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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 4 years ago

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For the First Time (What’s Past Is Past)

Pairing: Neighbor!Hoseok x f!reader

Summary: After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 15.7k

Genre: Fluff, (light) angst, eventual smut

Warnings: heavily discussed/referenced cheating, cursing, soft and gentle smut, penetrative sex, some pining, alcohol consumption, reader is not great with feelings, hoseok is good with feelings, the boys make cameos

A/N: Woohoo, first work in this fandom! This is actually the longest one-shot I’ve ever written (by my standards it’s LONG). Enjoy!

He doesn’t beg you to stay. He doesn’t tell you that “it’s not what you think”, doesn’t tell you that “it didn’t mean anything”, doesn’t ask for your forgiveness, doesn’t tell you that the two of you can work it out, that you can get through this together.

Instead, he tells you that he loves her, and when your entire world shatters in front of you, there is nothing you can do. You are completely and utterly alone.

When you first meet Jung Hoseok, he’s coming out of his apartment right as you’re getting into yours. He looks a little startled at first, but then he smiles at you, and you just stare.

You’ve never been good at interacting with people, especially strangers, especially when you’re not expecting it. You have to prepare yourself for those things, and right now, you’re very much not.

“Oh,” you say, looking at him.

The thing is, you recognize him — sort of. You’ve seen him around the building, and you immediately noticed him. You think it would have been impossible not to, frankly. You have ever seen someone who shines as bright as he does.

There is no other word for it. Hoseok shines.

It’s everything about him, and nothing at the same time. It’s his bright smile, first and foremost, and the way his brown eyes sparkle. It doesn’t hurt that he looks the way he does, all tall and thin and muscular, carrying himself like a dancer, but it’s his smile that you can’t get out of your mind. You’ve barely seen it, he gave you a quick, polite one when you passed him by in the parking lot, and yet you’ve thought about it more than you should have.

You’re surprised to see him here, though. You’ve been here for a month now, and you had never met the person who lived right next to you. You certainly never even considered that it could be the man with the bright smile and kind eyes you saw around, though the laugh you got used to hearing through the walls certainly completes that picture beautifully.

His smile widens a little, and he has a silent chuckle at your reaction.

“Hi,” he says.

You nod. You forget to reply, or to smile back, and you only realize that after you’ve closed your door behind you and Hoseok is already in the elevator.

You decide, firmly, to push that encounter out of your mind and to forget it ever happened.

(You can’t.)

There’s a gentle knock on your door, and you go to open it, surprised and a little confused. Your friends don’t live in the area and aren’t the type to drop by unannounced, and you don’t know anyone in your building. You wish you could add ‘yet’ to that sentence, but you are quite terribly antisocial, so you doubt you’ll ever get there, unless someone actually wants to get to know you. Which is not going to happen.

Hoseok’s smile greets you, and you blink. You note that his cheeks are slightly flushed, that he’s wearing a nice shirt, and that his hair is a little ruffled. He looks good — very good.

“Hi!” he says, when you forget, once more, what your lines are supposed to be in such a situation.

“Hi,” you remember to reply, but you’re late and offbeat, so you actually interrupt what he’s trying to say next, and you know you would be furious at yourself if you cared.

It’s been a long time since you’ve last found the energy to do that though.

“Sorry,” he smiles again, “I— I was wondering if you had a corkscrew I could borrow?”

You look back at your kitchen, mentally making an inventory of what you own. You know for sure you’ve never bought a corkscrew, you wouldn’t have the use for it, but there is a distant memory of—

“Just a second,” you say, walking to your kitchen.

You rummage through your cupboard for a few moments, before emerging victorious, holding a corkscrew you’re pretty sure Hyejin bought you when you first moved after The Break-Up, telling you that you would need it. You hadn’t, but you didn’t like throwing things away, so you had kept it, even after you had changed apartments a second time.

“Ah, you’re a life savior!” Hoseok rejoices when you hand it to him. “I’ll give it back to you as soon as possible, okay?”

You want to say that he doesn’t have to. You don’t.

“Sure,” you say, lifting a corner of your lips in a poor attempt at a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

He seems a bit taken aback by the comment, but then he nods, and something strange twists in your stomach because of how he looks at you. Fondly.

God. You must be terribly deprived of affection if that is all it takes.

“Thank you, I will! Have a nice evening!”

The “Thank you” you reply with sounds awkward to your ears, and you grimace as you close the door. You’re pretty sure you’ve handled that interaction terribly, and you half regret not telling him to put the corkscrew back into your mailbox when he returns it, to save you the embarrassment of going through something similar again.

But you also don’t regret it that much, and that’s something.

Hoseok catches you again a few days later. This time, he pokes his head out of his apartment as you’re turning the key into your lock. You’re not that surprised. If he can hear you half as well as you can hear him, it’s no wonder he hears you coming in.

“I have your corkscrew!”

The weirdness of that sentence, out of context, amuses you. You wait for him to reappear, and when he does, he gives you the corkscrew back with a strange reverence, like you did him a huge favor.

“Thanks,” you say. “Did it, uh, did it help? Was the— was what you drank good? Was it wine?”

That’s too many questions.

“Yeah— Yeah, it was good!” Hoseok lightens up, like he hasn’t even noticed that you can’t, for the life of you, have a normal conversation with someone. “We had some wine. I don’t have wine often, but I thought it was good. Not that I know much about it, though,” he laughs, and the sound is extremely nice. “You drink wine?”

You shake you head.

“No, the— the corkscrew’s a gift from a friend. I barely use it. You can keep it, actually.”

His eyes widen.

“You’re sure?”

You nod.

“I probably— I shouldn’t accept that. It’s yours. And it’s a gift.”

He looks genuinely worried, and you find it extremely endearing. He seems so worried about whatever rules are to be followed when it comes to accepting gifts from a neighbor you’ve met twice and— You think it’s sweet, is all.

“It’s fine, I don’t really drink. And when I do, it’s usually beer.”

And mojitos. You’re a big mojito fan. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

The corkscrew changes hands. Again.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way,” he says.

You don’t tell him that you know that. You do, because you’ve looked at the mailbox to see what your neighbor’s name was — when you moved in, mind you, not after finding out what he looked like — but you think that maybe that’s not the type of things people normally do.

Instead, you tell him your name, and Hoseok’s eyes seem to twinkle when he smiles at you.

You part awkwardly, the awkwardness mostly coming from you, as usual, and you think that’s the last you’ll see of your neighbor, outside of the occasional run-ins that you should be able to escape without having to talk to him. So that’s a relief.

(But it’s also just a tiny bit disappointing.)

You don’t drink, but Hyejin does. Especially wine, especially after a break-up, which you guess explains the corkscrew gift. When she arrives at your apartment, you’re first worried that she’s going to get offended you don’t have it anymore, but it quickly becomes clear that she doesn’t remember giving it to you. That doesn’t stop her from sending you out to get one from one of your neighbors. Usually she’d do it, because she knows how much you hate asking strangers for things, but she’s not herself tonight. The relationship was nearing the six months mark, something she had been really excited about, so you want to do what you can to help

That leaves you in an uncomfortable situation, though. You could ask another neighbor, but there’s the risk that they wouldn’t have a corkscrew — you’ve thought of that word way too much recently and it’s starting to lose its meaning in your mind — or that they wouldn’t want to give it to you, or that they’d slam the door in your face, or—

That’s irrational. You know that’s irrational and unlikely to happen. Still, knocking on Hoseok’s door is going to be awkward, but at least you’re pretty sure that he will be nice about it. So you do.

“Yeah— Oh, hey, (Y/N), what can I do for you?”

He does have a truly beautiful smile.

“Well, I have a friend over, and she actually drinks wine, and—”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh that has you freezing like a deer in headlights first, then brings a careful smile to your lips.

“I’ll give it back,” you mumble sheepishly.

“It’s fine, it’s yours,” he chuckles, stepping back in his apartment, but leaving the door open behind him. You wonder if you should follow, then decide against it. Instead, you stand in the hallway, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. About as uncomfortable as can be.

You do take a peek inside, though. The rooms seem to be laid out pretty much the same as in your own apartment, with the kitchen on the left when you walk in, and you guess the bedroom door is the one you can see facing you, after the lounge. The interior design is simple, but stylish, and you notice movie posters on the walls. It’s nice and, though you barely know him, you can’t help but thinking that it’s a distinctively Hoseok place.

You haven’t really done anything to decorate, apart from bringing in your plants. It’s not your thing. At all. Maybe Hyejin will do something about it tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time she decorates your place while drunk. Last time, she’d ordered wallpaper. You’d forced her to come to help you put it on, and she had found it hilarious.

That was probably why she’d told you you were ‘better than therapy’.

“A-ha!” Hoseok exclaims before quickly returning to you. “There you go,” he says. “Is the wine your friend brought any good?”

You honestly have no idea. You don’t know the first thing about wine. Hyejin does, but you doubt that is something she feels very concerned with tonight.

Right as you’re thinking that, she opens your apartment door, calling out your name, way too loud, and seems satisfied when she sees you so close.

“Got one,” you tell her, waving the corkscrew. “Thanks, Hoseok, I’ll—”

“You look like you need a drink too,” Hyejin says bluntly, eyes set on him. “Wanna join?”

You look at him, surprised. You didn’t notice anything. You thought he looked fine. A little tired, maybe, and not quite as nicely dressed as he was that first night he had knocked on your door, but not any different from when you’d see him around. Hyejin is good with those things, though, so you suppose she’s probably right, but you don’t want Hoseok to feel pressured.

“You don’t have to—”

“You know what? I think I’ll take that invitation,” he says, and Hyejin nods in approval. “If it’s fine with the hostess,” he adds politely, giving you a wink.

As if. You already can’t deny Hyejin anything, so there’s no way you can deny him, especially when that wink has you weak in the knees.

“Sure,” you smile. “Let’s get you guys drunk.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hyejin shouts, raising a hand for high-five, which Hoseok gives her enthusiastically, a light-hearted laugh leaving his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re grinning.

As you expected, Hyejin passes out on your couch, drunk and sad and tired. Her and Hoseok had an amazing time, talking about their love life, while you sat on a stool by your kitchen island, sipping the same glass of wine for the entire evening. You don’t drink, you don’t even like alcohol that much, but you want to be supportive, and you’ve noticed it makes people feel better when you at least have a glass in your hands.

You listen to them, though. They have the same type of chaotic energy, and they get along immediately, in a way you could never dream of getting along with a stranger. Hyejin talks about her break up, and she’s as devastated as she always is. Hoseok nods along with just the right amount of intensity, at just the right times, and punctuates her talking with gasps. When it’s his turn to share, he talks about ‘people who don’t know what they want’, and his bitter tone worries you a little. You guess things didn’t go that well with whoever he was sharing that bottle of wine with. It comes as a surprise, because you certainly heard that it was going fine, that night.

After Hyejin falls asleep, Hoseok looks around your room, and, as soon as his eyes lock with yours, he walks over to you. He’s a little tipsy, and there’s a red tint to his cheeks. He sits across from you, then leans on the island and rest his chin on his hands.

“So, what about you? Any terrible break-up you want to talk about?”

The question almost makes you jump, but you manage to keep your composure. Still, you can feel a cold hand wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. You hate that you’re still so affected by any mention of it. You should be over it by now. You certainly don’t have any feelings left for Minsu, so you don’t understand why this is still so hard.

At the same time, it feels kind of refreshing to hear him asking that without sugar-coating it. You friends have been walking on eggshells around you ever since The Break-Up, and none of them know exactly what happened. They just know that Minsu has a new girlfriend now.

“It’s been almost a year,” you tell him, keeping your voice light. “I’m okay. You two look like you need to talk a lot more than I do.”

“That depends,” he says, frowning, though you’re not sure if it’s because of what you said or because he has a hard time focusing with all the alcohol running in his blood. “I wasn’t serious. Were you serious?”

Ah.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I was.”

You don’t date someone for eight years unless it’s serious. Sure, it started when the two of you were in high school, and a lot of people probably didn’t think you would make it that far, but you felt— you felt comfortable with Minsu. You felt good around him. You liked talking about your work with him, liked hearing him rant about video games, liked how you goofed around when you did the dishes. You hadn’t seen anything coming.

A third of your life. When he’d broken up with you, you had spent a third of your life with him.

“Then you probably should be drinking some more,” Hoseok says decidedly, grabbing the bottle of wine to refill your glass. You remove it just in time, and he stops in time not to spill anything Looks like his reflexes aren’t too bad, even after drinking. He pouts at you, and it’s, actually, adorable.

“What about you?” you ask, trying to change the subject, trying to push aside memories you want nothing to do with anymore. “Things didn’t work out with the girl you had over the other day?”

His face falls, and you feel bad, but at least you’re not talking about yourself anymore.

“I thought it was going good. I mean we— You probably heard it, right? I can hear you walk around at night. At ungodly hours, by the way. Your rhythm of sleep must be fucked.”

You laugh.

“I did hear you,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “So I thought it was going good too.”

“Well, she ghosted me,” Hoseok sighs dramatically. “I couldn’t even get a nice ‘it’s not me it’s you’!” He tilts his head. “Wait. No.”

“You’re drunk, Hoseok,” you say affectionately. “You should get back to your apartment.”

“I’m not drunk,” he protests. “Hyejin’s drunk. I’m doing great. Could a drunk person do that?”

The second the words leave his mouth, you get ready to stop him. Every single time you’ve heard those, disaster followed. You’ve seen drunk men fall into bushes of nettles with their pants down, watched several girls faceplant, and, once, witnessed someone breaking a wrist. He’d been lucky, though, because his bike had never been the same after that.

You get out of your stool, worried both for Hoseok and for your apartment, and then he breaks into some elaborate dance moves. You can only stare in disbelief. You couldn’t do that at your most sober. You can’t take your eyes away from the graceful, efficient way his body moves, like he has absolute control over every single one of his muscles. When he shoots you a satisfied smile at the end, there’s only one thing you can think to answer.

“Wow.”

“Exactly.” He makes finger guns at you with his right hand, clicks his tongue, and winks. In doing so, he somehow upsets his balance, which was perfect only seconds ago, and has to catch himself on your table, but he doesn’t fall. That is, possibly, even more impressive. “So I’m not drunk,” he says, shaking his head to push some hair out of his eyes and leaning against your table like he’d planned for it all to happen exactly that way.

You look at him, and an unexpected softness blooms in your chest. Hoseok’s hot, you knew that already, but that’s not what you marvel at right now. No, you’re impressed by how endearing he is. How lovable.

All thoughts of Minsu are long gone. If you noticed it, you would probably hate the impact any mention of the break-up has on you, even though Minsu is such a small part of what you think about.

You would also realize how easily Hoseok takes your mind off it.

“You’ve convinced me,” you nod, hoping he’s too drunk to pick up on the sarcasm. “But I’m sure you’re tired.”

He tilts his head, considering it.

“This time, I think you have a point.”

He’s so serious that you have to laugh, and that makes him smile. It’s not one of those wide, bright smiles that you’ve gotten used to. It’s much more subdued, lifts only a corner of his lips, and yet it feels… intimate. It’s not performative. It’s just for himself, and it takes your breath away.

“I’ll get going,” he tells you softly. “Thank you for tonight. Your friend was fun and it was nice of you to let us bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me,” you answer honestly.

Hoseok smiles and looks down at his feet, and you wonder if he believes you. It’s true, though. You like listening to people talk. You don’t mind that you weren’t included. Him and Hyejin needed to vent, and you were happy to be there for it.

“If you ever want to talk to someone about that again, I’ll be here,” you find yourself saying, hoping it doesn’t come off as strange. “And Hyejin won’t mind either, if she’s around. I think she liked you.”

Hoseok laughs, and you feel relieved. You’ve noticed it before, but he does have a nice laugh, and you’ve gotten used to it since you’ve moved in. It would suck if you couldn’t hear it anymore.

You walk him out, then wait for him in his embrasure until he gets to his door. He sends you a mocking glance while turning his key into the lock.

“I’m not going to collapse in the five meters that separate our apartments, you know.”

“I don’t. What if you fall asleep between our doors and you spend the night there?”

He laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and you nod. Yup. He’s definitely drunk, and you’re definitely making the right choice by waiting for him to be back in safely.

“Say goodbye to Hyejin for me!”

“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you!”

Another laugh, but no reply. You smile, then close and make sure you lock your door behind you.

Inside, you cover Hyejin with a blanket, clean up around your apartment a little and then, after brushing your teeth, let yourself fall into bed. You’re exhausted, and you know you’re probably going to regret that one glass of wine in the morning — you can’t do alcohol.

It was a strange night, all in all. Fun, by your admittedly low standards, but strange. You don’t know where you stand with your neighbor now. You like things to be clear-cut, otherwise you risk getting lost in the awkwardness of the in-betweens, and they’re definitely not — are you friends? Are you neighbors? Were you too cold? Too friendly? Does he think you’re weird?

“G’night, (Y/N),” a sleepy voice says from the other side of the wall, and you smile. He’s drunk, and you’re sure that’s why he says that, but it’s still nice.

“Goodnight, Hoseok.”

Maybe, for once, the in-between you’re standing in is not that bad.

Hoseok has another date. You know, because he asks for the corkscrew back. He looks as excited as the last time when you open your door, and you can’t help but compare him to a puppy. You note, again, the nice white shirt, which does marvels for his arms and shoulders, with the top buttons open, revealing some skin. Hoseok looks— he looks good. You knew that, of course, and yet it still hits you.

You find yourself a little jealous of the girl who’s in his apartment. Not just for that, but because, from what you’ve seen of him so far, he’s a pleasant guy to be around. He’s nice, energetic, funny, he has a great laugh. There’s simply nothing not to like.

For the first time since— For the first time, you think that maybe you should date again. Not him necessarily, he’s probably way out of your league, but someone. Surely, you could find someone. You don’t think you’d look as happy as Hoseok does now, but maybe you could have some fun.

You give him the corkscrew, wish him good luck.

“You don’t need luck when you look like that,” he says, putting a hand under his chin and winking, and it makes you laugh. “Thanks,” he adds. “I’ll invest in one of those so I don’t have to keep annoying you, by the way. I promise!”

That night, you spend a lot of time with your headphones on, and you end up sleeping on your couch, in a weird attempt to give him some privacy.

(You hope he doesn’t keep his promise.)

You’re surprised to see Hoseok at your door the next time. Not because of the promise, though you remember it — you doubt that he does. You’ve learnt through time that people often forget things they don’t find important. You never do, and you wonder if it’s because your brain has trouble separating what matters and what doesn’t.

No, you’re surprised because it’s too early for him to have a date, and because he already has your corkscrew.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is a little droopy and tired, “does your invitation still stands?”

Your eyes widen and you nod, pushing yourself out of the way so he can come in.

“Of course, but I don’t have alcohol. Do you want me to call Hyejin?”

He laughs, and you wonder if that was a weird thing to say.

“If she’s available, absolutely. I don’t know how I made it without a Hyejin in my life until now.”

That makes you chuckle, and you whole-heartedly agree. Hyejin’s indispensable.

Unfortunately, it turns out she can’t make it that night, but she sounds excited by the idea. She asks you to tell Hoseok you’ll invite him next time she’s around, so you do, and he’s as happy about it as she is. The two of them make an obvious pair, and you’re sure they’d grow to be good friends if they spent more time together.

After that, Hoseok gets a pack of beer from his apartment, and you grab one, which you keep in your hand while he downs several others. He talks about things that are happening around him. His job as an accountant — “Can you tell me why I thought that was a good idea?” —, the dance lessons he takes on the side — “otherwise I’d go crazy“ —, his friends — “Idiots! All of them! They’re lucky I love them so much!” —, and also, your taste in music, which he’s very aware of given the complete lack of soundproofing between your apartments — “Listen, sad ballads are well and good, but have you considered listening to something happy?”.

At this point, he gets on his feet and starts to dance, and just like the last time, you think he’s amazing at this.

“C’mon!” he says, dancing his way to you and grabbing your hands. “You have to join me!”

You try to protest, but you know you’re not going to be able to resist him. When he makes you spin, you let out a loud laugh, and you try not to think too much about the way his hand naturally falls to your hip to help you keep your balance. You’re sure he hasn’t noticed, that it’s normal behavior for him, and you don’t want to look too affected. Your cheeks likely betray you, but Hoseok doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he lets you go after rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, once.

“You need to enjoy yourself sometimes!” he says, almost threateningly. “If you don’t, I’ll come over and make you!”

You wish he would.

“So,” you say after he’s fallen back into silence, staring at his beer bottle with a little too much intensity, “things didn’t work out with the girl you had over last time?”

Hoseok sighs.

“No,” he mumbles. “She said I was moving too fast for her.”

“Were you?”

He looks taken off-guard by your question.

“I don’t think I was,” he replies after giving it a second of thought. “I didn’t pressure her or anything. I think she didn’t want a relationship, and she didn’t want to tell me that.”

“That sucks,” you say, shaking your head. Hoseok seems pretty calm about it, if a little dejected, but you feel annoyed just thinking of that girl that you’ve never met. “She put the blame on you instead of being honest.”

“Better now than later, though,” he says, sounding deep in thought. “I’m disappointed, but I’m not hurt. If she realized after the date that we weren’t a good fit, she did the right thing.”

For a fleeting second, you wonder when Minsu knew, how long he’d had doubts, what he could have done differently to hurt you less, but the thought quickly vanishes. You still think the girl should have been truthful about it. You’re about to say so when Hoseok lets out a little laugh.

You’ve come to realize that there is a lot of depth to both his smiles and his laughs. They don’t always mean that he’s happy. He does them even when he’s sad. You’re not sure why, but if you were to guess, you’d say he doesn’t like giving in to the sadness, and the smiles and laughs are ways of fighting it off.

“The thing is— I get it. I know I can be… a little too much,” he says sheepishly, and you can tell that the words are painful to say, even if he’s acting nonchalant. He might have heard them one too many times.

Hearing that makes you feel bad. It makes something deep inside you ache. Maybe because the corners of his lips are falling, or maybe because, for the first time since he’s walked into your apartment, he looks like he’s about to cry. Maybe it’s because of how unjustified it seems to you. You love Hoseok’s energy, his enthusiasm, but you’re not sure how to tell him that.

So, instead of trying to come up with something, you reach over the table and grab his hand gingerly. The gesture is not the most smooth, because you’re pretty bad at physical demonstrations, but Hoseok immediately squeezes your fingers in his.

“That’s fine,” you tell him, doing your best to smile at him. “I can be… a little not enough.”

“You?” he protests immediately, shaking his head, “No way! I refuse to believe anyone’s ever told you that!”

His offended tone makes you chuckle, but you don’t miss how relieved he seems by the distraction, and you don’t blame him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you tell him conspiratorially, “but I can be a little awkward, and I’m not the best at making conversation.”

At that, he bursts out laughing, but when he stops, the look he gives you is so soft that you feel yourself melt under his gaze.

“But you’re the best listener,” he says, and his tone is gentle and fond and you don’t know what to to do with yourself. You feel rooted to your spot, unable — and unwilling — to escape. You have the feeling your hand is burning up in his. You’re sure you’re blushing. There’s no way you’re not blushing right now.

“I don’t think you’re too much,” you blurt out. “I think you’re just the right amount.”

You really, really wish you were even just a little better at speaking to people.

Hoseok’s eyes widen at your statement, and then he smiles at you. It’s a genuinely happy smile that you couldn’t have imagined on his lips a moment ago.

“Thank you,” he says.

He doesn’t add anything. He doesn’t have to.

After that night, after you made sure once more that Hoseok got back to his apartment safely, even if he was far less intoxicated than the last time, and after he wished you goodnight from his room again, Hoseok and you start making small talk when you see each other. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s a huge victory for you. Before that, you’d stayed years without exchanging more than a nod with your neighbors.

There are a couple more times at your place. Him and Hyejin meet again and, like you’d predicted, get along perfectly. Sometimes, your stomach twists a little when he puts his hand on her knee, or when she wraps an arm around his shoulders for a brief hug, but you try not to think too much about it. You don’t want to think about it, even if deep down, you know what is happening.

You’ve been through it before, after all, and it didn’t end well for you.

You blink when the lights turn back on, trying to adjust to the light. Next to you, Hyejin stretches.

“Well, that was something,” she says.

You feel too awestruck to reply just now, so you nod.

“Hoseok really is that amazing, isn’t he?”

“He is,” you say, and you let out a soft chuckle. You remember him dancing in your kitchen, completely wasted, and you remember how impressed you’d been then. You hadn’t realized then how much better he would be when he was sober.

“We owe him one for inviting us,” Hyejin continues. She’s used to making the conversation for the two of you anyway. “Think he could introduce me to one of the other dancers?”

You laugh and, in an unusual demonstration of affection, link your arm with hers. It’s not like you, but you’re feeling great after watching the performance. Hyejin’s right, of course. It was really nice of Hoseok to give you tickets to his dance group’s show. He’d looked so nervous, and after seeing this, you absolutely cannot imagine why. He has to know how incredible he looks, right?

You and Hyejin wait around for a little while, until Hoseok comes out. You’re not the only ones here to see him and the other dancers, and though Hyejin would happily call out to him, you manage to make her wait until he approaches you. His smile is bright and blinding when he finds you, and you feel your heart flutter. Hoseok’s smile has the strangest effects on you.

“So,” he starts, rubbing his hands together, “what did you guys think? Did you like it?”

“You were incredible,” you say, and the way his eyes shine when he looks at you disarms you completely. For a second, the world fades out around you. The people, the noise, the voices — gone in an instant. It’s just the two of you, and the affection with which Hoseok looks at you has you frozen in your spot.

You’re familiar with the feeling, have tried your best to dismiss it in the recent months, but this time, you don’t shy away from it. You like how Hoseok makes you feel, and even if a part of you is whispering in your ears that you’re taking a risk in letting anyone make you feel like that again, you ignore it. You’re willing to take that risk, and that realization makes your head spin.

You can’t look away from Hoseok, and he isn’t looking away from you either.

Then Hyejin starts to talk about the show, and the spell is broken. You don’t mind the interruption, and in fact, when you hear her speaking, you quickly find yourself interested. Hyejin is good with visual arts, in a way you aren’t, and it’s fascinating to hear her commentaries. Hoseok seems sucked in, too, but there is a strangeness in the air, a feeling, between you and him. You feel it in the briefest of looks, the softest of touches, his hand brushing against yours, in a smile that’s much softer than the ones he usually gives. You’re aware you could very well be imagining it, but there is also a chance you aren’t.

(God, you hope you aren’t.)

You weren’t too happy when Hyejin told you about the party. Now that you’re here, you want nothing more than to run away. You’re seriously considering it when Hyejin grabs your arm, and you know that she knows you were about to bail on her. Usually, you’d feel bad, but not tonight.

Minsu is here.

With his new girlfriend.

The one he cheated on you with.

You knew it was only a matter of time, because you have the same group of friends, and because it’s not like anyone knows what he did to you — you’re not sure they would pick your side even if they did —, but you still aren’t looking forward to seeing him again. In fact, it could never happen, and you would find it to be too soon. It’s not like this is still a gaping wound. It’, You don’t think you will ever forget about it, about the feelings you experienced then, sure, but the love you felt for him is long gone. Now it’s more like a phantom limb that throbs every once in a while.

Part of you is somewhat afraid that seeing him will revive it, though, and you never want to go through that again.

But it’s been over a year now. You need to be over this, and you guess tonight might as well be the acid test for that.

You expect Hyejin to berate you, but the look in her eyes is one of pity, which you hate. When she leans to whisper in your ear, you think she’s going to say some encouraging words. Instead, she hits with something else entirely.

“Hoseok’s by the drinks.”

…What?

“I invited him, I thought it would be a good idea.”

Right.

“You should go keep him company!”

Then she quickly vanishes, but not before you can throw her a piercing glance. You know your friend. You can tell when she’s trying to set you up with someone.

She’s lucky you don’t mind, but you’re pretty sure she knows that. You don’t tend to be the best at hiding your feelings, no matter how hard you try, and you’ve been in the situation before when she knew you liked someone before you did.

You guess the set-up merely confirms something you had felt building up for a while now, all while avoiding the obvious conclusion.

You like Hoseok.

You find him quickly, making small talk with some of your friends, and some more people you don’t recognize. The group isn’t what it used to be. Over the years, some people left, others brought in friends of theirs, and while there are still a good portion of your high school friends — well, of people you went to high school with — you definitely don’t know all of them.

For a second, you wonder if you should interrupt. Hoseok’s a natural when it comes to all this social stuff, a real extrovert. He looks amazing, right now, in one of those shirts you’ve seen him wear on dates, his hair nicely done. Everyone he’s talking to looks absolutely charmed, and for the second time tonight, you consider running away.

Then Hoseok sees you, and his smile widens, and he waves you over. You give polite nods and introductions, finding out that you actually do know some of the people you originally didn’t recognize, and grab yourself a glass of wine to feel a little more included. Hoseok puts his hand on your shoulder at first, and then if falls to the small of your back. You find yourself relaxing a little, standing by his side. You don’t know what it is about him and his touch that you find so grounding. You’ve never disliked physical contact, even if you don’t tend to initiate it, but with him it’s— different. Everything is.

That doesn’t stop you from feeling relieved when the group moves on and you find yourself alone with him. Maintaining a conversation with a lot of people is exhausting.

“Is everything going okay?” you ask. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well, it’s not a party until I walk in,” Hoseok grins cockily, tilting his head towards you. “Why, are you tired of seeing my face everywhere you go?”

“I don’t think that could ever happen,” you laugh, and there it is again, on Hoseok’s face, that look he gives you from time to time, for a reason you haven’t figured out yet. His eyes widen, and his lips curl into that smile that’s not as bright as the one he usually gives, but just as sincere. It makes heat pool in your stomach.

“That’s good,” he says softly.

There is probably something more there than you realize, and you want to ask about it, but you see Minsu and his girlfriend from the corner of your eye. Before you can think about it, you’ve grabbed Hoseok so he can serve as a shield between you and the rest of the room. The move surprises him, and he grabs onto you to stabilize himself, fingers wrapping around your arms. He’s close, but you can’t think about this right now.

“My ex is here,” you mumble when he shoots you a questioning look.

“Oh,” he says, and you miss the hint of disappointment in his voice. “The one you were serious with?”

You didn’t think he would remember that.

“Yeah,” you reply with a grimace. “With his new girlfriend. I just— I don’t want to speak to them.”

A decided expression settles on Hoseok’s face.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he whispers at you.

You barely have the time to blink at him before he starts leading you towards the exit. You don’t know if it’s that much more discreet, not with the way he keeps his back turned to the room and his shoulders squared, taking his role as your human shield very seriously, but you’re still grateful.

The second you’ve set foot outside, you burst out laughing, and Hoseok quickly joins you.

“Thank you, Hoseok,” you smile once you’ve caught your breath. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Walked out the door, I guess,” he replies, lifting his hands to arrange your hair.

You stay still for him. You don’t mean just that, though. You can’t express how much you appreciate his support right now, instead of the pity you usually get. You like that Hoseok turned this into— a joke. That he made you laugh about the way you’re hiding from your ex, instead of making you feel pathetic.

Just as you're thinking that, a wave of affection for him bursts in your chest, filling you with warmth, and you have no idea what to do with it. Especially not when he’s standing so close to you, biting his lower lip with concentration as he runs his fingers through your hair.

You kind of want to kiss him, but something tells you the timing isn’t right.

Finally, Hoseok takes a step back with a satisfied smile.

“There. Perfect.”

“I’ll have to let Hyejin know you’ll replace her as my personal hairdresser,” you chuckle.

“Oh, I’ll fight her for that spot!”

And there it is again. You’re laughing. You just saw Minsu again, and yet you’re laughing. The very idea would have sounded ludicrous a few months ago. Not because of Minsu per say, but because you didn’t think there would be anything to joke about. Or anyone to laugh with.

But Hoseok is here. By your side, in your life.

In your heart.

Someone clears their throat next to you, and you know even before turning around.

Minsu’s standing there. He looks good, if you’re being honest. He doesn’t have the dark circles under his eyes that you had gotten used to when you were dating, from the all-nighters he pulled when he was in college, and he’s clean-shaven. He’s wearing his favorite jacket, and that might be what you’re most taken aback by. The fact that you know this jacket. He used to put it on your shoulders when you got cold.

You suddenly feel an unexpected hatred for it.

“(Y/N),” he says, softly, and you can only look at him. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect that he would say your name so gently, with such affection. It wasn’t— It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You’d told yourself he hated you, that he would make fun of you, that he was such an asshole. This is so much worse, and yet you can’t say you haven’t thought about it. This is so much worse, because if he’s not an asshole, how could he do that to you?

What kind of person would you have to be to deserve to go through that?

“Hi, I’m Hoseok!” Hoseok exclaims next to you, filling the uncomfortable silence. He extends a hand to Minsu and, while doing that, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you feel a little better.

“Hi,” you say, belatedly, while Minsu shakes Hoseok’s hand and smiles genuinely.

“Minsu,” he tells Hoseok before turning his gaze back to you “This is great,” he comments, pointing at you and Hoseok, and you don’t get it. “The two of you— You look great together. I’m so happy for you.”

You’d like to say that you snapped, that you lost control, that you didn’t know what you were doing, but that would be a lie. Sure, in that moment, you feel burning, seething rage running through your veins. Sure, you consider murder for a hot second. But you’re in control of yourself when you dismiss the idea, just like you’re in control of yourself when your hand makes a circular movement, splashing Minsu’s face with the entirety of your glass of wine and, hopefully, ruining that stupid jacket of his.

Minsu looks at you in disbelief. You look at him in disbelief, as wine drips from his chin.

Then you run. Hoseok’s hand slips from your shoulder, and you’re all too aware of the way people stare at you as you beeline towards the exit. You hear Hyejin, and perhaps Hoseok, call your name as you put your glass back on a table, but you’re out before either of them can get to you, and as much as you love them, you think it’s probably for the best.

You get home at 7 am, which is late, even for your fucked up sleep patterns. You feel a little better. You spent a good chunk of the night outside, walking, before finding a café that was open. You didn’t want to go home.

When you arrive at your door, and find a sleeping Hoseok leaning against it, you think you may have made a mistake. He looks peaceful, but he’s still sitting on the floor in the cold hallway, in front of your door, and guilt spreads through you. You kneel in front of him, and try to gently shake him awake.

He barely budges. You try again, and he lets out a sleepy groan, head rolling to fall on his shoulder. He looks adorable.

“Hoseok, hey,” you call out gently. “You can’t stay here. We need to get you to bed, okay?”

The only reply you get is another groan. With a sigh, you pull on his arm, trying to lift him up. He’s heavy, way more than you would have thought with his figure, but you guess muscle weighs a lot. You’re about to give up when you feel him straightening a little. Not enough to walk on his own, but enough for you to half carry him. You make it to his door, fish the key out of his pocket while trying not to think about his muscled thigh under your finger or— anything else, then struggle to open it and get the two of you through.

Inside, you bump against his couch, and you swear between your teeth. You’ve always met at your apartment, and you’ve only been in his for a few minutes at a time, so you’re not familiar with the lay-out. You make it to the bedroom, unsteady under Hoseok’s weight, and are delighted to be able to push him down onto the bed.

That delight lasts for less than a second, though, because as he falls, the arm that you’d put around your shoulders to carry him drags you down with him. Your exhausted brain manages a ‘fuck’ before you collapse into Hoseok’s chest. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, feeling rather hard under you, but that doesn’t change anything to the fact that your heart is beating like crazy. Your nose is pressed against his neck, and you breathe in the smell of his after-shave, and you want to stay here.

But, as tempting as the idea is, you can’t do that when Hoseok doesn’t even know you’re here. Gathering all your willpower, you push against his chest to get up.

And then Hoseok rolls over, suddenly covering you with his body while all you can do is squeak.

This is the dumbest thing ever, you think as you vaguely try to push him off, already knowing that this is a lost cause. There’s no way this is happening.

Yet, as the minutes pass by and Hoseok shows no sign of moving again, instead wrapping an arm around your waist with a contended sigh, you have no choice but to accept your fate. You’re trapped, in Hoseok’s bed, underneath him, he’s probably drunk — that would explain why you can’t wake him up — and tomorrow morning is going to be unbelievably awkward.

It should be hard to fall asleep, in those circumstances. In fact, you shouldn’t fall asleep at all, just wait patiently until he lets you go to slip away. But right now, engulfed in Hoseok’s warmth, you can’t manage to stay awake and, as you drift into sleep, you cannot find it in yourself to regret it.

You wake to the feeling of hands gently moving up and down your back. The second you stir, though, they stop, and the warmth they provided you disappears. Whatever you’re laying on also tenses, hardening under you, and you want to protest. Fortunately for you, even in that state, you realize that mattresses and pillows can’t harden, which helps you piece together that you’re not laying on a mattress, which means you have to be laying on—

Oh God. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up way faster than you probably should have.

“Careful!” Hoseok protests, sitting up as well, reaching out to steady you. He removes his hands quickly once he’s sure you’re not going to fall over, burying them under his blanket.

“You— you’ve been awake a long time?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Um, a little while,” he admits, shifting under your gaze. “I assumed you needed the rest. You must have come home very late.”

There is a hint of reproach in his voice, laced with something else that you cannot identify, and you grimace. You take a second to rub your eyes, but even once that’s done, you find you can’t look at Hoseok.

“I did,” you mumble. “I’m sorry about last night, by the way. It must have been very— very uncomfortable. Especially after I left you with— I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh, but you get the distinct feeling that it’s to make you feel better. You’re getting good at telling what his laughs mean.

“It’s fine. Your, erm, your friends told me about you and Minsu. I didn’t realize you guys were that serious.” Silence. “Eight years, huh?”

You press your hand against your forehead. Talking about you and Minsu’s long relationship always makes you feel weird. The fact that he was in your life, practically everyday, for eight years, and that he disappeared from it without a warning and now he’s gone and everything is practically the same is unbelievably confusing to you. Maybe you should miss him, and you do miss some things about the relationship, like being in love, and sharing an apartment, and having someone to come home to, but you don’t miss him. Not anymore.

You know Hyejin’s worried you moved on too fast, after him. That she thinks you didn’t take time to heal. Truth be told, it hurt for a lot longer than she knows, but it was still relatively short, compared to what you’ve seen her go through after some of her relationships. You don’t know what to say about it. After the break up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to still love him, or to miss him.

“Eight years,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is that all they said?”

“…Not exactly, no.” Hoseok sounds so different from his usual self, all serious, looking at his hands, anywhere in the room but you. You can’t blame him, though, considering you’re doing the same thing. “They said you were high school sweethearts. That you were basically— perfect for each other.”

You want to scoff at that. It’s true that you got together in high school, and it’s true that people thought you made a nice picture. They were surprised that you would have gotten a boyfriend, usually, but the surprise vanished once they saw Minsu. You two clicked, in so many ways. The two of you worked. You made sense.

But you don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘being perfect for each other’. The two of you always had to try to make the relationship work.

Until one day he stopped trying.

“So I wanted to say— I get it. It must have been hard to hear him say that. You should try to deal with your sadness in other ways but—”

What? What is he talking about?

“—but I know what it’s like to see an ex you still have feelings for with their new partner, and it sucks, though, again, next time you could—”

“That’s not it,” you blurt out, and Hoseok stops in the middle of his rambling to finally look at you.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tone cautious, almost guarded.

You can’t believe what you’re about to tell him. You haven’t told anyone before, not even Hyejin. If she finds out, she’s probably going to kill you for not telling her and for telling someone else, and yet, in that moment, you can’t not talk about it. The thought of Hoseok thinking that you did that out of jealousy, that you still have feelings for Minsu is unbearable to you.

“What did they say about the break-up?” you ask.

Hoseok blinks, then frowns as he tries to remember it. He drank a lot last night, especially after you left. More than he had intended to.

“That no one knew what happened.”

“And Minsu didn’t have anything to say to that?”

“…I think he was cleaning his jacket at that point.”

You hope you stained it and he wasn’t able to get them off.

“We didn’t just— break up. I— We lived together back then. In an apartment. Because— That’s not important. What I mean is that— I walked in on him. And her. In our bed.”

You hadn’t made a noise for a few moments, so you’re not sure how they noticed you, but next thing you knew she was shrieking, covering her chest, and Minsu was walking towards you, awkwardly pulling up his pants.

“He— He told me he was in love with her. And that was it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hoseok isn’t saying anything, and you don’t want to look at him for now.

“That’s why I got angry. It’s not that I was jealous, it’s that— He doesn’t get to say that to me. Not after doing that.”

Hoseok grabs your hand, intertwines his fingers with yours.

“You didn’t tell that to anyone?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You stare in the emptiness for a while. Reliving the story had been unpleasant, even if you don’t feel anything for Minsu anymore, but it’s the answer to that question that brings a choked sob to your lips.

“Because— How can you do that to someone? How can you— how can you do that to someone you’ve been with for eight years? Someone you said you loved?” You feel small and the weight on your chest is painful, unshakeable. “What kind— what kind of person would they have to be for you to feel that it was— that it was okay to do that?”

At that point, the tears are rolling down your cheeks and your sobs make it impossible to talk. Not because of Minsu, but because of the fear that is building in your stomach even now. The fear that you deserved that. You hiccup loudly, and then you’re pressed against Hoseok’s chest and he’s holding you tight, hand gently caressing your hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells you softly.

“You don’t know that. M-maybe I’m a terrible person.” You don’t believe that, not when you say it out loud. But… what if?

“(Y/N),” Hoseok says, almost sternly, “you’re not a terrible person. Sure, you listen to Taylor Swift at two am, and you cook at two am, and you take your shower at two am, and— Actually, you could fix all of those issues by going to bed like a normal human being.”

That has the benefit of making you giggle.

“None of that makes you a terrible person,” he continues, satisfied with that small victory. “And I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I have never thought you were anything close to terrible.”

You let a long breath out. It doesn’t quite rid you from your fears — Minsu knew you for over ten years, he had much more time to discover all of your ugly parts — but it still helps.

“You know, I was doing really bad, the night you and Hyejin invited me to join you for a drink.”

“That was mostly Hyejin,” you say with a sniff. You’re not crying anymore, thankfully, but you don’t want to leave Hoseok’s embrace just yet.

“Because you’d rather die than talk to a stranger unless you absolutely have to,” Hoseok laughs, and you think that he’s gotten to know you quite well. “But you were really nice to me that night and I think I needed that.”

He lets go of you carefully, like you made of porcelain and he’s afraid you’re going to break if he’s too brusque. You don’t, obviously, but the world suddenly feels cold, without his arms around you. He grabs a box of tissue from the night-stand and hands them to you.

“Minsu’s an asshole for what he did to you,” he tells you, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “He should never have put you through that.”

“But—” But if he didn’t love me, he was right to leave me. He had the right to fall in love with someone else, even if it was going to hurt me. Sure, he could have done it another way, but is he to blame here?

“Not buts!” Hoseok protests. “Look, I know you must have loved him. I know that it’s not easy to reconcile that image of him with his actions, but you don’t have to look for excuses for him. You don’t even have to forgive him.”

You stare at Hoseok and, without a warning, you feel the absolute need to kiss him. You’ve thought about kissing him before, certainly, but it’s never been such a powerful urge. You can’t think of anything other than his lips against yours, his body pressed against your own, and it takes all your willpower to resist it.

Because, of course, kissing him as you’re talking about your ex would be a terrible idea and send all the wrong signals.

“You understand that, right?” he insists. He leans towards you so that his eyes are on the same level as yours and you think you really shouldn’t be looking in his beautiful brown eyes right now.

“I do,” you reply, glancing away.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t blame yourself for—”

“I get it, Hoseok. I promise.” Then, still without looking at him: “Thank you.”

He sighs.

“I’m so angry you had to go through that,” he says with a pout. “If I see him again, do you give me permission to break his nose?”

It should worry you that you actually consider the proposition.

“He’s not worth it,” you decide. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“What if I accidentally kick him in the shin?”

“Well, if it’s an accident…”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, and you’re utterly and completely in awe at the sound.

“You can count on me!” he winks, and he doesn’t know how he makes your heart flutter, how in this moment, you realize how utterly head over heels for him you are.

(It’s a pretty nice feeling, actually.)

Hoseok has another date over. You sleep on your couch again, and you try your best not to think about it.

(You take it back. It sucks.)

You run into Hoseok after coming back from doing your laundry. He’s in a good mood, and you hate that pang in your chest at the thought that it’s because of the girl he saw the other day. You should be happy for him. That’s the least you can do.

“Hey!” he greets you cheerfully. “Need some help with that?”

“Not really, I—”

But he’s already taken it from your hands. You shake your head with a smile as he gestures for you to get into the elevator before him. God, you like him.

“I can do that, you know,” you tell him at the doors close.

“Sure, but I can do it better.” Hoseok winks at you, then regains some seriousness. “How are you doing?”

From his tone, you know he doesn’t mean ‘in general’. He’s probably worried because of how you cried in his arms the other day, which you find a little embarrassing, but you still like that he asked.

“I’m doing great,” you tell him honestly.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Then you nudge him playfully. “Thanks to you.”

He has a little laugh, sounding unsure what to make of that, but you mean it. Talking about the situation did more good than you would ever have expected, and you’re… you’re just happy you did it with him.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” he says, one second too late, like he’d been lost in his thoughts — except he wasn’t, he was looking at you. “Work, neighbors keeping me up, you know how it is.”

“Ugh, neighbors are the worst,” you grin.

“You’re telling me!”

The doors open with a ding, and the two of you step out, slowly making your way to your door. It’s silly, but you don’t want to leave his presence. You linger at your door for a few more minutes, talking about the weather, of all things. Finally, when all the small-talk you can muster has left your mouth, you hold your hands out to get your basket back.

“I feel like I’m constantly thanking you, these days,” you chuckle. “I wonder how I ever got anything done without you.”

“I think that deserves a kiss!” Hoseok exclaims, and your heart stops, but when you look at him, you see he’s tapping his cheek. He’s probably not serious and not expecting you to do anything.

But you get on your tiptoes and plant a brief kiss right where he was pointing.

“Thanks!” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as fast as possible so you don’t see his reaction. “Have a nice day!” you yell from behind it.

Hoseok looks at your door. You’re leaning against it on the other side, dying to look through the peephole to see his reaction, and yet not daring to. Because of that, you miss the way he rubs his cheek, the amused smile that follows it, and the way he skips away. You do hear his happy whistle, though, so you decide you can’t have gone completely wrong, and you’re happy with that.

You hesitantly knock on Hoseok’s door. Things didn’t work out with the girl, and he texted you to come over for one of your usual pity parties, but he didn’t seem as down about it as he usually is. Still, you stopped at a grocery store to pick up some wine while coming back from the publishing house where you work as a proofreader. You usually work from home — hence your ridiculous schedule — but you had needed to drop by to discuss some things. The conversation had been difficult on your end, taking a lot of energy from you, and you were definitely happy about going home and blowing off some steam with your neighbor.

From inside, you can hear Hyejin’s voice, but also several others, and that makes you recoil. Talking with strangers is not something you want to do tonight. But before you can choose to run off, the door opens, and you’re greeted by Hoseok’s beautiful smile, so of course, there is no way for you to leave.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaims happily. “And you’ve brought wine! That’s great, Hyejin was worried we might not have enough. Come on, I have some people I want to introduce you to.”

You don’t even try to escape when he puts an arm around your shoulder — you have to remind yourself that it’s Hoseok and that’s just a thing he does, that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything — and leads you into the apartment.

There, you find Hyejin sitting next to a tall, dark-haired guy you recognize from Hoseok’s dance performance.

The introductions and the smiles they give you almost make your head spin, and once they’re done, you’re relieved to be able to fall on a chair next to the one that’s been the most quiet so far — Yoongi, if your memory isn’t playing tricks on you. That relief only grows when he doesn’t try to talk to you. Instead, you give each other a silent nod, and you both seem very content to let the others do all the talking.

As it turns out, they don’t limit themselves to talking. They clearly all have a lot of energy to spend, and you can merely stare at it, mesmerized. The blonde guy standing by the kitchen sink — Jimin, you remember, forcing yourself to recall their names — starts to demonstrate some dance moves with perfect grace, and it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to abandon his spot next to Hyejin to join him, not as precise, but very enthusiastic. Hoseok jumps in, too, and suddenly there’s a dance crew in his living-room. These three have no business being this good.

“Jin, aren’t you going to join them?” Yoongi yells to a guy who has carefully moved out of the dancers’ way.

“Do you want to fight?” Jin shouts back, and Yoongi chuckles, clearly delighted he got a rise from his friend. “Why don’t you join them?”

Then Taehyung — fluffy brown hair — seemingly comes out of nowhere and tackles Jungkook, Namjoon — tall guy with glasses — who’d been pretty quiet so far gets up and tries to separate them, everyone picks a side and— It’s chaos.

It’s kind of like watching a car crash happen, except you’re having a lot of fun.

“They’re always like that,” Yoongi says next to you. His expression is perfectly stoic but his voice betrays his fondness.

“I guess now I understand where Hoseok gets all that energy from. He just doesn’t have a choice,” you smile, and Yoongi sighs.

For a moment, you don’t speak, happy with simply observing the others’ antics. You’re not sure how or why it happened, but Jin and Jungkook are the ones fighting now, and Hyejin, who’s clearly in her element here, is shouting some encouragements from her seat, which she hasn’t bothered to leave.

“Hoseok’s doing well,” Yoongi comments suddenly.

“I was thinking that, too,” you admit. “Usually, after things go wrong with a girl…”

“Is something happening between the two of you?”

You… had not been expecting that bluntness.

“Um,” you say, taken aback. Yoongi turns to look at you, and the way he glares at you makes you feel compelled to answer. He looked harmless a second ago, but now you’re thinking if looks could kill, you would be seconds away from getting murdered. You’re not sure what you did to deserve that, though. “I don’t think there is.” You tilt your head, thinking. “There definitely isn’t anything official.”

“I think Hoseok likes you,” Yoongi says without batting an eyelid.

You’re pretty sure telling you that breaks some kind of code, but, with the wonderful warmth spreading in your chest, you don’t think about complaining. Not for a second.

“I think I like Hoseok too,” you reply instead. You don’t know why you’re saying that to a near stranger, but when Yoongi nods, you feel that there is a deep understanding going on between the two of you.

“Hurt him and I will kill you,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Hurt him and I will steal your doormat.”

Yeah, that sounds more reasonable. If you hurt Hoseok, you’ll deserve to get your doormat stolen.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else on the subject, so you’re happy to drop it. You bring your attention back to the room to discover that Jungkook has wrestled Jin to the ground.

“How…”

“Don’t ask. I stopped trying to understand a long time ago.”

But, despite what he says, when Jin calls him, Yoongi jumps to the rescue. Namjoon takes his place next to you, making polite small talk, and it doesn’t feel as difficult as those things usually are for you. You’d even go as far as to say it’s… pleasant.

When you look up, you meet Hoseok’s worried eyes, and he smiles at you, silently asking if you’re okay. You smile back, and it’s like something melts inside you. It’s because of him, you piece together. You feel comfortable because you trust Hoseok to make you comfortable. And because those are his friends, and he wanted to introduce them to you… You feel safe.

Yoongi’s words replay in your mind. You have a hard time believing them, if you’re honest, but something has bloomed inside you, something you haven’t felt in quite some time, and something you don’t want to get rid of so quickly.

Hope.

“Will you be okay, Hobi?”

“We could help you clean!”

“I’m sorry about your lamp…”

Hoseok is quick to dismiss his friends’ concerns.

“It’s fine! (Y/N) is staying to help me, so you guys get home safely, okay? Namjoon, we can figure something out for the lamp.”

The tall man grimaces at that, and self-consciously rubs the back of his neck. You haven’t known him long, but something tells you it isn’t the first time something like that happens to him, which might explain why Hoseok is so calm about it. Then again, Hoseok always makes the best of every situation, so you can’t be quite sure.

“Here are your keys!” Jungkook says, handing them to you. He had just half-carried Hyejin to your apartment, where she’s going to spend the night. It’s for the best — she’s too drunk to get home by herself.

“Thanks,” you smile. It’s obvious that him and Hyejin have taken an interest in each other and, well, you think it wouldn’t be that bad if something happened there. He’s nice.

“So you guys are good?” Jimin insists, sounding worried. “You don’t want us to help?”

Hoseok firmly shakes his head.

“You get a good night of sleep!”

Greetings are exchanged, and then the door finally closes behind them, and it’s just you and Hoseok. He lets out a little sigh, then smiles at you.

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?” he asks, proudly.

“They’re great,” you reply, and you mean it. Sure, you feel tired, but you actually had fun tonight, which is not something you can say about most of the parties you go to. “Namjoon knows a lot about books. It was nice talking to him.”

Hoseok hums, moving past you to start cleaning up.

“I’m glad you liked them! They were really looking forward to meeting you. Yoongi said I was talking about you too much and that it made him curious.”

“I think Hoseok likes you.”

“You were only telling them good things about me, of course,” you joke, picking up the dishes that are laying on the table to put them in the sink.

“Well, there’s nothing bad to talk about,” Hoseok replies with the same tone, but there’s an underlying note of honesty to his voice.

“That’s simply not true.”

Hoseok laughs. You wonder if he means it, even a little. There are bad things to say about you, no doubt, but you wonder if he at least thinks the good outweighs the bad.

You’d take that.

You do some more cleaning while talking about his friends, and you end up perched on a worktop next to him while he does the dishes. The rest of the room isn’t spotless, and you doubt that lamp can be fixed, so Hoseok will need to get rid of it, but you think you did a pretty good job, all in all.

Hoseok starts humming to himself, and in that moment, you feel— satisfied. There’s nothing in particular to produce that feeling, and yet it’s exactly it. Cleaning a room at one am with him and being by his side while he does the dishes… You’re happy like that, you realize. It’s a strange thing to think about, and maybe that’s why it gives you the courage to talk.

“Hoseok?”

“Hm?”

When you don’t reply immediately, he looks up at you.

“What is it?” he asks. You take in a deep breath, run your fingers through your hair.

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

His eyes go wide, and his movements stop completely. He just stares at you, and in that moment, you really, really hate yourself for asking.

“That’s— That’s cheating,” he manages to say after what feels like an eternity. “You have to try it to find out about that.”

That’s fair, you decide, and before you can question yourself further, you lean forward, choosing to take that as an invitation. You’re slow in your movements, in case he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still as your lips part, centimeters from his, as you put your hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself, and he’s still perfectly still when you finally press your lips against his mouth.

He tastes salty, like the snacks you had earlier. You don’t mind it.

The first thing to move is his mouth, pressing back against yours, and it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced.

Soon after that, his hands come out of the water and he quickly removes the gloves he was wearing. The second his right hand cups your cheek, the kiss turns urgent, passionate. His tongue darts into your mouth, and you wrap your arms around him with a pleased sigh, running your fingers on the back of his neck. A shiver runs through him, and next thing you know, he’s positioning himself between your legs, one hand firmly pulling you closer to him.

His body’s warm, toned, everything you’ve wanted for the past few months. He feels so good, and you’re quick to pull him in, hooking one of your legs behind his knee. He buckles, catches himself on the worktop and his lips stretch into a smile against yours. He tilts your head up ever so slightly, kissing you like he’s starving and wants to devour you whole. You respond with the same energy, fisting your hands in his shirt. It’s like you can’t get him close enough.

“How dare you,” Hoseok finally whispers when he pulls away from you, out of breath.

You shake your head, confused and a little dizzy. He’s grinning widely and looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders, so he’s definitely not mad at you, but you have no idea what he means by that.

“How dare you make the first move?” he says, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “You’re the— the most infuriating person I know.”

You laugh at that, let him kiss his way down to your neck. You trail your foot up his thigh to wrap your leg around him, beckoning him closer.

“Yoongi said he thought you liked me,” you admit to him, with one hand in his hair, softly caressing his scalp.

“Seriously? I feel like I should beat him up— but right now I kinda want to buy him flowers.”

“A cactus.”

“Joke’s on you, Yoongi loves cacti. Hey—” He stops kissing you, straightens, and looks into your eyes. Affection is dancing in his, but you can tell he’s being serious. “I like you. Like, really like you. So, um, if you’re not— if we’re not on the same page here…”

He can’t think that.

“I’d just— I’d just appreciate if you could let me know. Because I don’t think I can have something with you if you don’t— don’t really want it.”

He sounds worried, genuinely so. He’s looking at you, and you know he’s baring his heart out to you in that moment. It almost shatters you, this moment, this honesty, his fear. Somehow, the idea that you could hurt him, without meaning to, is the most terrifying of them all. Your mind flickers to Minsu, and you wonder how he could hurt you like that, if he felt that way about you even for a second — but you don’t care. All that matters is that you know you would never hurt Hoseok like that.

You kiss him and he closes his eyes, hand tightening on your waist.

“I really like you,” you whisper. “Really like how you smile,” He smiles softly against your mouth. “really like how you laugh,” You start unbuttoning his shirt. “really like it when I see you in the hallway and you always take the time to ask me how my day has been,” You run your fingers over his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin underneath yours, “really like the way you shine.”

“I shine?” he asks, stopping your hand to bring it to his lips, placing soft kisses on your fingertips.

You hum.

“More than anyone else.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but decides against it. He can’t find the words to respond. Instead, he kisses you.

“Bedroom?” he asks. As much as he would love to have you, right here, it’s not the most comfortable setting for the first time, and he wants to give you an opportunity to back out, if you don’t want that now.

But you very much do.

“That sounds perfect.”

It’s a small miracle that you make it to the bedroom when you can’t keep your hands or mouths off each other. On the way there, which is extremely short when you actually look where you’re going, you manage to bump into the table, several walls, and to kick down a plant.

“We’ll blame it on Namjoon,” Hoseok mumbles into your mouth, and you laugh. You’ve been doing a lot of that, ever since meeting him.

He pulls away from you to take off his shirt, and you’re quick to get rid of your pants, discarding them on the floor. You’re about to do the same thing with the top you’re wearing when Hoseok’s hands stop you.

“May I?”

Of course he can. He pulls it over your head, and kiss you when you emerge from it. First, his hands settle on your naked shoulders, then, slowly, he trails them down your arms, intertwining your fingers with his. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and you yourself get lost in the sensations, in how he’s towering over you, in how his hair brush against your temples, in the heat that radiates from him.

You inch closer to him, and he lets out a soft moan when you press yourself against him. You reach behind to get rid of your bra, and when it falls to the ground, your finally feel his skin against yours.

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispers in a low voice.

You pull him towards you as you climb onto the bed, and he follows, just like he follows when you lay down. Everything, his kisses, his touches, his body on top of yours— it all feels slow. Intimate. His long fingers run over your side, and you shiver. You want so much more than this, and yet it already feels overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks you.

You look up at him. He’s kneeling between your legs, still wearing his black pants, draped over you. His pupils are wide, his body is so hot it could be on fire, and you can definitely feel his hardness pressed against you. He’s perfect.

“I’m sure,” you say, and when you kiss him again, his response isn’t slow anymore. Instead, he rolls his hips into you, and the friction forces a low moan out of you. That makes him smile.

One of his hands runs over your thigh as he gently spreads you open.

“I want you so bad,” he tells you in an urgent whispers.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“You’re impossible.”

But he listens, and after that, you don’t know what to focus on. His lips and his tongue, making their way down your neck, kissing your breasts, teasing your nipples, or his hands, as his thumb rubs against your clit and he slides a long finger inside you.

Your fingers dig into his hair and you bite on your lower lip harshly. You’re not usually loud in bed, but you know that moans and whimpers and pleas will come cascading out if you don’t stop them. You wouldn’t normally have a problem with that, but Hyejin is sleeping in your apartment, and you would appreciate it if she didn’t hear you.

Hoseok easily pushes another finger inside you, scissoring you open, and your entire body arches into him. You close your eyes, quietly calling out his name.

“You’re doing so good,” Hoseok whispers to you, voice so full of affection you feel that your heart is going to burst. “You look so, so beautiful for me.”

You’re so wet, so tight around his hand, and you want him so badly, want more than that, but there is no way you can stop him right now. You feel at his mercy and, fortunately for you, he’s the kindest tormentor there is.

“Fuck,” he says one more time, eyes roaming over your body, the way you’ve completely abandoned yourself in his arms, head thrown back, eyes closed. He wants to give you everything.

He increases his pace and wet sounds fill the room. You can’t think of anything other than him, and your mind is filled with Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok!

You come when he adds in a third finger. You tighten around him, letting out a high-pitched moan over which you have absolutely no control. Hoseok lets you ride your orgasm before removing his hand, still whispering praise in your ear.

It takes you a few moments to come down from your high, and when you do, you’re only too aware that he hasn’t gotten much from this at all, still painfully hard against your hip. You reach out to cup him through his jeans, and he groans, burying his head in your neck.

“You don’t have to,” he says, despite bucking against your hand. “I’m fine with—”

“Hoseok, trust me, I want this as much as you do.”

You kiss him, fumbling around to unbutton his jeans, and he joins you in pushing his pants down. He moans, louder than you did earlier, when you wrap your hand around him. You stroke him at a devilishly slow pace. His body is tense as a bow, his kiss turning sloppy when you tighten your grip ever so slightly. You love it, love the way he moans for you, love how vocal he is, love how his hips jerk to meet your movements even though you’re pretty sure he’s trying to keep still.

“If you keep that going, I’m going to—” Hoseok starts, small gasps breaking off his sentence, and you regretfully take your hand off him.

He’s thankful for it, because he desperately wants to have you, but he still can’t help the moan of disappointment that escape his lips. Someone else might feel embarrassed at how it makes you giggle, and maybe he would, but he sees adoration in your eyes when you look at him, when you lift a hand to stroke his cheek, and he simply doesn’t. He can’t when everything about you screams how much you care for him.

You slide your drenched panties down your legs and wait not so patiently as Hoseok reaches in the nightstand for a condom, then struggles to open the wrapper. Your foot rubs against his calf as he struggles to open it up, working as a painful reminder that you’re there, so close, so wet, so ready…

“Not helping,” he mumbles, fucking finally opening it. You join in to roll it on, your hand feeling so damn good around him, and when you lay on your back, there’s impatience in your eyes. He kind of wants to tease you about it, make the moment last, but he doesn’t have the strength to do that right now.

Instead, he lines his cock with your entrance and slowly pushes himself inside you. Your moan sounds loud, even with you trying to muffle it, and he replies with a groan. You push yourself on an elbow, shifting to find a more comfortable position, and you end up sitting on his thighs, straddling him. One of his hands comes rest on the small of your back, stabilizing you, while he puts the other one behind him to support his weight.

It’s overwhelming already, you around him, your breasts pressed against him, the kisses you’re peppering against his mouth.

And then you start moving. At first, you roll your hips experimentally, making sure you’ve adjusted to his cock inside you. When Hoseok throws his head back, though, you start bobbing up and down. It’s not a movement you could do for too long, but you don’t think you’re going to need long.

You wrap your arms tightly against him as you find just the right angle. You barely know what you’re doing, hips moving almost uncontrollably so he keeps hitting that sweet, sweet spot. Your thighs’ muscles start burning, but Hoseok’s moans, the desperate way he repeats your name like a mantra, keep you going.

“(Y/N), I’m— I’m gonna—”

You reach down to touch yourself, fingers rolling over your clit so you get just what you need to get over the edge.

Hoseok comes seconds before you do, with a loud moan. His fingers dig into your hip, and it’s probably going to leave a mark, but you’re doing the same thing with his shoulders. You chase your second orgasm of the night frantically and find it as he’s starting to soften inside you.

You collapse on top of him, both your bodies sweaty and exhausted but so, so deeply content.

It takes a while before either of you speaks again.

“Shower?” Hoseok asks, sleepily, and you nod. You feel good. You feel good against him, and you feel good when the two of you stumble towards the bathroom. You feel good when your body is pressed against him inside, all tensions gone, and you feel good when you rest your head on his chest in bed, drowsing into sleep next to him.

That’s all him, you realize. That’s all Hoseok.

And you’re more than happy with that conclusion.

As you’re getting ready for the marriage of two of your high school friends, you idly wonder how it’s going to be, to see Minsu there again, and then it hits you. You haven’t thought about him in a long, long time.

It’s not like he was always on your mind, after the break-up, but it did feel like you took a piece of him everywhere you went, a pain that never quite disappeared, a constant thorn in your side. You had tried your best, fully aware that it wasn’t doing you any good, but it was hard, after eight years, to get used to a world without him again. You wonder when you became okay with it again.

There’s a knock at your door, and you find Hoseok waiting for you when you open the door. He looks amazing. Perfect. Like all you ever wanted. You've been together for months now, and yet you can't seem to get used to it. You don't know if you really want to, either. You like being dazzled every time you see him. He flashes you a smile and leans in to give you a quick peck on the lips.

“You remember that you have a key, right?”

“Oh, I do remember, I just like knocking here. Brings back some memories I like.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, eyeing your dress, and you humor him with a little twirl.

“Hyejin helped me pick it.”

Hyejin is probably the reason you’re invited to the wedding, actually. She had never cared about your outburst against Minsu, but some of your friends definitely hadn’t appreciated it, and you understood why they wouldn’t want that kind of crazy to their wedding. However, after you’d told her about how the break-up went down, she had pleaded for you, and gotten you off the persona non grata list.

She would probably have murdered you for not telling her sooner, but you used that same conversation to tell her about you and Hoseok, and that had overshadowed the first half of that discussion entirely.

Yes, you’re aware, that was a little manipulative, but it was that or being killed by your best friend, so you have no regrets.

“Hyejin has great tastes.”

“Don’t tell that to Jungkook, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, something akin to pride shining in his eyes. He loves that his friends are your friends now, loves that his favorite people all enjoy each other’s company.

He extends his hand to you, smiles when you take it. He initiates physical contact more often than not, but you never decline it.

“All good to go?”

You nod. You don’t tell him that honestly, he’s all you need to face the rest of the world.

It doesn’t make it any less true.

You don’t like weddings. You know, shocker, considering how sociable of a person you are, but seriously, the more weddings you go to, the less you enjoy them. It’s not that you don’t love your friends and don’t want to see them happy, because you do, and they’re the only reason you put yourself through that. You guess you’re put off by how many people there are, and how big it all is. Hyejin’s a bridesmaid here, so you heard a lot about the planning, and it sounds like something straight out of your worst nightmares. It’s simply not for you.

Hoseok puts his hand on the small of your back, palm open, and it immediately ground you, calms the anxiety that had been bubbling inside you. Your anxiety is such an old companion when you’re in a public setting that it’s almost weird to feel it disappear. It’s not like Hoseok is a magical way of making it go away, it doesn’t always work, but it definitely helps. Just another one of the many perks of being with him.

“Everything okay?” he asks gently, and your heart explodes with the love you feel for him.

Without thinking, you push yourself up to kiss him. It’s a chaste kiss, appropriate for the situation, but Hoseok closes his eyes, loses himself in it. When he opens them, he looks a little surprised, like he always does when you’re the one to initiate a kiss.

“Everything’s fine,” you say.

His eyes glide to stare at something behind you, and you turn around before he can stop you.

There, of course, are Minsu and his girlfriend. It looks like it’s working well between the two of them.

You can’t say this doesn’t make you feel anything. That would be a lie. You don’t think you can forgive Minsu, don’t think you want to, and you certainly don’t want to be his friend, or even to talk to him, but you’re not angry anymore. If he did come over, you’d probably handle it better than you did last time. Hyejin might not, though, and judging by the way Hoseok tenses next to you, he might not either.

But instead of walking over and throwing a glass of wine at Minsu’s stupid face, Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you put your head on his shoulder.

You definitely like that better.

“They—” He clears his throat. “Your friends told me they thought he was the love of your life.” You snort at that. “That you guys had so much in common, and that they didn’t know how you’d ever find someone you were as compatible with.”

It’s so strange to you that Hoseok is the one who has insecurities about your relationship. As if he let you any choice but to be completely and utterly taken in by him.

You put his hand over his, which is spread over your stomach.

“They were wrong. He’s happy without me,” you tell him quietly. “and I’m definitely happy without him.”

At some point, maybe Minsu was the love of your life. When you were sixteen and you thought you would never love anyone else, or when you were twenty and moving in together, or even when you were twenty-four, the day before he shattered your heart.

But he isn’t anymore, and you can’t even imagine what your life would be if you had stayed with him, can’t imagine what your future would have been like. Can’t imagine your life without Hoseok.

“I love you, Hoseok,” you say, and he takes in a deep breath. “I don’t care how compatible I was with him— clearly, it didn’t change anything in the end. You’re the only one I want.”

“We’re not very compatible,” he comments.

“That’s true.”

“Your schedule is the absolute worst.”

“I think it’s fine.”

“You like horror movies.”

“Horror movies are great, but I promise I won’t make you watch them.”

“You refuse to ask the landlord to break down a wall between our apartments.”

“That is objectively a terrible idea.”

“Then we should find a place where we can live together.”

That quiets you for a few seconds as you think about it, before turning towards him. Hoseok has a cautious look on his face, but hope is shining in his eyes. No matter how scared he is, he is always willing to try. That’s only one of the many things you love about him, but that’s exactly what gets you right now.

“We should,” you say.

Minsu disappears from your mind, goes back to the oblivion where he belongs, and you only focus on the present, on the man you have in front of you.

“I love you,” he says before kissing you, and in that moment, everything feels perfect.

As long as Hoseok is by your side, you know you can take on anything.

#hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #bts #bts imagine #bts x reader #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok imagine #hoseok fluff #hoseok smut #bts fic #hoseok fanfic #candywrites

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anxiouspotatorants · 4 years ago

Note

heyy first off im obsessed w your account and the underdog quartet but also i feel like, with your new jess/paris playlist post, we need to acknowledge paris and jess’s first interaction when paris went into luke’s diner in “Richard goes to stars hollow” they had a very subtle interaction but he was clearly memorable enough to her to remember him and his name. I wonder if whenever paris when to stars hollow in the future she would look for jess what do you think

Thank you so much for this ask and the kind words!!! I’m obviously obsessed with UQ too, so finding more people who love that dynamic is just amazing!

Also yes we only had about two direct interactions between Paris and Jess but holy shit was the platonic chemistry there!! Paris bothering to remember him is something I would love to take as a sign that she was a Jess gal (especially since if you combine that with Keiko Agena saying she and Lane are team Jess, that means all my faves support my ship!)

Now for Jess and Paris specifically, I could honestly give you three different types of answers for this. First is that ASP and company didn’t feel like exploring that dynamic, so Paris probably doesn’t think about Jess or seek him out in the future, especially not after Rory’s break up. But that take is boring so let’s go for wild headcanons!

The second approach is on the more realistic side. I bet that Paris would avoid bringing up Jess every time he popped into her mind in front of Rory, but she would be too desperate to finally have that decent conversationalist to not bug Rory about him. She probably wouldn’t head over to Stars Hollow of her own accord considering how disappointed she was with the research results for that article, but she would ask about when Jess could come over to Hartford so she could rip his literary takes to shreds at a nearby cafe or at the elder Gilmores. Once Jess and Rory were a couple, Paris would double down on her requests but probably only have them met once or twice (Jess has work, Rory still has a tendency to compartmentalize parts of her life etc.). Post-breakup Paris would take Rory’s side, but secretly be sad to see a potential friend go. She probably felt like this guys really could be something, not just for Rory who seemed to finally get decent taste in boys, but for Paris who was finally starting to get more true friends. She carries a secret team Jess torch for the rest of the series but hides it in general criticism of any and all guys Rory is involved with.

On to approach three, aka balls to the walls whatever I want!! Hold on to your hat because this will be a long and windy ride:

After the diner-meet, Paris is intrigued by the guy who played along with her interrogation and eye-flirted with Rory. She doesn’t think she’ll see him again, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to.

After the dinner at Rory’s, Paris is honestly elated to finally have a great literary conversation with a guy her age. The only one to have come close is Rory, and that doesn’t say much for the «opposite sex» in Paris’ eyes. But she’s also furiously disagreeing with Jess’ «Austen loves Bukowski»-take, so she writes a whole several page argumentative essay and forces Rory to deliver it to Jess the next school day.

Jess responds not with a letter, but by having Rory hand Paris an annotated («blasphemy!») copy of a Bukowski work. There are no arguments from Jess notes, just underlines of quotes he thinks Austen would approve of, and excerpts from different Austen works put in the margins for comparison. Paris despises him for how much she is seeing his point.

At some point Rory get’s sick of being a carrier pigeon and drags Paris with her to ST after school so the two can fight in person. All three stay until Lorelai pops over for dinner, and Paris realizes she needs to haul herself over to the bus. She’s hungry and worried about the time she should have spent on homework, but ultimately really happy about the day.

She’s bummed to see Jess go after the car accident, but doesn’t have much time to think about it between school and… well, school. She does end up being one of the few Rory can talk to about Jess without getting the whole «bad bad boy»-speech she gets over in ST and at her grandparents’.

Rory doesn’t tell Paris Jess is back until the very end of their Washington trip when Paris finds the unfinished letter and Paris is boiling. She does cool quickly, but only to constantly bug Rory about when the three of them are going to meet up again for coffee and verbal war. Rory gets so stressed about it that at some point she gives Paris the number to Luke’s and tells her to go on her own for all Rory cares.

Paris does. Jess is surprised, but they get in the groove quick. What doesn’t go as smoothly is Paris asking what the hell is going on between him and Rory. His non-answers pretty much spell everything out, and in a rare moment of comradery, Paris decides to turn the conversation in to hating on Dean. Jess appreciates it. It doesn’t happen again, but Paris firmly puts herself in the team Jess camp from then on.

Paris is releived once Jess and Rory finally are together and it is great! More cafe talks! Study sessions! Movie nights! They even sneak both Paris and Lane out into concerts! Paris feels like for the first time in a very long time, she has real friends her own age. The kind who actually like you for you and want to spend time with you for you, not just to get better grades or a better reputation.

Paris sucks at being strong for Rory when Jess leaves. Like, she takes it really personal. This was supposed to be the one good guy, and he decided to be just like everyone else. But with time she learns to coach Rory into speaking her mind about the whole thing, and to support her in her own Paris-y way.

What she doesn’t tell Rory is that at some point after summer break (either because she gets hold of Jess for some scolding or because Lane does and spills to Paris or even if Jess gets in touch himself) Jess starts sending Paris beat up books he collects on the road around the country. None of them feature letters (at first), but annotations at the beginning declaring his safety and momentary location, as well as his general style annotations of the book inside the text. Paris starts responding with letters, and with time they start talking on phones and through email.

Paris helps Jess with his GED. They make it an equal study-buddy thing because Paris needs help taking certain writers seriously in her essays. Most of their sessions are over the phone, and a lot of it is just them daring each other to actually try. Paris gets actual stars on her improved essays, and Jess passes with flying colours.

Paris doesn’t know about Truncheon until Jess stands in front of her place ages later, dressed like a Kids Bop version of himself and holding a messengerbag with his debut novel. Paris tears through it in two hours (forcing Jess to sit on the couch next to her the whole time) and then spends another half hour furiously trying to tear it to shreds but actually praising it. She gives him their first hug ever, and hopes this afternoon is a sign they’ll slowly get back to being close friends in person.

Paris sucks at hiding how team Jess she is. So. Much. She does have genuine critiques of Logan and other guys, but her gut-defenses of Jess at random times in the day and weird reminiscing back to the «good old days» of diner talk after school gives her away immediately. Rory is uncomfortable, but Paris doesn’t even change her mind after Rory still picks Logan.

What she does do is invite Jess over for grown up evenings with Doyle. Whenever Rory is scheduled to be out and Jess needs to visit Luke anyway, Paris extends her invitation. They test wines based on price and taste, watch cult classics, eat takeout (in honour of Paris’ very first Mac and Cheese night) and talk for hours. One day wires cross and Jess gets in while Rory is there/Rory gets back while Jess is there and things get awkward.

Paris invites Jess to the graduation. Yes she has a limited amount of tickets and yes it’s weird to invite your friend who has barely been around ever but damn it she wants him there. He came to her when he was celebrating his accomplishments, she wants him to be there for hers.

They actually grow even closer as adults; emailing, texting and calling regularly. About 70% of it is general banter and picking on everything and everyone around them, but it’s a far more loving kind now — not that anyone who isn’t them would know, from the outside it looks like they want to kill each other. Regardless of outcome, Paris remains forever team Jess, and the two end up having each other’s backs for life.

So this went long and away from the point (and I only went through Paris’ pov!) but it was fun to write! I hope you like rant answers!

#sing it with me all together now:#THE POTENTIAL #btw thank you so much for the ask it brightened my day!#snark attack #jess mariano #paris geller #jess x paris #lowkey underdog quartet #gilmore girls #gilmore girls headcanons #gilmore girls au #my aus #my headcanons

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boop-le-snoot · 5 years ago

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skin starving

tony stark x f!reader fluff. no warnings, just a few f-bombs. touch starved tony’s third person pov. words: 2,5k. no beta because i just really needed to get this off my chest.

recommended music to go with the story: two feet - 'love is a bitch' & 'quick musical doodles'. Or any lo-fi hip-hop radio really.

It started as an itch. At first, a small but bothersome thing, that kept him up at night, steering the already unreasonable hours of wakefulness into dangerous territory. The cold of his bed was unappealing and more often than not, he’d started passing out on the flat surfaces nearest to him: workshop, lab, common room couch, the lazy boy in Bruce’s apartment.

The team noticed, of course, they weren’t blind. They all had been on edge the first few months after Pepper left him. They expected him to act out, lock himself up in his lab or go back to his old habits of boozing and bringing home a different girl every night. And he had tried that, once or twice, but airheaded twenty-somethings weren’t appealing anymore. Most of the time their ass kissing and blatantly flattery annoyed him further into self-loathing abyss. He simply couldn’t step up to be the kind of man they described him to be - it seemed as if every woman on planet Earth had a whole list of expectations he specifically could not meet.

With Thor off planet, not one remaining person on the team was particularly touchy-feely. And that was the thing with Tony Stark: as an engineer, as a mechanic, he made his way through the world hands-first, every approach he had was hands-on. During late nights and early mornings, he laid in bed, sleepless and dreamless, desperately refusing to admit his own touch starvation.

Whenever Rogers threw an arm around his shoulders during a particularly successful team bonding activity, it took every ounce of willpower Tony had to not lean into it and purr like a cat. He hadn’t truly forgiven Steve for his cold, cruel words of criticism shortly after Pepper’s departing. He wasn’t going to chummy up to a man who thought him selfish, opportunistic and self-absorbed.

Tony became irritable and withdrawn. He simultaneously craved and avoided even the casual, friendlier attention his teammates gave him on a daily basis. His usual snark became that much more biting, having caused several people to storm out of team meetings.

On a cold autumn morning, Tony had found his way at the tower’s Starbucks on the employee floor. He had squeezed a generous five hours of restless sleep and he was sick of the plain black coffee in his kitchen. A spontaneous desire for something sweet and creamy and caffeinated led him to the place in line at the cafeteria, only a few early birds ahead of him.

Tony’s brain was hazy as it had been past few weeks, dull from the lack of rest and the hyperfixation of his own skin feeling alien to him. For once, he wasn’t typing away on his StarkPhone as he usually did to avoid being bothered; Tony stared straight ahead, unseeing, nothing but white noise in his usually racing brain.

Two women stood in front of him and he couldn’t help but overhear a part of their conversation.

“… Are you really horny or just lonely or touch-starved, though? I mean, Tinder? It’s not really your style.”

“Eh, I dunno. Probably the second but it’s not like men go on Tinder to find a cuddle buddy.”

“Well, maybe? I’ve heard about arrangements like that.”

“No offense, babe, but it’s probably kids in their early twenties. Those gen-z’s, babe, are weird. I’m not really up to date on all of that.”

The topic of the conversation was what piqued Tony’s interest; the world liked rubbing salt into his wounds and hysterically laugh at his misfortune. Bleary-eyed, he briefly scanned the two women: both appeared to be interns or junior techs in his company, evident by the purple employee badges hanging from their bags.

“So what are you going to do?” One woman asked the other as their turn to order took Tony one step closer to obtaining his desired caffeine.

“Unless someone normal magically appears with an offer of no-strings-attached, good ole’ snuggle fest, I guess I’m getting dicked down on Saturday,” The other replied with a teasing tone. The lack of excitement in the last part of the sentence was obvious.

“Gross,” The first one shook her head and hurriedly rattled off her order to the barista who looked about as disgruntled as Tony felt.

Hours and three coffees later, Tony’s overactive brain was still stuck on that woman from the cafeteria. Her back, her purse stuffed full of colorful manila folders, her neatly gathered hair - Tony Stark had nearly perfect memory and he remembered every single detail despite his brain fog. Objectively, she was attractive, no more no less than a different dozen of women he’d seen at any point in his life before. So why was he hung up on her?

It didn’t take him a long time to find her file, faster than he’d liked to admit. Manually sorting through hundreds of interns, lab technicians and various second-tier employees wasn’t exactly considered productive but with Pepper and her nagging out of the picture, Tony could afford to slack off a little bit.

So he found her name and her e-mail address, skimmed over her performance report with satisfaction, finding her to be a busy bee in the 90-th percentile. Her superiors considered her trustworthy, hard-working and communicative, all good traits.

Pepper’s absence meant he’d have no one to cover his ass should he get slapped with a harassment suit; however, he was the Tony Stark after all. He had more money that he’d cared to count and an army of lawyers at his disposal 24/7.

Amidst the jumbled mess of wires, circuit boards, tablets, empty coffee cups and the occasional piece of paper, Tony typed up an e-mail to the woman sharing his… Condition.

“I heard you and your friend talking at Starbucks. I could use a cuddle buddy. Wine and Netflix at my place? What’s your takeout preference?”

No. That came off way too creepy, like he was some kind of a dirty eavesdropper.

He contemplated some more, typing up and erasing multiple e-mails with various proposals: his penthouse, her place, a three Michelin star restaurant, a walk in the park. Almost all of it screamed ‘date’, like he’d drag her off to bed the very moment an opportunity wouldn’t present itself. It wasn’t so: Tony Stark, the playboy genius, had his dick firmly tucked into his pants. The thought of fucking her crossed his mind only briefly, quickly being chased away by the thought of her fingers running through his hair. Her warm, soft body in his arms. Just laying on his couch, eyes closed, reveling in each other’s arms.

Tony hit send on the least obnoxious option. He baited his breath, clicking his fingers in anticipation as the message showed itself to having been delivered.

“Mary, is this you trying to be funny? Stark is going to fire you if he finds out you’re impersonating him to stop your friend from going on a questionable date. Grow up.” Came the very prompt reply, ending with a short string of angry emojis. Tony could totally trust a person who used emojis unironically and generously.

“For the record, I wouldn’t be mad if somebody pretended to be me for the sake of saving their cute friend from a creep. The problem would be making it look credible.” Tony typed up the answer without thinking, quickly snapping a picture of himself holding the Starbucks cup with his name written on it, throwing his usual sloppy peace sign. He attached it to the email and hit send.

“WTF” Came the reply not a minute afterwards. He let it sink in, giving the woman some time to gather her wits. She did not disappoint. “Okay, even if we pretend this is real - which I doubt - what’s in it for you? If you heard our conversation, you surely know my stance on the matter.”

“I’m always glad to prove you wrong. I’m a genius - comes with the territory.” Tony simply couldn’t resist adding a generous dose of snark. “You’re welcome to meet me after clocking out. Use the private elevator, my AI will beam you up.”

The reply took a considerably long amount of time, seeing as previously, she typed back rather quickly. “Please don’t be a creepy rapist, Scotty. Fingers crossed.” Tony managed to almost break his stylus twice. His hands shook, and he had to tell himself to breathe - still, he laughed at the clever way she replied.

Several more hours later, during which Tony had nearly paced a hole through various floors on the residential side of the tower, he took a quick shower, dressed in a flattering but comfortable designer sweatpants and polo combo and made himself at home on the obscenely large living room sofa on his own, private penthouse floor.

He was up and running towards the elevator when Friday’s voice notified him of the woman entering the elevator on the employee floor. Tony tousled his hair, adjusted his glasses, fiddled with the drawstring of his pants.

The woman was wearing casual office wear, pants and a loose blouse, a lab coat loosely draped over her arm and her purse hanging off the shoulder on a thin strap. Her hair was loose now, a little frizzy as if she continuously ran her hands through it. Tony quietly rejoiced at not being the only nervous one.

Clever eyes scanned the room with unhurried interest before finally landing on him. “Not too shabby, if I say so myself,” The corners of her mouth tilted in an attempt at a smile, it was obvious she was studying him.

“Thanks, I try my best,” Tony smirked. Humble he was not. “So, how do you want to do this?”

“I see a comfortable couch,” She looked to be grateful for being given the opportunity to lead this interaction. “Let’s park our behinds on it, bicker for ten minutes about a movie choice and settle on one none of us really like. Then we can tell each other our no-no zones and, well, yeah,” She started out confidently. Probably practiced in the elevator. But towards the end, her shyness took over.

For Tony, it was kind of cute. A nice change from suck-ups that flocked him at every social gathering in hopes of getting something out of him. The woman that had tossed her bag carelessly on the far end of the couch and untucked her blouse looked and felt like the exact opposite of those people. She looked willing to give.

Tony sat next to her, keeping a couple of inches of free space between them. “Food preferences? Food allergies?” He asked, tapping the food delivery application.

“Nope, and I will eat just about anything.” He felt more than saw her side-eyeing him. Both of them were jittery. So uncharacteristic for Tony, to be blushing and stammering like a high school boy. Sex was easy, but intimacy? Complex. It was addictive and eventually, painful.

Movie decisions were surprisingly easy and she said so. They settled on a Tarantino classic, an old flick neither of them had watched in a long time. As the discussion progressed, Tony used his wits to find out more about her without making it seem like an interrogation. He had run a background check on the woman and her family but those only went that far, besides, it was a great opportunity to practice the tips Natasha had shared with him at one point or another. Being friends with spies had it’s perks.

They ate their food until their bellies were full. A comfortable, relaxing stupor, being warm from the inside out.

Tony noticed when the woman spoke, she spoke with her hands. She had caught herself grasping his forearm multiple times when they’d got more passionate about their discussion. And what Tony loved the most was that she refused to apologize. He saw a kindred soul in the woman; quiet until something struck her fancy. Then, she became a whirlwind of ideas and opinions.

In no time, it became a natural action to extend his arm and wrap it around her shoulders, reclining backwards. There was little grace in laying belly-up like a dead fish but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she laid down sideways, throwing a leg over one of his own.

Her palm traced the outline of his arc reactor when something on the screen caught her in a moment of intense interest. Tony preferred to avoid the cursed thing - scars around it definitely did not do any favour to his aging, marked body - but he found himself exhaling the tension when it was obvious the woman really did not care. An occasional quiet hum of satisfaction was the only noise that came from her: he noticed the sound escaped her lips every time his thumb began fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse and rubbed against her arm.

He was quite content. It was warm, he was surrounded by so much warmth.

The hug was mutual when she left home, both of them comfortable with the gesture for people who had met in a rather unconventional way.

She started coming over a couple of times a week, a quiet evening of the best takeout in NYC and (mostly) interesting movies. A solace, always a single e-mail away.

Tony saw her in the cafeteria once or twice; he appreciated the brief, tiny secretive grin she gave him out of her friend’s eyesight. She never approached him. He was grateful for that. He didn’t want to deal with all the drama and all the fuss surrounding incidents between him and his employees. It was nobody’s business what any of them did after clocking out - and him and his cuddle buddy, they weren’t even fucking, for Thor’s sake.

Maybe they would get there someday. Or maybe they won’t. It was only now for Tony. The rare free Saturday night he had, he truly took a vacation from all the bullshit and lured her in with promises of very expensive wine, her favourite New York style pizza and the willingness to entertain watching a few of those funny YouTube videos she liked.

They did watch them and Tony didn’t mind. He stepped over the irrational fear and the initial discomfort and curled up around her, hiding his face in the soft cotton of her worn hoodie, his own breath tickling his face in warm puffs. The hand running through his hair was tender like it never was with Pepper - his ex was far too preoccupied to baby her grown-up boyfriend. But the woman moulded to his body like an extension of himself was happy to do so. Tony’s hair was longer now and it glided perfectly along the woman’s palms.

His heart was steady, thumping in his ears, overshadowing the noises coming from the TV. He exhaled and felt her other hand begin tracing circles on his back, as if she saw the stress and the bitterness leave his body with every caress, every brush of their bodies. Maybe she did?

He held onto her, held her back like she’d held him. Safekeeping the warmth inside of him. Guarding his peace.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fluff #tony stark feels #bun writes #bun writes: drabbles

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blueaura · 5 years ago

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Lost and Found Ch. 2

A/N: Hey guys, just trying my hand out at this fanfic thing. I love reading everyone’s stuff and decided to write something myself. I’m fairly new to Tumblr so any tips or suggestions are highly appreciated. Let me know if y’all like it and would like me to continue. Feedback would be amazing. Thank you and happy reading.

Summary: Sam and Dean meet a young hunter who is a little rough around the edges and they reluctantly take her under their wing. But she might be a little more connected to them that any of them realise.

Word Count: 1.6k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Dean’s first priority after going back to the motel was getting Sam patched up. Y/N went to her own room and got into the shower to get the dingy warehouse stink off of her. The water pressure was abysmal but it got the job done.

She went back to the boys’ room and knocked on the door. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed the door open to see Dean wrapping Sam’s ribs. The younger Winchester clearly thought it was unnecessary if his facial expression was anything to go by, but he let Dean do it anyway. Sam knew better to argue with Dean in his ‘mother-hen’ mode.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sam could see the guilt in her eyes. If only she had followed orders, Sam wouldn’t have bruised ribs.

“Really, I’m good. I’ve had worse. It’s part of the job. We screw up and we learn. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Now you know better for next time.”

It surprised her that Sam could read her so well after just three days. She remembered their first interaction. She had stopped for a quick bite at a diner when they walked in and sat beside her on the breakfast bar. At first, she had ignored them, going back to studying the case she was in town for. That didn’t last long though, as pieces of their conversation caught her attention quite quickly.

“Do you guys always talk about cases this loudly in the middle of a diner where anyone could easily overhear you?” she had asked them, still looking through her notes, “cause that does not seem like a smart thing to do.”

She had finally looked up and saw them staring at her in disbelief.

“Excuse me?” The shorter one, which she would later learn was Dean, had said.

“You are hunters. Discussing a case as weird as this one out in public. Loudly. I wasn’t even trying to eavesdrop. Like I said �� not smart.”

“You’re a hunter? You’re like 12!” Dean had exclaimed. He had obviously been exaggerating. For one, she was 15, not 12; and two, Dean was still under the impression that she was over 17 at least. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t look like an average 15-year-old and she had never bothered to correct him anyway.

They had gone on to argue over who would work on the case, and when neither party backed down, Sam had suggested they just all work together. The rest had been history.

She was jerked out of her thoughts when she registered what Sam had said.

“Wait, next time?”

Not happening. She liked the Winchesters and yes, they were not bad as far as hunting partners went. But there was a reason she hunted alone. She didn’t like people in her space. She knew that as soon as they figured out that she was a 15-year-old orphan, they would ship her off somewhere, ‘for her own good’. It had happened way too many times before for her to trust anyone, no matter how nice they seemed. She had been put into foster care three times on the behest of ‘concerned adults’ before. The homes were so bad that she preferred the streets and ran away the first chance she got. She had been on her own since she was 11 and had practically raised herself even before that. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what was best for her.

“Sorry boys, I prefer to hunt alone. Don’t get your hopes up for another team-up anytime soon,” she said before Sam could open his mouth again.

Dean’s jaw ticked but she could see him forcing the tension out, in hopes of reasoning with her. He knew that telling her what to do wouldn’t work, he had noticed that she had problems with authority.

“Look, we have this friend. She’s a sheriff and she’s got two other girls living with her who are either hunters or aware of the life. If you want –”

Dean knew that they had messed up. Y/N’s face grew hard as she listened to Sam talk about Jody and the girls. Yes, they had called her and asked her if she would be willing to take in another stray but Jody had warned them that Y/N didn’t sound like someone who wanted a normal life. Claire had wanted to hunt but she had also wanted a family. Alex had wanted to get out of the life. Both of them had wanted to be there.

He could see that they were losing her. He didn’t understand why he felt so strongly about helping her, but he panicked at the thought of her hunting alone out there. So, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind – “You could hunt with us!”

Sam paused mid-sentence, looking at his brother incredulously. That was not what they had agreed on. While his brother clearly felt more strongly about helping her, Sam himself had grown quite fond of Y/N and wanted her to be safe. But he also knew that they had too much on their plate to add her into the mix. She’s just be in more danger anyway. They were in the middle of dealing with the darkness – there was no way bringing Y/N into their life would end well. After the way they lost Charlie, Dean should have been the first one to realize that.

Y/N’s face dropped the hard stare it was featuring only to be replaced by a look of surprise. Hunting with the Winchesters was something aspiring hunters dreamed off. They were the big leagues, where the real action was. She’d heard rumors about their dalliances with angels and prophets and monsters from purgatory. So, of course she was surprised when they offered her a chance to play with the big boys. But she knew she couldn’t take them up on it. Specially since Sam didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it either. Which stung – but she understood.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m good. You guys probably have a lot to deal with anyway if Sam’s face is any indication. I don’t want to be a problem. I’ll get out of your hair and maybe we can team up again if you happen to be on the same case as me.” Y/N didn’t want to get close to people. They just ended up abandoning you sooner or later.

Sam backtracked guiltily, assuring her that they wanted her with them. He didn’t want her in danger but he didn’t want her to feel unwanted either. There was just something about her that made both brothers want to protect her.

“You won’t be,” Dean said firmly. “You’re clearly a good hunter. You figured out the case before us and you were right. You could use some tactical training and work on your combat a little bit. From where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone to teach you either. We can help –”

“You’re telling me you have time to take in a rookie hunter in the middle of dealing with your apocalypse of the year?” she scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Dean.

Sam remained silent, a spectator to the back and forth between his brother and Y/N. He wanted her to come with them. He just didn’t want her to end up dead like every other person they cared about.

Dean switched tactics when enticing her with training didn’t work.

“What about living arrangements? We have a pretty sweet set up in Kansas. It’s like a bat cave. You’d like it there.”

“I manage just fine in motels,” she fibbed just a little bit. Even with fake IDs and fake credit cards, she sometimes had a hard time convincing motels to give her a room. She’d spent more nights in the cold streets than she cared to admit, but it was all just a part of being a hunter and she accepted that. Even the rooms she did get were dingy at best, but she didn’t want their charity.

“Look kid, I know how it works. You can’t lie to me.” She looked away at that.

“What about family? You have anyone we can at-least get you back to?” Dean had just about admitted defeat at this point. Even Sam looked dejected and he hadn’t even exactly wanted her with them in the first place.

At his statement, she jerked, her whole body flinching at the mention of family. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed by either brother.

“Y/N? You alright?” Sam asked when she didn’t say anything for a minute.

“No. No family,” she ignored Sam. “I never knew my father, all my mother said about him was that he was a hunter too. I always assumed he died on the job.”

She was fidgeting with her rings. She did that when she was nervous or uncomfortable, they’d learned.

“What about your mother?” Sam dared to ask softly.

“Dead.” Y/N’s voice was hard which surprised Sam. In the time they’d spent together, she had never seemed cold, but she did right now.

“Killed by a werewolf when I was 11,” she continued in that same emotionless voice, “I’ve been on my own ever since.”

She didn’t ever share anything about her life with other hunters and the fact that she told them this perplexed her, but she couldn’t ignore Sam’s puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry kiddo,” Sam said, empathy practically oozing from his voice, “We know what it’s like losing a mother young. It doesn’t get easier.”

“What was her name?” Sam said after a brief pause.

She was silent for a long time. She hadn’t said her name out loud in almost 5 years.

“Sandra,” She finally said softly, the tiniest hint of emotion in her voice. “Sandra L/N.”

Dean froze.

He knew that name.

Chapter 3

TAGS: @vicmc624 @buttercookiemachoman @link--in--bio

If anyone else wants to be tagged, please send me an ask (: Thanks for reading!

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean x reader #sam x reader #castiel #castiel x reader #platonic relationships #Cee tries to write

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omniswords · 5 years ago

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 8

now that La Joconde is over, i can give a lot more attention back to Chronicles. i know we’ve been wicked overdue for an update, so thank you so so so much for being patient with me as i’ve been working through it. i really hope you like today’s update, and that you can give it a reblog if you enjoyed it so other people can too 💙🎶💖

boy i sure hope these orders didn’t have one of those “send your cutest delivery boy” requests

i mean, on the one hand, i’m flattered and my boss is absolutely right

but the things you do for Bread, smh.

It was bound to happen, Luka keeps telling himself as he loads up his bike, and as he straps on his helmet, and as he rides over bridges and through busy streets to get his work done. His stomach’s been turning ever since he checked the delivery tickets, and every anxious feeling’s been flitting under his skin, and it was only a matter of time before he’d have to make a delivery to Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s literal, actual, entire house.

(Well. It didn’t actually have one of those “send your cutest delivery boy” requests. But it did ask for him by name. And he’s barely been able to keep still, with his name in her voice buzzing in his head, ever since.)

The other households don’t do much to ease his mind. At best, the rides and the thirty-second interactions numb him, but only for a short moment. Every time he mounts his bike again and pedals away, he’s reminded that he’s one step closer to her place.

It shouldn’t even get to him as much as it does. He’s been doing this job for ages now, in spite of what little upward mobility there is. It gets the bills paid, and he’s good enough at what he does that the place gives him steady hours, and admittedly, it’s nice to peek into the lives of strangers for all thirty of those seconds. The birthday party he’s accidentally interrupted, where he’s suddenly hailed as a hero because he’s got pizza. The post-breakup night in, where a guy he’s never even met sounds like the screeching drag of a bow across a violin bridge. The family who’s too tired to cook because the mother has cancer and the father’s tired of barley soup and pasta and the daughter, who’s still living with her parents in her late twenties because she has to, only just got home from a bit of overtime.

(Most of these are just fancies, of course. He’ll be the first to admit he lets his imagination run away with him sometimes. But he’ll also be the first to say that someone in the world must be living like that. To someone in the world, that has to be real.)

Besides. He’s been to the bakery plenty of times before, knows well enough that the Dupain-Cheng family lives just above it, which is just about as fanciful as he’d expected. He’s spoken to Marinette a handful of times. He’s been on the business end of her witty words, wherever she got them from. Hell, he even gave her the note.

It’s just that… that’s the bakery. Not her house.

He’s never peeked into her story. Never even thought beyond what she’s allowed him to have. And he knows that whatever he sees will be real.

Luka’s mostly running on auto-pilot by the time he makes it to Tom and Sabine’s, and part of him has to wonder if it’s because he’s been at this job for too long, or if he’s been to the bakery too many times for his own good. (Honestly, he’d wager it’s a bit of both.) The bakery is closed for now, so he texts the number on the ticket—maybe Mr. Dupain’s, maybe Marinette’s.

He’s never texted her before. He doesn’t even have her number.

Should he ask for her number?

Would she even want his? Or would she feel like the creep because he’s the one on the clock?

Before he can ask himself any more questions, the light to the bakery turns on, and the front door opens, and the tinkling of the bell grabs his attention. And there’s Marinette, in a camisole and heart-patterned sleep shorts and slippers. And there’s black, and there’s a little lace right on the neckline, and—

And he’s staring.

And she’s starting to blush.

He tries his best to cock his brow, and holds up the delivery box. “You rang?”

God, he wishes that could have come out smoother.

At least Marinette laughs. Even if it might have just been a pity laugh. “Papa,” she says, trading the box and the paper bag for a few bills. “I guess he knew you worked there or something. He, uh… suggested. Very… very firmly. That we order from this place, once he found out we were considering it.”

“We?”

A whistle interrupts them, soft and low and sounding halfway impressed. Luka catches the glint of glasses and a flash of reddish hair as Marinette whips around and hisses, “Would you go upstairs? You’re supposed to be picking a movie!”

“Are you kidding? This is the movie!” The redhead, whoever they are, calls out, but the sound of footsteps receding tells him it isn’t long before they’re in the clear again. Just the two of them, caught in an interaction that probably should have already ended. And he’s stuck wondering if she doesn’t want it to end, either—because maybe they’re not quite in the clear, or at least, she isn’t yet. She’s got a whole best friend upstairs, probably waiting to grill her on every little detail.

(Every little detail of what? It’s just him…)

Marinette rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she turns back to him. “Sorry. Best friends, right?”

Luka manages a shrug and a weak laugh of his own. He doesn’t much feel like talking about how his best friends are his literal blood and the thing almost constantly strapped to his back. And that most of the people who approximate friendship are on the other side of a screen and will probably never see him in real life, whatever that is. “How long have you known her?”

“Long time. Since she moved here from Martinique. We were basically attached at the hip in like, middle school.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot; to Luka, it doesn’t go unnoticed. “It’s hard for us to meet up anymore—travel journalism, studying abroad, all that stuff. We only really get to FaceTime these days. Other than that… it has its hiccups here and there, but I love her. You know? And sometimes she can be a little, uh… overzealous? In what she does?”

“I heard that!” a voice comes from the stairwell.

Marinette doesn’t even have to turn and glare for the rest of the footsteps to fall away. “Sorry,” she mumbles again. “You didn’t exactly come here to hear chunks of my life story, did you.”

“I don’t mind your life story,” he says, thumbing through the bills to count them. “With a job like this, I get to carry a little bit of everybody with me, and hearing about your best friend beats the eightieth guy trying to tell me about his divorce and how women are just trying to suck us dry.” Then his brow furrows, in spite of his own sarcasm, and he looks up. “You gave me extra. Like, way extra.”

“Oh, uh…” Marinette laughs nervously. “Yeah, I guess that’s a habit I picked up. Tipping is a thing in the States. People think you’re a jerk if you don’t do it, so my brain sort of… went on autopilot.” She rubs the back of her neck, maybe out of modesty, and Luka can’t tell if it’s because of the amount of money she gave him, or because of the experiences she’s had.

“Well…” He counts out the extra bills. “Here, you should take these back, then—”

“No, no.” She shakes her head, gestures as if to push the money back towards him. “Don’t worry about it. Keep it.”

“As what? A souvenir from New York?”

Marinette grins. It’s slow, and lazy, and it might make his heart thud in his chest at a hundred kilometers an hour, and he’s definitely thinking, don’t look at the lace, do NOT look at the lace. “Think of it as me making up for all the times I could’ve let you have a napoleon on the house, but didn’t.”

Luka blinks at her a couple of times. More than a couple of times. Too many words are bubbling in his throat and behind his teeth, desperate to get out, but his brain can’t catch up with any of them, and he doesn’t even know what order to put them in besides. Part of him wants to figure out something smooth to say, part of him wants to laugh like an idiot and thank her, and part of him wants to take the worst leap possible and ask what she’s doing on Saturday. But before he can prioritize any of them and put his dignity even more at risk, a holler comes from upstairs—”Marinette!”—and he jolts back in attention. He crumples the money in his fists and swallows his heart back down into his chest, and if he looks closely, Marinette’s cheeks are turning bright red, and her teeth are sinking into her lip as if… holding something back.

“I better go,” she says, nodding toward the stairs and taking a step back. She’s standing on the sides of her feet, and it’s honestly adorable. “Keep the change. I mean it, okay?”

Luka wants to protest—wants to say something about how his mother always told him never to take a single euro he didn’t honestly work for. Instead, he crumples the money in his fist, nods dumbly, and pockets it. “Hey,” he says, just as he senses she’s about to turn on her heel and speedwalk back up the stairs.

Marinette looks at him, and in the moment he gets that bubbling-word feeling in the back of his throat again. At least the mortifying thought of asking her out has died down, but it’s been replaced with something worse: the reminder that, for some reason, she and his sister know each other. Is it weird? he wants to ask. Are you sure it’s not weird seeing me? Is there something going on? Did Jules do something to you? Did you do something to her? Are you mad that I didn’t say anything? Are you okay?

Are you okay, Marinette?

Instead, he clears the words out of his throat, and shakes his head, and he hopes Marinette isn’t running a million worst-case scenarios in her head the way he does when someone looks or sounds even mildly displeased. He hopes she isn’t blaming herself the way he does when someone looks like they have something to tell him and then… don’t. “Next time I swing by,” he says, “will that napoleon be on the house?”

Her expression doesn’t take very long to go soft, even though her grip on the delivery box tightens. “Who knows?” she murmurs, and it’s… strange, how the tongue-in-cheek traces in her voice comfort him more than they put him on edge. “Guess you’ll just have to come back and find out.”

Then she turns on her heel, nearly bumps into the counter on her way to the stairs, and—and she really does spare him one more glance, the kind that says she’d wave good night if her hands weren’t full. Without much thinking, he does the waving for both of them, with a smile he knows is nervous and crooked spreading across his face. And then he’s the one to bump backwards into the door, the bell above giggling and announcing his clumsiness, before he stumbles to his bike and speeds away. He knows better than to text and bike, even if he could brag that sometimes he’s halfway decent at it, but at least he waits until he gets to the Canal Saint-Martin so he can have that silent-screaming moment alone.

so not only did I get that bread today, i got a whole fuckin sandwich. if we’re going by that whole metaphor i mean.

speaking of figurative language, you know, that thing i never thought i’d use once i graduated from high school… dear CBG: when i told you i hope you found all that money on the ground, i didn’t mean GIVE IT TO ME.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #hey i'm thriving #please enjoy and drop a reblog if you can <3

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jeontaeh · 4 years ago

Text

〚THIRTY SIX〛

Jungkook and Taehyung sat crammed on Taehyung's small bed, Jungkook's nimble fingers hesitantly tracing across Taehyung's forearm. There was a small silence, Taehyung looked up at the ceiling, eyes gleaming. Jungkook looked at him.

"Talk to me," Jungkook said, and Taehyung's breath hitched.

"I-I thought you told me not to. Ever again." Taehyung let out timidly, and Jungkook chuckled out in a weak way, pressing his fingertips down on his veins.

"I've never seen you break down like that. Never seen you cry." Jungkook said in a hushed tone, tense air in the room. He pressed his fingertips to Taehyung's arm once again, and Taehyung looked at Jungkook.

"That day. Um- be-before you came into my room. Before I- um-" Taehyung trailed.

"Before you hit me," Jungkook stated, calm, but tone stingy. Taehyung nodded.

"My father was there- you-you saw him. H-he- um- he hit me," Taehyung said, and noticed Jungkook's shoulders go down, worry filling his face. And god, the way Jungkook's eyes grew big, that worried look on his face he'd get whenever Taehyung got hurt or looked upset.

"Why?" Jungkook let out, scared. Taehyung looked at him. "He found out about us- somehow. So- so he came all the way down here to slap me across the face and tell me to never do anything with boys."

Jungkook gulped, looking down. Taehyung felt like crying again but stayed strong. He'd cried too much in too little time. He felt weak, fragile. Jungkook had to hold his hand firmly and take him to his room, sit him down and ensure he calms down. "So- so when you said your name, he knew it was you. And then-then he left but he was still looking up. And fuck- fuck- I g-got so fucking scared, K-Kook-"

"He saw me touch you." Jungkook murmured, faint. Taehyung nodded. "I panicked. And my f-first reaction was to do the only think I've seen my father do. Hit someone I care about."

Jungkook looked up at him. "What do you mean?" Jungkook asked, and Taehyung's shoulders were bunched.

"My f-father used to hit my mother. My- my mom, she was 19 when she had me. My father was 40. My mom was poor, naive, too young. I-I wish she wasn't," Taehyung said, shaking his head, trying not to cry again. "But she was scared of him too."

Jungkook looked at how Taehyung's eyes began glistening with tears. "I kissed a boy once when I was 5. My dad saw and then hit my mom, told her not to raise my like that. She came to me later and told me I-" Taehyung took a deep breath, and Jungkook put his hand on his arm.

"It's fine. You don't have to continue, Tae." Jungkook said softly.

Taehyung shook his head, wishing to let it all out for once, to explain. "She told m-me that it was wrong, t-that I shouldn't kiss boys. I love her so much, Kookie, o-of course I cared deeply about what she said." Taehyung finally let the suppressed tears roll down again. "On hindsight, I-I know that she only said that to protect me. I'm absolutely certain she didn't mean it, not a bit of it. But a-after she-she died, I wanted to hold onto everything s-she ever told me. But I became what she would despise."

Taehyung took a deep breath. "Someone who hits people. Who bullies people. Who's mean. Who everyone's scared of. I'm like my father, Kook. I-" Taehyung started, and then looked at Jungkook, whose eyes were teary too. "I never should've hit you. I'm so so so fucking sorry- a-and you don't have to say it's okay, because I know it's not. I'm j-just a terrible p-person, and- and-"

Jungkook pressed his cheek to his shoulder. Taehyung felt himself ease at that, resting his head upon Jungkook's. Jungkook put his hand around Taehyung's arm. "It's not okay," Jungkook said softly, looking down. "I- um- I went to the nurse's office a-and held on until the nurse left. A-and then I cried for s-so fucking long, Tae-"

"I'm sorry." Taehyung shakily said, and Jungkook squeezed him. "It hurt. It hurt a shit ton coming from you. B-because I really like- liked you." Jungkook said, and Taehyung bit his lip, putting his hand gently on Jungkook's side.

"I know. I'm so fucking sorry." Taehyung said, and Jungkook closed his eyes. They were quiet for a few moments, sitting on the bed, hearing the sound of wind rustling against tall trees from outside.

"Punch me," Taehyung said, and Jungkook let out a little giggle.

"N-no- I'm not going to do that."

"Seriously. I think it'll help." Taehyung said, and Jungkook shook his head. "Punch me and then slap me and then kick me and then-"

Jungkook turned, pressing his face into the crook of Taehyung's neck. He forgot, for a second he did. It was so easy to just get lost in Taehyung's scent, his warmth, his touch. They were so touchy around each other, so close, so so close. It was hard to stay away.

"When you mentioned you had a slight pain kink, I didn't know you meant on you." Jungkook let out, and Taehyung giggled.

Taehyung looked down at Jungkook, both quite close. Taehyung felt in a trance by looking into his honey eyes, feeling the soft touch of his hand on his shirt. "W-why'd you help? Today, I mean? You were with your- your friends."

Jungkook was paused for a few seconds. "Honestly I-I don't know," Jungkook admitted, blinking wet lashes. "It was like an instinct. I was walking down with Sehun, and- and I saw from the corner of my eye that Jimin was talking to you, and- and then you just. You just broke." Jungkook said gently and felt Taehyung tense beneath his fingertips.

"I got scared. I left everything and ran to you. Didn't like seeing you cry like that." Jungkook mumbled, and Taehyung smiled.

"Thank you," Taehyung said. "So much. It's been a really shitty week. I mean, I get kicked off as captain. None of the guys want to interact me anymore. Someone keeps sending me shitty dm's on Instagram. You yelled at me. The coach tells me I won't get into my dream college. On top of that, today's the day my mom died. So-"

"Oh- T-Tae-" Jungkook let out, eyes big while looking at him, sitting up properly. "I'm so sorry. If- If I knew all that was happening, I-"

"Don't apologize, Kookie. You didn't know. You had all the right to get mad at me." Taehyung said, and then squeezed his hand. "I'd get scared if you didn't."

Jungkook sighed, looking at him. "Your mom sounds lovely."

"She was." Taehyung smiled. "She used to make these cookies with macadamia nuts and chocolate chips in them all the time. She got me into football, she loved the sport. And- and she would have loved you. I know she would have." Taehyung said softly, and Jungkook reached forward, touching his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook repeated, and Taehyung looked at him. "Don't be." Jungkook then crawled up, settling down beside Taehyung once more, almost draped over his lap- except, not, because that would be totally weird.

"Do you miss me sometimes?" Jungkook asked.

"All the fucking time. I remember when-when we were sharing this room. And I was playing video games, and you just sat on my lap and watched me play. And then fell asleep in my lap. I fucking- I miss you so much." Taehyung said, and Jungkook laughed sadly.

He moved up a bit, and then Taehyung put his hands around his waist and pulled him up, so Jungkook was sitting on his lap. "Tae-" Jungkook began, but Taehyung placed his head on Jungkook's shoulderblade, fiddling with the hem of his jersey.

"Do you miss me?" Taehyung asked after a pause. Jungkook looked down and then gulped.

"Tae I'm with someone else now." Jungkook reminded softly, and Taehyung ran a finger down Jungkook's thigh.

"I know. How is it going with Sehun?" Taehyung asked.

"Good. We talk a lot about art and- and other stuff. He likes biology as much as me. He's really nice, and I can tell he cares about me." Jungkook said, and then saw the look on Taehyung's face and rolled off his lap, sitting down by his side again.

"I'm not mad," Taehyung said, and Jungkook stifled a laugh, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Yeah right."

Taehyung bit his lip. "I'm trying to change, Kook. I promise I am. I don't let my facade get the better of me anymore. I even apologized to Youngjae-"

"You what?! Holy shit, you are trying to change!" Jungkook gasped, and Taehyung laughed fondly.

There was a bit more of a silence, and Jungkook placed his head back on Taehyung's shoulder. Taehyung let him stay, and Jungkook began tracing the veins on Taehyung's arm once more. He should go. It's late already, and he's been here too long. Jungkook looked up- and saw Taehyung looking at him closely, their faces barely an inch apart.

Jungkook didn't say anything, just felt his breath hitch. Taehyung looked down into his eyes, looking softer than usual, glazed. He nudged Jungkook's nose with his own.

Jungkook shook his head gently. Taehyung nudged his nose again, and this time, he let it stay. Jungkook gripped onto the bedsheets. "T-Tae-" He squeaked out gently, in a faint voice, not sure if he even heard himself.

"Once?" Taehyung asked softly, and Jungkook looked up at him, feeling dazed just looking up into Taehyung's dark eyes like that. Jungkook knew how close they were, knew just once fraction of movement-

Taehyung kissed him delicately, lips barely pressed against Jungkook's, just tingling in his warmth. Jungkook looked up at him. Taehyung looked back at him, eyes sharing so much. Jungkook let his lips take flight for the smallest of seconds, but then pulled away, turning away and standing off his bed.

"Sorry." Taehyung let out gingerly. "Don't get mad at me. Please."

Jungkook turned around. "I'm not," Jungkook said, and then looked at him. "Don't kiss me like that."

"I know. I'm sorry." Taehyung repeated.

"I know I said I wouldn't leave," Jungkook said, voice coiled. Taehyung shook his head. "You've done more than enough, Kook. You can go if you want to."

Jungkook nodded. He reached for the door and then hesitated. "You know this-this doesn't mean anything, right? Don't get your hopes up, please." Jungkook said, voice airy. He wasn't trying to be mean, it was just a reminding tone.

"I know," Taehyung said, and Jungkook turned and saw him look. "Goodnight."

Jungkook walked out, closing the door behind him, heart racing. Jungkook instantly made a left turn and rushed ahead, walking way past- past his own dorms and away from Taehyung's. Jungkook finally reached the last door and knocked on the door.

I can't, Jungkook thought. Not again.

The door opened, and on the other side stood Sehun, sweatpants on low, shirtless. Jungkook walked inside. Sehun stepped back to let him in, looking a little agitated. "Are you here to talk about what happened earlier? Because I'm really confused, and Jimin won't give me a proper answer."

"Me and V used to be really good friends," Jungkook said. "He just needed someone there."

Sehun was paused. "He hit you, Kook."

"I know," Jungkook said. "We're not friends again, don't worry." Jungkook continued and then saw Sehun sigh, rubbing his arm.

"Why did you come here?"

Jungkook looked at Sehun, a glint in his eye. He stepped towards Sehun, and Sehun saw Jungkook's hands go on his biceps. "I want to have sex with you."

Sehun paused, eyes going wide, glazed. He licked his lips. "Now?"

Jungkook nodded. "Now. Please."

Sehun gulped. "Fuck. Um- okay. Yeah- yeah, okay." Sehun stammered, and then looked around his room. Jungkook saw Sehun taking a shirt off his bed and chuck it to the floor. Jungkook stripped out of his clothes quickly, and Sehun just looked, growing harder as Jungkook shred off the last piece of clothing.

"Get lube," Jungkook whined, and Sehun ran into the washroom. Jungkook saw him run back out, holding a bottle and a condom packet between his lips. Jungkook grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed, straddling his hips.

"Are- are you gonna..." Sehun trailed, and Jungkook rubbed his ass over Sehun's crotch. "I'm bottoming," Jungkook said, and Sehun nodded, putting his hands on Jungkook's thighs.

"Have... have you done this before?" Sehun asked wearily, and Jungkook chuckled, picking up the lube from the side and drizzling it over his own fingers.

"Yeah, a few times," Jungkook said, and then slowly began fingering himself, pushing into his own tight heat. Sehun watched, sitting back, drooling practically at the sight.

"Why- why so sudden, Kook?" Sehun asked, leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the boy. Jungkook finger fucked himself with two fingers and then leaned forward so Sehun's back pressed the mattress.

"I've only ever had sex with one guy. I want to have it with another. Now." Jungkook whispered, and Sehun nodded.

"I'll be better," Sehun said, and Jungkook hummed.

Later, Jungkook was under Sehun, gripping onto the bedsheets as Sehun rammed into him. Jungkook grabbed his jaw, kissing his cheek. "H-harder-" Jungkook mouthed, mouth wet and messy.

Jungkook closed his eyes, tipping his head back, letting the utter euphoria of his prostate getting played with take him over. He let out stringed moans that sounded incoherent to himself, tightening his legs around Sehun's waist.

Sehun came, riding out his orgasm, fucking Jungkook into it. Jungkook came as well, moaning out, shuddering under the boy.

"Fuck," Jungkook let out, and Sehun pulled out of him, chucking the condom into the dustbin and lying down beside him. Jungkook breathed heavily. It felt different. The sex felt different.

Jungkook fell asleep there.

///

Maths class was the first thing Monday morning. Everyone was in class, chatting away before the teacher came in. Taehyung walked into the classroom, seeing Jungkook on Sehun's lap and choosing to ignore it. He heard a snicker from the side.

"Lousy play last game, V," Jaebum said.

"Must've been tired after fucking your mom," Taehyung responded, and Eka spluttered out a laugh, covering her mouth.

Jaebum scoffed. "Fuck you."

"Wouldn't wanna start family drama." Taehyung continued, and Jaebum grew angrier. Jimin started giggling.

Taehyung sat down in his place behind Jungkook. "Heard you started crying yesterday, V." Jaebum scoffed, and Taehyung took his book out of his bag, placing it on his table. "Someone's become a pussy every since they stopped being captain, huh?"

"Yeah 'cause I ate your mom's."

Jungkook started giggling, and Jaebum groaned and walked up to Taehyung. "For someone who gets so fucking defensive over mom jokes you sure make a lot of them."

Taehyung looked at him. Everyone in the classroom quietened, looking at Taehyung. Jungkook's eyes were big, worried. Taehyung slammed his book shut and then stood up, putting one hand in his pocket. He craned his neck back, bandana matching his dark eyes. He walked close to Jaebum and then smirked.

"Mad I fucked your mom and your girlfriend, Jae?" Taehyung asked.

Eka's jaw dropped, and Jimin put his hand over his mouth to not scream. Jungkook muffled his squeak of surprise into Sehun's hair, and Sehun just let out a snicker.

Jaebum grew red. "Fuck you. You know I cheated on her and that's why she fucked you." Jaebum muttered, and then turned around and walked away.

Taehyung smirked, and then looked around and saw everyone looking at him. "What're you fucks looking at?" Taehyung growled lowly, and everyone turned away.

"He's back," Jimin whispered to Jungkook, who was almost kind of happy to see Taehyung being more himself rather than look sad and upset.

Jungkook smiled at Taehyung, who gave Jungkook a quick smile and sat down on his desk, scribbling something on his sheet. Sehun saw Jungkook looking at Taehyung, and gulped. "Hey, Jungkook does your ass still hurt from last night?"

Some people around them looked at Jungkook, whose eyes widened and he blushed brightly. Jungkook looked at Sehun. "What the fuck? Shut up," Jungkook gritted his teeth, and Sehun smiled gently. "Sorry." He whispered, kissing Jungkook's cheek.

Taehyung looked up at that, and then gulped and looked back down. He shook his head, shaking off the upset that grew within him and instead continued finishing the math assignment. Jimin got up from his seat and walked up at Taehyung. "I'll help." Jimin smiled, and then sat down beside him.

Taehyung smiled, and Jimin leaned forward. "Are you alright from last night?"

"Better, thanks." Taehyung said, and Jimin smiled. "Good! Here, let me help you with this question. It's hard as fuck, took me ages to get." Jimin said, and began explaining it to him.

Jungkook leaned his head on Sehun's head, hearing him talk about some Chemistry award he won back in London. Jungkook sighed. "You sure win a lot of awards."

"Heck yeah." Sehun responded, and Jungkook rolled his eyes mirthfully and leaned on him to look at Taehyung, who was laughing at something Jimin said.

"Sure you sure take a lot of subjects. What do you wanna do after high school anyway?" Eka asked, sitting on the table. Sehun looked at her and hummed, wrapping his arms around Jungkook.

"Doctor. Or engineer. Or a lawyer." Sehun said, and Eka huffed. "Choose one, dude."

"I don't know! I love bio and chem, so I wanna be a doctor! But I'm so good at public speaking and essays and stuff, so I'd love to be a lawyer. But I'm amazing at maths and physics, so being a lawyer also works. But then- I love doing art so I wanna do something related to that too. Plus, I dance a lot, like professionally- so my mom wants me to pursue that further. But my dad wants me to do football because I'm really good at that. So-"

"Check out mister perfect over here," Taehyung taunted, and Sehun looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh. Um- I didn't mean to show off or anything. Sorry. I got carried away." Sehun said, and Eka laughed.

Jungkook looked hesitant. Sehun let Jungkook get off his lap because the bell rang, so Jungkook sat down on his own seat. Jungkook watched as Sehun got carried away talking to Eka about how he also wants to get into his father's perfect business and become the CEO because he loves economics.

He's too perfect.

Jungkook looked back at Taehyung, and then hummed. "What do you wanna do after highschool, V?"

Taehyung looked up and saw them looking at him, so he shrugged. "Get a scholarship for football, join the Seoul team. Big dreams, probably won't happen. But I'll figure it out on the way." Taehyung said, and Jungkook smiled a little.

He wasn't perfect.

Jungkook suddenly got a piece of paper on his table. He opened the note and saw it read IF YOU FUCKING CATCH FEELINGS FOR BANDANA WEARING HEADASS AGAIN I'LL SLICE YOUR DICK OFF.

"Jimin, please." Jungkook said aloud, and Jimin sighed, huffing. Of course, he sent it. "I'm not. Sehun, look here!" Jungkook said, and Sehun looked at him. Jungkook blew a kiss. Sehun pretended to catch and then ate it. Jungkook giggled.

"Gross." Eka said, and then looked at Jimin. "What do you say, Jimin? Let's leave these losers and start a relationship of our own. Let's sleep together."

"No." Jimin said. "Makes sense." Eka hummed, and then turned back around to face ahead. Taehyung laughed.

"It's okay Jimin. There's a bunch of guys in this school who'd love-"

"I'm straight!" Jimin snapped, and then groaned, covering his eyes. "I hate you guys."

Eka laughed at Taehyung, who did as well. He liked it. Liked that they weren't being mean to him anymore. He felt like he deserved the slight bullying, it kind of made him realize how sucky it must've been for the kids he tormented for years.

After class was over, Jimin saw Jungkook rush to the art room, and then felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hey Jimin... can we talk?" Sehun said, and Jimin turned around, smiled. "Sure Sehun."

Sehun dragged him to the side. Tae, Jimin thought, and then saw Sehun look nervous. "Jungkook and I had sex."

"I know, he tells me everything." Jimin laughed, and then gulped when Sehun looked nervous. "Not- not everything. Like he didn't tell me about the size of dick or something weird like that." Jimin stammered because Jungkook did tell him about that.

"It's not that. It's- I don't know. Jungkook was weird during sex." Sehun mumbled.

"Weird?" Jimin asked, tilting his head. Sehun nodded.

"I thought- since you're so close to him I might ask you. Don't tell him I told you anything. But- when-when we were, you know, going at it." Sehun started, and then explained it better. "When I was deep inside him and hitting his prostate-"

"WAY too many details." Jimin said, and Sehun nodded.

"Sorry. But when I was, he started moaning and shit. Like one does. And- and he came, and-"

"Jesus man just skip to the thing." Jimin said quickly, and Sehun slapped himself and then continued.

"Right! Sorry. Yeah. Who's Taehyung?"

Jimin paused. He frowned. "What?"

"Who is that guy? Is it someone from this school?" Sehun asked, and Jimin hesitated.

"Sounds familiar. Why?" Jimin asked, because he knew who Taehyung was.

"Yeah. Um. He kind of moaned his name when he came." Sehun said, and Jimin froze.

Oh my fucking god. "Oh." Jimin settled with, and Sehun nodded, looking nervous.

"I thought he said my name weirdly. But then I realized he didn't. He said some other dude's. Taehyung? Who is he?? Because Jungkook was really into it, too. Didn't even realise he moaned the dude's name." Sehun mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I honestly don't know. I'll talk to him about it." Jimin said, and Sehun nodded.

"Thanks, Jimin. You're a good guy. I'll see you later!" Sehun said, ruffling Jimin's hair and walking away. Jimin took a deep breath.

He's going to have to slice Jungkook's dick off.

https://jeontaeh.tumblr.com/post/647264847560654848/thirty-seven

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rubbrfrk9 · 6 years ago

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REBORN

I HAD A NAME. I used to be somebody.

I had a profession, dignity, a position in the class structure.

Nowadays, I see through a cracked lens - society is broken, and the people participating in it are all prisoners. The people you see shuffling in the great to and from, every morning, every evening - they’re miserable. Ask any one of them if they wouldn’t leave their life, and - perhaps after some hesitation - they would say Yes.

Even the ones who have kids - the ones in love - all of them. In fact, those with ties to other people are the first ones to get in line.

For me, it was curiosity that opened the door. If one follows the classic Hero’s Journey, the arc that every myth and story takes, I heard the Call - just like you - through a buzzing, pixelated source… the great and sordid world of the internet.

One wrong step can put you on an entirely different path.

When you look back, the path you were on is obscured by the surrounding environs - pressed firmly closed, as though no thing had ever once passed through.

I should introduce myself before I preach anymore. I am rubbrfrk9. You’ve read the stories on the website, you might’ve seen my name watermarked on pics as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.

That hasn’t been our name always. But what our name was before does not matter.

All hail the Rubbered One!

And if you’re reading this, then you’re as curious as I was.

Do you dare follow your own Call?

If you do, keep reading.

THE CALL COMES FOR YOU. You don’t come for it. The Call has been there, waiting, for you to pick up the other end, for as long as you’ve been alive.

Like I was saying, for me, it was curiosity. It seems like it is for you, too.

I was always a curious guy. It’s how I became a teacher, I guess. I loved to learn about shit. Endless amounts of shit. The subjects that interested me were sucked dry by my voracious need to know. On top of it all, I was cursed (blessed?) by a need to collect, a completionist’s frenzy, and so I found myself needing not just to know, but to know it all.

Everything. A question could not go unanswered. I was a very vocal kid, always asking the dread “Why?” to anyone who had the faculty to answer. Of course, I learned quickly that faculty does not imply ability; and later still, that ability does not imply honesty. Soon enough, I started shutting up and consulting other avenues of information - books. I loved books. I read anything I could find, from my mother’s tawdry romances on the back of the toilet to magazines at the doctor’s office - but my preferred genre was Horror, without a doubt.

I loved to read stories of unfortunate people, blind to their predicament, be lulled to the predator in the story. I loved how the protagonists were slowly overcome by a sense of dawning knowledge, and were thus able to conquer - or not - the abiding horror. The best ones were when the hero failed, in my opinion - those dark, twisted passages of despair and helplessness …

I was a weird kid.

I didn’t have very much luck making friends. I didn’t really understand what a “friend” should be. I knew that it was some sort of social construct, but I hadn’t figured out how it worked yet. Taking the time to do that analysis set me back, quite substantially, in the invisible school of society. Maybe, at heart, I was always a bit of a freak, even before I came out.

Funny to think of that, now, sitting here, writing from behind my gas mask and full rubber suit.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I love how tightly it encases me. How tightly it erases me.

Slowly, now. Don’t give up too quick. Finish the story first.

As I was saying. Curiosity. After college, I became a teacher. A professor. Very highly regarded in my field, but poor with social interactions. Dates? Of a professional courtesy, only, and as awkward and dry as a lecture. Actually, for me, lecturing was my second home, aside from my tidy and obsessively-ordered apartment. I loved standing at the podium, talking about the books we read together. How they are structured, and how events, following a certain chain, can be transformative.

Although sometimes, horrific.

Life that is contained entirely within the snowglobe of acadæmia becomes brittle, after a time. Even the most relentlessly anti-social of us have a heartbeat, a pulse, and a sexual drive.

Most sexual drives will tend towards the obligatory, the procreational. Attractiveness, physicality, congruence, intercourse, and then the subsequent emotional tangle. Sex is more than just a body meeting a body a-comin’ thru the rye - it is a rendezvous of energy, some of which we can’t even begin to understand.

Some kind of cosmic interplay happens during sex.

Something so bright, so chimeric, that I was blinded just thinking about it.

I fled from it, like a medieval monk from a vision of God.

SPARE TIME. I spent most of my time in my apartment in my bedroom, perched with my skinny knees up, my face obliterated by the powder-white light of my phone. I’d scroll endlessly. And always pictures of men.

I’d known I was gay way before most people do, but I’d never bothered to “come out” or anything that obvious. I just kept my feelings to myself, for as long as I could - which may not have been the healthiest thing to do, in hindsight, and when they finally vibrated at the seal on the pressure gauge, I spewed it out all over the internet.

Tumblr was my outlet. You could find something for every kink, from men transforming into donkeys to using politics as a sexual tool. I considered myself omnisexual. I could be convinced, really, to like anything. Except a few things.

I never really got into the big “full fetish” scene. I’d, of course, seen the pictures go by - of Folsom, Folsom Europe, even some kinksters trying to make a name for themselves, become influencers, with pictures so heavily edited and filtered they almost looked fake.

But for me, my kink was - get this - intimacy. I loved pictures of men, beautiful men, kissing, embracing. Tangling together, with bliss inscribed on their faces. And it was that expression that did it for me - the bliss, the complete and total walling-off of any worldly concern but the physical, the presence of another’s lips, breath, proximity -

It got me off, every time. Imagining myself in those positions. Wearing those clothes. Caught up in those bedsheets.

Then, I’d stare into the mirror, and flex my coming-along biceps. My quads. I’d get dressed for the gym, and I’d go work out for an hour.

I loved my routine, even if I felt the dreary recalcitrance to wake up every morning and head to work, just another body with the other bodies, shuffling to and from. The night time is when I felt the surge of life - I would be free of the grimy shackles of the city, I would pound through the tumblr feed, I would shower, I would go workout.

Life was half-bliss.

But as anyone who has half of bliss will tell you, it is never enough. You must go searching for the second half of bliss - and I found mine on the night in question.

Knees up, one foot tapping a heel in idle, anxious rhythm. Eyes greedily consuming, picture after picture, and then -

My thumb hovered over the screen as if about to lay a fingerprint down on a reader. I stared.

The picture, my gateway, was a bedroom picture much like any other I saw in my daily feed, except for one crucial ingredient - one of the men was entirely encased, from head to toe, in shiny black rubber.

The rubber was so shiny, so depthless, so reflective, that it almost seemed as though its host was Not - as though there were some kind of blotting-out, erasing, blankening … And yet, this Not Person was being encircled by the arms of another man, a strong man, by the looks of it, his biceps bulging around the Rubbered One.

Even now, looking back on it, I find it insanely difficult to pry my eyes away from the memory of that reflective rubber. That shiny, reflective black rubber. And the detail! I could see the hollows of the eyes, the imprint of the big toenail, the curls of the ears down to the tragus - it was truly as though this was not a suit being worn, this was a suit that was animated, had breath and energy of its own.

Perhaps it was, in hindsight, seducing the man which embraced it.

I don’t know how long I stared at the picture. A long time. I was fascinated with everything about it - the mess of clothing on the side of the bed, socks and shirts strewn around, as if someone had melted and left only their garments as markers that they ever existed at all. Even a pair of glasses lay askew on the carpet, next to a pair of jeans and Chucks.

If I listened, I could almost hear my own heartbeat, beating in time with the glints of light off of that rubber surface, as though the Rubbered One were moving, in infinitesimally small increments, writhing on the bed in either pleasure or agony -

I blinked, shook my head, and pressed down deliberately on the screen, for the little “Save Image” dialog to appear. I needed to see that again, sometime.

It was a lot sooner than I thought.

I had to excuse myself from my lecture. I was shaking, and my breath was wobbly in my mouth. Words had come out gummily, and I was worried that someone would be convinced I was having a stroke. I’d send in a TA to finish off the lecture, not that anyone in the darkened hall was paying attention anyway.

I went into the nearest bathroom, a single-room lavatory, and sat down hard on the toilet. Instantly, my hands fished out my phone from my pocket and called up my Photos.

There, on the top of the digital heap, was the faraway glisten and shine of the Rubbered One. I sighed in relief, in pleasure.

You would too, if you’d seen the picture. Don’t judge me.

A whisper of triumph, of pleasure, of satisfaction, threaded through my mind as I opened up the picture. There it was again. That endlessness, that Void, that Nothing. I craved it, and I didn’t know why, and I needed to know why, and to know why, I needed to keep looking. I needed to keep looking to stop looking.

The Rubbered One had moved. I remember its legs being in a different scissor - left on top of right, and now it was right, on top of left.

This did not frighten me. Perhaps it should have. Pictures are not supposed to move.

But in my addled state of mind, I was blissfully unaware of the warning - or even, really, of the thought itself. It slid right out of my head, as if on a glossy sheet of black ice. I smiled, warmly, the shuddering ceasing.

Then, surprising even myself, I unzipped my pants, and hauled out my cock.

Nothing would stop me. I was a man determined. I could even smell the rubber, could feel it lifting, wafting out of the screen of my phone. That smell, that smell that I have no words for - something utterly inorganic, but somehow seductive for that very reason.

I jerked off, right there, in the bathroom around the corner from the lecture hall. I sat so still, my hand doing all the work, that the motion-sensing lights clicked off, leaving me alone, lit only by the powdery light of my phone. There, in the enclosing, mummifying dark, I jerked myself off and came with a jagged, oblique moan that slid out of me, catching me by surprise.

I may have even been in such a hurry to get inside that I didn’t even lock the bathroom door. This suspicion came to me as I exited, stuffing myself shakily back into my khakis and my blazer. You see, the door had opened seamlessly, with no hint of a lock dis-engaging.

In fact, the momentary thrill of being caught as I masturbated to the Rubbered One flicked a little shiver of pleasure up my shaft anew, and I started shuddering so much that I had to grab the wall for fear of falling over.

All hail the Rubbered One!

There was no way I could go back to my lecture now. I fled the campus for the safety of a local coffeehouse.

OTHER THINGS STARTED HAPPENING. Like how I thought I was having a stroke, before? I found that, when I spoke, my mouth felt oddly compressed, as though I had lockjaw. I went to the doctor, but when they told me to “open wide and say ahhh” I had no trouble - my jaw, seemingly re-oiled, complacently opened its full width, and I made the obligatory noise.

Nothing wrong with my temporo-mandibular joint, advised the healthcare professional.

And yet, as soon as I left the office, trying to speak to the Uber driver, to give him directions to my apartment, the same muffling, mysterious pressure returned, and I was only able to speak in tight, restrained tones.

It didn’t occur to me until much, much later, that this was the voice of someone wearing a rubber gas mask, much like the one I am wearing now.

After awhile, I stopped talking altogether. Of course, this did make it rather difficult to be a professor, and so that had to stop, too.

But what does a mute member of society do, when the one thing they have in life is a degree in English Literature?

Well, the first step is despondency, and denial. I spent a month at least, just searching tumblr for more pictures of the Rubbered One. Sure, there were plenty of pictures - the fetish for rubber has never been a subtle one - but none of them had that same irresistable sheen and shine, that fathomless Void, of the Rubbered One. I’d exhausted most of the blogs. I kept returning to the photograph I had saved to my cloud - and jerking off to it, again and again, like a desperate man. Like a junkie. If I went without, or even thought about going out, my hand developed such a tremor that I looked afflicted with tardive dyskinesia.

It got so bad, and the attacks so frequent, that I eventually just made the picture my home screen on my phone. That way, if the tremors started, a quick pocket-dig and finger-flip would open up the likeness of the Rubbered One, and instantly, I would calm.

And (he? It?) continued to move. Perhaps, now that (he? It?) knew that I had noticed the movement, it happened more and more, and faster, as though I were watching a video rather than a photograph.

Now, in addition to the slow, sensual scissoring of its legs, the Rubbered One was turning its head, away from the suckling devotion of its prey and turning to look at me, choosing me, directing its energy towards me.

I already had my rubber in the mail. It took some doing, some difficult work, some self-measuring, but before long the order was placed and the shipment was made. It was, of course, a link that I’d seen on tumblr, from one of the many rubber fetish sites. Drone, and a series of numbers, I think. One of the ones that’s talking about being absorbed into a Hivemind, a Central Core. Nothing that ever really appealed to me.

The only thing I wished to absorb into was the Rubbered One.

I ached, yearned, to be the man in that picture. I was even jealous of him. Who was he to show his devotion to such a being, such a beautiful entity? Would not I be a better candidate for the first apostle position?

But I knew, somehow, deep inside, that I wouldn’t even be considered until I had donned my own rubber.

Here’s where it gets a little weird, right - this is usually the point when in the story, the protagonist gets a little real, sizes himself up, maybe learns something about themselves. Call me crazy, I know, but at this point, I just knew on the inside, so strongly, that I would never be worthy of the Rubbered One if I wasn’t Rubbered myself.

And so I waited, agonizingly, nearly tearing my hair out, for the package to inch itself across the ocean to my apartment mailbox. I’d ordered the full suit, of course, the one that most closely approximated my photograph.

I was utterly consumed, I was ablaze with obsession. For the first time in my life, I felt an utterly overwhelming feeling - a lack. I felt as though I lacked something that I had had for just a moment - one sweet moment, hovering, crystalline - and now that I no longer had it, I could never live a whole life again.

And everywhere I went - watching with a hawk’s eye the slow drainage of funds from my bank account - I smelled it. Rubber. There was even an auto repair shop, blockaded on one side with piles and piles of tires - I altered my daily neighborhood walk so that I could slowly amble by it, inhaling the thick, gray smell. The more of it I could get on me, the more I wanted. If there were a cologne that smelled of rubber, I’d wear it - hell, I’d bathe in it! I twitched for it to be near me, on me, inside of me.

THE DAY MY NEW FACE CAME IN THE MAIL. I was wearing rubber gloves, made for chemical and construction workers, pressing them to my face, and inhaling as deeply as I could, when my phone made its little ringing noise to signify that a package was Delivered.

It could only be one thing.

It would only be a matter of moments before I could prostrate myself in front of the Rubbered One.

I hooked up my laptop to my flat-screen television, where the Rubbered One had also become my desktop wallpaper. I opened up the picture file and let it sit, in the middle of my living room, the picture of Him.

Again, I fell far into His Nothingness, His All-Consuming Void - He turned on the bed, in the picture. He silently got up. He moved so subtly that it was impossible to tell if my hallucination was real, or some sort of digital magic. He kicked, as if insulting, the pile of clothes left by the bedside.

The whole time, He kept his head, His black eyes, His shiny face, impassive and monstrous, but so aloof, so superior - His direct gaze - riveted on mine.

All hail the Rubbered One!

With barely a shimmer, He stepped out of the frame of my television and deliberately into my living room. Tendrils of black squirmed out around the square of my screen, lashing to and fro idly, almost amusedly.

None of this seemed unreal, or even fantastical. It was simply as it was - I was in a sort of ecstasy, like the kind the saints have, all-consumed, raptured. The Rubbered One had chosen me!

Go, He told me without speaking.

I was on my feet, I was sprinting, I was dashing, my hands, still in their gloves, slippery on the door knob. I was down the stairs before I realized I was barefoot, or that I was still wearing the heavy-duty black rubber gloves. And there it was - my Rubber. It was, of course, still in the box, it needed to be freed -

I cradled it in my arms. I inhaled, as deeply as possible, again. I could smell it, whining at the edges of my nostrils, begging to be freed. I felt it, inside its cardboard prison, shifting and rustling. Whispering.

I brought it upstairs with as much care as a mother would bring home her day-old newborn, but once inside, slamming the door behind me, I pillaged the drawers for the scissors, tearing into the box that would dare imprison my -

And there it was. Still in a sad, folded-up heap, but it was mine.

Now, said His voice in my head. I didn’t have to turn around to know that He, the Rubbered One, was standing behind me - had moved silently from the living room to the kitchen. I felt Him questing at the edges of my consciousness, starting the interview process.

I felt a strange mix of craven desire and hot-blooded lust twist through me. How I wished to possess the Rubbered One! And how I wished to be possessed by Him!

I began to don my Rubber. I felt it coo as it met my skin, as I replaced my own with its black sheen. I saw my toes go, then the top of my foot - ankles, calves and shinbones, kneecaps and thighs - I watched as the black tide continued its creep up my body, as quickly as night follows dusk.

The Rubbered One put His hands on me and I was nothing, I was everything. I was part of a gigantic, moaning chorus of voices, I was absolute silence.

I saw Him reach out to me, his Nothing fingers and Nothing hands, his Void arms, his Void body. I saw Him pull my self to His, and I felt us as we docked, somehow, for an imposssible moment, sharing the same physical space.

Then, with a sound that reminded me of a slurp and a sucking, closing noise, I was no more.

RUBBERBORN. I ceased to exist as I knew myself.

I had a name.

I wasn’t much of somebody, but I was somebody.

Now, I was part of a growing, aching consciousness - I was part of a vast, growing hunger. My thoughts were no longer my own.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I buzzed and chirred, excited beyond words. I was ramrod hard, even in the rubber, which smoothed everything away, everything - all emotion, all thought, all nerve, all worry. All features of my face - gone. All features of my body - slurped up.

I stood in front of the mirror. All sign of the Rubbered One was vanished. I could see, somehow, through my suit, though it had no eyeholes.

I saw through Rubber eyes.

I understood that I was Rubberborn. That this was my destiny.

The words “my” and “me” and “I” and “mine” were erased, scratched out heavily. I was plural, now.

We were plural.

We stand in front of the mirror, staring at ourselves, our new body. A mere morsel in the face of our hunger.

Do you feel it?

As our eyes swivel slowly, tracking across the room, away from the mirror. Looking into the camera lens backwards. Do you feel the chilly fingers of our gaze landing on you as you read? Playing along your bare shoulders, the pliable, delicate skin of your arms?

The Rubberborn understand and acknowledge that this body can be used for purposes that satisfy the hunger.

They gave it the name rubbrfrk9. The name you know, the author of these stories you read, curious in your own way to know how the rubber feels. The same name you’ve seen watermarked on pics of us as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.

Or maybe you already know - maybe you’ve already felt the ecstasy, struggling into your own shirt or pants. Gloves or socks. Mask or hood.

Perhaps all of the above.

Perhaps the voice of the Rubbered One is even now mingling with your own thoughts. Sinuous, twisty, shiny and smooth. Silken whispers, just an undercurrent of sibilant breath in the background, there. If you strain, you can make it out. Can hear our voices.

We can sense you.

We know.

We are coming.

Say it with us now: All hail the Rubbered One!

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jwminssi · 6 years ago

Text

Jeon Jeongguk’s Three-Step Guide To Confessing Without Speaking | jikook

Being shy, Jeongguk has had to come up with alternatives to making his wishes come true. When Jimin's birthday comes up, he sees it as the perfect opportunity to shorten the distance between them caused by his inability to talk to him without making a mess of himself.

He just didn't expect it to work so well.

8K, fluff, shy!jungkook, all the good stuff

Happy birthday, Jimin! {read on ao3}

Soccer team star player and captain Jeon Jeongguk is far from the person everyone thinks he is when hearing his name and his list of conquests. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that popular sports kids with a reputation have to be rebels, smoke cigarettes behind the school and hook up in the bathroom stalls as they use their proficiency in the field to get away with it. In Jeongguk’s team they have their fair share of those, the typical high-schoolers that like to feel superior and party way more than they should – especially given their age. The captain, however, is nothing close to that.

Though he is also popular between the cheerleading team and every other group of girls in school, Jeongguk has gained their attention for being a shy and adorable boy, often almost borderline too gentle, if that can be such a thing. He assists the teachers, speaks on behalf of the sports department when they need a boost, promotes their charity events, and doesn’t know how to say no to anyone who asks for his help. Jeon Jeongguk has people swooning left and right around the corridors for him and that’s no surprise to anyone.

Well, to anyone but himself. Jeongguk is not stupid or oblivious, he would most definitely notice how people have different intentions with him if only he could stop and pay attention.

But he can’t. Not really. Because the only one who has Jeongguk’s undivided focus is one certain Park Jimin.

Park Jimin, president of the student council, number one in all his classes, social butterfly, owner of the most beautiful smile on Earth, an impeccable fashion sense and responsible for the lingering smell of strawberries in the school’s corridors.

Perfect, lovely, dreamy Park Jimin.

And, well... untouchable, too.

Not on his account, oh no, Jimin probably has the purest heart anyone could ever have and is more than open to whoever comes up to him even if it’s just to say a simple hello. If Jeongguk had to describe him, he wold say Park Jimin is a day in the middle of Fall: the perfect balance between hot and cold; cozy, homey, and comfortable.

But still unreachable, simply because Jeongguk can’t help but to be reduced to a mess of blushing cheeks and stutters whenever they happen to interact. Oh, yes, they’ve talked before, only a handful of times because Jeongguk avoids embarrassing himself – and he knows that will happen if he ends up on the receiving end of Park Jimin’s intense stare.

So Jeongguk watches from his own crowd, always stuck between his teammates and his cheerleaders, silently following them around school and wondering what’s the use of his popularity and his captain spot if he’s still too shy to even talk properly to the boy he likes.

But he’s tired of it, yearning for more from the most beautiful person he has ever laid his eyes upon. Jeongguk wants Jimin to see him, to have proper conversations with him, to get closer and be friends even when his feelings aren’t reciprocated – and he knows they aren’t; how could they be when Jimin’s too important and busy to notice him?

You’re big around here too, what makes you think he doesn’t watch you the way you watch him?

Taehyung has said that to him about a million times by now. Being the only one who knows about Jeongguk’s whining and pining about the school’s sweetheart and the extroverted side of their friendship, he has taken it upon himself to convince the captain that he will never know what Jimin thinks of him if he doesn’t even let the other come close to him. Jeongguk just asks how he can be so sure he won’t end up just embarrassing himself but Taehyung somehow always has a way of knowing things no one else knows, so that’s that.

And maybe that’s what convinces Jeongguk to plan a surprise for Jimin’s birthday.

Without giving himself away, of course.

Step one: the rose.

On the morning of Jimin’s birthday, Jeongguk wakes up from an anxious sleep earlier than usual and manages to escape his parents’ questions about why he’s going to school before the usual time by saying he has a team meeting before class, which they seem to believe without thinking twice about it.

He takes left instead of right at the park and walks into a small flower shop. His nose itches as his allergies threaten to attack but he braves through it and walks to the balcony, asking for a red rose.

Jeongguk’s heart is racing when he leaves the shop, rounding the corner and going back to his route for school. There are three cards inside his backpack, each carefully handwritten and inside a simple golden envelope to be wrapped with a red ribbon. He has never been the type to make decisions for himself, often just going with the flow and only speaking up if something is really not according to his principles. But this time he wanted to do everything without help, not even letting Taehyung give his input; he wanted this gift to be one hundred percent from him to Jimin.

There’s no one walking around when Jeongguk gets to the school, which was exactly his goal. He quickly makes his way to Jimin’s locker, checking to see if he’s alone in the hallway before pulling out the envelope and a piece of tape to stick the gift to the metal door.

This first note says, “not even the most expensive bouquet could ever be more beautiful than you”.

He leaves before he can change his mind.

Twenty minutes later, he’s sitting at a table outside before the bell rings, half of the soccer team surrounding him as they talk about whatever they did during the weekend with words that fly over his head completely. Jimin hasn’t arrived yet, and Jungkook is certain of that because he picked a seat that gives him the perfect view of the boy’s locker, where his gift is still untouched.

“Guess no one will be able to talk to you today, huh?” Taehyung says to his side and only then does Jeongguk realize the constant buzzing he was hearing was his best friend talking.

“Sorry.” He actually feels guilty for not being able to focus on Taehyung no matter how hard he tries, but it’s not really fair to blame him. His mind is just all over the place.

“It’s okay.” Taehyung rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing for support, smiling fondly at the way Jeongguk looks even more like a baby like this, biting his lip because of the nerves and frowning at Jimin’s locker. “You got here early just to leave that for him?”

“Yeah...” Jungkook answers in an almost whisper, leg bouncing with anxiety. “Do you think he’s going to like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” Taehyung sounds almost offended at his doubts; he knows exactly what Jungkook planned and he’s convinced Jimin will be over the moon about it.

Jungkook is about to ask Taehyung how he can be so sure when the air gets stuck in his lungs as he spots Jimin approaching his locker with his best friend in tow. He watches as Jimin stops right in front of the gift and studies it for a moment before taking it and opening the small golden envelope, reading it carefully.

Nothing in this world could have prepared Jungkook for the blinding smile his little note takes out of Jimin – he’s pretty sure he sighs out loud when he sees it – and his heart skips a beat at how well the gift was received, not being able to stop his own lips from curling up. Jeongguk knows Jimin is the type to appreciate the small things and someone that’s happy with the simplest gestures, but still he was scared his surprise to him wouldn’t get a good reaction, especially since it was anonymous; in all honesty, Jeongguk was scared the other boy would find it weird.

He barely has time to avert his gaze before Jimin is looking around, trying to find the person who left the gift there for him. Jeongguk’s breathing stops for a second as he realizes he was almost caught but he can’t help but to send another loving look Jimin’s way when he’s sure he’s not searching anymore.

Unfortunately for him, even though Jimin is preoccupied with reading the note one more time, dreamy smile firmly in place, his best friend Yoongi is still on the lookout.

And he’s staring right at Jeongguk.

“Stop freaking out about it.” Taehyung tells him as they make their way to class.

Min Yoongi has sharp eyes that could trick you into thinking he has lived for centuries instead of his mere seventeen years. He’s the type of person that can make you believe anything he has to say with only his way of expressing himself; Jeongguk knows he wants to be a lawyer, heard about it during their Economics class together, and he wouldn’t want to be the one going against Yoongi in court.

Which is why he’s obviously desperate about getting caught checking Jimin’s reaction to the rose earlier. Yoongi may not know a single thing, but his eyes only can convince you he holds all the secrets to the universe and that to Jeongguk is terrifying.

“He saw me!” Jeongguk whisper-yells as they take their seats – right in the middle of the room, by the window, which may or may not be the cause to some of his daydreams during class, but that’s not relevant right now. “He knows!”

“Okay, calm down.” Taehyung sits facing him while other students come in. “So maybe he knows...” He lifts a hand to stop Jeongguk from going into full freak out mode and continues. “He’s not going to tell Jimin.”

Jeongguk just stares at him with a pout. “Yes, he will.”

Taehyung sighs. “He won’t, trust me.” He looks at his best friend who’s slumped in his seat and shakes his head. “You look like a kicked puppy. Jimin liked your gift, cheer up!”

“He did...” Jeongguk smiles as a blush paints his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. His heart picks up again and he hates that he likes this feeling so much.

“And if Yoongi tells him, which he won’t, is it really such a bad thing?”

The teacher walks in then, right as the bell rings, and Taehyung turns back to the front, leaving Jeongguk to think about his question.

The main reason he chose to prepare those little things for Jimin was because he grew tired of always being so distant. Being shy has always been a setback for Jeongguk and he hasn’t found a way to get over that trait of his just yet, so he does what he can to put himself out there more often without really leaving his comfort zone; he joined the team – being captain wasn’t part of the plan, but it happened so he learned to enjoy the position – and that alone has helped him to be braver and to speak for himself, even if just when related to sports.

But Jeongguk wants to feel free to talk to Jimin more openly, to ease himself into his life and not get so damn nervous whenever they’re so much as in the same room. The gifts were his way of beginning to do that; though he remains anonymous, it’s still a big step for someone like him.

The – very real – possibility of Jimin finding out right now it’s him who’s behind it sends Jeongguk’s mind into panic mode. At the same time he wants Jimin to know, wants them to talk, be friends or maybe – hopefully – something more, Jeongguk is also terrified by it. He can’t control himself when it comes to Jimin, he always ends up blurting out something embarrassing and blushing down to his neck and completely ruining his chances at looking cool in front of the person he likes so much.

Still, there’s nothing he can do now but to accept whatever fate decides to throw his way, so he sits in class and worries about what he’s going to do next.

Step two: the necklace.

Jeongguk asks to be excused to use the bathroom right before class ends, discreetly taking the small box and envelope from his backpack and hiding it until he’s outside. He can feel his heart beating all the way up in his throat; it’s a little bit concerning.

As expected, there’s no one in the hallway but he’s still careful as he goes up the stairs and peeps inside the council room, making sure it’s empty before slipping inside. As the president, Jimin has a desk that he keeps very organized and clean, showcasing his responsibility and care for what he does in such an important role.

Jeongguk studies it for a moment before deciding to just leave it where Jimin will see it easier. He places the velvety blue box right in the middle of the table, the golden envelope under it; there’s a silver necklace with a moon pendant in it and the second note says “nothing in the universe shines brighter than you”.

He has to admit he’s quite proud of himself for this one.

The hallway is still empty when Jeongguk closes the door behind him and goes back to class, completely unnoticed. He shares a smile with Taehyung and waits.

Jeongguk doesn’t get to see Jimin’s reaction to his gift this time but what he gets is even better – not that he thought that was possible.

“Taehyung-” He grips the boy’s arm tight as he’s waiting by his locker and spots Jimin coming his way.

(Not really his way, he’s just walking down the hallway, but Jeongguk’s mind likes to play games.)

Jeongguk really can’t look away from Jimin, even though he knows Yoongi might catch him a second time, but his eyes just don’t want to move because – and his brain is having trouble digesting that piece of information – Jimin is wearing the necklace.

The moon pendant hangs so prettily from his lean neck, short enough to show over his clothes but long enough to not be considered a choker. The silver contrasts against his skin in the most beautiful way and Jeongguk’s chest hurts with how overwhelmed he’s feeling.

He honestly thinks he could cry.

“Oop, guess he liked that one, too.” Taehyung says as he laughs at Jeongguk’s lovesick expression watching Jimin talk to someone just a few meters away from them. “Come on.”

“W-what?” Jeongguk tries to protest but he’s being pulled until they’re standing right in front of Jimin, who’s just saying bye to the girls he was chatting with.

“Hey, Jiminie, happy birthday!” Taehyung exclaims, pulling him into a hug right after. Jeongguk grips the straps of his backpack tighter; he wishes he could be able to do that.

“Thanks, Tae!” Jimin pulls away and for Jeongguk’s pure terror looks right at him. “Hi, Jeongguk.”

“Uh, h-hi.” He answers in his usual stutter, mentally slapping himself for always behaving like this. “Happy birthday.” Jeongguk mutters, looking at Jimin in the eyes before focusing on his shoes and then back at him.

“Thank you.” Jimin smiles with his entire face and his eyes disappear along with Jeongguk’s filter because he blurts out,

“So pretty.” He bites down on his bottom lip as soon as the words are pronounced, instantly regretting them when Jimin raises his eyebrows at him. Min Yoongi just snorts right at Jeongguk’s face.

“Sorry?” Even Taehyung has to hold back his laughter at how panicked his best friend looks.

“U-uh, your...” Jeongguk clears his throat and wills his brain to cooperate. “N-necklace. Pretty.” He thinks fast and finds out that short sentences work best in his favor at times like this. Why does he always let Taehyung put him into these situations?

“Ah...” Jimin lets out a short laugh, hand coming up to touch the small silver moon. “Yeah, I thought so, too.” He’s smiling as he says it, and Jeongguk’s heart is running a full marathon inside his chest as seeing up close just how much Jimin loves the gift. “I don’t know who gave it to me, but I don’t think I’m gonna stop wearing it any time soon.”

Jeongguk wants to scream at the world about all the things Park Jimin makes him feel.

When he first transferred to this school, two years ago, Jimin was already a prized student and, though he wasn’t the council president back then yet, he was the one assigned to show Jeongguk around. They were both quite different, fifteen years old and still right in the middle of puberty, but Jimin has always been the owner of a bright soul and an enchanting smile; Jeongguk was hooked from the beginning.

Through the changes in his body, growing taller, voice getting deeper, muscles showing from the constant practice with the team, Jeongguk’s heart remained the same, still beating like crazy whenever he so much as hears Jimin’s name. He can’t control it, but he doesn’t think he would get rid of this feeling if he had the chance; it’s special, warm and, despite not being reciprocated, it still makes him feel good.

“Gguk?” Jeongguk blinks when a finger pokes him in the arm. It’s Jimin, who apparently has made him a question but he was too busy staring at his face to hear it. Oh, and… Gguk? He doesn’t think he’s going to survive this conversation.

“U-um yeah? Sorry, I...” He trails off, aware that he can’t just say sorry, I was too busy admiring your beautiful face and get away with it.

Jimin giggles. Jeongguk wonders what the symptoms of a heart attack are.

“I asked if you think the necklace suits me.” He stands there, looking at Jeongguk like he’s the only person in that hallway and expecting an elaborate answer that the latter certainly can’t give him without giving himself away.

“Y-yes, it looks perfect.” Jeongguk mutters, shaking his head slightly so that his hair falls on top of his eyes because, somehow, that gives him a bigger sense of safety. “I-I think… whoever bought it h-has really good taste.” He says all at once, tripping over his words and not looking at Jimin, only to find that Yoongi is staring at him in a way that can only be described as oh, please.

“I agree.” Jimin looks right into Jeongguk’s eyes then and for a moment, for a split second, it seems like he knows, but Jeongguk doesn’t have time to freak out about it because the bell rings and Jimin is smiling again. “Gotta go, see you around.”

“See ya.” Yoongi, who had remained silent during the whole ordeal, says and winks at him before turning around and following Jimin to their next class.

“So that was something...” Taehyung claps a stunned Jeongguk on the shoulder and pulls him in the opposite direction.

“I think he knows.”

“Love that song.” Taehyung grins and starts humming some pop tune under his breath, to which Jeongguk only rolls his eyes; how dare he treat his crisis like a normal day-to-day situation?

“I’m serious.” Jeongguk whines – though he will never admit to doing so. “Jimin knows.”

“Well, he’s a top student for a reason.” He only shrugs, studying their options for dessert carefully before picking the chocolate pudding. “But I don’t think he does.”

“Did you miss the way he looked at me like he could read my mind or something?” Jeongguk picks up a bottle of banana milk and pays for his food, spending some extra time with the lady behind the counter before he follows his friend.

“I think he suspects it, but he’s not sure.” Taehyung says as they sit down with the rest of the team. By now, everyone knows Jimin has been getting anonymous gifts throughout the day and there’s a constant buzz going around as they try to figure out who the person is. Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck nervously when a couple of girls walk behind them speculating on the subject. “No one but the three of us know.”

Jeongguk freezes. “Three?”

Taehyung grins at him with his mouth full of food. “Yoongi.”

Jeongguk groans and buries his head in his hands at the reminder that none other than Jimin’s best friend is also aware he’s the one leaving the gifts. That wasn’t part of the plan, but at this point he can be sure Yoongi is not going to tell Jimin about it; if he didn’t before the necklace, he won’t do it now.

But he can’t think about that right now. For the moment, all he needs to do is watch.

Step three: the cupcake.

Jeongguk feels his heart explode and his stomach tighten when Jimin walks in the cafeteria with Yoongi and a couple more of their friends, laughing in that wonderful way only he knows how to and instantly making the whole place smell like strawberries. It’s funny, how Jeongguk has a sensitive nose that complains at every scent stronger than normal, but with Jimin’s sweet perfume it only makes him want more.

He perks up on his seat the closer Jimin gets to the dessert area when buying lunch. That morning, after he picked up the rose, Jeongguk went to Jimin’s parents’ bakery and bought a strawberry and chocolate cupcake, the one he always sees the other posting about on his social media. He knows Jimin loves it, and he thinks it makes sense that he does.

The note in the third envelope says “this cupcake may be sweet, but not more than you”.

That’s the last gift and Jeongguk thinks he did a good job. Admittedly, it’s his first time ever trying something like this, never having been interested in anyone before Jimin and only getting the courage to make some sort of move on him after two years, but he guesses it’s safe to say he succeeded, if Jimin’s reactions to the first notes were anything to go by.

The lady behind the counter stops Jimin just as he’s about to pick his dessert and hands him the third gift with the envelope carefully taped to the small box and he seems genuinely surprised by it, just like he was when he saw the rose in his locker. Jeongguk smiles behind his hand when he sees Jimin pout as the lady shakes her head at him, assuming he asked who left it there and not getting an answer.

Jimin pays for his food and takes the cupcake with him, already knowing what it is since he can see the bakery’s pink box and its logo; he’s more curious to read what the note says this time. His friends gather around him, just as eager, as Jimin opens the envelope and pulls out the paper inside.

Jeongguk can’t stop watching him, intently waiting for his reaction, even though he has to turn around in his seat to see him properly; none of his teammates seem to catch his interest and Jimin’s group is too engrossed in him to notice his staring. His heart is beating like crazy in his chest the same way it’s been doing since he woke up this morning, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to it.

When Jimin finally reads Jeongguk’s note, his smile is so big his eyes turn into pretty crescents and his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink as he giggles and hides his face with one of his hands; Jeongguk swears he could cry with how in love he feels.

Kim Seokjin, drama club president and school charmer with his dyed blonde hair and large shoulders, takes the envelope from Jimin’s hand and reads it for himself, curious to see what else his friend got. He gets up from his seat, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and says in his best theatrical voice,

“Whoever is doing this, you’re adorable!”

Jimin pulls him back harshly, Seokjin laughing as he takes back the envelope and puts it carefully inside his backpack, leaving the cupcake on the table. The entire place explodes in laughter at his antics as Jimin blushes harder and even Jeongguk fights to contain his pleased smile.

He’s so entranced by the way Jimin is still glowing with happiness that he doesn’t even notice the way Seokjin catches him staring and points him out to Jimin, who smiles even brighter when their eyes meet, fondness written all over his face.

Jeongguk turns around to his food so fast he nearly knocks down his bottle of banana milk and spills it all over the table. His heart is struggling to keep a steady pace and his hands shake as a million and one panicked thoughts cross his mind, all of them surrounding one main conclusion:

There’s no way Jimin doesn’t know now.

Jeongguk’s head is a mess for his last two classes of the day.

He hasn’t seen Jimin since lunch and he doesn’t know if he’s glad or if he misses his pretty smile. Taehyung tried to calm him down, saying he shouldn’t freak out about Jimin discovering it was him with the gifts, but it’s no use, because all he can think of is that the other boy thinks he’s weird now.

Nothing Taehyung can say is enough to change his thoughts on that, no matter how hard he tries. He could make a whole PowerPoint presentation and Jeongguk still wouldn’t be convinced. It’s easier to believe the voices inside his head, even when they have no proof to their words.

Even when Jeongguk himself was there to see Jimin’s reaction to two for the three gifts and he smiled so brightly the entire school looked bathed by the prettiest lights, even when Jimin still looked at him fondly when Seokjin pointed him out… Even with those things happening, Jeongguk still doesn’t think Jimin would be happy to know it’s him.

Because Jeongguk, despite his good grades and even better way with sports, never thought too highly of himself. He has loving and supporting parents, a nice amount of good friends and maybe one too many shelves stacked with medals and trophies but he has never considered himself to be too special.

But Jimin…

Well, Jimin is the most special of them all.

Jimin, the student council president. Jimin, the star student. Jimin, the charming social butterfly.

Jimin, with his sweet voice, his gentle smile and his welcoming eyes. His way with words, his sunshine personality, his will to fight for everything he believes in. His small hands, his secret love for anything art-related, his need to always be a better version of himself.

Jimin and the entire world that lives inside of him and blooms at every laugh echoing in the hallways. All the pretty colors that he brings with him to everything he touches, including the heart of a certain captain.

Jimin is a whole universe and Jeongguk is just… Jeongguk.

The shy captain who can’t get one proper sentence out without stuttering and making a fool of himself. The boy who couldn’t even give Jimin his gifts in person because he was too much of a coward to face him and confess his feelings.

He’s trying not to start regretting taking those small steps towards getting closer to Jimin, because it was important and it clearly meant a lot to both of them, but it’s hard when Jeongguk lets his insecurities get the best of him.

“Jeon, what are you doing?” He gets called back from his thoughts by their coach, having apparently spaced out in the middle of the field when they were practicing penalty kicks.

“Huh?” Jeongguk still asks, clearing his throat when he sees Taehyung snickering at him from the goalpost. “Sorry, Coach, I’m a little distracted today.”

“I can see that.” The entire team laughs as Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck and adjusts the captain strap on his arm. “Get it together, captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeongguk takes a deep breath and kicks the ball the way he always does, making it pass right through Taehyung’s defense. He’s the best at penalties for a reason, no goalie could ever catch any of his attempts, no matter how nervous or out of it he was when doing it.

He goes back to the end of the line and scolds himself for the way he’s letting his mind sabotage him.

A phone rings and Namjoon stops just as he’s about to take some distance for a good kick, the entire team looking at their coach as he sighs before he answers it, motioning with his hand for them to continue. Three more players have their turn – two of which Taehyung manages to catch – before they're being called back and told that practice is over because something came up and Coach has to go.

Jeongguk goes through the process of showering and putting on a fresh set of clothes on automatic, mind still trying to figure out how he’s supposed to behave around Jimin how that he knows he was the one who left the gifts.

Taehyung leaves him with a clap on the shoulder and some advice to not think too much about it, if that even works. The more he asks his brain to give him a break, the more it insists on bringing the subject back up for discussion.

Jeongguk sits down on one of the benches in front of the school with a sigh, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall as he tries to come up with some sort of distraction while he waits for his ride home. He should go to the library and start working on his History assignment and stop leaving things for the last minute; yes, that sounds like a good idea, Jeongguk thinks as he opens his eyes but he can’t even get up because his eyes spot the last person he wanted to run into right now.

Because the universe hates him, Jimin is walking towards the exit, too, right where Jeongguk is sitting so there’s no way for him to run away without being seen. That and Jimin has already seen him and is making his way to him as Jeongguk internally freaks out and wonders if spontaneous combustion is really just a theory or if it can happen to him if he thinks about it hard enough.

“Jeongguk.” Jimin says when he stops in front of him with his usual smile, though he looks… shy? That’s new. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Jeongguk mutters, cursing himself for always shutting down whenever Jimin is around; and now he doesn’t even have Taehyung by his side to save him from anything he can do to embarrass himself.

“Is practice over already?” Jimin asks, rocking on his heels. Jeongguk has never seen him act like this, it’s almost like he’s seeing himself. Almost, because even though Jimin is being uncharacteristically shy, he’s still a lot more functional than Jeongguk could ever be.

“Uh, yeah…” He clears his throat and tries to talk louder. “Coach’s daughter got in trouble at school, so...” Jeongguk trails off with a shrug, looking at the parking lot ahead of them because he can’t look at Jimin’s eyes for too long.

“Oh… I hope everything’s okay.” Jimin’s eyes go to the nearly empty parking lot as well.

“Apparently she punched a boy...” Jeongguk explains and Jimin turns back to him with a frown.

“Isn’t she, like, 8?” He asks, sounding truly worried about why someone her age already has those types of violent tendencies.

“Yeah...” Jeongguk makes a face at that and Jimin giggles, which makes him crack a smile as well. He just can’t help it.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Jimin asks, looking more at ease now, and Jeongguk’s heart picks up the beat again. “Yoongi got detention and I have to wait for him.” He pouts, actually pouts, and Jeongguk would coo if he wasn’t so nervous.

“N-no, it’s fine.” There it is, the stuttering again, just when he was doing so well. Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice, because he only smiles and sits maybe a bit closer than Jeongguk deems good for his health.

“You waiting for your brother?” Jimin asks to make conversation and Jeongguk wonders how he knows that his brother picks him up after school on practice days. Maybe the same way Jeongguk knows Jimin is coming from a council meeting right now.

“Y-yeah, he’s gonna take a while since practice ended sooner and all that...”

“We can keep each other company, then.” Jimin turns to him with a bright smile, his eyes shining like they hold a thousand constellations in them, and Jeongguk can only nod, transfixed by the way he’s so close and he can see all his prettiest details. “Have you always been this shy?” The question catches Jeongguk off guard and he looks at his lap as he ponders the answer.

“I-I guess.” He shrugs. “Actually, um… it used to be worse.” Jeongguk adds as he plays with some loose strings on his jeans.

“I’m glad you’re improving then.” He doesn’t have to look at Jimin to know he’s smiling but he does anyways, only to be hit with how many feelings he harbors for this boy.

“Thank you.” Jeongguk nods at him and allows himself to really smile, showing his cute teeth and scrunching his nose. For some reason, Jimin looks at him like he’s the most important thing in the whole world.

Silence stretches out ahead of them, but Jeongguk can’t figure out what to do to break it. Of course he wants to start a conversation, listen to Jimin talk about himself and watch him light up when he mentions something he loves, but he’s never been good at it, much less now that it’s Jimin of all people.

Jimin sighs and Jeongguk knows he’s tired of the silence just like him. “I know you’re never going to tell me, so I’ll just ask.” There’s a pause, in which Jimin hesitates, but decides to go on anyway. “It was you, right?”

Jeongguk’s heart stops. “W-what?” He hates the way his voice comes out higher than usual because he knows exactly what Jimin is asking, but he’s so surprised by it that he can’t even think of a proper way to answer.

“The gifts.” Jimin clarifies as if it wasn’t clear enough. “I mean, I hope it was. To be honest, I don’t think I’d want anyone else to have done it.” He’s rambling, another thing that Jeongguk has never seen him do, so he guesses this conversation is not exactly easy for Jimin either.

“I…” Jeongguk tries, he really does, but then it dawns on him what Jimin just said so he stops. “What?”

“First, tell me.” Jimin is looking at him so expectantly that Jeongguk can’t do anything but struggle to choke out an answer.

“Y-yes, it was m-me.”

Jimin smiles again, seemingly having gotten rid of all his previous nervousness, and he looks relieved to know that. “Good.”

“G-good?” Jeongguk frowns. Jimin has been doing a lot of things he wasn’t expecting and it’s messing with his head. “You’re not… creeped out?”

Jimin’s head tilts to the side, like he’s genuinely confused. “Why would I be? You left me gifts, that I really loved by the way, not dead animals.”

“I-it’s just, we’re not-” Jeongguk groans in frustration at himself but Jimin only sits there, patiently waiting. “I mean, we don’t really… talk.”

“Yeah…” Jimin wrinkles his nose at that, clearly upset over that fact that Jeongguk didn’t even think meant that much to him. “I wanted to but you’re so shy, I just didn’t know how to.”

“You wanted to?” It comes out as a whisper, the result of how stunned Jeongguk feels with every new word that comes out of Jimin’s mouth. He idly wonders if he fell asleep in class and this is just a dream.

Jimin shakes his head at him, still terribly fond, and places a hand over Jeongguk’s to stop him from nervously stretching the hole in his jeans. “You have no idea how many people have a crush on you around here, do you?” His voice is soft, like he’s trying not to scare him, which only helps to a certain extent, because Jeongguk’s brain is definitely going into overdrive.

“Taehyung says it’s a lot.” He mutters more as a thought than an actual answer to what Jimin is saying until the meaning of the question finally hits him and his eyes double in size. “Um, a-are you...” Jeongguk doesn’t finish it, too scared that if he says it he’ll make it real or that Jimin will say no and complete his embarrassment.

But Jimin only smiles at him and caresses his hand with his thumb. “Yes, I’m one of them.”

“Ah...” Jeongguk looks away, his face heating up even more. He feels almost dizzy with the sudden confession, not having expected in a million years that Jimin could see him under that light. “R-really?”

“You truly can’t see yourself the way other people see you, huh?” Jimin asks, thumb still rubbing circles against Jeongguk’s skin.

“I guess not...” He looks down at where their bodies are touching and somehow that calms him down. It’s overwhelming, to find out that his feelings are reciprocated when really all he intended was to maybe be friends with him.

“You’re incredible, Jeongguk, and I’m not saying that just because I know you’ll like to hear it.”

Jeongguk keeps his eyes trained on their hands, too shy to look up and meet Jimin’s eyes, though he wishes he could. “I know you never say stuff you don’t mean.”

“That’s right.” Jimin squeezes his hand slightly and scoots a bit closer to him on the bench they’re sharing. “Remember your first game with the team?”

Jeongguk frowns. That was two years ago, just a few months after he transferred to this school, when his parents encouraged him to try something he enjoyed doing and put himself out there. “Yeah?”

“It was my first time attending a match, too...” Jimin says, quietly as if he’s sharing a secret. “I was never interested in soccer until I watched you practicing one day. I already thought you were adorable before but...” Jeongguk risks looking up when Jimin stops talking and finds that he’s smiling while watching their fingers playing with each other. “You’re really alluring when you’re on the field.” He finishes and Jeongguk looks away, smiling as Jimin’s words reach him; he’s gotten compliments before, people all over him as he tried to maintain his personal space, but it means a lot more coming from the one that really matters. “So I decided to go see you.”

“You haven’t missed a game in two years.” Jeongguk mutters, in awe that Jimin was there all this time for him. He always searches for his face in the crowd, feeling relieved and more focused when he finds Jimin’s bright smile in the middle of so many others; to know that he has been rooting for him all along makes something explode inside his chest.

Their eyes meet again and Jeongguk doesn’t look away this time, not even when Jimin cups his face carefully with his free hand.

“I’m your number one fan, Jeonggukie.” He whispers, gaze unwavering as he leans in closer.

Jeongguk’s breath hitches and about a million red flags raise in his head along with a very loud danger siren that makes him turn his head just as Jimin is about to kiss him so that his lips touch the corner of his mouth instead. Jimin pulls away slowly, just enough so he can look at Jeongguk properly; he doesn’t say anything, but his eyes look worried, as if he’s scared he overstepped a boundary.

“Um, I-I’ve never...” Jeongguk feels the need to explain himself, though his mind tells him he’s ridiculous for never having kissed anyone before and rejecting the only person he has ever wanted to do it with when he tries.

“No?” Jimin actually looks surprised for a second before his eyes turn delighted at the idea of being Jeongguk’s first kiss. “Okay, then.” He smiles and starts to back away. Of course that makes Jeongguk panic.

“But I want it!” He blurts out, not wanting to miss his chance, and blushes when he realizes how loud he said those words. “I mean-” Jimin’s giggle interrupts him

“God, you’re so precious.” It sounds like he’s saying it more to himself, like a thought that escaped because it’s too loud to be kept in his head. “We’ll go slow, hm?” Jimin brushes the hair away from Jeongguk’s eyes and places a lingering kiss on his cheek before pulling back to look at him again and appreciate the pretty shade of pink painting his skin. “Has anyone ever told you you have entire galaxies in your eyes?”

“It’s because I’m looking at you.” Jeongguk says, true to his way of blurting out things that he might regret when his mind is not totally focused on filtering his words. He always thinks about Jimin like that, of course, but he’s often too caught up in hiding it to allow it to be said out loud.

Jimin looks surprised in the best way possible. At this point, they’re both a mess of giggles and red cheeks. “That didn’t sound like the shy Jeonggukie I know at all.”

“Finally found you!” Yoongi comes yelling in their direction, making both of them jump at the interruption, but stops when he sees he’s intruding. “Oh, sorry.” He says slowly, already turning in the direction of the exit door. “I’ll wait at the car.”

“I’ll, um… See you tomorrow?” Jimin asks tentatively to which Jeongguk only nods, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches the other get up, only then forcing his body to do something for once.

“Wait.” He grabs Jimin by the wrist and said boy turns to him with a surprised frown. It’s a lot harder than he envisioned in his head but Jeongguk still manages to choke out, “K-kiss me?”

Jimin sits back down, looking all kinds of happy to hear those words, and goes back to cupping Jeongguk’s face like it’s the most precious thing in the world. His eyes are shining and he’s smiling in that way that makes Jeongguk’s heart skip a beat, so intimately and fond that he can’t believe it’s directed at him.

“Are you sure?” He whispers at him, not needing to speak louder when they’re close like this. Jeongguk just nods again and that’s all Jimin needs.

It’s nothing more than a peck when their lips first meet, but Jeongguk is positive he can hear fireworks in the distance. He supposes it has to do with the fact that it’s Park Jimin that he’s kissing, but it feels like one of the best things he has ever experienced; though his brain has turned to nothing and the butterflies in his stomach are fighting to come out, he still finds himself in an ocean of happiness that he would gladly drown in.

Jimin pecks him again, a bit more insistent this time, and then after the third time he starts to move his lips, slowly so that Jeongguk can keep up – which he does with barely no trouble at all, thank you very much. He’s gentle and minds his every move, careful not to push Jeongguk over his limits or to go too hard on him at once.

One of Jeongguk’s hands that was on his lip comes up to hold on to Jimin’s wrist in the lightest of touches, not wanting to do anything but to keep him there. Jimin’s lips are soft and full against his and Jeongguk finds that he loves it.

He almost pulls away when Jimin licks at his bottom lip, startled by the feeling he’s not used to, but manages to open his mouth just enough so that the other can slip his tongue inside, leaving small playful licks until Jeongguk starts doing the same.

It’s weird at first, because Jeongguk has always been the type to cherish his personal space, but he doesn’t mind one bit that Jimin seems to break all the rules he set for himself as he grew up. Jeongguk tries not to think about the fact that he is actually kissing Park Jimin and that this is real, that after two years he moved on from distant watching to having his feelings reciprocated, but he can’t stop his brain from reminding him of that so he ends up smiling in the middle of the kiss.

Jimin smiles, too, and pulls away but not before pecking Jeongguk’s now red and slightly swollen lips four more times simply because he can.

“I could kiss you forever.” Jeongguk is thankful that it’s Jimin who says that because he’s sure he was about to blurt out the exact same thing and blush furiously for it.

“Me too.” He answers, gathering the courage to lean in himself and kiss Jimin one last time.

It takes some external convincing – in the form of Min Yoongi honking at them a dozen times – to get them to finally break apart and say their goodbyes, with a promise to see each other the next day.

When Jeongguk’s brother picks him up, he asks why he can’t stop smiling but Jeongguk barely acknowledges it, bringing up a hand to touch his lips where Jimin’s taste still lingers – strawberry, just like his perfume.

Jeongguk is sitting outside again when Jimin gets to school, Yoongi walking right by his side as usual. He picks his backpack up and tells Taehyung where he’s going, getting an encouraging smile from him, before making his way to Jimin’s locker just as he’s closing it.

“Gguk, hey.” Jimin looks more than thrilled to see him, if the way his eyes disappear with how big he’s smiling is any indicator. Jeongguk still can’t get over how beautiful he is.

“Hi.” He answers simply with a smile of his own and gives a small box to Jimin with another one of his golden envelopes.

“Thank you but… It’s not my birthday anymore.” Jimin is looking at him with fondness written all over his face as he accepts the extra gift, this time being handled to him in person.

“I know.” Jeongguk nods at him to open it, doing his best to hold back his anxiety.

Jimin nearly squeals when he sees what’s inside and he’s quick to pull out the small keychain with a fluffy bunny hanging from it, absolutely delighted that he gets to carry something that reminds him of Jeongguk around with him now. He puts it back in the box and hands it to Yoongi for the moment just so he can open the note, the other boy also reading over his shoulder.

Your beauty always takes my words from me so I have to write what I feel for you instead.

I like you a lot, Park Jimin.

I’m sorry it took me so long to act on it.

Yoongi huffs a laugh when he finishes reading, “Cute.”

Jimin is beaming up at him and Jeongguk has barely a second to prepare before he’s pulling him into a hug. “The cutest.” He leaves a kiss on his cheek, out there in the open for anyone to see, and Jeongguk really doesn’t know what to do with himself – at least he’s hugging him back. “I like you too, bun.”

Jeongguk stands there when Jimin lets him go, heart beating too fast for his own good and a lovesick grin plastered on his face with no chance of going away any time soon. He watches as the other carefully puts the envelope inside his council notebook and hangs the bunny on his backpack, happy with the way it bounces around when he moves.

He stretches out his hand for Jeongguk, who doesn’t hesitate to take it and considers it progress on his ability to interpret social cues and handling himself around Park Jimin. “Walk me to class?”

“I’ll walk you to the moon if you ask me to.” There it is, another moment of unexpected courage that has Jeongguk saying what he really means instead of keeping it to himself like he usually does. Jimin giggles and pulls him closer as he intertwines their fingers, absolutely glowing with joy.

Jeongguk knows all eyes are on them, the team captain and the student council president holding hands and being loving in the hallways, but he doesn’t have the mind to care; actually, he doesn’t even notice.

He only has eyes for Jimin.

#jikook #kookmin #jikook fluff #jikook fic #kookmin fluff #kookmin fic #nat writes #shy!jungkook #popular!jimin #popular!jungkook #jock!jungkook

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earth-ambassador-jim · 6 years ago

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Changeling Loyalties chapter 8

Goblins and Conspiracies

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do? Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

The search for the missing amulet was proving to be incredibly frustrating. Blinky kept suggesting that they should try shrinking Jim down to have him search for it. Toby was very staunchly against it and, as Aaarrrgghh was also siding with him and against Blinky on that particular issue, Jim had decided to save that for a last resort.

“I’m just saying we should try lighting a fire in the entrance to see if the smoke comes out somewhere else,” Toby said.

“And if it does? What’s to say that the amulet is not lodged in some crevice somewhere? Just waiting for discovery?” Blinky returned.

“Oh! Maybe we could use a spycam!” Toby held his hands out parallel. “We could like strap it to a remote controlled car and send it in. It would be totally secret agent cool!”

“Preposterous, your human vehicles are far too large to fit into such a small hole. Why, even the smallest of them would not even fit into the fergalator.”

Toby patted Blinky’s arm and shook his head.

“No. No. We have small toy cars that drive around just like the regular ones.”

“Really?” Blinky blinked and cocked his head. “How fascinating! Can you acquire one of these tiny cars for our use?”

Jim glanced at Aaarrrgghh who let out a chuckle and leaned over to him.

“Blinky like learning human things,” He whispered very loudly. “Want car to play with.”

Jim grinned at that. Blinky shot the large troll an affronted look.

“I’m not planning to play with the car I merely wish to document how it works so that I might better understand human culture. That is all,” Blinky said crossing his arms with a huff.

Toby snickered.

“That’s okay, you can play with it too…”

“What is going on here?” Everyone jumped at Vendal’s gruff voice.

Jim turned to see the elderly troll bend slightly as he entered the shop. He used his staff to brush aside a hanging sock before moving to stand pointedly in front of Blinky.

“Why is the Trollhunter not in the Forge training? I believe I heard you talking about cars. What sort of foolishness are you up to now?”

Blinky winced lowering his head slightly as he tapped his fingertips together.

“Well… You see…”

“I lost the amulet,” Jim said coming to stand beside him.

“Master Jim…”

He couldn’t let Blinky take the blame for something that was his fault.

“A gnome stole it from me. We caught the gnome, but we haven’t managed to get the amulet back yet. We’re working on it.”

Vendal stared at him for a moment. Jim straightened up, feeling rather like he was in the principal’s office waiting to find out if he was going to have detention. The elderly troll let out a huff and turned back toward Blinky.

“You have all of today and tomorrow to find the amulet. After that the Trollhunter must return to his training.”

“But without the amulet…!” Blinky started.

Vendal pinned him with a stare.

“You will continue looking for it. I will make arrangements for a substitute trainer in the meantime.”

Vendal turned away from them to walk out of the shop.

“Find the Amulet soon. The longer it remains lost the more unrest will grow in TrollMarket.”

~~~~

“Well, hey! Maybe it will turn up tomorrow.” Toby said in a tone of deliberate cheerfulness as he and Jim made their way home.

“I doubt it,” Jim said with a sigh. “I can’t believe it, I find an important magic artifact and then I lose it… Ugh! Stupid!”

“It’s not your fault…”

“How?!” Jim snapped, turning toward him. “I was the one who couldn’t hold onto it against a gnome. A gnome! How am I supposed to protect people from Bular if I can’t protect an amulet from one lousy gnome?” His shoulders slumped and he gripped the straps of his pack. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

Toby opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want Jim to be Trollhunter, and he was fairly certain Jim didn’t want to be either, but he hadn’t anticipated Jim taking the loss of the amulet this way. He knew about his friend’s anxiety, he had even learned some strategies to help him with it over the years, but…

But he hadn’t been prepared for Jim to blame himself this hard for it, for it to affect his sense of confidence this way.

Toby frowned.

Would it go away? Could he expect Jim to move past losing the amulet or would he just keep blaming himself for it? He just wanted his friend safe, was that too much to ask?

Why did things have to be complicated?

~~~~

For history class Mr. Strickler was taking them to the museum for a more hands on lesson and some general all around fun. Honestly, long-term goal to destroy humanity aside, he really was a good teacher.

“Excuse me.”

Toby turned around from the rock exhibit he had been looking at to find Claire approaching them. He hazarded a glance to the side toward Jim. Yep, he was turning bright red. Toby snorted and rolled his eyes.

“What’s up?” Toby asked, because someone had to respond to her.

Claire blinked at him.

“Oh sorry! I was talking to Jim,” She said with an apologetic smile. “But I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Toby waved her off. He grabbed Jim and shifted him forward. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

He shot a wink and a thumbs-up to Jim who had recovered and was now sputtering. Hopefully he would not fall into trying to impress her with mediocre Spanish like he had the past few times he had attempted to talk to her. Toby shook his head. There were a certain things about humans that were still super weird to him. Dating practices were definitely at the top of the list. Trolls just went for the throat… both figuratively and literally. He paused with a frown. Or was that just Gum-Gums?

He was drifting along searching for something else to occupy him when Eli’s high pitched voice drew his attention.

“At first, I thought it was an alien,” He was saying. “Definitely not human. It’s some sort of monster.”

The girl he was talking to leaned away and rolled her eyes.

“Come on. Give it up, Eli.”

Toby inched closer.

“No, no! This time I have photographic evidence,” He insisted waving his phone.

Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good.

Toby quickly nudged his way in between Eli and the two other teens.

“Hey, Eli, can I see your phone real quick?” He said swiping it from his hands. He looked at the screen and then did a double take. “Oh my gosh.”

A chill ran through his veins. That was definitely a goblin. A squashed goblin. They would be out for revenge. He needed to do damage control fast.

He twisted as if he was going to turn to show the picture to one of the other kids. He let his feet cross and went down with a yelp the phone clattering out of his hands.

“Are you all right?” Eli squeaked.

“Yeah,” Toby let out a self-depreciating chuckle as the other kids around him laughed. “Just clumsy I guess… oh here let me get that for you!”

Toby grabbed Eli’s phone off the ground, hitting the delete button as he did so. A picture of Eli posing with ninja stars replaced the goblin.

“Oh no, I deleted it!” Toby did his best to sound truly sorry as he pressed the phone back into Eli’s hands. “I’m so so sorry.”

“That’s okay… I guess,” Eli sounded really put out. Toby would have felt bad but he had probably just saved his life.

“Look,” He said thinking quickly. “If there’s any way I could make it up to you…”

“Not really,” Eli sighed.

“Hey… I know it’s a little late, but I really did want to hear about what you found.”

The skinny human immediately perked up.

In just a few minutes Toby had all the information on the goblin he needed, way too much personal information, and a few weird conspiracies.

“Well it’s been nice talking to you, but I need to go check on Jimbo,” Toby said, peeling himself away from the conversation. “Bye!”

“Bye,” Eli waved. “Let’s talk again?”

Toby wove through the other students, twisting his head this way and that, until he spotted Jim. He broke free of a small cluster that were ogling a mummy and jogged over to his friend.

“Jimbo! How did it go?”

Jim glanced at him and sighed.

“Okay…. But I think…” He sighed again, shoulders slumping. “I think she might actually have a crush on you.”

Toby choked on his spit and went into a coughing fit.

“Me?! Why would she have a crush on me?”

He had interacted with Claire only a handful of times and she had literally never shown any interest outside of getting whatever project they were working on and basic social niceties. She’d even gotten his name wrong a few times.

“Well she approached me to talk about you. She had a whole bunch of questions.”

Toby stilled. Questions weren’t good.

“What sort of questions?”

“Like what sort of stuff you do in your free time, what kind of things you like, and if you had any pets… what was the other one?” Jim broke off tapping the back of his hand. “Oh yeah… She wanted to know if you had a part time job or something?”

Toby frowned. This was weird…

“Look Jim. I don’t know why she’s asking those things, but I highly doubt she has a crush on me and if she does I have no interest of returning it,” He said firmly, making careful eye contact with Jim.

“You don’t have to…”

“Seriously. I’m not interested in her,” Toby repeated firmly.

Well aside from why she was asking questions about him…

“I believe you,” Jim said. “I guess I’m just disappointed…”

Toby held back a groan. Why him? He grabbed Jim’s arm.

“Come on let’s go look at the Viking exhibit.”

Who knows, maybe there’d be a picture of Alfhild or something.

~~~~

Toby wasn’t terribly excited to spend a night off hiding in the bushes across from Eli’s house, but life was like that sometimes. Unfortunately Kracka hadn’t dropped by so he was on his own. From what he could figure out it sounded like it was a delivery driver who had squashed the goblin: one who had just happened to leave a note about where and when he would return.

He checked his watch and yawned, another ten minutes. It was about time to start scouting to see if he could find the goblin swarm.

There was a loud whine from an approaching engine and Toby ducked back down behind his bush waiting for it to pass. It didn’t. Was the delivery driver early? Toby peered over the bushes.

It was Steve.

Toby watched in puzzlement as the blond teen parked his Vespa in the driveway and approached the front door. He knocked and stood there, shifting and glancing around every few seconds. After about a minute a woman, who Toby assumed must be Eli’s mother, opened the door and let him in.

That was… strange… Was there a group project Toby had forgotten about?

Before he could think about it much more there was the rumble of another vehicle approaching. He ducked down just as the delivery truck pulled to a halt before the house. The driver hopped out, singing tonelessly to whatever music was playing on his headphones, and retrieved a package from the back. Toby winced as he dropped it a few times before making it to the front door. How did that guy still have a job?

Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the issue at hands.

The goblins were emerging from the bushes. Several of them climbed up the light poles. It was hard to tell at this distance, but he thought that he saw Bob on one of the far poles. Other goblins were beginning to emerge from the bushes; it seemed that Toby’s guess was correct. The swarm flowed down the street toward their hapless victim.

The delivery driver handed off the package to Eli, who had answered the door, and then pushed past him into the house. Toby tensed. The driver was already a dead man, but if he stayed in Eli’s house too long the goblins might go after him as well.

Toby debated whether he should do something. Goblins were near impossible to reason with in this state, but if he got ahold of Kracka he might be able to get him to convince Fragwa to wait to go after the driver until…

The goblin swarm descended on the delivery truck. It shook back and forth violently as they began to devour it.

Right… He’d forgotten that goblins often didn’t differentiate between objects and people when they were going for revenge. Toby felt his muscles relax; it seemed there would be no need for death tonight. In a matter of seconds the truck was gone. He glanced up and down the street to make sure there were no onlookers.

The doorknob started to turn. Thinking quickly Toby raised his hands to his mouth and let out a “watch out” call. The goblins’ heads shot up at the sound and they scattered into the bushes only a moment before the door opened and the delivery driver came out.

Toby glanced around for an escape route. It was best that he got out of here before the delivery man called the police to look for his “stolen” truck. They would wonder what he was doing here so late at night. He should probably note down the event to give to Alfhild or Stricklander; the Janus Order liked to keep track of these sorts of things.

There was a crackle from a bush near him and he spotted a goblin he didn’t recognize emerging. It eyed him speculatively. Not wanting to become dinner, he quickly flashed his eyes at it. It tilted its head.

He heard a surprised chatter from his right and then another goblin moved in front of him. It snarled at the first goblin which laid its ears back and skittered away.

“Oh! Hi Foon,” He said, relieved.

“moi hara whm?” Foon asked.

“I was just making sure no one saw.”

Foon cocked its head. “Moi sell wewsh’oiw?” It wanted to confirm that him who did the watch out call.

Toby nodded.

Foon grinned and Toby relaxed. It looked like it was off of the frenzy of the revenge hunt now.

“Wa rayacga salalrewa. moi wouc?” Foon asked, bouncing on its toes.

Right. They usually celebrated if they managed a successful revenge hunt. Toby wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to join though. Goblin revelries got pretty wild and he was tired.

Foon tugged Toby’s pant leg before climbing up on his head. “Moi lism. Moi wa goc’w saa mish.”

It was right, Toby thought guiltily, with all the stuff going on with Jim and cleanup he hadn’t had much time to just hang out with the goblins.

“wac'toir,” Toby decided: he would go along with them. It would be nice to relax and let loose just a little. Anyway tomorrow was Saturday, so he could sleep in before he and Jim went to Trollmarket.

He took one last glance at Eli’s house where Eli and Steve where talking to the delivery man, before slipping away through the bushes.

~~~~

Author Note:

I'm back!

In case anyone is wondering the goblins are speaking a cipher (well starting this chapter anyway). Any real words in another language that appear are purely coincidental.

Nice to get those background story lines progressing.

There will be no Jlaire (Jim x Claire) in this story. Just figured I'd clear that up.

Anyway as always let me know what you think!

See y'all next time!

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #toby domzalski #Tobias Domzalski #Jim Lake Jr #changeling toby #changeling!Toby #james lake jr #Changeling Loyalties #blinky #aaarrrgghh #Goblin OCs #OC: Foon #OC: Bob #elijah pepperjack #my posts #my writing #Getting all those sweet sweet plotlines set up

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reyesmp4 · 6 years ago

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My crackhead dissertation about QOTS S4, hidden connections, and the return of James Valdez!

I want to start out by saying these are all THEORIES. Mostly from my crackhead brain, but there are a few things that MAY actually tie my theories together. They are mainly fueled by my love for James Valdez and my unwillingness to believe that the writers, producers and cast would be stupid enough to really write him off the show. (the only time I accept that is when its the actors wishes. And if it was Peter's wish, I would respect that.) But in this case, I don’t think that’s what is happening here. I also want to mention here that when it comes to flashforward scenes in Queen Of The South, I don’t buy into them and I don’t believe they are actually real.I believe they are metaphorical warning rather than an actual depiction of teresa in the future. Thats my personal opinion/theories. With that being said, ALL OF THIS is just that, my opinion.

First of all, I know a lot of people (myself fucking included) are nervous that there WONT be a return of James Valdez. But please, don’t worry until we know something concrete.

I know a lot of people have seen that NOTHING has been posted on social media about James. Not by the cast, not by peter, nothing. But we have to remember It is really common nowadays, in the age of social media, for networks and producers to place a gag order on actors/cast/crew about the return and fate of certain characters.

So first of all, the main reason I firmly believe there WILL be a return of James Valdez, is because of the way season 3 ended. I wholeheartedly believe that it wouldn’t have ended that way, had there not been a REASON. For the most part, as for storylines QOTS has been extremely cohesive and able to have twists and turns, along with callback to previous seasons /relationships etc. If they were planning to kill off James, they would have left it at their goodbye scene in 3x13. But instead they showed an incredibly powerful scene of James, a soldier and sicario, giving up his gun for the person he loves and will die to protect. If they didn’t plan to incorporate that entire storyline back into the following season(s), it would not only be uncharacteristic of our QOTS writers who are notoriously cohesive when it comes to storylines, but it would also be incredibly STUPiD. There was no reason to add that James/Devon scene if they weren’t going to call back to it at some point. It was a huge, super poignant scene and I believe that it was put there for a reason. (though it does sometimes happen, lookin @ you ‘The Magicians’!)

So quite a few of my theories lie in episode 3x05, so I will be calling back to it a LOT. Get used to it. Don’t @ me.

3x05 truly solidified the trust between James and Teresa. In the beginning of the episode, they were sitting together cheersing their business while teresa looks at planes. Teresa says,

“Now if they come for me, ill be ready.”

James looks at her earnestly and says, “If they come for you, I’ll be ready.” (Implying he’d die before letting “them” get to her).

Later in the episode, when they learn that Kellyanne is being held hostage by Devon, Teresa instructs James to stay in the car, knowing that if he were to go in there, he would be killed on the spot because he hurt Devon’s business. She tells him to go to ‘la commission’ for help. Instead of listening to her and staying in the car, when he sees things go south, he walks in there himself and which basically translates to “Take me instead”. After agreeing to leave with Devon, James asks to tell teresa himself that he’s leaving. He informs her that She and Kellyanne are free to go, and that Devon will back off her business. Teresa asks what Devon gets in return, what the catch is, and the answer is James. To which teresa immediately says, uh “No”.

Devon asks Teresa, “Are you willing to sacrifice everything, including your life, for this man?”

To which she easily answers, Yes. Devon forces James to tell Teresa what REALLY happened in Texas, and asks if she still wants to put her life on the line for him. She answers “take him” (and you can visibly see James heart break). But she quickly tells James that she isn't going to let them take him, and that she was just buying time, and grabs the guns stored close by. James looks panicked, knowing that if they try and shoot their way out, they'd both end up dead. He tells her “We’re outnumbered, we’ll never make it.” And she answers simply, “Then, we don’t make it.” Showing that she is willing to go down swinging and die right along side him.

This interaction solidifies their trust in one another and shows how deep their feelings for one another go.

First theory- Devon has ties (possibly family ties) to New Orleans/Dumas

So we learn in 3x05, that Devon works with his family when it comes to his less than legal activities. While Devon is a CIA agent, his family (I believe) are civilians. His sister often acts as his enforcer.

Now, in 3x05 when Devon and Teresa have “dinner” together, devon steps away to take a call. Teresa observes her surroundings, taking in devons crew- who are speaking what seems to be hatian or some type of creole. Teresa looks at ‘The Professor’, Devon's sister, and asks “Are you Hatian”, to which his sister gives a weird look, asking Teresa what she said. She repeats herself, and says “Are you hatian? You sound hatian.” Teresa gets a “mind your damn business” type answer. But my point is that Teresa very OBVIOUSLY pointed out that she appears to be speaking hatian or some type of creole.

Now, in 4x04, Marcel Dumas sends his men to raid Teresa's factory. They shoot up the place, but before they go- they leave behind a voodoo doll. Now you don’t need to know much about New Orleans to know that there is a strong afro-french/hatian influence there. Creole and Voodoo often go hand in hand. The use of hatian/creole along with the voodoo doll, lead me to believe that there is some sort of connection between Devon and New Orleans. I believe, especially given what happened in 4x04, that the war with Marcel is going to BLOW UP. Possibly bringing either Devon (if he has ties to marcel or to NOLA) or possibly Castel into the picture, and that is how teresa and the team may learn that James didn’t leave on his own volition, but instead did it in order to protect Teresa.

Back to 3x05 for a minute, as I was saying earlier when they looked into Devon’s sister, because she was a civilian she had an internet presence, and they were able to find out where their mother was located and used her as collateral against the siblings. Lil tay, who was the one to go and threaten devon's mother. When she's sitting in the church, she talks about how she was impressed that the van she was driving could hit over 150mph on the highway. Telling me that she wasn’t just kickin it around phoenix, she had to have traveled a pretty long distance. Because we don’t know how long this whole sequence took it is *plausible* that his mother was located in louisiana/new orleans as well (it would have taken 6-8 hours traveling at 150mph). The song that the church choir was singing “Wade in the Water” also has strong ties to the black community, which I think is important to point out as well.

I don’t know if this is planned, if these certain points were added as fillers or if they really are important and will tie together all of these strings, while paving the way for James to come home.

The Devon and Castel Connection

Now we know that in 3x13, in the scene with James and Devon, they talk about how Devon killed El Santo to take out the competition for the columbians. Devon tells James that Castel is a “friend of the agency” meaning basically that they’re in bed together on whatever operation Devon is running (legitimate or not). We already saw that in 4x01, Teresa pledges allegiance and loyalty to Castel, who showed up in new orleans.

So the fact that James went with devon, whether he’s working for him to pay his dues or if he’s more being held captive, I honestly have no idea. I DO believe based on the title of 4x13 ‘They will come for you.’ is a callback to Teresa and James’ conversation in the beginning of 3x05 (where he says, “if they come for you, I’ll be ready) . So I don’t know if they will rescue James or if James will end up rescuing her but I am praying that there is an OBVIOUS connection there for a reason. ( thank you for your later episode theories, I AGREE! @mymostimaginaryfriend )

But the fact that Devon and Castel are in bed together ALONE tells me they are going to be calling back to that at some point, especially with Teresa pledging allegiance to Castel/the columbians. That is probably enough of a connection for Teresa to end up finding out what REALLY happened with James. (I still believe in the Devon/ New Orleans theory though.)

So where does James come in? Honestly I dont know yet. I do strongly believe he will be back. He wouldn’t put his life on the line to protect teresa without them calling back to that storyline, honestly. It would be really dumb for them not to.

@folie-lex pointed out that James is almost always seen as an equal to Teresa. For just being a sicario, he is able to call her out on her bullshit and point out how they should maybe look differently at the situation. That's an important power dynamic, and that is something that is so far EXTREMELY lacking in season four not just between Teresa and James but for the entire team. James would have NEVER pulled what Javier did in 4x03/4x04. Never. The current team that she is working with, she has no one to use as a sounding board when it comes to the *hard* decisions. She doesn’t have that same rapport she had with James with any of them. No, not even pote.

While teresa can rely on Pote, to do what he is told when he’s told. Pote is a loyal soldier, but James was able to both follow orders but also turn around and challenge Teresa in a way no one else ever has. In a way that helps her keep hold of her humanity.

If you've watched the current episodes, especially 4x04, then you know that it is a SHIT SHOW. Everything is falling apart, Javier has not only killed one of Judge Layfayettes lackeys, but in addition to doing that and then disappearing, he also got Marcel Dumas nephew KILLED, essentially triggering a gang war. Dumas will be out for blood after he learns that his nephew has been killed.

Had James been around he would have seen this coming for MILES. He would have been there as a sounding board for Teresa, as someone to clean up the mess, but he also would have kept everyone in line.

I understand that the network, showrunners, and writers think that action and chaos sells, but we are a rather small fanbase. Small, but loyal. For them to decide to squash our loyalty, knowing that James well loved and fan favorite, would be a (as i said previously) STUPID, and possible fatal mistake. I truly believe that they haven’t made that mistake yet, but if they were to make a permanent decision to write james off, they could be digging their own cancellation graves.

This isn’t a background, small time character. This is James Valdez. He’s been here since DAY ONE and gave an extremely vital structure to the show and added greatly to the dynamic between characters and the team. There is a visible, palpable James sized hole in this season and I hope it’s there to prove a point in how much he is needed, rather than to squander a well loved and respected series regular.

James Valdez has a big, protective heart, and is willing to die trying to protect the ones he loves, his family. Lets try to have some faith that this is all for a reason and that james is going to get the storyline and love he really deserves.

#queen of the south #qots #Meta #theories #jeresa #james x teresa #james valdez #teresa mendoza #javier jimenez #king george #qots season 4 #qots spoilers #qots theories

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ciestessde · 6 years ago

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Phantasma Magica Ch. 7

STORY SUMMARY

Clockwork and the Observants send Danny to Hogwarts on a special mission. But, cryptic as ever, that Old Stopwatch never actually told him what would happen on it!!! “All you need to do right now, Daniel, is stay focused on your mission. And remember, the-” “‘The Lions with the time-turner, lightning-bolt scar, and hair like fire are friends; watch out for the rat; and the black dog is not a threat.’ Yeah, you’ve only repeated that a few dozen times today.”

Next → ← Previous (First)

‘... I…’ ‘-I need to find him.’

Tracking a normal living soul was hard enough -- let alone one hidden within the form of an animal. But thankfully, Sirius hadn’t gone far. Danny found him, still in dog form, a little ways inside the Forbidden Forest. It looked like he’d been living there… He made sure Black saw him -- hands up and feet firmly on the ground, trying to be as non-threatening as he could -- before he spoke. Black growled at him.

“I- … I’m sorry. -Look, I’m not going to hurt you…” Sirius’ ears perked up. He transformed back, but stayed ready to run in an instant. His sunken eyes stared into Danny’s glowing ones. “... What are you?” His voice was hoarse, showing how little he had talked during his years in prison. “-Uh…” Danny stuttered nervously, ‘He’s gonna run again…’ “I’m a, uh… I’m a phantasm.” Black’s eyes narrowed, “What’s a ‘phantasm’?” “It’s a … type of ghost.” “Oh yeah? Never seen a ghost control fire.” “...”

“Why are you following me?” Danny swallowed. ‘Moment of truth…’ “I’m friends with Harry Potter.” Sirius’ eyes widened. “You know Hh-arry?” His voice cracked. Hope had returned to it. “How is he? Is he doing alright?” “Uh, yeah. He’s… He’s doing okay.” Sirius relaxed slightly, his eyes drifting out of focus. Danny could see, now, just how tired he was. His prison uniform was worn and dirty, and it hung off him like he was a walking skeleton. His face was more wrinkled than it should’ve been. “Can I…?” Danny asked, and Sirius looked back at him. “... Why did you come here?”

He hesitated. “You said you’re a friend of Harry Potter.” He didn’t continue. “... Yeah?” “Why aren’t you turning me in? You must know who I am. I wouldn’t have even blamed you if you had tried to kill me back there. So why aren’t you attacking me now?” “Ah! Well, um… That’s a bit- complicated. Uh…” Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “See I, um, was sent here by… my boss! To collect these…” He could feel his face burning. He sighed. This was going to take too long. “I’ll explain, just…” Danny looked around, “Not so close to the dementors.”

Black flinched, quickly agreeing. “Yes, we can talk back inside the shack.” He began to transform. Before he could, though, Danny grabbed him and phased them both back through the ground and into the bedroom he’d found him in. Black was, understandably… not comfortable with this. He tore out of Danny’s grip as soon as they were tangible again. “MERLIN’S BEARD!!!” He looked down at his body, the floor they’d just come out of, and at Danny. ‘Really? For all the weird things wizards are used to, I didn’t think THAT would freak him out!’ “... Ok. How about you start by explaining -- in more detail -- what the bloody hell a ‘phantasm’ is?!”

Danny gave him as much information about his phantasmal nature as he had given to the Trio by that point (which was less than he’d given to Lupin), then began asking his own questions. Starting with why Black had come there. Sirius looked pained. “How much do you know about why I got arrested?” Danny hesitated only a second, “You betrayed Harry’s parents by revealing their location to Voldemort-” Black looked impressed. ‘What is it about this guy’s name? How bad was this guy for people to be afraid of his name?!’ “- and you blew up your other friend, Peter Pettigrew.” Rage flashed across Sirius’ face at the second name. “Well first of all, I wasn’t the traitor! Pettigrew was.” He pulled a newspaper clipping out of his clothes. It was a photograph of Ron’s family; they had won some trip to Egypt or something that summer. Sirius pointed to the rat Scabbers on Ron’s shoulder. “This is why I’m here. I’d recognize him anywhere. Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail. Our so-called ‘friend.’”

And he explained: how he, Harry’s father “James,” Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin were close friends while at Hogwarts; how Remus was secretly a werewolf; how they had secretly (illegally) learned to transform into animals so they could keep Remus company when he turned each full moon. … And how he, Sirius, had convinced Harry’s parents to switch to using Peter Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper at the last moment, believing the secret would be safer with Peter, who was the less-obvious choice. “Did you hear… about the part where the largest thing they could find of Pettigrew was his finger?” Danny nodded. Black sneered, “The rat cut it off before transforming and hiding in the sewers! And look here.” He held out the photo. “See its paw?” Scabbers was missing a toe.

He muttered under his breath, “‘Watch out for the rat…’” “Hm?” “Nothing- So what are you planning to do? How are you going to clear your name?” “If I can get that traitor to turn human in front of witnesses, it should be enough.” His face twisted into a snarl, “But even if not -- I can be satisfied just killing him.” “How, though? How are you going to get him to change?” “It’s a simple spell, I just need a wand. If I can get Remus to listen to me…” Sirius leaned back against the wall, “That’s why I came here- to the Shack. I’ve been staying in the forest for the most part, as a dog. But a full moon is coming in a day of two. If he doesn’t come down here like he used to, I’ll sneak into Hogwarts--” “No need.” Danny stood up. “I’ll help you. Harry’s my friend, and I can’t just let an innocent person -- Harry’s godfather… I’ll convince Lupin.” “You’d really do that?” Sirius looked surprised, but then smiled and shook his head. “No. Look, I don’t know what your relationship is with Remus, but-” his eyes hardened, “I need to be there.” “But what if he-” “He won’t turn me in.” He grinned, and some light returned to his eyes. “We’ve gotten in too much trouble together over the years. He’ll at least hear what I have to say first.” “... Fine. But I can back you up, at least. For whatever that’s worth.” “It’s enough just knowing there’s one person who believes I’m innocent.”

So it was set: Sirius would talk to Lupin just before or after he turned, and if that didn’t work, Danny would step in. Until then, Danny would keep Scabber’s/Pettigrew’s identity -- and Black’s innocence -- a secret. They couldn’t afford to spook him and risk losing their only solid piece of evidence. Danny also decided to start sneaking Sirius food from the Hogwarts kitchens. There was no reason for him to keep living off of wild animals and trash when there was more than enough to eat inside!

But with nothing else left to do, no leads left to follow, Danny decided to enjoy the holiday. Harry wasn’t in danger after all, so there was no more reason to stress out. Well… For him to stress out. When he found out about Harry’s broom being destroyed, Sirius decided that he was going to make up for missing all of Harry’s Birthdays and Christmases by buying the boy the absolute best flying broom available. Which was a fantastic Christmas present… If Hermione hadn’t convinced the teachers to be suspicious of the anonymous, overly-expensive gift, and if the teachers hadn’t then decided to strip it down and tear it apart in search of any hexes, curses, etc. that might have been put on it. Harry was upset, sure, but Ron… It wasn’t even his broom, but he acted like Hermione had become the worst person in the world when he found out. If there was anything their interactions had convinced Danny of, it was one thing: ‘They really need to start dating already.’

Drama aside, Danny was in awe of the decorations in the castle. ENORMOUS, REAL trees were lugged inside by Hagrid, and covered in everything from some sort of golden bubbles, to frost (inside the warm castle). And the Great Hall! It was where announcements were made and food was served (which Danny could guarantee was delicious, even if he wasn’t interested in most of it), but it now had thick streamers of holly and mistletoe criss-crossing the ceiling -- and even warm, dry snow falling inside of it! And during lunch on Christmas day (which was very small. Only some of the teachers, the Trio, and three other students were there) Danny was introduced to “crackers” -- these noisemakers you pulled apart, revealing a prize inside. Hermione assured him the magical-variety were much more exciting than their non-magical counterparts. The best part was when Dumbledore decided to wear this stuffed-vulture-hat he got from one! He definitely did NOT seem so scary wearing that and grinning like a goofball!

A couple days after Christmas, before classes started again and the students who had left returned, Sirius informed Danny that Lupin was still unconvinced -- that he needed more proof before he’d help them. So Danny asked Lupin if he’d be interested in another “interview.” He said yes, they’d have one right after Harry’s promised anti-dementor lesson.

Danny arrived right as they were finishing up. Harry stood trembling from exertion in front of… what appeared to be a dementor, but felt far too weak to actually be one. More interesting was the wispy, silvery shape coming out of Harry’s wand. It smelled… pretty good. Danny drooled a little. Before too long, Lupin jumped in front of Harry and yelled, “Riddikulus!” and the ‘dementor’ disappeared with a loud crack, the silvery shadow fading soon after. Lupin forced what looked like… a tiny moon?… into a case, then came back to where Harry had collapsed into a chair.

“Excellent! Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!” “Can we have another go? Just one more go?” “Not now,” said Lupin firmly. “You’ve had enough for one night. Here-” He handed the boy a large bar of chocolate. “Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?” “Okay.” Lupin started extinguishing the lamps around the room. Something seemed to occur to Harry. “Professor Lupin? If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.” Lupin turned quickly to look at him, asking sharply, “What gives you that idea?” “Nothing -- I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…” Lupin relaxed. “Yes, I knew him. Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.”

Once Harry had left, Lupin addressed Danny, “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about? You seemed very interested in having this conversation in private…” “Yeah. What kind of evidence would you need to believe Sirius is innocent?” Lupin dropped his briefcase and turned to stare at the phantasm floating and illuminating the otherwise dark room. “How do you… You’re in league with Black?” All of the color seemed to have drained from Lupin’s face. “I should’ve -- you’re how he got out of Azkab- no.” He took a moment to breath, the color returning to his face, “No, no you couldn’t have. The dementors would’ve… But then…” He looked up at Danny, his eyes hard. “... How did you get into the Hogwarts’ Grounds? How do you know Black?” And so, finally knowing he could trust the teacher, Danny let a fifth person into his circle of trust.

With one difference: “But before sending me here, Clockwork made me memorize these three phrases: ‘The Lions with the time-turner, lightning-bolt scar, and hair like fire are friends; watch out for the rat; and the black dog is not a threat.’ At first I thought it meant to protect Scabbers -- Hermione’s cat seemed to have it in for the poor thing, but now...” Lupin lowered himself into a nearby chair. “I’m sorry. I’m still a bit… uncertain about all of this.” “I’d be surprised if you weren’t. I mean, ‘The Keeper of Time sent me here on a quest’ isn’t exactly-” “Actually, that part I completely believe. Oh, don’t look so surprised -- you’re a terrible liar. There’s no way you could’ve come up with all that. And really, I’d have a harder time believing any wizard could’ve set all of this up. Not only is it far beyond most people’s capabilities to begin with, but even if someone could have done it, nothing adds up to a believable goal.” “Ok… So, uh, what proof do you need?” “I suppose…” Lupin looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded, his jaw set. “If you can capture the rat, I’m willing to perform the spell that will change him back to human form -- if he is, in fact, a human.”

And that’s exactly what Danny tried to do that very night. After all, why wait? Invisible, Danny snatched Scabbers and phased them both right out of the building and into the freezing air -- hundreds of meters above the ground. Lupin was waiting with Black inside his office, but Danny didn’t dare risk the rat’s squeaks waking any of the students. He phased back inside almost immediately. But Scabbers was flailing and squeaking madly in his hand. He’d just about made it three fourths of the way to the office when- The rat seemed to grow and shrink suddenly, loosening Danny’s grip just long enough to escape.

And in the maze that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -- a maze Peter Pettigrew knew far better than just about anyone… Danny cursed. He’d lost him.

~~~~~

As always, if you like this, please REBLOG!

(Updates every Wednesday until completion.)

Other places you can find this fic: Fanfiction.net/~ciestess ArchiveOfOurOwn.org/users/Ciestess/profile Deviantart.com/Ciestess

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#Harry Potter #Danny Phantom #phantasma magica #phicc #atrieisan

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shawnsorangeglasses · 6 years ago

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Love’s Camisado - (bartender!shawn au)

.i’m enjoying the idea of Shawn being a bartender (i guess that’s his second job now idk i dig it) nobody asked for this but 🎶i don’t care🎶 3.3k words

warnings: some strong language, drinking, minor fluff at the end, and a guy who can’t hear “no”

...

Dina was still getting over a breakup that’s had her stuck in this weird state of depression for about a week now. So I called her on Friday and said we were going out on Saturday, deliberately eliminating no as an option. My homework was finished and I was ahead of schedule for once and I figured this is as good a time as any to leave my dorm for once. Fully intending on staying sober for the night, I put on the most casual outfit I could find and start packing supplies.

I almost look like a soccer mom, waiting for Dina to show up at the club doors. I had a drawstring bag full of baby wipes, snacks, water, a spare case of makeup, band-aids, some ibuprofen for her potential hangover, and whatever I normally carry every day. This is a list I’ve made over years of knowing Dina and her nightly habits. The usual pattern is she’ll get drunk off her ass and either I’ll take her home or she’ll go home with whichever guy or girl and I’ll rescue her tomorrow morning.

Our region was starting catch wind of some colder weather so I decide to drive to the bar. I didn’t wear anything more than a pair of leggings, t-shirt, and a denim jacket. She meets me just outside the doors of the Lotus Pool club around 7:00 PM. This is where most college students come on the weekend. My muted outfit bears a striking contrast to Dina’s glittery green cocktail dress. Business is perfectly slow at this time so we get in without a problem. It’s only when the sun goes down that a line starts to form.

Once inside, I immediately scan the room for Shawn, our favorite bartender. He’s also going to college with us but this is where we always come to see him on the weekend. I guess I’d call him a friend, but this is kind of the only place we really interact other than the few times I see him on campus. We went to the same high school but our circles never crossed.

He’s alternating between serving the few regulars and tidying up the behind the bar when we walk in. Dina and I quietly sneak while his back is turned. “Shawn!,” we both shout and he turns with a start. His face slowly melts into a warm smile when he realizes it’s just us.

“Hi ladies,” he says sheepishly. “You both look lovely. How are you holding up Dina?”

“Better,” Dina says with a sigh. “I didn’t need Tess anyway. I’m finding myself a new squeeze tonight, count on it. Can I have the strongest, fruitiest drink you know how to make? Surprise me.”

“Of course, honey,” He takes a red bottle from the shelf then turns to me. “Are you having anything tonight (Y/N)?”

“No sir, I am driving. But thank you anyways.” Shawn nods and continues to make Dina’s drink. She’s such a lightweight, she’s tipsy within minutes. Soon, people start to roll in and situate themselves at the bar, forming a decent crowd. There aren’t a lot of students out tonight as midterm exams are just around the corner.

“If there’s any way I can help in tonight’s quest for love, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Shawn says before heading off to serve his next patron.

A few hours go by and I’m watching the room carefully from the comfort of my bar stool. Dina’s gone off to mingle so Shawn makes conversation with me whenever he can, sometimes even while he’s mixing.

At one point he asks me, “When are you gonna find yourself a “squeeze,’ (Y/N)?”

“I don’t know. I’m not actively searching for anything but I’m sending every offer away either. The thing is I’m not getting any offers.”

“You know it might help to actually go outside more,” he teases me. “That’s where all the people are.

“Don’t come for me, Mendes. I go out. Sometimes.”

He gives me a side eye while topping off another tray of shots. “Going to and from class doesn’t count.”

Some guy suddenly comes up and sits right next to me, despite the abundance of empty stools and single girls at the bar. “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks, I’m driving home tonight,” I say firmly.

He briefly touches my leg. “Come on, one drink won’t hurt.” I tense up.

“Dude, I told you I’m driving. I’m not having a drink.” I search down the line for Shawn. He’s busy with about three other people’s drinks at the moment but briefly makes eye contact.

“Well can I at least get your name?,” he asks. “I feel like I’ve seen you around campus.”

“(Y/N),” I say carefully, as if my name is made of glass.

“Wow, that’s beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he says with a toothy grin. He’s cute I guess, but he’s frat boy cute, and that’s suspicious. They have quite the reputation around here. “What are you doing after this?,” he asks, scooting closer.

He’s not even listening to me. “I just told you I’m driving. Home probably.” Something tells me not to include Dina in this conversation. I then remember to check for her. She’s in a booth, seemingly cozied up with what seems like a nice girl.

“What do I have to do to get you to come home with me?”

Before he can lay another weak-ass line on me, Shawn appears. “Hey man, can I get you anything?,” he asks, quite aggressively.

The guy immediately says no and fades away into the crowd. I turn to Shawn, eyes wide and mouth agape. He raises his eyebrows at me in response.

“Did you see that shit?,” I yell over the noise.

“I did. I was trying to get back over here. Do you want me to have him removed?”

“No, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Shawn purses his lips at me and leans in closer. “I know ‘fine’ is girls’ code word for ‘not fine,’ (Y/N).”

“I mean it this time. He’s not worth the trouble, honest.”

He checks his watch, “Well my break starts now. I think I’ll sit and talk with you. Maybe deflect some more creeps.”

Shawn makes his way around the bar, a tiny carton of peanuts in hand, and sits next to me. He smells great as usual. Like soap and high-end cologne. We somehow end up back on the topic of my love life again. This time I switch it up on him.

“You know you’re always telling me how I need a date. What about you?,” I ask.

“I’m busy here and at school,” he squeaks defensively. “I don’t have the time or social skills to get a girlfriend right now.”

“Maybe in theory. All I’m saying is it shouldn’t be that hard for someone who looks the way you look.”

“Ever think that it’s maybe because I already have my eye on someone?”

“Really?” He nods, but it’s a solemn one. “Why so sad? Have you talked to her?”

He slips another peanut past his lips. “Yeah, but she doesn’t feel that way towards me.” The way he tilts his head allows a few errant curls to fall into his eye.

“Who wouldn’t feel that way about you Shawn? Look at you!” He actually has the audacity to laugh while shaking his head. There’s no doubt he’s a dreamboat with his brains and impossible good looks. All the girls on campus fawn over him.

“By that logic, it makes no sense for you to be single either,” he shoots back. I try to think of something witty to say before he can see me blush but I can’t and just go back to shelling my peanut.

“Exactly! It takes a little more than being hot, doesn’t it?”

“Whatever, Mendes. You always say embarrassing things like that. Whoever this girl is, I say you should just go ahead and shoot your shot.”

“Yeah right. I think I’d rather be shot.” I choke on my peanut.

“I don’t get it. What do you have to lose?”

That familiar grin extends across his face, amused at my lack of understanding. He simply says, “Probably everything.”

Shawn’s break ends and he’s back behind the bar again. I continue to talk to him though after most of the people there reach their legal limit and he has to slow down consumption. We spend most of the night people-watching together.

Just as I thought, that girl Dina was previously curled up with ended up becoming her impromptu date for the night. She meets me at the bar again around 11:20 and introduces her to me. I swear at first glance they seem perfect for each other, unlike when she was with Tess.

“This is Cristina,” she says with a little slur on her speech. “Rhymes with Dina. She also did not consume the alcohols tonight, so she will be driving me home.”

“I was here on an assignment,” said a clearly not drunk Cristina. She held up a tiny sketchbook. “Had to draw a nightclub scenery.” She’s a very gorgeous girl, with a periwinkle colored pixie cut and big brown eyes. Definitely Dina’s type.

“Oh okay, well it’s nice to meet you Cristina,” I say with a shake of her hand. “I think you’ll like Dina. She’s just as charismatic when she’s sober.” I turn back to Dina. “Hey, look at me. Call me when you get home. Okay?” She holds two thumbs up in front of her goofy grin.

I walk them out and say goodnight, reminding Dina to call me for a second time and thanking Cristina again for driving her. I make my way back inside and across the now thinning dance floor and back over to the bar. Shawn’s polishing glasses when I meet his eyes with mine again.

“I think Dina’s taken care of for the night,” I say as I sit back down.

“I never saw that guy leave,” he says. His serious tone catches my attention. “Are you going to be okay getting home?”

“Um,” I look around the bar. Frat boy isn’t anywhere in sight. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Well listen, my shift is over in like ten minutes. Can you wait until then so I can walk you to your car?”

“Sure. Let me just freshen up real quick.”

I make beeline for the women’s restroom and find myself strangely on edge the moment I enter. Empty beer bottles and cans litter the countertop. I take a quick look at myself in the mirror, making a few adjustments to my hair. Then the stall behind me opens up. That guy from earlier steps out, clearly sloshed with the most disgusting smirk on his face. “Thought I’d find you in here sooner or later, beautiful.”

He gets close enough to grab my wrist, definitely bruising it and tries to kiss me. I instantly snatch one of the beer bottles left in here and smash it against the countertop, quickly making a weapon. He lets me go, leaving my wrist red and sore. I’m panting like a wild animal.

Shawn comes barreling in seconds later I assume because he heard the glass breaking. He looks more than stressed. “Are you okay?,” he huffs.

“Never been better,” I say, never taking my eyes off frat boy.

The worry in his eyes swiftly turns to rage when he recognizes the guy from earlier. “Dude, just fucking leave,” says Shawn. “Don’t bother coming back here either.”

The guy slinks past him and out the door. I drop the bottle, feeling my body start to shake all over. My hands grip onto the sink for, desperate for stability. Shawn rushes to my side and wraps his arms around me. I’ve never hugged him before but this better than I imagined it. “I’m definitely taking you home. There’s no way in hell.”

“S-sorry about the mess,” I stammer. My chest feels unbelievably tight and I have to push him back just to breathe. His hands never leave my skin.

“Don’t worry I can get it cleaned up tomorrow on my morning shift. Let’s just get back to the dorms.”

Shawn is quick to get me back to my dorm room. The whole car ride there is short and quiet. Never having been in Shawn’s jeep, I take this chance to learn a little more about him. It’s cluttered, but clean. I can see some clothes is the back seat and a few schoolbooks on the floor. As we get closer to my building I fish my key card out of my pocket. He parks as close as possible to the door and he’s about to open his door before he realizes I still haven’t moved yet.

“You okay?,” he asks. That’s when the tears start to fall and I have to turn away so he can’t see. Then one loud sniffle makes it very obvious that I’m crying.

Shawn reaches over the console, embracing me again. I feel stupid for crying on his white sweater like this. “It’s okay,” he mumbles into my hair. “I wish I’d caught him go in there. I should’ve been paying better attention.”

“No you’re always paying attention. It’s not your fault.” I pull away first, feeling more than embarrassed now. “I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t say that. You protected yourself. Rather impressively, might I add. We can go report him tonight if you want.”

“I don’t even know his name. No, I just want to go to sleep.” I open my door and step out. Shawn follows closely behind as I approach the dormitory entrance. We take a beat, standing out there in the cool evening air. I check the time on my phone and it’s almost curfew. My hands are still shaking. Shawn casts his 6′3″ shadow over me and takes my cold hands into his large warm ones. His thumb traces circles over the bruise that was now forming on my wrist. I slowly started to feel okay again. More than okay actually.

“S’okay, relax. You’re safe now. God, I just-- are you going to be okay staying here tonight? Maybe you should go home.” He knows that my roommates have all gone home this weekend.

“No. My mom will just have questions and I don’t want her to worry or storm the campus tomorrow.”

Shawn’s about to scan his keycard when I stop him again. “Actually, could you stay with me? Just for tonight.”

His eyes widen a little, “You sure?”

I swallow hard. “I feel like he might know where I live.”

We take the elevator up to my floor in comfortable silence. When we reach my room I get a text from Dina.

[ im in love gn ]

I smile and show Shawn. “At least one of us is having a good night,” I murmur then unlock my door.

I head directly towards my room, kicking my shoes off, slipping out of my jacket, and flopping face down on my bed. I hear the soft thud of Shawn’s boots stop at my doorway. “I guess I’ll take the couch. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pillow would you?”

“No,” I say patting the space next to me. “Just come lay right here.”

He moves with reluctance and sits down like the the bed will crumble underneath him. Then he lays down with even more caution, scooting closer until our noses are a only few inches apart. His legs still hang off the bed.

I roll onto my side. “You still smell like peanuts,” I whisper.

“So do you,” he whispers back.

My eyes wander around Shawn’s face this being the first time I’ve actually seen him this close. He has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a boy before. That divot in his right cheek is more prominent in this proximity. I gently brush at it with my thumb.

“Shaving accident when I was little,” his mumbles.

“Of course.”

“Can I tell you something,” he blurts. I pull my hand away from his face. “You remember when I was telling you about that girl I liked?”

“You don’t have to tell me who she is.”

“I do if that girl is you.”

I wait for him to say “nah I’m kidding,” like he always does when he says something sarcastic or even remotely flirty. When he doesn’t, I prop myself up on my elbows. “Are you being serious right now?”

“A hundred percent, being serious right now.”

I’m honestly paralyzed. No one’s ever told me that before and meant it. My mind goes completely blank.

“Don’t just stare at me like that (Y/N),” he says, snapping me out of it. “You gotta say something.”

“What do I even say? I never came to terms with how I feel about you. I-- I gave up on that a long time ago.”

Shawn sits up so we’re at eye level again. Even while laying down, he’s still so much larger than me. I feel small in my own bed. His eyes catch a glint of the moonlight coming in through my window as they wander around my face only to settle on my mouth. “Okay, well, how do you feel right now?”

“Right now?” I allow his lips to steal my attention for a second. “Right now I feel like kissing you.”

“Are you waiting for an invitation?”

“Are you?”

He leans in, beckoning me to come closer. I meet him halfway, touching my nose to his. Shawn’s lips brush onto mine and it feels like an electric current is buzzing through my entire body, melting me from the inside out. I close my eyes just as his warm mouth gently presses into mine. Every inch of my skin heightens in sensitivity making me jump a little when Shawn puts his fingers on my neck. He’s slow and soft at first, but gradually gets hungrier as we go on, moving his hand to my waist to pull me closer until I’m practically on top of him. His thigh breaks the space between mine causing my hips to accidentally buck a little. The smile he makes against my lips lets me know he noticed.

It was like a movie, probably better, and I can feel myself slowly start to lose control. His tongue pushes past my lips and massages the threshold of my mouth tentatively. I dig my nails into the fabric of his shirt on his sides. This must do something to make him moan and that sound alone nearly pushes me over the edge. I pull away, hot and panicked. My arms are so numb I struggle to even sit up at first.

“A-are you okay,” Shawn asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, everything’s fine.” I cover my face. “I just felt a little out of control.”

Shawn inhales sharply and runs his hand through his hair then settles it on the back of his neck. “Should I go?”

“No! I mean no, I’m okay. Maybe we should stop this though, just for now.”

He bites his lip again but something feels different about watching him do it this time as opposed to the many other times I’ve seen him bite his lip. Maybe it’s how unkempt his hair looks now. I nibble at the inside of my cheek to bring myself back down to Earth.

“Well you asked me to keep you company for tonight. I still intend on doing that if you want me to.”

I do want him to stay, but not just for the original reasons anymore. We lay back down on my bed again, comfortably uncomfortable in this new atmosphere between us. The expression on his face is so tranquil. He looks younger in this light. I can feel blood rushing to my cheeks the longer I look at him. I switch my attention to my duvet. Shawn’s arms reach out to pull me into his chest, engulfing me in muscles and the scent of high-end cologne. I’ve never slept so soundly before.

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction

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lets-talk-appella · 7 years ago

Note

33 Bechloe OTP Drabble challenge quote list ( don’t do that again you scared the shit out of me)

Thanks for the prompt! Here is the finished fic that I previewed a few days ago, and I’m excited to finally share it will you guys.

Black Sabbath

Summary: Motorcycle Beca. Need I say more? (as in, Beca riding a motorcycle, not some weird cyborg stuff where Beca’s half-human-half-motorcycle. Though that might be cool too, I guess.)

Timeline: Set during Beca’s junior year.

Word Count: 4.8k

Rated T

AO3 and FFN

Chloe canremember with borderline-alarming clarity each and every single time she’d had tohold herself back from pinning Beca Mitchell to the nearest wall and smashingtheir lips together. She’s always surfing at least a small wave of attraction,of course; when Beca looks like that,it’s hard not to be attracted to her. But sometimes, Beca says or doessomething to send Chloe into overdrive, to make her mind empty and her bodyscream for Beca’s touch.

Somethingthat isn’t possible when Beca’s in a relationship with Jesse.

However,Beca’s unavailability doesn’t change the fact that sometimes, she doessomething that makes Chloe want to jump her right then and there. For example:

1. Theinstant “No Diggity” fell from Beca’s lips at her first-ever riff-off (thesheer bravery that must have taken astounds Chloe).

2. WhenBeca’s eyes met hers over the mashup of Justthe Way You Are and Just a Dream(Beca made the Bellas – made Chloe – better).

3. Thetime she and Beca had gotten a flat tire on their way to get groceries, andwithout missing a beat, Beca had hopped out of the car to change it (Chloeremembers the way her arm muscles had popped out as she’d turned the lugwrench).

4. Everyinteraction Beca had ever had with a dog (she might pretend to be grumpy, butthat girl is a total softie).

5. Andnow, when Beca roars into the driveway of the Bella house, a jet-black HarleyDavidson motorcycle cradled between her legs (yes, really).

Sure, therider has a helmet on. But Chloe can tell it’s Beca by the chocolate hairpoking from under it and the petite frame wrapped under the leather jacket.

Beca hasmost definitely pulled up to the Bella house astride a motorcycle.

Chloe’sjaw literally drops, so quickly that it pops. All she can do is stare out theliving room window in stunned disbelief, her Tolstoy book completely forgottenin her hands. She hadn’t even known Beca has a motorcycle license.

Apparently,even after two and a half years into their friendship, Chloe still doesn’t knoweverything about Beca.

The throatyroar of the Harley’s engine cuts off, but not before it draws the attention ofFlo, Stacie, and Cynthia-Rose, who had been having lunch in the kitchen. Stacieflies over to the window so eagerly that for a second, Chloe thinks she’s aboutto smash right through the glass. Cynthia-Rose and Flo manage to restrainthemselves slightly more, but they’re still right on Stacie’s heels.

Partingthe already open blinds for a better view of Beca, Stacie emits a low whistle,then practically moans, “That’s so hot.”

Nodding inagreement, Cynthia-Rose draws out, “Dammmnnn. It’s a shame I’m taken.”Absentmindedly, she raises a hand and bites down on her own index finger as Flocranes her neck for a look at Beca on the bike.

Chloe seesall of this in her periphery; she hasn’t been able to tear her eyes away fromBeca.

And if shethought that Beca riding the Harley was hot, the image of Beca disembarkingfrom it is positively sinful. Time slows and Chloe’s vision tunnels until she,Beca, and that black motorcycle are the only things in the world; she stareswith blatant desire as Beca shifts her weight to her right foot, which is plantedfirmly on the ground, and lifts her left leg to swing it smoothly (and slowly,so unbelievably slowly) up and over the seat of the bike. Because Beca is sucha small person and the Harley is so huge, the move should look ridiculous… butinstead, it makes Chloe’s mouth go dry and grip tighten on her book.

Standingbeside the Harley, Beca reclaims her hands from the handlebars and moves them casuallyto the straps of her helmet. Chloe watches closely as her strong fingers workat the buckle, tugging the strap and pulling it through the restraint. A visionof those same fingers working at Chloe’s belt buckle – or at other leatherrestraints – hits Chloe hard and her breath hitches at the wildly inappropriate(but no less welcome) thought. And when Beca finally pulls off the helmet toreveal porcelain skin, stormy eyes, and long hair (time is moving so slowlythat Chloe can count every strand as Beca shakes her hair out) Chloe stopsbreathing completely.

But Beca’snot done yet. She sets her helmet down on the seat, then grasps the collar ofher leather jacket with her right hand while the left eases the zipper down,down her body. Even though Chloe is sitting inside, perched on the very edge ofher chair (how did that happen?), knuckles white on her book and lower lipsnared between her teeth, she can hear every snick snick snick thezipper makes as Beca drags it down with agonizing purpose. Chloe’s eyes trackBeca’s movements until the jacket is completely unzipped, and then her gazeshifts to the low cut of the T-shirt Beca’s wearing. Beca shrugs free of thejacket with a roll of her shoulders, then places it next to the helmet on themotorcycle seat.

Chloeknows she should feel bad about objectifying her best friend. But in thatmoment, Beca is so unbelievably sexy that it makes heat shoot between her legsand drags a soft, “Oh, fuck,” fromher lips.

“You wish,”Flo’s snort shatters the illusion and life resumes its normal speed. Chloelooks up at her, flustered, warmth rising from her neck to her face, and knowsshe’d been caught staring. Ogling.

She’sspared from having to answer Flo’s smug look by the opening of the front door.Chloe hastily rises from her chair, trying (unsuccessfully) to make herselflook less hot and bothered. She stands awkwardly half-hidden behind the otherthree Bellas facing the entryway, but nevertheless feels her face light on firewhen Beca turns the corner to see them all watching her.

There’s abeat of silence, during which Beca smirks at her audience. She looks pastStacie, Cynthia-Rose, and Flo to make direct eye contact with Chloe before askingin a low tone, “Can I give you a ride?”

The breath flies from Chloe’s lungs in an audiblesqueak, causing Stacie to turn to her in delight. After an embarrassingly longpause during which Chloe’s brain cells struggle to rearrange themselves, shemanages to gasp out, “Give… what?”

Becaraises an eyebrow. Chloe doesn’t blame her.

“You know.On my motorcycle. Would you – any of you – like a ride?”

“Oh,”Chloe says softly, hoping that a hole will open in the floor below her feet.Anything to avoid the gleeful looks Flo, Cynthia-Rose, and Stacie are currentlyexchanging at her expense.

Becashifts her weight, looking thoughtful. “You know what,” she starts, “maybe nevermind. I only have the one helmet, and I don’t feel like scraping any of you offthe road if something happens, so… I’ll order another one and we’ll talk then.”

That doesit. Beca’s protective streak is what sends Chloe flying over the edge intoinsanity. The urge to run to Beca, to tear off that shirt, to feel Beca’s skinunder her fingers, to shove her tongue in Beca’s mouth rips through Chloe; herfingers twitch and she shifts her weight to move forward when –

“When didyou get your license?”

Cynthia-Rose’svoice jerks Chloe back to painful reality – the one where there are otherpeople in the room and Beca is in a committed heterosexual relationship.

“Meh. Awhile ago,” Beca answers with a shrug, though her eyes never leave Chloe’sface. White hot panic floods Chloe – if Beca guessed what she’d been thinking….

Before Chloecan start hyperventilating, though, Stacie snares Beca’s attention by saying ina sultry tone, “I’d definitely like a ride, Beca. I’m assuming I’d have to wrapmy arms around you and hang on tight? Maybe press myself nice and close?”

For aninstant, Chloe hates Stacie. Some kind of roaring monster rises in her chest,urging her to lash out, to do anything to keep Stacie’s hands away from Beca’sbody, to claim Beca as hers – eventhough Beca isn’t hers – but then she sees the smallest of smiles lifting thecorners of Stacie’s lips. She realizes it’s only a joke, meant to fluster Becaa little, because that’s what Stacie loves to do. The monster in Chloe’s chest goesdormant as suddenly as it had awoken, though leaving her shaken. She knowsshe’s a jealous person, but still. That was a lot.

Beca on amotorcycle clearly does things to her.

It doesn’thelp at all when Beca, instead of blushing or choking over her words, merely bitesher lip and leans casually against the door frame leading into the living room.

“You’dhave to hold on tight for sure,” she says with quiet confidence, “not everyonecan handle that much power between their legs.”

And shewinks directly at Chloe before turning to go up the stairs to her room.

The otherBellas laugh and make “ooooh” noises,so they don’t notice Chloe as she wobbles her way back to her chair on shakylegs. She takes several deep breaths to calm herself, actually shaking her headside to side in an attempt to clear it. She has reading to do. Even if she’splanning on failing one more time, she does actually want to learn thematerial.

She forcesherself to look back down at the book in her hands. Instead of Tolstoy’s words,however, all she sees is the arch of Beca’s neck as she shakes her hair freeand the cool satisfaction in her eyes as she looks at Chloe like she’s the onlygirl in the world.

Chloeshifts uncomfortably in her chair.

Studyingwill have to wait.

By somemiracle, Chloe manages to keep Beca’s motorcycle off her mind often enough overthe next few weeks that she can function like a normal human being, rather thanacting like a horny teenage boy drawn in by all that leather and horsepower.Every now and then, though, Beca revs the Harley unexpectedly or says someoffhand comment about weaving around traffic that makes Chloe’s face warm andheart race.

She’s alittle annoyed with herself over the whole thing, but she can’t help it; Becaon a motorcycle is hot.

True toher word, Beca had taken each of the Bellas in turns out on the back of theHarley once a second helmet had arrived. She experienced varying levels ofsuccess with this; Stacie had loved every second, while both Cynthia-Rose andAmy absolutely despised it – Amy had even forced Beca to let her off and had walkedherself home rather than staying on the “deafening death contraption.” Jessicaand Ashley had been relatively indifferent, though Jessica knew a surprisingamount about motorcycles in general – as it turns out, her dad is a mechanic.Flo had enjoyed the experience, but said she preferred the safety of cars, andas for Lilly… well, Chloe was never sure exactly what happened there, but upontheir return to the Bella house, Beca had made it very clear that Lilly wouldnot be allowed on her Harley ever again.

And Chloewould give anything to say that she loved the Harley, and to an extent, it’strue; she adores the speed, the feeling of the wind pressing against her, andthe freedom riding the motorcycle brings. More than that, she welcomes havingthe excuse to wrap her arms around Beca’s waist and told on tight to the warm,solid presence seated in front of her. Beyond all else, though, she loveshearing Beca’s laugh before the wind whips it away; she can’t remember the lasttime she’s heard Beca laugh like that.

However,she can’t get over how dangerous thewhole thing seems. Even though she knows Beca won’t let anything bad happen(she’s an excellent driver), she worries about tipping over or hittingsomething and losing control or – and this is the most terrifying – getting hitby someone else in a car or truck. She feels too exposed on the motorcycle, andwhile that is part of the fun, the fear of fiery death takes precedent.

Nevertheless,she’s been on that motorcycle behind Beca more than any of the other Bellashave.

And yet,at the moment, Chloe isn’t thinking about how ridiculously breathtaking Becalooks riding the Harley or how scary the whole thing can be; instead, she’sfocused on absorbing as much of Dr.Zhivago as she can before her test next week. Sure, she’s planning onfailing the test anyway (Beca has another year left, and so, Chloe does too),but it’s still a really good book.

She’s juststarted the next chapter when her phone rings. It’s only by chance that sheeven hears it; normally, she sets her phone to “Do Not Disturb” while she doeshomework, but she’d obviously forgotten. Instead, the sound of Beca’s latestmix – a mash-up of Taylor Swift’s I KnewYou Were Trouble and Bad Blood –permeates the air and shatters her concentration. She glances at her phone tosee an unknown number. She almost ignores it, but something tells her to answer.

“Hello?”

A beat,then, “Is this Chloe Beale?”

Shefrowns, not recognizing the woman’s voice. “Yes, who’s asking?”

“This isBarden Central Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for a BecaMitchell. Does this sound correct?”

Chloe’sstomach jolts as if she’s been punched; the air rushes from her lungs and for amoment she can’t even think.

“MissBeale?” the voice prompts. “Do you know Beca Mitchell?”

Chloesnaps out of her shock, blinking against the dots that appeared in her vision.Clutching her phone tightly, she chokes out, “Y-yes. What – is she okay?”

“She’sbeen involved in an accident.”

Gratefulshe’s already sitting on her bed, Chloe feels her legs go numb, as if the previouspang to her stomach has traveled to her limbs. No. Not Beca. Not Beca on hermotorcycle, so open and exposed.

“MissBeale? Are you there?”

Chloedimly registers that the woman’s talking to her, but it’s as though she’slooking down on herself from above. She sees the phone in her grasp, takes inthe stunned and fearful expression on her own face, but all she can hear is ahigh-pitched ringing, like she’d recently attended a loud concert.

“What?”Chloe finally asks, pulling herself back into her own body with a tremendouseffort.

“I said,you may wish to come to Barden Central.” The voice sounds so calm. Chloe is farfrom calm.

“Is Becaokay?” she hears herself ask again.

It’s the onlyquestion in the world that matters.

“I’mafraid I can’t release confidential information on the phone.”

Chloe suddenlydespises the woman’s casual tone, as if she doesn’t care that Chloe’s terrifiedout of her mind. As if she doesn’t care that Beca could be seriously hurt, oreven…. All Chloe can see is Beca’s motorcycle torn to shreds, its rider tossedaside and shattered like a China doll.

Beca, notcoming back home to her.

“Oh, but –I’ll be there soon.” She hangs up abruptly. Arguing with the woman aboutconfidentiality won’t fix Beca.

For asecond, she’s frozen on her bed. She thinks she might be sick and looks arounddimly for her trash can. But then she realizes – she’s wasting time! Beca needsher, Beca might be in pain, Beca might be dying.

She has toget to Beca. Her nausea vanishes.

Chloebolts off the bed, her legs almost giving out as she sends her homework flying.She’s shouting for the Bellas before she even leaves her room. She doesn’t slowdown, just keeps yelling for the others. When the confused faces of Ashley andJessica – apparently the only other Bellas currently in the house – appear, shedoesn’t explain, only barks, “It’s Beca – we need to go now!” at them. Without pause, she launches herself down the stairsand to the front door, barely remembering to grab shoes, her keys, and her purse.

“Wait!”Ashley catches her arm in a surprisingly strong grip, dragging her to a halt asshe’s halfway out the door.

Chloealmost shoves Ashley away for slowing her down, but manages to control herself.She stares at Ashley wild-eyed, wondering what could possibly be more importantthan getting to the hospital. Getting to Beca.

“Where arewe going?” Ashley asks, quick and to the point.

Oh. Thatis an important detail.

“Hospital,”Chloe manages, fear rising in her throat at the single word.

Surprisedconcern flashes across both Ashley and Jessica’s features, but they schooltheir features quickly.

“I’lldrive,” Jessica says firmly, reaching for the keys. “Let’s go.”

Even inChloe’s haste (she practically throws herself out the door and into thepassenger seat of her own car), she finds herself appreciating Ashley andJessica more than ever.

The driveto the hospital is hazy and confused, tainted with terror. Chloe’s gratefulthat Jessica’s driving; if she’d been the one behind the wheel, she’d probablyhave caused another accident. They’re somehow driving simultaneously too fastand not fast enough; Chloe dreads getting to the hospital, dreads the news shemight be about to receive, but also can’t bear the thought of not being withBeca.

All toosoon (and not soon enough), Jessica’s pulling into the guest lot. It’s full,though, and finding parking will be impossible. Chloe only has to make eyecontact with Jessica before Jessica says, “Go! Get out and I’ll meet youinside!”

Chloedoesn’t have to be told twice. She fumbles for her seatbelt release, then thedoor handle, shoves the door away from her, and spills out of the car, almostfalling again before she catches herself. Ashley climbs out from the backseatto walk with her, her face grimly determined.

Theyhalf-jog into the hospital’s main entrance, Chloe nearly plowing over anelderly woman in her rush. Firing an apology over her shoulder, Chloeapproaches the reception desk where a woman (maybe the one on the phone?) typesaway at her computer.

“Hello,”Chloe says breathlessly, desperate to get the woman’s attention.

“Onemoment,” the woman says without taking her eyes away from the screen as shetypes.

Resistingthe urge to launch herself over the desk and commandeer the computer, Chloesettles for tapping her foot rapidly on the floor to dispel some of her nervousenergy. Ashley reaches forward to touch her on the arm, but even that is onlyso soothing.

God, she hateshow hospitals smell.

Chloestares hard at the woman’s face, silently daring her to meet her gaze. It’s notuntil she feels she could have bored a hole into the woman’s forehead with theintensity of her stare that the woman finally looks up at her with milddisinterest.

“Yes?” sheasks calmly. It’s definitely the woman from the phone.

“We’rehere for Beca Mitchell,” Chloe says in a rush, surprised she can speak aroundthe lump in the back of her throat. “I got a call about her.”

“Hmm.Mitchell… Mitchell…” the woman’s eyes return to the screen. She types, clickssomething, scrolls, then clicks again. Pause. Another scroll. Another click.Pause. Scroll. The woman raises the hand not currently scrolling to scratch hernose.

Chloe’seye twitches.

“We are abit worried about her,” Ashley nudges much more gently than Chloe would have.

“Hmm,” thewoman replies.

“Okay, listen,you –” Chloe starts to explode until the woman levels her with a serious look.

“MissMitchell is currently in room 412, awaiting doctor assessment. She was involvedin a collision with a pickup truck and is –”

Chloedoesn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence; she’s waited long enough to seeBeca. She turns away from the desk, Beca’s room number echoing around the wallsof her mind. She doesn’t wait for Ashley, but goes ahead and slams her hand onthe elevator call button. Thanfully, the doors slide open immediately and shesteps inside, assuming that Ashley will meet up with Jessica and go uptogether.

As the elevatordoors close behind her, Chloe blinks back tears. She can’t cry yet, becausethat seems like giving up on Beca. A motorcycle versus a pickup truck. Itdoesn’t take a genius to figure out the winner in that scenario. Her handsclench into fists as her panic starts to boil. Not Beca, anyone but Beca, please.

Theelevator drags itself up to the fourth floor, then opens with a deceptivelypleasant ding. Chloe’s eyes zero inon the room directory; 412 is to the left. She turns that way and starts to walk.Time does that strange liquid thing again, until the walls are quivering aroundher. She wonders if she might pass out, then thinks idly that at least she’salready at a medical center. Let it be meinstead, let me trade places with her, just not Beca.

She passes410 on the right, then 411 on the left, which means – yes, there’s 412. Thedoor is open a crack. Chloe sees her own hand reach for the door, knocking oncebefore easing it open to slip inside the white-walled room. She’s terrified ofwhat might be inside that room. Beca BecaBeca Beca –

“Finally,Jesus Christ, how long do I have towait before –” Beca cuts off her tirade the instant her eyes meet Chloe’s.Chloe blinks in shock and jerks to a stop, rooted to the floor. Beca is sittingup on the edge of the bed, dressed in a gown but not connected to the machinesnext to the bed. She’s got a dark bruise on her right arm, but otherwise seemsperfectly fine.

“Uh,”Chloe says. She’d been expecting to see Beca’s broken body lying in a coma andhooked to dozens of different wires. This is not the case.

There’s abeat of awkward silence, then Beca grimaces. “I guess they called you, huh?”

Chloe’smind catches up with her and relief floods her body. She walks forward untilshe’s right next to Beca, then pulls her into a crushing hug. “Don’t ever dothat again! You scared the shit out of me!” she says fiercely into Beca’sshoulder even as she inhales her familiar perfume.

“Chlo, I’mtotally fine,” Beca insists, and Chloe can almost hear her rolling her eyes, but Beca still returns the hug withequal force.

Chloe pullsaway after a moment, blinking rapidly. “Why the hell did they call me and tell me to come here, then?” she asks,equal parts angry and relieved.

Beca shrugsapologetically. “I don’t know, maybe they have to call an emergency contact inan accident? The doctor has to come in and see if I have a concussion oranything.”

“You meanyou haven’t even been checked over?” Chloe asks incredulously.

“Nah.You’re faster than the actual doctor,” Beca adds with a grin. “Didn’t they tellyou that at the desk? What did you think was happening?”

Ashley’svoice suddenly comes from behind her: “Yeah, she didn’t exactly give them achance to tell her anything.” Chloe glances back to see Ashley and Jessica hadjoined them in the room. Ashley continues, “She heard the room number and cameflying up here like a bat out of hell before the receptionist could explain.”

“Probablyran over a kid on the way, too,” Jessica adds, looking immensely amused. Chloefeels her face warm and she looks at her feet, only then noticing that in herhaste, she had put two different shoes on. Awesome.

“Chlo?”Beca’s unexpectedly soft voice makes her look up. “I’m sorry you were worried.I’m okay, though, seriously.”

“Well,what did you expect me to think?” Chloe asks, feeling foolish and defensive. “Ijust got a call from the hospital saying that you were in an accident, so ofcourse I –”

“Thank youfor coming so quickly,” Beca interrupts. “It really means a lot.” Something inher expression, some sort of tenderness mixed with something that Chloe can’tquite identify relaxes Chloe immediately. She hears a soft click behind her;Ashley and Jessica left the room to wait outside and shut the door behind them.

“I’m just soglad you’re okay,” Chloe whispers into the space between them, her fingersghosting over the bruise on Beca’s arm.

Becasmiles at her gently. “I’m okay,” she repeats. “It was the other guy’s fault.He pulled out in front of me and I ran right into the side of his truck bed,”she winces, rolls out her right shoulder, then continues. “I fell, and I’mokay, but Black Sabbath went flying off in a different direction and anothercar ran her over. She’s very much not okay.”

Chloeraises an eyebrow. “Black Sabbath?” she asks. “Her?”

Beca’scheeks tinge pink, but she meets Chloe’s stare and says proudly, “That’s what Inamed her. Yes, her.”

Chloesmiles, then frowns. “So… she can’t be fixed.”

Beca pullsanother face. “No, it didn’t look like it.”

“I’msorry.”

“It’sokay, actually,” Beca dismisses, waving a hand. “I’m not sure… well, it wasmore of a, uh, mid-college crisis. I mean, I loved it, but… I don’t need a newone for a while.”

Chloetries valiantly to hide her own disappointment; she wishes suddenly she’d takena photo of Beca on that motorcycle. You know, for the memories.

Becainterrupts the momentary fantasy when she asks tentatively, “Um, did you tellmy dad? Or Jesse?”

Chloe’sstomach pangs with guilt; she’d honestly forgotten all about Dr. Mitchell andJesse. “No…” Chloe shakes her head slowly, “should I have?”

“No!” Becaexclaims, so vehemently that Chloe’s startled. Beca rubs a hand over the backof her neck, then says, “I mean, sorry, it’s just. They don’t need to know. Dadwould freak out, and Jesse… well. He never really saw the point of it. TheHarley. And, well. We’ve been fighting a lot and, uh.” She shrugs again,looking immensely awkward and uncertain.

“Bec, Ihad no idea,” Chloe says once she finds her voice. She hopes she manages tokeep her petty satisfaction at bay – she knows something about Beca that Jessenever will. “Are you two… are you okay?”

Becashrugs almost indifferently. She refuses to meet Chloe’s eyes. Undeterred,Chloe reaches to envelop one of Beca’s hands in hers and squeezes gently.

Becaexhales slowly, tracing her thumb over the back of Chloe’s hand, before sheglances up and whispers so quietly that Chloe has to lean in to hear her, “It’s…Chlo… I think I might be –”

“HelloBeca!” a loud female voice startles them both, and Beca yanks her hand awayfrom Chloe’s as if she’d been stung. Though they hadn’t heard a knock or thedoor open, they both turn to see a woman looking at Beca expectantly. Shesmiles and says, “I’m Dr. Lorenz, and I’ll be checking up on you before we canrelease you today, okay?”

“Oh, uh,yeah,” Beca manages, clearly flustered and looking anywhere except at Chloe.

Chloelooks back and forth between Beca and Dr. Lorenz until it occurs to her thatshe should wait outside to give Beca some privacy. She glances to Beca one lasttime, trying to search her face for whatever it was she’d been about to say,but Beca isn’t looking at her. Instead, she stares down at her lap, chewing onher lower lip.

Chloeswallows hard and says, “I’ll… just wait outside?”

Becadoesn’t look up. Dr. Lorenz merely smiles at her tiredly. Utterly perplexed,Chloe leaves the room to join Ashley and Jessica out in the hallway. She closesthe door behind her and sinks down into a chair next to Ashley.

“How isshe?” Jessica asks from Ashley’s other side.

“She’sgood,” Chloe replies vaguely, her thoughts running circles in her mind. In thepast hour, she’d gone from rushing to what she thought might be a dying Beca tohaving a normal conversation with her to now wondering if Beca’s about to breakthings off with Jesse.

She needstime to think.

Chloeknows then that she won’t be getting anything else done for the rest of theday. Her mind is too preoccupied with Beca and her now-questionable future withJesse to concentrate on anything else.

That’sokay, though. It’s not like she needs to study Russian Lit anyway; not when theopportunity she’s been waiting for might finally be within her grasp.

#bechloe #bechloe prompt #my writing #beca x chloe #pitch perfect fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #jesse swanson #motorcycle fic because why not #Anonymous

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