to the shelter, or hopefully, go to a loving home, with a loving family.

“He’s pretty cute, huh?” Almost on cue, Apollo turned his body in Mat’s direction, an eager look in his eyes and an aggressive wag to his tail.

Trying to focus on the road, Mat gently reached his hand over for the dog to sniff. Before a second of time could elapse, Apollo’s front paws were pressed against his thighs, his nose digging into Mat’s neck.

“Get him off, oh my god! I’m trying to drive, oh my god! Oh my goooood,” holding back the cackle that was bubbling up in your throat, you quickly grabbed his collar and gently pulled the dog back to you. You could see the rush of pink floating up Mat’s face, the embarrassment from his squeal now evident on his cheeks as he refused to look at you or the dog in your lap.

The quiet, calm pup from the car? Gone the moment you and Mat made your way into your shared apartment. He was eager to make his way around, sniffing everything he could, pushing his nose into all the nooks and crannies your apartment had to offer as Mat watched on, a look of indifference in his eyes.

For the fact he was so hyper and energetic during the day, Apollo was eager to press into your side when the sun went down, his head bumping into your lap gently every time your hand moved from his behind his ears. He was happy to cuddle up against you, his body alienating Mat to the other side of the couch. Mat held his tongue as he glared at the dog, Apollo’s tail gently hitting the couch when he made eye contact with the man.

“Stop getting him going, Mathew. I want to go to bed soon, and you’ll be the one playing with him if you wire him back up,” gaping at you in shock, Mat groaned as he crossed his arms over his chest for the second time that day.

Mat had no idea how he was going to get around this whole… dog situation.

Things were no different the next day. You and Apollo were getting back from your first morning walk just as Mat was re-entering the apartment after practice, a look of joy crossing his face when he made eye contact. Going to press his lips against yours, he was stopped by the barking at his feet, the source of the sound in question maneuvering its body so Mat couldn’t get any closer.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”

“Hush, Mat. The shelter said he was very protective against men, he’s just wary of you and thinks you’re a threat to me,” squeezing his bicep gently as you and Apollo walked past him into it, Mat proceed to glare at the dog, a wagging tail his only response.

To put it lightly, Mathew Barzal was exhausted. He was exhausted having to fight for your attention against a dog, who so obviously had the upper hand with his stupidly cute puppy dog eyes, and his stupidly cute ears, and his stupidly cute games. Mat didn’t stand a chance, and he was exhausted.

“I personally think I deserve more attention than this,” he plopped himself down in the empty spot next to you, Apollo eagerly chewing away at a bone on the floor as he eyed the man from his spot.

Shaking your head in silent laughter, you pressed your head into his shoulder with a grin. “Baby, you’ve had all my attention in the world for so long. What about when we have kids? Am I going to have to drop everything I’m doing with them, so daddy dearest gets my undivided and undying attention?”

“Well… I— ugh,” spluttering, Mat didn’t know how to respond as he looked at you. He knew you were right; knew he was potentially being dramatic. But all of your attention had been completely taken up by Apollo, the dog in question who now had his head pressed against the side of your leg.

“Have you considered that maybe, hear me out here… you could spend time with both Apollo and I? It’s not like I’ve completely excluded you from anything, you’ve just chosen to be a pouty baby since he first came home, not much I can control there, babe.”

Mat knew you were right as he observed Apollo’s eyes following his every movement, the dog’s tail never stopping as he awaited Mat’s next move.

“I think we should make an attention chart,” rolling your eyes at his words, you shook your head with a glare directed towards the man.

“Either you do things with us, or you get your attention from Anthony. Your choice.”

“Fine, but I still think I deserve more attention.”

“Whatever, Mathew.”

note: i hope this fits your requests! thank you for sending one in, and i hope you enjoy <3

370 notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing viii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 1, 964

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“I can’t believe this!” Jeonghan puffs while he drops his belongings loudly onto the table in the study lounge, causing a few other students to turn and glare.

“Would it kill you to be quiet?” Jungkook grumbles, picking at the edge of the paper of his textbook, eyes never straying away from the content of the page.

“No. I will not be quiet because I thought football bros were bros for life!” Jeonghan whines.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “You know that’s kind of concerning when you put it that way.”

Jeonghan simply waves the other boy off before he leans forward as if he has something important he has to say. Jungkook knew him well enough to know that it would either waste Jungkook’s precious study time or be something so out of the ordinary that he can’t help but be intrigued.

Jungkook shrugged and takes the chance, anyway.

“Namjoon bailed.” He deadpans. “Again!”

Jungkook stiffens ever so slightly but feigns disinterest with a noncommittal hum.

“Really.”

Jeonghan nods his head, or shook his head—it was hard to tell because he was all over the place and he seemed more displeased than anything.

“I never thought we’d lose our own captain to a girl.” He sniffs.

Jungkook sighs, already done with the conversation because somehow no one can ever mention Namjoon without mentioning you now, apparently because the two of you were hanging out much more frequently. He’s bitter. And he’s confused—because he’s attempted patching things up with you but you only would ever reply to him with curt responses than the enthusiastic ones you used to flatter him with.

JK: hey. there’s a new cafe outside of campus. U wanna go?

Smarty Pants 🐰: Im busy. Next time? :)

JK: are u free tonight?

JK: im heading to the library later. wanna meet up for some ramen first? On me!!!

Smarty Pants 🐰: sorry jungkook, meeting w administrators for pastoral care matters

Smarty Pants 🐰: Do you need help with the content?

JK: oh… it’s fine, just wanted to hang out with you. We haven’t done that in a while

JK: jimin said u finally have some free time next week? Let’s catch up! i’ll treat u to some banana bread :D

Smarty Pants 🐰: i have plans with joon. which day were you thinking?

JK: Anytime. When are you meeting hyung?

Smarty Pants 🐰: we kind of have plans every day, here and there. could I get back to you?

And that was it. The blow that Jungkook knew he deserved but couldn’t deal with. You had tried your best to avoid any personal interaction with Jungkook and he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

“They’re kind of perfect for each other, don’t you think?” Jeonghan interrupts Jungkook’s sour mood when he recalls all his failed attempts at trying to meet with you personally.

Jungkook blinks then furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Joon and your friend _____.” He knocks on the table. “Bunch of nerds together.” He adds with a snicker.

Jungkook stiffens, hands clutching his textbook tighter.

“You say that like there’s something wrong with being a nerd.” He says slowly.

“There isn’t. Really.” Jeonghan defends. “It’s just so … fitting. Captain of the football team who’s lowkey a softie and an art nerd with the overachiever on campus. Their IQ’s combined are probably in the 300 range.”

Jungkook scowls.

“Haven’t you heard of the phrase ‘opposites attract’?” Jungkook asks sourly.

Jeonghan scoffs. “Yeah. Like you actually believe in that cliche phrase. Come on—we all know you’re likely to end up with someone who’s more like you than different.”

The insinuation doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, but he can’t chew Jeonghan out for it anyway. He didn’t know the nature of your friendship with him, nor was he aware of the history the two of you shared.

“Never say never.” Jungkook shrugs.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before taking out his laptop and settling into a comfortable position.

“I think he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend soon.” He says off-handedly as if he assumed Jungkook gave a shit.

He did, and his heart drops to his stomach.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out when he spots you slip past him at the foyer outside the humanities building.

You twirl around at the sound of your name being called, and your eyes widen when you spot Jungkook walking towards you with furrowed brows.

“J-Jungkook?”

Why you sounded so scared to see him, he wasn’t sure. But he knows that he’s frustrated because it’s the first time he’s seen you after the game where you and Namjoon left to hang out at the exhibition, despite his desperate attempts at calling you out to hang out with him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Jungkook frowns, cutting straight to the chase.

You splutter for a response, and you realise that you’re basically gaping at him when you clutch your folders tighter to your chest.

“I’ve been busy, Jungkook. I told you this.” You softly remind him.

Jungkook scoffs, and he feels his mean bone grow; feeling the need to correct you because you were smart—and both of you knew that your excuse was lame.

“Really?” He says dryly. “Too busy to hang out with me but not with Namjoon?” He can’t help how bitter he sounds, especially when he’s heard from the rest of the football members; including Jimin and Taehyung that you were spending a suspicious amount of time with the captain.

You furrow your brows at him when Jungkook stares you down, waiting for a response.

“That doesn’t change the fact I was busy.” You huff.

Jungkook frowns at you, clutching his backpack tighter with his hand as he notices the way you avoid his eyes by dropping them to the ground.

“Why are you being like this?” Jungkook accuses, tone already on the offensive.

You gape up at the boy, brows scrunched in displeasure.

“Me? I’m not being anything. I told you that I was busy and we would rain check, didn’t I?”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, frustration pooling in his stomach. “Somehow you’re only busy whenever I want to hang out, right?” He scoffs sarcastically. “I thought we were good.”

You stiffen, knuckles turning white when you grip your belongings harder.

“We are.” You say curtly.

“No, we’re not.” Jungkook retorts. “If we were then you wouldn’t need to find shitty excuses to get out of hanging out with me.”

You open your mouth, then close it. You feel yourself grow more exasperated with Jungkook the more he can’t realise the fact that you were still finding a way to navigate the throes of your relationship with him.

“They were not shitty excuses.” You snap. “Listen, we can meet tomorrow for coffee if you really—”

“That’s not what this is about!” Jungkook exasperates, breathing out in a huff.

You purse your lips. “Then what is it, Jungkook? You came up to me and started accusing me of lying to you because I couldn’t meet up at the times you proposed.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw when he notices the way your voice gets increasingly sterner when you talk to him. It only reminds him of the way you used to chastise him when he was younger when he’d do something that was ‘immature’ but standard for a teenaged boy.

“I apologised!” He cries. “I’m sorry I was a dick before this but I’m really trying to fix things between us but you’re—”

“I’m what, Jungkook?” You interject with a frown. “I’m doing my best at healing?” You add softly. “An apology won’t erase what happened.”

Jungkook feels himself deflate, especially at the way your eyes dart away when he attempts to look into them.

“I know it won’t but I just want things to go back to normal.” He sighs.

You screw your eyes shut, finding the words to say before you look at him with such sad eyes that he nearly pulls you close just to comfort you so that he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that it was his fault.

“It’s not that easy.” You whisper, gripping at the hem of your sleeves. “It may be for you but it’s not the same for me.”

Jungkook releases a sigh so loud that your eyes widen, as he attempts to think of something better to say—to offer.

“I really am sorry.” He lamely apologises, his voice sounding a lot like a scolded child.

“I know.” You nod. “But you don’t know how it feels to have …” You swallow. “Whatever. We’re good. I just need time, Jungkook.”

Jungkook furrows his brows when you turn away to stalk off, but he grabs at your elbow to turn your body to face him. Your eyes briefly make contact with the way he’s gently holding onto you before they tilt up to meet his confused gaze.

“How it feels to have what?” He pries.

You sigh, shaking off his grip. “Look. It doesn’t matter. I’m being sensitive.” You deprecate immediately.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the spite in your tone, especially when you say it so firmly and seriously when you dismiss him.

“I want to fix this—us.” He pleads desperately. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

As if his words set you off, your eyes snap up and blaze with the pent up fury and anger you’ve been suppressing the entire time.

“Me? Be honest with you?” You scoff. “Real fucking funny. Because when I was honest with you, you turned it on me and took advantage of my vulnerability.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “What—?”

“You want honest?” You fume. “Fine. I’ll give you honest but you better listen closely this time because I won’t be repeating myself again.” You poke into his chest, even if it’s fierce and stern, he feels the heartache pouring through. “You were my best friend, Jungkook. You were and are someone important to me and you fucked me over because you knew I couldn’t say no to you. You knew how I felt and you took advantage of that fact just so you could get what you wanted and go.”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, confused at the information you were throwing at him.

“How you felt—?”

You cut him off again with a huff. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know. Why else did you think I did all the shit you wanted?”

“I-I don’t understand.” Jungkook stutters, head caught in a loop when you glare at him harder.

“You knew every bit of insecurity that I had and you weaponised that against me just so you could keep me close.” You say softly. “You knew, either way, I would’ve stayed because I’ve always been there, Jungkook.”

“You’re confusing me.” He deadpans, grabbing onto your shoulders so you were forced to stare at him.

He notices the glistening of your eyes as he feels his heart constrict when he realises you’re trying your best to keep your tears at bay.

“Well, you did it first so it’s only fair.” You sniffle. “You can act like shits fine because you weren’t the one who was attached. I was. So just let me have this time to myself to figure things out because I can’t even be around you without being sad, Jungkook.” You whimper.

He calls for your name but you're already furiously rubbing at your eyes as you curse under your breath as you spin on your heels to hurry away.

Jungkook gapes at you as he attempts to process what you just said, but before he can get another word in—you're leaving him to feel the weight of your words in the footsteps that draw further and further away.

490 notes · View notes

expectingtofly · 4 years ago

Text

First Day Jitters

established dean/cas, toddler!jack, dramatic parenting

1.7k

written for day 4 of @smiledean and @chocolatecakecas's follower celebration || prompt: baby!jack

“Say cheese.”

“CHEESE!” Jack beamed at the camera and Dean snapped a photo. Gripping his backpack straps, Jack twirled around as Dean lowered his phone. The school yard was already filling up with other kids Jack’s age, ready for their first day of school.

“Wait, take one of us together,” Cas said, crouching down by Jack. Jack threw his arms around Cas’ neck, nearly making him lose his balance. They both smiled at the camera, twin grins, and Dean couldn’t help a smile as he took their photo.

“Kindergarten!” Jack yelled as he released his grip on Cas.

“Alright, dude, remember,” Dean said, pocketing his phone. “No yelling in class.”

“And no powers,” Sam spoke up. “Most important rule of all.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “And if anyone picks on you…” Dean looked at him expectantly.

“Hit first, ask questions later!”

Cas rubbed at his forehead. “Dean, we’ve talked about this.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Tell us and we’ll beat them up for you.”

“Okay,” Jack said, kicking at loose gravel with his cowboy boots. He had picked out his outfit himself—boots with bee socks, jeans with sunflower patches, and a blue t-shirt with a green brontosaurus. Complete with a Barbie backpack, his outfit was truly… colorful. A lot for the eyes to handle at once.

Teachers milled around outside, and Cas said, “There’s Jack’s teacher.” He waved and she made a pained smile before quickly looking away.

Dean stifled a laugh at Cas’ hurt expression. “Guess we didn’t make the best first impression at Back to School night.”

“Who woulda known asking to lay out salt lines wouldn’t make you any friends,” Sam deadpanned.

“I still think we should’ve warded the school,” Dean protested.

“We’re trying to not get kicked out,” Sam shot back.

“Hey!” Jack said, getting their attention. He balled up his fists on his hips. “No fighting! This is an exciting day!”

“Yes, it is,” Cas agreed, giving them a pointed look. “And we are very excited for you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean said, holding up his hands. A bell rang and a teacher opened the door to the school. “Think it’s time to go.”

Jack turned to watch the rush of kids to the school, his backpack nearly as large as he was. Had the school building always towered over him like that? Dean wondered.

“Exciting day,” Jack said to himself, sounding less sure.

“Hey,” Sam said, crouching by his side. “You’re gonna have fun, okay?”

Jack looked back at them and Dean nodded. “We’ll be waiting for you when school’s over.”

Jack took a deep breath, then smiled. “Okay.” He gave them all one last hug, and Dean couldn’t resist smoothing out his hair and checking the straps on his backpack.

When Jack let go of Cas, Cas grabbed his hand, holding tight. “You’ll pray to me, right? If anything happens?” Jack nodded, tugging a little to get away.

Cas held on. “And you’ll remember everything to tell us when you get home?”

“Yes, Dada.” He tugged again and Cas let him go.

Dean watched him run to join the kids lining up at the doors. The teachers counted them, and Jack started chattering with the boy standing in front of him wearing a dinosaur backpack.

“Fuck,” Dean swore under his breath, feeling his eyes prickle as the teachers started leading the kids inside. Jack skipped his way to the door, his backpack bouncing behind him. Right before he disappeared inside, he turned and waved.

Dean hastily blinked and swallowed hard, waving back.

The doors closed behind the kids and the yard was reduced to silence.

“Now what?” Cas asked, staring at the doors.

“Now we leave and don’t stalk the school,” Sam said. He grinned, looking at Dean. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” Dean said, wiping at his eyes brusquely. They started for their cars, though he couldn’t help looking back. Third window on the righthand side, second floor. Jack’s classroom. He’d cased the school last week, learned the exits and entrances. Still, standing outside, he felt helpless.

“Shit—he had his lunchbox, right?” he asked, hand pausing on the Impala’s driver's door. “And his pencil case, and—”

“You checked his backpack three times this morning,” Cas reminded him. “He has everything.”

“Right, right..."

“See you guys later for dinner?” Sam asked, heading to his own car.

“See ya then,” Dean agreed, getting in the driver’s seat. He paused before putting the key in the ignition, though, eyes drawn to the school doors.

“He’s going to do great,” Cas said, sounding a little too much like he was trying to convince himself.

Dean nodded. Jack had done great in preschool and they had spent all summer preparing him for the transition into kindergarten. Not that Jack needed much convincing to go. He loved school; it was more Dean and Cas who needed time to adjust to the idea.

A sniff drew his eyes to Cas, who was wiping at his eyes.

“Fuck, not you too,” Dean complained, feeling his own eyes well up again.

“His carseat,” Cas said simply, and Dean glanced at the backseat where Jack’s empty carseat sat.

“Shit,” he muttered, sinking in his seat and rubbing his eyes. “Thought we were pros at this after a year of preschool.”

“Guess not,” Cas said. He produced a tissue box out of thin air and handed one to Dean, then blew his own nose.

“Alright, enough,” Dean said, swiping at his nose and balling up the tissue. “Enough crying. He’s going to kindergarten, not off to war.”

Cas nodded and determined, Dean pulled out of the parking lot. He and Cas had taken the day off, which in hindsight was the wrong move because now they had too much time on their hands. Trying to distract themselves with errands didn’t help either because everything suddenly reminded them of Jack.

They went to the local gardening center, where Cas stroked the daisy petals with a soft look in his eyes. “I should buy some for Jack.”

And then the bakery: “We gotta have snacks when he comes home,” Dean told Cas, selecting a dozen donuts.

And, stopping at the street taco food truck downtown: “Jack’s eating lunch now,” Cas said, checking the time, the mournful look on his face not matching the delicious taco in his hand. “And then recess.”

“Hope he’s made friends,” Dean said, his own taco suddenly tasting flavorless.

“He will. He’s very friendly.” One tear dripped into his guacamole.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean said, gathering up the remainders of his food. “Come on.”

The school yard was alive with kids yelling, laughing, swinging, playing hopscotch, and skipping rope. Dean idled close to the curb, scanning the yard through the fence. He was well aware that he and Cas looked extremely suspicious now, but he hoped the school parking pass hanging from the rearview mirror helped prove they weren't creeps. Just overly protective parents. Which was only a bit better.

“There he is!” Cas said, pointing out his window. Dean leaned over him to see Jack jumping over a hopscotch chalk drawing. One foot, two feet, one foot, two. Reaching the end, another kid high-fived him and Jack beamed. He cheered as someone else went through the course, then, the game abandoned, Jack ran with the others to the swings.

He swung higher and higher, cowboy boots kicking into the air. Dean was pretty sure he could hear his laughter rising above everyone else’s.

“We’re being stupid,” Dean realized. Cas looked at him. “He’s fine. He’s doing great. We don’t have to worry, we just gotta let him do his thing.”

Cas looked back at Jack, then took a deep breath. “You’re right.” The bell rang and Jack slowed his swing, jumped off, and joined the kids headed inside.

Determinedly facing forward, Cas said, “Alright. He’s got this.”

“We got this,” Dean amended, and Cas smiled.

“We got this.”

***

“DAD!” Jack ran full force to Dean, crashing against his legs. Before Dean could recover, Jack turned to Cas, who crouched down and took him into his arms, nearly getting knocked down in the process. He held onto him tightly, shutting his eyes as he buried his face into Jack’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too,” Jack said, extricating himself from his grip to hold up a slightly crinkled piece of paper. “I drew a brontosaurus!”

“That’s beautiful, Jack,” Cas said, admiring the drawing. “That’s going on the fridge.”

“Had a good day?” Dean asked. Around them, other kids streamed out of the school to waiting parents, and Jack nodded enthusiastically.

“The best!” He took Cas’ offered hand and told them about his day as they walked to the Impala. True to his word, he had remembered every detail, down to the amount of times he used the bathroom and the name of the lunch lady.

“And I got to swing at recess!” he told them, clambering into his carseat.

Dean and Cas caught each others’ eyes guiltily over the Impala’s roof. “I’m glad you had so much fun,” Cas told Jack, buckling him in.

“Thanks.” He swung his legs as they got into the front seat. “Did you have a good day?”

Cas glanced at Dean. There were plenty ways to answer that question. Looking back, though, seeing Jack bravely walking into school, being so independent, making friends…

"Missed you, but we managed,” Dean answered truthfully.

Cas smiled at Dean before twisting around to look at Jack. “We’re proud of you, Jack,” he told him, and Dean nodded.

“Did you cry?” Jack asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Sam said you were going to cry. I didn’t cry.”

“Just a little,” Cas admitted. Dean snorted and Cas elbowed him. “Dean more than me.”

“Hey!” Dean protested.

Jack cackled. “I knew it!”

Dean shook his head, muttering about murdering Sam. Jack continued his recap of the day, and Dean resigned himself to getting stuck in after-school traffic for the next twenty minutes.

Leaning back in his seat, he grinned at Jack stumbling over his words in his excitement to share them. It was a good day.

#b&acw #creativecaviar #spncreatorsdaily #did anyone ask for more dean and cas being overly dramatic teary parents?#no #did i write more?#hell yeah #established dean/cas #baby jack #dadstiel #cas and dean are in touch with their emotions #so they cry a lot idk #destiel fic #expectingtofly writes

161 notes · View notes

revirushifaa · 4 years ago

Text

Feeling so bad for my poor cousin who just got slapped in the face by her awful dad, so in her honor I'm writing these headcanons(She's the one who got me into Obey Me, she deserves these)

The brothers react to MC being slapped in the face by another demon that's not them:

Lucifer and MC:

-The moment he hears hiccups and faint whimpers near, he's already sprinting to MC, he holds their shoulder. The slap mark on their face is enough to put him in seething rage.

"Tell me names, MC. Who did this to you?"

"A-another demon..."

-He's ready to shred some demon to pieces. But first he comforts MC, wetting his hand in cold water and gently laying there on their stinging cheek.

"You will be fine, the pain will go away. And I promise you, I will make this demon pay for their life."

-His soothing voice is on the spot, he wants to soothe them as much as he can before he goes to teach a nasty lesson to the demon who dared hurt them.

-He gets with the demon, and beats them to a bloody pulp until they're begging miserably and crying.

"Touch them again, and next time your intestines will be pulled out along with your heart."

Mammon and MC:

-Ohhhh, why's MC sobbing that way and coming to him?? He feels the urge to destroy someone if they made cry like that!

"Oi, what's the matter-WHO IN THE HELL SLAPPED YA?!!"

"A-another demon..."

-Mammon cares for MC's injury, and peppers them in care, reassuring them that he's gonna make a baby bawl their eyes out.

"Rest assured, MC. No one else will hurt ya. THE Mammon will protect ya from those pieces of guts!!"

-No sooner said than done, Mammon goes to face the demon and he's quickly beating them and causing them great harm, while screaming and saying all sorts of impurities.

"CURSE YA TO HELL, YA HURT MC AND YA DIE!!!"

Leviathan and MC:

-Playing games as the shut-in that he is, when he hears a bawl.

"L-Levi!!"

-Oh no. He abandons immediately the game and rushes over, opening his door to see MC holding their cheek and in tears.

"W-who made y-you this, MC?? T-tell me... oh dear, c-come in."

-Shyly he gently pulls them inside and closes the door. After he listens the truth he's definitely upset.

"There, there, it's gonna be alright, I've got you. This won't go unpunished."

-He cares for that stinging cheek and gives MC all the attention that they need, watches an anime of their choice to comfort them fully.

-Once the comes, he goes and makes the demon think this twice.

"I may be a shut-in, but I am not afraid to knock your brains out. This for slapping MC!"

-He makes them regret it and doesn't stop, not even when he has them K.O.

Satan and MC:

-Reading peaceful time, the Avatar of Wrath is reading about new cats breeds, when MC sniffs as they walk past the reading demon.

"Hold on there, MC. Why the tears?"

-He frowns deeply when he sees the slap mark on their cheek.

"Who in blazes did this to you? I am killing them."

-He goes full attentive mode and begins treating the red sore cheek with all the care that he can give, wipes away MC's tears and comforts them in his own way, before he goes to kill some demon.

-Finds them and immediately grabs them by the neck, choking them, without stopping.

"Prepare for hell hours, scum. If you will punch MC in their face, then you have a death wish."

-He does this until he knocks them out, and throws them on the ground, kicking their ribs, cracking all of them.

Asmodeus and MC:

-His beauty session is already taking place, his working on that new coconut milk body wash cream that he had gotten.

"A-Asmo..."

"Hm... yeah, MC-MC, dear, what happened to your cheek?! A sunburn?!"

-After he's explained that it's a slap and not a sunburn, he hisses and shakes his head. Goes to make the sting go away and rubs their face softly and with love,

"MC, dear, I am gonna go have a firm talk with this demon, okay? You can stay here."

-He finds the ruffian and goes to them, pushing them against a wall, he has a rather creepy smile on.

"Well, well, what do we have here? The one who hurt my dearest MC? Oh not can do, I am teaching you a lesson, prepare yourself."

-His done drastically changes to a cold tone. And soon screams of a demon are heard all around the Devildom. No one should make the Avatar of Lust mad. Or better: Never hurt his dear.

Beelzebub and MC:

-Munch, munch, munch. Oh food is so delicious. The sweet glutton is having another big meal and enjoying it all, but he can't help feeling worried for MC when they entered the room.

"H-hi, Beel."

-They greet him and their voice sound teary, another reason for getting worried. He sees them holding their cheek.

"What's wrong, MC? Did you fall down on your cheek?"

"N-no... a demon slap me...."

-Time and space just stopped there. Beel gets increadibly mad and he slams his hand on the table.

"How dare them. I am frying them in a cauldron of devilish oil!!"

-He gets down from his chair and immediately cuddles MC, showing them tender love. To soothe them, if that demon out there thought they could get away with hurting MC, well, they're so wrong, they now have a glutton demon after their head.

"It's alright MC, eat something. I'm going to hunt down the prey for you."

-He slams the demon the second he finds them on to the ground and stomps onto their stomach, slapping their face once, twice... countless times until it gets pretty red.

"You hurt them, prepare to feel everything back at you the triple."

-Doesn't stop at all, he hears their pathetic and helpless cries of mercy, but he gives them now. He has a good strength, so all that will hurt so much for days.

#obey me imagines #obey me #obey me shall we date #headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #not belphie included

223 notes · View notes

primasveraas-writing · 3 years ago

Text

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

#roy kent #keeley jones #roy x keeley #roy x keeley fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy x keeley fanfiction #roy x keeley imagine #roy kent x keeley jones #keeley x roy #angst #oops im so sorry yal #rebecca welton

79 notes · View notes

cellsshapedlikestars · 4 years ago

Note

So Jon and Sansa both see a crime being commited and become prime witnesses to arrest this big crime mastermind (Petyr? Or maybe Tywin?) and they have to go to witness protection... Only witness protection makes them pretend to be a married couple when they actually don't know each other. Does that sparkle something in that brilliant brain of yours as a prompt?

Look I'm in a Mood™ today and wrote this in a weird fugue state so don't @ meeeeee. I also like barely edited this so who knows if it makes sense, and grammar? I barely know her.

Also, I don’t really know how to do trigger warning tags, so this is my warning that there are vague mentions of blood/gore/violence.

Sometimes when she wakes up, she forgets.

But then she looks around the room that isn't her room and she has to tell herself that it is. This is her room. This is her home. That is her husband downstairs making breakfast.

(And sometimes she wakes up unable to breathe, the dreams are so real; the blood and brains and pieces of skull spraying the wall in front of her, the sounds of men pleading for their lives. The strong arm wrapped around her, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the only thing that kept her still and quiet and hidden under the desk, the only reason she's alive. He's downstairs making breakfast.)

….

If there was ever a place to get lost, she thinks, it's here.

She stares out the window of her house, the same as every other house on the street. Row after row of identical houses. Neighborhoods of them, the suburbs stretching on forever. They've been here for two months and she doesn't even know her neighbor's names. The one across the street is Edmond, she thinks. Maybe. Edmure? No, if it were Edmure, she would remember, because of-

(But Alayne Stone doesn't have an Uncle Edmure.)

“I'm headed out.”

She turns to look at her husband.

“Have a good day,” she calls, just like she does every day. She watches him walk out to their nondescript grey sedan, just like he does every day. He backs it out of the driveway, then drives west, towards the main road.

…

They don't talk about before.

He is Aemon Stone. They met in college, in a geography course that they both almost failed, and they fell in love. They just got married and moved here - not that any of their neighbors have asked, so she's only had to tell that story to her new coworkers at the craft store.

They're trying to start a family.

(Jon, she thinks his name is, she remembers the agents calling him that, before they were handed folders with their new lives inside. But Jon is not her husband. Aemon is.)

…

Sometimes she likes to think she's a hero, giving up her whole world just to take down the bad guy. She's a hero, a martyr, the protagonist of her own daydreams. Her actions will save the lives of countless others.

(The reality is that she had no choice. They gave her one, technically, she doesn't have to testify against Petyr Baelish, but they all knew there was no choice. If she stayed, he would've found her. He would have killed her and anyone she could have possibly told about what she saw. She knows Aemon had no choice, either, and sometimes she wonders what he gave up. But they don't talk about before.)

…

She tries not to let her mind wander too much, but it's hard not to. Her life is routine. Mundane. She makes friends with her coworkers but she can't – she won't– let them get too close.

The problem with all her free, mundane time is that it gives her space to think – gives her time to regret.

She remembers that weekend, remembers thinking what harm could it do? Remembers thinking the bachelorette party sounded so fun. Remembers taking cash out to play the slot machines, ordering drink after drink until she felt numb.

It all goes a bit fuzzy after that. No matter how hard she tries, she can never remember how she got into the back halls of the casino, to the places where guests aren't allowed. She remembers a strange man kissing her, large, with scarring across his face, who told her that a pretty bird like her shouldn't be back here and demanded a kiss as payment. She remembers running, running, running.

If only she hadn't run.

If she hadn't run, she wouldn't have found herself in that room. She wouldn't have heard the door opening, turned around to see him, watched his face twist in horror when he saw her. He wouldn't have had to tell her get down, hide.

She remembers not being able to move, frozen to the spot at the sight of the gun at his hip. She remembers the way he'd pulled her down under the desk, one arm around her waist to keep her still, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, just in time, just before the door opened again.

(And she remembers the men who came in right after, the gruff where the fuck did Rivers get to?)

…

She's seen the tattoo.

(She doesn't think she was supposed to. Aemon Stone shouldn't have a tattoo.)

They try not to get in each other's way – he works days, she works closings. She sleeps in the master bed, he sleeps in a guest room down the hall. He wakes up early and makes breakfast and leaves her a plate. She eats while he goes for a run. But every once in a while...

That day he'd been coming back from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. She's never upstairs when he takes a shower, but she had gotten the urge to read, for the first time in months, and had gone up to grab one of the books that came with the house when she ran into him in the hall.

And there, on his chest, right above his heart, the mockingbird tattoo.

(Aemon Stone is her husband. He is not one of them.)

(But Jon Snow was.)

…

She probably should be scared, but she can never find it in her to be. Their handlers wouldn't have put them in the same house if they thought he'd hurt her.

(He's the reason she's alive. His arm around her waist, his hand over her mouth. Get down. Hide.)

…

Sometimes she wants to ask – why?

Why did he hide her?

Why is he here?

He was one of them, there's a tattoo on his chest that proves it.

Why did he save her? Give up everything for her to live?

…

She slips, once.

She's at work, in the break room, heating up a mug of soup in their tiny, low watt microwave. The break room TV is on, the news is playing, and then he's there.

Petyr Baelish, donating a giant check to an orphanage. Everyone's clapping and cheering him on and all she can hear are the screams of two men, pleading for their lives. Begging Petyr Baelish to stop. (They had wives and children and their screams echo in her head and-)

“Alayne?” her coworker, Myranda, shakes her arm. “I think your food's done?”

She's shaking so hard that the soup sloshes over the side of her mug and she apologizes as she cleans it up and Myranda asks if she's sick or something. She has to go home early because she vomits into the break room trash can.

At home, Aemon is watching football on TV and he's surprised when she comes home early. All he says is, “everything ok?” and she knows what he's asking.

“Everything's ok,” she tells him and he nods and she goes upstairs.

They don't talk about the past, but they don't talk about the present, either.

(And they definitely don't talk about the future.)

…

There's one time she doesn't wake up confused or breathless.

She wakes up screaming.

In her dream, he finds her. In her dream, Petyr Baelish walks around the desk and bends down and reaches under and pulls her out. In her dream, he tortures her like he did those men. In her dream, he puts a gun to her head, just like he did-

She wakes up screaming.

The door to her room slams open and she takes a gasping breath and looks up at her husband, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand. His hair is wild and his eyes are wide as they search her room and she tries to tell him it's all in her head but she can't make her voice work. When she tries, the words just come out as a small sob and she watches his tensed shoulders relax and he sets down the baseball bat.

She curls into herself and cries into her bent knees – for her dreams and her fears and the knowledge that this might never end. It's a choking, clawing abyss in her chest that's been growing as the days and weeks and months slide by – that she will never see her family again. She'll never eat mom's cooking or hear her dad yell at the TV when his team loses or see Robb's infectious smile or argue with Arya or talk about philosophy with Bran or watch one of Rickon's basketball games. She'll never get to play with Lady again.

She has kept them locked away inside her, tried to forget about them because Alayne Stone doesn't have a family.

The bed dips and she lets out another gasping sob as she feels an arm settle around her shoulders. “Alayne,” he says, and then again. Again and again, until - “Sansa.”

“I'm not Sansa,” she whispers when she finally looks up.

“Sometimes you need to be,” he says, his voice is steady and he brings one hand up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It's hard, not everyone can just change who they are. Especially not like this.”

“You say that like you're some expert,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks now that her tears have slowed. She feels like a mess – her eyes feel hot and puffy, her nose feels raw, her throat is sore, but she also feels more human than she has in months.

He hesitates, seems to think hard about something before - “Aemon Stone isn't the first person I've had to become.” She jerks back a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

(He saved her life.)

“Who else?”

“Before this, I was Aegon Rivers.”

“I thought your name was Jon Snow? That's what they called you.”

“Jon Snow,” he says, voice low and soothing and she feels herself relax, settles into the warmth of his arms a bit more, “is a federal agent who went undercover with the Mockingbirds two years ago.”

She looks at him, then – really looks at him. At his grey eyes and his long face and his black hair wild from sleep, at the scar that runs through his eyebrow and the dark stubble that he meticulously shaves off every morning.

“Jon Snow fits you better,” she tells him.

“And Sansa Stark fits you.”

“I'm not Sansa Stark anymore,” she reminds him again, feeling her voice waver, though she thought she was past it. “This was just a bad dream, I promise I'll do better.”

“Like I said, sometimes it's hard,” he tells her. “And sometimes it's easy to forget who you are.”

“Is it for you?” she asks. He doesn't answer, but she thinks he doesn't need to, she can see it in him and she wonders how much of Jon Snow he remembers. Two years is a long time to be someone else. “I don't...” her voice breaks and she has to drop into a whisper. “I don't want to forget them. I know I have to-”

“What if,” he cuts in when her words fail her completely, “what if we're Jon Snow and Sansa Stark here?”

“They told us we-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don't mean... not in the house. Not during the day. But how about, once a week, at night, when it's just us, when the rest of the world is sleeping – I'll come in here and just for an hour, we can remember.”

The words make her ache and she nods and looks over at her clock. One hour – one hour to remember who she is and where she comes from. One hour to talk about anything and everything – about the past and the present and the future. It's not a lot and it's a risk and against the rules, but-

“Yes. Please.”

He nods and looks a bit grim and she wonders, once again – why? She doesn't think he wants to talk about Jon Snow. He's doing it for her – he's saving her life again and she still doesn't know why. Maybe she'll find out, some day.

“Ok,” he breathes, like he's jumping off the deep end, “Sansa Stark – what's your favorite color?”

#jonsa #prompt fic #also once again i cannot keep these under 2k words #mentions of violence and blood

79 notes · View notes

lady-of-the-lotus · 4 years ago

Text

Xuexiao Goes to the DMV

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen go to the DMV (aka Where Hope Goes To Die) and share a kiss.

That’s it. That’s the fic.

Xuexiao - T (just for some cursing) - Read on AO3!

“If you hear about someone going berserk in a DMV on the news, that’ll be me,” the mechanical text-to-speech voice reads aloud, and Xiao Xingchen turns to Xue Yang questioningly.

Xue Yang reaches over and turns the volume down on Xingchen’s phone. “Meant to send that to A-Qing.”

“Are we going to be escorted out? Again?”

Xue Yang grins and looks around the room. They’ve already been at the DMV for over an hour. Dozens of people are draped limply over the hard orange seats, eyes glazed, going down for the third time in a sea of government bureaucracy.

“Ticket 4352, now being served at window thirty-three,” announces the robotic voice over the loudspeaker.

“It would take an alien invasion to wake these people up,” Xue Yang says as a man in overalls shuffles past. “You should see these people. This must be what a lobotomy post-op recovery room looks like.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Like the world’s most incompetent deli, filled with zombie customers waiting to eat the brains of whatever the opposite of employee of the month is. Well, ‘brains.’ They work at the DMV, after all.”

Xiao Xingchen adjusts his sunglasses. “Let's not be mean.”

“And we can all hear you,” adds a woman on his left. “Not that it made much sense.”

Xue Yang makes a face at her and turns back to Xingchen. “If they make me come back a third time, I’m going to go postal. You know, going postal should be called ‘going DMV.’ It’s catchier, for one thing, and I’ve never so much as stepped foot in a post office—”

“I’m keeping you far away from post offices. Those poor people have suffered enough.”

“How so?”

“Well, there must be a reason they go postal, right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “If the post office has the same taste in music as the DMV, I don’t blame them. Who picked this station? If it’s not Justin Bieber it’s whoever inflicted ‘Kiss Me Through the Phone’ on the world. I’d like to do something to them through the phone, and it won’t be a kiss, I can tell you that much.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a Snickers bar out of the fanny pack Xue Yang has vainly begged him not to wear. “According to the television commercials, this will improve your mood.”

“My mood?” Xue Yang takes a bite. “If I have to hear ‘Baby’ one more time—”

“Ticket 9753, now being served at window fourteen.”

“ ‘Served.’ Ha. As if.”

Xiao Xingchen feels around for another Snickers bar but comes up empty. He should have planned this better. He’d sensed Xue Yang’s mood coming on last night as Xue Yang went through his documents. He’d been cheerful enough until he found his birth certificate in the bundle of papers he’d been given after leaving his last group home.

Then he’d grown strangely quiet, and wandered aimlessly around their apartment for an hour, carrying his phone around with him and switching between a half-dozen different YouTube videos before deciding to bake brownies at 1am and burning them when he got distracted playing video games. He wasn’t paying much attention to the video game, either, going by his cursing as he got repeatedly blown up by what Xingchen suspects was a twelve-year old somewhere in Japan, and eventually gave that up to go take apart their toaster in the interest of “fixing” it.

Now he sits beside Xingchen, jiggling his leg. Xiao Xingchen wants to ask him about his birth certificate, but he hadn't dared to last night, and doesn’t dare now.

“Ticket 9755, now being served at Window 26.”

“Weren’t you 9754?” he asks Xue Yang.

“Oh, crap—” Xue Yang jumps to his feet and rushes to Window 26, brushing past a mohawked man holding a ticket marked 9755. “I’m 9754.”

The woman behind the glass may as well have been carved from wood. “You missed your number.”

“There was no announcement!”

“Or your number isn’t working. It’s not showing up on my computer.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m on the screen! Look!” Xue Yang jabs a finger at the screen above the booth. At the bottom of the list it reads Ticket 9754 – Window 26. “9754! Window 26! All you need to do is take my picture—”

“Get back in line. Get a new ticket. Window 13.”

“Get back in line?” He looks over at the line for Window 13. It wraps around the entire room. “I already have a number! I’m on the screen!”

“Back. In. Line.”

“Just take the damn photo—”

Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll get back in line.”

“Like hell we will! I’ve been here since 5 o’clock—I made an appointment! I even brought my own pen! You ever watch Monsters Inc.? You know Roz? Are you her evil older sister? Because you look exactly like—”

“Back of the line.”

“Younger sister, then. Happy?”

The woman doesn’t bother shrugging. “You’re blocking traffic.”

Xingchen begins to move, heading in the wrong direction. Xue Yang has no choice but to follow or else let him walk into a column plastered with posters emblazoned with, Make your visit easy - download the forms at dmv.gov! , Streamline your visit - make an appointment online today!, and We’re here to help!

“Let’s just go home,” says Xue Yang. “The gray, water stained walls are starting to close in. At any second I expect a giant ball to roll towards us. Well, wrong movie—whatever. I’m sick of this place. It’s cursed.”

“We’re just going to have to come back, and you’ll have wasted the hour we already spent here.”

Xue Yang groans and gets in line behind a woman with three small screaming children. “This whole thing is stupid. We can barely afford rent, let alone a car."

"We will, one day. Besides, it's good to have a license."

"We’ll just take trains and buses everywhere, or you can learn to drive. We'll fudge the vision test."

Xingchen laughs. Xue Yang relaxes slightly at the sound. After a moment, Xingchen slips his hand in his. He’s not one for public displays of affection, but there’s an edge in Xue Yang’s voice that has nothing to do with his return to Window 13.

Xue Yang’s hand tightens in his, and Xingchen rubs it reassuringly with his thumb.

“You again?” says the woman at Window 13 when they finally make it there, twenty minutes later.

“That power-mad dictator at Window 26 wouldn’t take my picture.”

The woman tilts her head at Xue Yang. “She wouldn’t?”

Xue Yang tilts his head back at her, as if to say, I know! Who wouldn’t want to photograph me ?

She smiles, a synthetic smile that reminds Xue Yang of his friend Lan Xichen’s dimpled little fiance. “Strange.”

“ ‘Strange’? I knew she could have just done it had she wanted to—”

The woman blinks at him, her smile growing faker by the minute. “I’m sure what she told you was accurate.”

“Sure, and there is no war in Ba-Sing-Se—”

Xiao Xingchen squeezes his hand, and Xue Yang stops talking and passes her his form. She stamps it a second time and hands him another ticket.

He and Xingchen return to the waiting area. Xue Yang puts his boots up on the seat next to him, resting his head on Xingchen’s shoulder.

“Describe the room to me again,” Xingchen says, trying to distract him from his brooding and, with any luck, keep him from taking out his Swiss army knife and carving his initials into the seat and get them kicked out again. Xue Yang has a talent for describing things, and Xingchen has been trying to encourage him to start writing.

Xue Yang begins to play with his long sleek ponytail. “Purgatory’s antechamber. Humanity’s lost-and-found. A void where time has no meaning. Pit of despair and industrial cleaner.”

Xingchen chuckles, making sure it’s loud enough for Xue Yang to hear.

“If their posters were honest, they’d all be in Comic Sans font, with things like, Where hope goes to die; This is your home now; Nothing escapes our pull, not even time; Human sacrifices while you wait—”

“Human sacrifices?”

"Yeah, I think so."

A crackle of static over the speaker as a new song comes on. “You know you love me, I know you care...Just shout whenever and I'll be there….”

Xue Yang starts up violently, but Xiao Xingchen gently pulls him back down beside him. “Some kind of cannibal conspiracy?” he asks, hoping Xue Yang’s knife has remained in his pocket and is not seconds away from being embedded in a blaring loudspeaker.

Xue Yang settles back against his shoulder. “I’m positive Overalls Guy never returned from Window 17. He’s probably in the office barbecue pit.”

“This must go all the way to the top. Shift supervisor too, I’d guess.”

“Baby, baby, baby oh….Like baby, baby, baby no….”

Xue Yang stops playing with his hair and starts picking at his black nail polish. He’s feeling a bit better, Xingchen’s shoulder warm and solid. “I swear that Roz lady put a curse on me. They all probably dance in a circle around a stack of burning Social Security cards every night, chanting.” He squirms, suddenly bored. “You got any more food? I’m starving.”

Xingchen rummages in his fanny pack. “Just a burned brownie.”

“I swear I set a timer!"

The timer had gone off while Xingchen was in the shower last night. Xue Yang had simply ignored it, too absorbed in trying to virtually blow up his twelve-year-old nemesis. He tends to ignore timers while cooking, usually followed by a mad rush to the kitchen to salvage dinner. “You know dinner is ready when the smoke detector goes off,” he likes to say.

Xue Yang sniffs the crumpled foil surrounding the charred black brownie chunk. “Is this the same foil I wrapped your tuna sandwich in yesterday?”

“We only have one earth!”

“Xingchen, I swear—” Xue Yang stops, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s never met anyone who can be so annoying and endearing at the same time.

Xingchen takes the brownie back. “I'll eat it. I like the burned bits.”

"It's all burned bits."

"Exactly. Perfect."

“She knows she's got me dazing, 'cause she was so amazin'....And now my heart is breakin', but I just keep on sayin'....”

“Who wrote this? I swear I won’t hurt them. I just want their address.”

Xingchen knows he shouldn’t laugh at that, but he can’t help it.

They sit there for another half hour, talking. Xue Yang has succeeded in denuding the nails of his left hand when his number is finally called. He gets his photo taken by a man with glazed eyes and no chin, and is shuffled off to the next waiting area.

“They refused to show me my photo,” he says as they settle back down. “I swear the camera stole my soul and is using it to power the fluorescent lights. I feel at peace now. Kind of floating.” He discovers a piece of gum in his jeans pocket and begins to loudly blow bubbles, making full eye contact with the annoyed Bluetooth Guy and irritated Woman With Facial Tattoo Of Bugs Bunny. “I am one with the DMV demigods, part of something larger than myself.”

“Like joining the army.”

“Or drowning in the ocean.” He lays down with his head in Xingchen’s lap, boots on the edge of Bluetooth Guy’s seat. “Why does your fanny pack smell like patchouli? Have you been burning weird hippie incense again? You promised you’d stop after you set fire to your curtains.”

Xingchen would rather Xue Yang didn’t semi-cuddle him in public, but Xue Yang’s energy is calmer when he’s touching Xingchen, and he lets him stay. “It’s that new candle you bought me, remember?”

“Right. Bought you.”

“What do you—”

“I thought it was peppermint.”

Xingchen bites his lip. Xue Yang is…well, he can read well enough to pass a driving test, but his education was…slipshod at best. Next on Xingchen’s list is encouraging Xue Yang to get his GED.

“You smell like a music festival,” says Xue Yang. “I must have grabbed the wrong one in the store. I sniffed all of them. My picture is probably hanging beside the register of every Bath & Body Works in town: ‘Beware the Candle Perv’—”

“At least someone was willing to take your picture.”

Xue Yang laughs. Xingchen rests a hand on his chest, heedless of the people around them. He likes how Xue Yang feels when he laughs, his whole body shaking, making no attempt to hide his feelings. Xue Yang makes him laugh so often, it’s a special joy for him to return the favor.

They’ve been there almost two and a half hours when Xue Yang’s number is finally called. As if the DMV curse is kicking in again, the loudspeakers creep up another few decibels.

“Like baby, baby, baby no, like baby, baby, baby oh, thought you'd always be mine, mine….”

“Xue Yang—” Xingchen starts before Xue Yang can say anything.

“I know, I know. This is penance for my putting that egg in Song Lan’s shoe last week. The DMV knows all. The DMV was here before us, and will be here after we are gone. The DMV—”

“—The DMV will make us wait in line again, if we don’t hurry.”

Together they go to Window 10, where a drab little man sifts through Xue Yang’s documents. “Fifties, balding, completely dead inside,” Xue Yang whispers to Xingchen.

“I’m thirty-nine,” says the man in a monotone, not looking up, “and you’re missing a birth certificate. And what’s this stain on your Social Security card?”

“Definitely not blood.”

The man stares at him with eyes that, had his life force not already been sucked out of Xue Yang by an afternoon at the DMV, would have done the job. “Current passport, or birth certificate.”

Xue Yang hesitates, then slips a folded piece of pink paper under the glass partition.

The man unfolds it with the sterling speed of a drugged snail and spreads it over the counter. He lines up Xue Yang’s Social Security card, bank statement, and birth certificate, and examines them line by line as if he’s a Bletchley Circle analyst and Xue Yang’s documents are intercepted enemy transmissions.

He looks up at Xue Yang. “Is this a valid birth certificate? There are no parent names listed, and the date of birth has an asterisk—”

“I know what it has!”

“What’s your date of birth?” The man slowly pushes his chair back. “I’m going to have to get a supervisor—”

Xue Yang slams the counter. Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. It’s a miracle Xue Yang’s knife isn’t out. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is what they do when—just Google it, okay? I don’t know what day I was born, they just put whatever date they thought was accurate—”

Xingchen swallows hard.

He had known Xue Yang had grown up in foster care, but had assumed he had been given up by his parents as a child when they could no longer take care of him.

Not—not abandoned as an infant—

“And change the fucking station!” Xue Yang adds. “If I have to hear that stupid fucking song one more time I will go fucking berserk —”

The man’s dead-eyed stare intensifies. “Sign here,” he says after a moment, pushing a slip of paper at Xue Yang.

“You want my love, you want my heart….And we will never, ever, ever be apart…”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Xingchen asks as they step outside. The words sound hollow, and he wishes he had simply remained silent.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. It’s almost cool out, a welcome change from the week’s heat. “Well, we escaped. Now we just have to get help for the others. Or do we abandon them to their fates? I vote we abandon them. You should have seen some of the looks I got. It’s like they never saw someone threaten a DMV employee before, something I’m willing to bet happens a dozen times an hour.”

Xingchen takes his arm as he begins to walk. It’s easier than using his stick in the crowded city. “Xue Yang…”

Xue Yang’s muscles tense beneath his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lip. He’ll have Xue Yang feeling better soon enough. “What street are we on? Turn in on 33rd.”

“What’s on 33rd?”

“Just let me know when we’re there. 33rd and 7th.”

“The train’s on 36th.”

“But the restaurant’s on 33rd.”

“The what?”

Xingchen wants to smile, but is afraid Xue Yang might take it the wrong way after what happened at the DMV. For someone who does his best to project an I-don’t-care attitude, Xue Yang is surprisingly sensitive.

“What’s today’s date?” He already knows the date, of course. It’s been on his mind for weeks now.

Xue Yang’s arm grows even stiffer. “Is this a ‘you-don’t-know-when-your-birthday-is-so-every-day-is-your-birthday’ thing? Because—”

“Not at all… Remember the day we met? You made fun of my shirt—”

Xue Yang frowns at this sudden change of subject, but goes along with it. Better than talking about that damn birth certificate. “It was white, and ruffled. You looked like an escapee from a high school production of Hamlet. What was I supposed to do?”

“You crashed a motorcycle not three feet from me. An unregistered motorcycle with stolen plates.”

"I bought you coffee to make up for it, didn’t I?”

“You had them put four sugars in my cappuccino. It was undrinkable.”

“One was a Splenda, and anyway I took you to dinner to make up for the coffee, didn’t I?”

“Pizza at one of those dollar-a-slice places you have to stand at a counter to eat. I paid for it.”

“And I paid for your kombucha, whatever the heck that is.”

“And I paid for the band-aids we had to go buy after you cut yourself after playing catch with your knife.”

“You were distracting me!”

“I was quietly eating my pizza.”

“The light reflecting off your shirt ruffles got in my eyes.”

“Four dollars for the band-aids. You insisted on Hello Kitty.”

“Spongebob was also on the table." He wrinkles his nose. "I've got about three-fifty in my pocket, if you want it. But what’s your point, exactly?'

Xingchen smiles. He enjoys winding up Xue Yang, and it’s by far the most effective way to distract him when he’s in a dark mood. “Just that you better not put extra sugar in the fondue.”

“The what?”

“A-Qing read me the dessert menu. Chocolate fondue with bananas, blueberries, pineapple, and cherries. Strawberries, too, I think, and marshmallows, maybe even non-charred brownies—”

Xue Yang stops walking. “Xingchen—”

Xingchen lets go of Xue Yang’s arm, takes his hand instead. Kisses him soundly, right there on Sixth Avenue.

“Forget your birthday," he says. "We have a new date to celebrate every year." He gives Xue Yang's hand a little squeeze and kisses him again. “Happy anniversary, Xue Yang.”

Liked it? AO3 👉👈

Ruffle shirt reference

Obviously, Xue Yang was simply distracted by how pretty Xingchen was.

#xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #mdzsnet #I finally write something not cursed that I can put in the tag!#uttterly plotless fluff #cql #the untamed #untameddaily

87 notes · View notes