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mgnifiqueyoo · 2 months ago

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Book: "Vessel." Pairing: Oh Junseok (ATBO) x Reader 1.12 - "ΠΑΡΕΞΗΓΩ." Word Count: 2,430

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───── ❝ misunderstand. ❞ ─────

The class today was quite silent as we were told to read and rewrite an excerpt from a movie script, teaching us how to convey better emotion through writing.

Well, it turns out that Mr. Juyeon didn't finish reading the film reviews we passed yesterday so he decided that it'd be better for us to just experiment with the ways we write.

It wasn't that easy to change and rearrange words within a story, especially because it wasn't mine to begin with.

I scribbled ideas down half of the page of my notebook, the other one reserved for the actual rewrite. I couldn't really find the right words for the scene I was rewriting and to be honest, I was kind of stuck.

“Pssst!” I heard someone call from behind as I turned around, seeing a completely different person who seemed to be approaching… me.

Huh?

Who is this again?

“... Yeah?” I didn't know how to respond to him, my eyes later panning to Junseok first before moving on to Seunghwan.

They both seemed to be busy with the activity too. “You're Y/N, right? Seunghwan's friend?” The stranger asked politely, which made me space out for a bit, thinking of whoever he was. Maybe I've already seen him around this class but I never really caught up with his name.

Letting go of my pen, I turned to face him, shifting my shoulders almost completely so I could take a better look at his face.

The boy had bright eyes, and a cleft chin, and his hair was in the shade of bronze as if he was somehow part of some monarchy. “And you are?” I asked back, which made him let out a small gasp, probably remembering that he hadn't even introduced his name yet.

“Bin!” he said with a faint voice, lending me his arm. “First name, Bin. Last name, Won.”

I smiled back at him, taking his hand in mine as I shook it. “Anyways, I wanted to ask you for a tip… Just a small tip,” Bin explained, raising his hand not too high for a bit as his fingers made a pinching gesture in the air.

Hmm, I wonder what he'll ask me about. This was the first time I talked to someone in my class.

“What would you say to someone you loved in the past?” He proceeded to ask me the question as I sat there, staying silent for a while. Well, I did have a boyfriend two years ago but I couldn't say I loved him. But if the “love” he's talking about doesn't have to be defined by romantic love, I think I've got something to say.

“I'd say that I'm sorry for not loving that certain someone enough.”

Bin's lips carefully curled into a smile, later jotting it down in his own notebook as he gave me a thumbs-up. “Thanks!” He then gave me an excited nod, soon focusing on the activity.

Well, that was quick. Shouldn't I be unfazed about it? Sometimes, I'm just so distracted with questions like that.

Thanks to Bin's question, I finally ended up finding the right words for my own work as the bell later rang, which alarmed our lecturer, who peacefully checked the rest of the film reviews we submitted.

Oh, and today's also another Friday. The university decided that there shouldn't be a lot of heavy duties whenever the last day of the week came.

Getting up from our seats, we passed all of our work to Mr. Juyeon, later heading our way out of the room as it was time for another break.

Well, not really.

“Hey, Junseok!” Seunghwan's voice was so loud that I knew it was him immediately, causing me to turn around and see the two of them speaking to each other. "Is it okay if we borrow your girlfriend for now?” he continued to ask as I rubbed my thumbs against both sides of my forehead.

He could've told him something else instead.

Was he there to piss Junseok off? I didn't know.

I decided to walk up to them, wanting to drag Seunghwan out of the conversation he started. “Oh, she isn't my girlfriend. How could I date someone like that? She's basically lacking everything,” Junseok responded with a strong, stern tone, which made the other one look a bit offended by what he said.

Yet it wasn't only him who felt like that.

All of us stayed quiet, especially after they noticed that I was already there. I didn't know how I should respond to what he said about me. “Um…” Junseok tried to say something to let the tension die down but it was no use because he couldn't even think of something.

“You know, what? We're leaving now.” I faked a laugh, grabbing the cuff of Seunghwan's sweater as I led him out of the conversation.

Maybe that was just him trying to not seem as if we were close… But we weren't close in the first place, were we?

As I left the hall with Seunghwan, we both thought that it was best for us not to talk about that little encounter. And of course, Hyunjun noticed the sudden silence, considering that the other boy was extroverted and quite jolly for him to be so solemn at the mall.

“Is everything okay with you two?” He asked, holding up two pairs of clothing in both his hands as the two of us nodded at the same time, which was a sign that we were bothered…

Oh, how do we explain this to him?

“Yeah, everything's fine!” Seunghwan and I responded at once, causing the two of us to exchange surprised looks.

“Don't go Tornado Twins at me. What's wrong?” Once he got what was up between us, Hyunjun placed down the clothes he held with both his eyebrows raised in doubt. It was probably frustrating for him since he belonged to a different course.

Also, he doesn't share a lot of classes with me and Seunghwan. “It's just Junseok.” The other boy couldn't hold the truth in anymore as I sighed, not liking the fact that he still told Hyunjun what really was the issue.

Or should I say, who?

Hyunjun tilted his head to the side, still in doubt of what Seunghwan was telling him. “Junseok? Again? You know, Y/N, you should leave that dude to himself!” He suggested, mixed with a bit of sarcasm but I understood why he sounded tired of the issue with that boy.

I mean, how many times did Junseok treat me like garbage?

Apparently, more than once.

“But I can't…” I retaliated, disagreeing with him as Hyunjun chuckled sarcastically, probably finding me ridiculous for thinking that way.

“You can't? That's all in your head. If you keep thinking like that, then nothing will happen,” He replied, still with a stern tone yet calmer this time. He was furious about it and it seemed like this wasn't going to end well for both me and Junseok.

So I'll keep hiding basically. “Also, stop thinking about him for a sec and go find yourself something you like!” Hyunjun later tried to uplift the mood as I smiled at him, appreciating his efforts in quickly changing the topic.

But I still thought of it.

I'll admit it. Those words he said were just as bad as the things he said before.

Then, I felt a weight over my shoulders once more as I lifted my head up to see Seunghwan, who also tried to cheer me up. “Just ignore Junseok. He'll come to his senses,” He said, trying to brush the problem off as I nodded, reminding myself to just not mind what he said about me.

I mean, it's obvious that his intention was a lot more different than anyone could expect.

But if that's what he really thought of me, then maybe I'll try meeting his expectations of the girl he used to be friends with.

“Oh! Pretty!” Seunghwan was suddenly fixated on the jewelry aisle, getting his hands on a delicate necklace in gold that had a tiny, white crystal-like flower placed right in the middle. “How much is this?” He later asked the seller, who stood behind the glass-covered table of the jewelry shop nearby as she couldn’t help but smile at his cheery reactions towards the necklace he held.

“That’d be twelve,” The seller responded, resulting in the boy searching for his wallet in both of his pockets.

When he paid for the necklace, he tore off the price tag straight away as he wore it around his neck, later looking in the small mirror on the top of the desk. “Hey, Y/N, they match, right?” Seunghwan asked me to take a closer look at both his golden compass necklace and his brand new one as I raised both of my hands midway, both of my thumbs going upwards as he giggled, satisfied with what he bought.

Honestly, that compass necklace he owned was still prettier than the new one.

“By the way, where did you get this one?” I asked, curious about the necklace Seunghwan always wore. When my hand reached for it, he raised both of his eyebrows for a moment and later nodded to himself in realization.

“Oh, this? Somebody lost it during a high school field trip. None of my classmates owned it so I kept it instead.” He shrugged as I fiddled with its chain for a while, letting go of it right after.

It was so mesmerizing.

Maybe I should borrow it someday.

Not long after, Hyunjun comes back from the check-out with two paper bags in his hands. “I see, you’re finally proud of what you got,” Seunghwan said with a fake British accent rolling off his tongue, causing the two of us to cackle at his joke.

“Well, Sir, I must not hide these visuals I own from the many people around.” The cloudy boy played along as I shook my head, suppressing myself from laughing way too loud at the mall. “By the way, you should totally take pictures of me tomorrow because I need to post something at least!” He later added, pointing his finger at me as I was a bit surprised to find out that I took good pictures of him.

I still wasn’t that good with other activities since I most likely enjoyed writing… and maybe learning about the weirdest things that exist around the internet in general.

I guess that’s the reason why I couldn’t sleep right on time.

When the three of us made our way to the food court on the third floor, my eyes immediately noticed Junseok’s group of friends at the right side of the room, causing me to turn the other way, leaving the two boys to themselves.

“... Huh? Hey, Y/N!” Seunghwan loudly called my name in the middle of the busy room. I widened my eyes, pausing from my fast pace as I began regretting what I had just done.

Why did he have to yell my name out in front of so many people?

Well, apparently, who’s stupid enough to leave her friends out? Yeah, that’s me.

Turning around, I faced Seunghwan with an awkward smile that was so full of shame. There, we all heard how Junseok’s friends snickered in their seats, whispering things that I couldn’t hear yet it was obvious enough for me to know that they were talking about us again.

But taking a closer look at them, I realized something that was supposed to be not shocking to me anymore.

Junseok wasn’t there with them and that’s because he’s either busy at the realm he used to stay at or he’s doing something else – like beating up a bunch of criminals pretty much.

“Hey, just ignore them,” Seunghwan repeated what he said earlier, walking towards me before linking his arm with mine as he grimaced at the rest of them, scowling at them right after as Hyunjun did the same no matter how easygoing he actually was.

Because of that, we all thought that maybe it would be best for us to just order a take-out rather than eat here alongside those people.

God, it’s not that I hate them but if they weren’t so annoying, I wouldn’t have to care about them.

But of course, Junseok’s privacy has to come first.

Later on, the three of us were finally outside the mall, walking our way back to the university’s dorm when loud sounds of tires scratching the cemented roads pierced my ears, causing me to look around what was happening. “Give me all of that or I’ll fucking shoot!” A man with a black mask growled angrily, pointing a gun toward us as Hyunjun threw the paper bags back at him, backing down.

For a while, I was tempted to do something but I figured that maybe Junseok would arrive soon, which made me stay still instead.

Yet the opposite happened. “Let me go!”, I shouted, trying to escape the man’s grasp around me as the end of the gun was pointed against my head.

“Don’t hurt her!” Seunghwan yelled at the masked man but it was no use, his gloved finger pointing at both of his necklaces. The boy took a pause, knitting his brows intensely as he ran towards the man who had taken me hostage, wrapping his hand around the trunk of the gun, pushing it backward until it was pointing towards the sky, leaving Hyunjun a chance to take me away from the criminal’s arms.

Once I was free from him, I started concentrating in the shadows, trying to manifest a bow and arrow in my hands only to be disrupted by how Seunghwan took down the mugger singlehandedly without putting a lot of effort.

The mugger was on the floor, hands pinned behind his back by the once bubbly boy, who now looked more fueled than ever.

“How did he just do that?” Hyunjun asked, the police sirens from the roads getting louder and nearer to the crime scene as I was fixated on Seunghwan, who put his weight over the thief’s back.

I breathed out, “I… I have no idea.”

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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

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Moments: Chapter 10

Moments masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Rating: Teen and up (rating will change in Epilogue 1, can be skipped)

Summary: Slow-burn fic. Read previous chapters of this fic from masterpost linked above. In this chapter, which is a long one, we are witnessing moments during the two-week engagement. These two are really teasing each other now, so it’s getting a little heated as they test if they can stick to their pact. Also readers parents arrive for the wedding.

Warnings: none really… fluff, fluff. A bit suggestive with some kissing, bed sharing and errr finger sucking.

Word Count: 4.4k (this chapter only, 18.8k total for all chapters to date)

Authors Note: We made it, people! This is the end of the line for the main story. Strangely, a family tragedy spurred me to finally complete this last chapter, having been sitting 80% written for the better part of a month. Please note, there will also be two Epilogues for you to enjoy. The first one, the wedding night, will be explicit but can be skipped (i.e. scant plot, all porn). The second is very short but should not be missed! Thank you as ever to my wonderful beta @makaylan <3 I couldn't have done this without her. I hope you all enjoy this!

Chapter 10: Moments from an engagement

The first person you see upon return to Aubrey Hall is Violet. She takes one look at you walking arm-in-arm and knows. She bustles over, announcing James is napping and embraces you, kissing you on the cheek.

“Y/n, I am so happy,” she chimes, “I'm so glad my son finally admitted to himself, to you, his true feelings. I will never forget how happy he was all those years ago when he met you and how sad he was after. And, well, anyway, this is the best possible outcome. Welcome to the family, my dear.”

“Thank you, Violet,” you respond a little bashful, “I'm so happy,” you admit freely and squeeze Benedict's arm. He smiles down at you as you look up at him. “So happy,” you repeat, holding his gaze.

“I assume we will need to make that announcement to the family after all,” Benedict chuckles.

“Less than a week later,” you laugh, “they will be confused.”

“No, I think it will make more sense than it did a few days ago,” Violet opines. “We all have eyes; we all knew.”

Benedict rolls his eyes. “Point made and point taken, mother.”

She smiles enigmatically and swans away with a wink.

You giggle and kiss his cheek. “See you at dinner, my love.”

“Wait, you are leaving me already?” he pouts, pulling you into a loose embrace.

You run your hands up his arms. “Just to freshen up and get ready for dinner,” you breathe, “now if you hadn't made that other rule, you could have come with me, shared a bath, and gotten changed together. But you and your rules…” you tease with a smirk.

“You little…” he growls, his grip on you tightening, and you know he is picturing everything you just outlined.

“If you think I will give up teasing you now we are getting married, you are sorely mistaken,” you murmur.

He raises an eyebrow and leans in. “No, my love, I think you are the one who is mistaken,” his voice is a deep dusky whisper, lacing your fingers with his and locking your joined hands behind your back. “Do you not remember all the times I teased you? Hmm? I've had six years to think of new ways to drive you to distraction. Can you imagine? Oh, my love, you have no idea what awaits you.”

It's a delicious, loaded, filthy promise, and you are breathing heavily when he is done talking.

“But please…” he concludes, releasing his hold on you, “go enjoy that bath. Alone...”

“You…” your turn to growl at him as he backs away with the most devastating crooked smile. He winks and turns his heel, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

—

You are sitting at your vanity table, washed and freshly dressed for dinner, when James wanders in from his adjoining bedroom in his pyjamas.

“What's wrong, my darling? Why aren't you ready for dinner?” you bring him into a cuddle on your lap.

“Mummy, I don't want to have any dinner. Can I just go to bed?” he whines, snuggling into your shoulder.

“Aww, my precious child,” you indulge him. “Are you not hungry?”

He looks sheepish. “I might have eaten too many biscuits at afternoon tea. Mrs White, the cook, well, she said that I could have as many biscuits as I wanted because I'm so handsome,” he grins.

“So you made yourself all full up on biscuits?” you laugh.

“Maybe…” he looks contrite.

“James Darby, you are a naughty boy,” you say with mock outrage, hugging him closer as you do.

“But you still love me, right mummy?” he argues back, giving you the full hazy blue-eyed puppy dog look—Benedict’s look.

“Yes, I do,” you admit, kissing his forehead. God help me, you add silently in your head, realising you will soon have a house with two of them pulling this trick on you. Dear god, what are you letting yourself in for?

“There's something I want to tell you, James, before I go to dinner and you go to bed,” you sway him slightly in your lap. “What do you think of Benedict moving in with us? Or us moving in with him?”

“Did you ask him like I wanted mummy?” he answered animatedly. “Did he say yes?”

You huff a laugh. “Actually, Benedict asked me if we would move in with him. So you both had the same lovely idea.”

James smiles proudly at that.

“He also,” you hesitate briefly, “he also asked me a very important question, and I said yes.”

“What question, mummy?”

“He asked me to be his wife.” You are so nervous.

“That’s nice,” he says unphased. “Does that mean Benedict is my new daddy?”

“Well, it means he loves you very much and wants us to be a family - the three of us. Officially he will be your step-father,” you obfuscate, “But you can call him whatever you want to call him, James darling,” you explain. “He will never replace your Papa, but he wants to be the best father he can be to you.” Your heart hurts a little at all the half-truths you have to tell him, but more than anything, you want James to believe he is the rightful Viscount.

James pats your hand as he sits in your arms. “I like Benedict very much, mummy; I will call him daddy for now. Can we live in his cottage with all the paints?”

You laugh, “Yes, James. And we can all live at Darby Hall or our little cottage. And you can set up an art studio together.”

He claps his hands together gleefully, “I'm so excited, mummy!”

There is a knock at your door. “Come in,” you call, not bothering to look up, assuming it is likely to be your lady's maid or James’ nanny.

“Benedict!” James calls out, and your head whips up. He is dressed in a beautiful blue ensemble that steals your breath. James wrestles himself out of your arms and runs across the room to him. Benedict instinctually drops to his knees, and they hug.

“Mummy told me we are going to be a family, and I can call you what I want to call you. I want to call you daddy,” James enthuses.

Benedict looks at you, full of emotion, then back to his son. “Yes, it's true we are going to be a family, James. I would be so happy if you want to call me daddy,” he replies, swallowing thickly.

“And we can set up an art studio together at our cottage AND your cottage,” James peals with excitement.

Benedict scoops him up and stands. “We can do whatever you want, James. My son,” he kisses him on the cheek as he says those momentous words. James smiles at him, and then they both look over at you.

“Mummy, come join our hug,” James gestures. And you do.

Being in the joint embrace of your fiancee and your son is the best feeling in the world. It's like your world is suddenly whole. You will need to reapply your eye makeup.

“I came to bring you both to dinner,” Benedict offers by way of explanation, “but I see someone is ready for bed.”

“James doesn't want dinner,” you explain to Benedict, wiping away a tear as you all hug, “but I'm sure he would be delighted if his mummy and daddy put him to bed together before we go for dinner.”

James nods rapidly, and Benedict's eyes soften to the point of being dewy.

“It would be an honour,” he replies, his voice cracking, looking between you.

You walk hand in hand into James’ room, and he climbs happily into his bed as you both take up a place on either side. You pick up a book and read him a fairy tale, taking turns to make funny voices that delight your little boy. As James’ eyes droop, Benedict grabs your hand and stops reading.

Your eyes meet, and he whispers, “Thank you for this.”

“We can do this every night if you want, my love,” your voice thick with emotion.

“I can't wait for the rest of our lives together,” he confesses.

Yes, you definitely need to reapply your eye makeup now.

___

Benedict takes your hand as you descend the main staircase to the dining room and raises it to his lips, kissing the back of it as you approach the door.

“I know my family can be overwhelming, but don't forget they already adore you,” he whispers against your knuckles.

You smile at him. “I adore them too.”

And two hours later, you have had the dinner of your dreams, being warmly welcomed into his loving, spirited family.

“Benedict,” you whisper as you leave the room a little drunk on wine, “can we sleep together tonight?” you plead.

“We have our agreement,” he reminds, sounding somewhat reluctant about it, as a hand sweeps around your back.

“No, I know; I mean actually sleep. Very chaste. Just,” you sigh, “I want to fall asleep in your arms.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace. “That sounds wonderful, my love. Do you promise nothing untoward?” he smiles against your cheek.

“Your honour is safe with me, Mr Bridgerton,” you giggle, “at least for tonight,” you add.

“Then I accept, soon-to-be Mrs Bridgerton,” he chuckles, and your stomach flips at the idea of that being your name in just a few short days.

A few minutes later, you are lying on your bed, fully clothed, your head on his chest, your bodies entwined—just the embers from the fireplace give the room a faint glow. Your eyes droop from the wine and the warmth of his body seeping into yours. You listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear and trace mindless shapes on his forearm with your fingertips.

“I love you so much,” you hear him whisper as you drift off.

“Love you too,” is your slurred reply as sleep claims you.

Waking up in Benedict’s arms is blissful. Somehow during the night, you have ended up as the little spoon in a hug. His embrace is warm and enveloping, a lovely place to be.

It's also not entirely unproblematic. You can feel something hard and insistent against your bum cheek through your joint clothing. The temptation to reach back and squeeze is strong, but he is sleeping so peacefully that you dare not disturb him. Or break your pact. Tempting as it may be to do precisely that.

So you just lay there quietly and daydream about how things used to be when you woke up together and how things will be once you are married. You are in a unique position to know so much about intimacy with someone before marriage. Most people have no idea what they are getting into. You know this man’s body almost as well as your own and thinking about it makes your hips flex on instinct.

A warm hand grabs your hip bone. “Stop that,” he growls, thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“No, you’re not,” he grumbles amicably.

“You’re right,” you flip over to face him, “I’m not,” you smile and crowd your head closer to him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Kissing is acceptable, yes?” you whisper against his skin.

You feel his smile more than you see it.

“Yes, but maybe not whilst lying in bed together,” the hand on your clothed hip squeezes, “it’s entirely far too tempting…,” he breathes, ghosting against your lips.

“Mmmm, then get out of my bed, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, capturing his bottom lip between your own and sucking it gently, enjoying the hitch in his breath and the flex of his fingers.

“You are a menace,” he murmurs when you release his lip, his breath warm against your cheek.

“And so are you. I just said you could leave my bed,” you kiss his lips, “but… here… you… still… are,” you challenge; between each word, you kiss him lightly, holding his face with your hands.

He growls, and suddenly you are pinned under him on the bed. Your senses are alight; hands caged under his against the pillow, his warmth and weight on top of you causing your heart to flutter in your chest and a warm tingle elsewhere. He stares down at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips damp from your kisses, breathing a little ragged, just like your own.

“Mummy….?”

You startle and look aside to see James standing in the now-open doorway to his adjoining room, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Daddy…?” he adds hesitantly upon recognising Benedict.

“James!” You both respond in unison. Jumping away from each other as if burned.

“Good morning, my love,” you add, smoothing down the dress you slept in and rounding the bed to kneel and hug him.

“Why are you and daddy in the same bed?” he asks.

“Remember how I used to share a bed with your papa? Well, your daddy and I will be married soon, so we will share a bed too. Does that make sense?” You try to explain as best you can, feeling Benedict’s eyes on you.

“Yes, but does that mean I can’t sleep in your bed anymore, mummy, like when I am scared?”

“No, no, James,” Benedict interjects and walks over, dropping to his knees next to you. “If you are scared, you can always share a bed with your mummy and me. We will give you hugs and help you sleep, my son, always.” He ruffles James' hair, and James crowds into him, seeking a hug.

“Thank you,” James replies.

“Now, shall we get ready for breakfast? Your mummy has a busy day today, James; that means we can paint together,” Benedict explains.

“Hurrah, I’ll go get dressed,” James chimes happily, extracting himself and running away to his room.

“I do?” You look at Benedict, puzzled, as you both stand up.

“Mother said last night she is taking you into Canterbury for a first fitting with the local modiste there, remember?” He teases.

“That’s today?!” You go wide-eyed.

He chuckles. “Two weeks is not much time to make a wedding dress, especially one that needs to be as special as you,” he adds, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of heat.

You close your eyes briefly and sigh. “I love you, but please get out of my bedroom Mr Bridgerton. You cannot say such things and expect me to keep the terms of our pact,” you finish, staring him down.

His eyes flash something sinful, but he bows respectfully. “Fair enough. I shall take my leave, fair lady.”

He opens and disappears out of your door. Then he swings back in on one arm suddenly, his face smirking. “If it helps, I like you in ivory; it looks so wonderful against your flushed skin when you’re about to come apart in my arms,” he whispers dangerously with a conspiratorial wink.

He has to duck, laughing, to avoid the pillow you lob at him—total menace.

“Oh, that looks wonderful on you, my dear,” Violet assures as you stand on the raised platform at the modiste. You stare at the mirror, nonplussed; all you can see is some raw silk (in ivory, for him) and many pins.

“Violet, you flatter me; this is just a first fitting,” you shake your head affectionately.

“You will make a beautiful bride,” she assures.

“Thank you,” you demure.

“Have you yet written to your parents to inform them of the happy news?”

“Yes, I did. It’s such short notice, but hopefully, they will be able to attend. I’m sure they will be surprised. I think they expected me to stay a widow for life,” you chuckle.

“Did they not know of your history with my son?” She seems curious.

“I was matched from birth to my previous husband; they would not have taken kindly to the news that I was with someone else. On my part, at least, it was a secret—it had to be. Much as I would have preferred it otherwise,” you sigh, smoothing down the front of the silk, suddenly rueful for all the lost time without your true love.

“You loved him then,” it’s not a question as much as a statement:

“I loved Benedict from the moment we met,” you admit quietly. “And I hated my life after. I tried to make the best of the situation, and John was never a bad man. It would have been easier if he were the villain of the piece. He was a good man and a good father. But… he wasn’t my heart.” You shrug.

She reaches over and squeezes your hand. “I knew Benedict was in love from the moment he came home one evening. He just looked so at peace. Like he had met someone who made his future clear. He told me about you not long after. And then, when you had to be married, it broke his heart. He has loved you for as long as you’ve loved him; I can assure you of that, my dear” she draws you into a hug as she sees your misty eyes.

You are grateful she does not mention James in this semi-public setting. And as she pulls away, she gently touches your cheek.

“If your parents cannot make it, I am certain the Viscount would be honoured to walk you down the aisle to marry his little brother,” she says softly.

“Thank you, Violet. It truly will be an honour to join your family, and I cannot wait to be a Bridgerton.” You confess.

“You already are, my dear,” she smiles.

—-

The next ten days are a whirlwind of wedding planning, decisions and appointments, managed mainly by Violet, who seems very happy to lead the charge.

Except at dinner, you barely see your intended or even James, who seems ecstatic to be Benedict’s shadow while you are occupied. Every evening he regales you with stories of their adventures together that day - swimming, hiking, painting, horse riding. And every evening, you wish you had been with them instead.

In the afternoon, three days before your wedding, you finally get some alone time without a wedding-related commitment. James is napping while you take tea on the outdoor terrace, revelling in some quiet time with a book and the sun's warmth.

You hear footsteps up the stairs to your left, and suddenly there he is. Your fiancée. Looking so handsome in a maroon waistcoat and cravat. He seems surprised to see you.

“No wedding commitments this afternoon, my love?” He teases, leaning over and kissing your cheek.

“None,” you smile, “I’m enjoying a quiet moment after days of hubbub.”

“Hmmm I can imagine,” his crooked smile in sympathy causing your stomach to flip as it always does.

You bite your lip, deciding to tease him. “I’m feeling so very… excited to be your wife.”

“Excited, hmm?” He raises an eyebrow and drops to his knee in front of you, the same stance as when he proposed.

“Yes, perhaps you can help me with that,” you whisper, grabbing his hand and using it to gather the layers of your dress in your lap.

“Y/n,” he warns, his voice a low rumble, “we agreed, remember?”

“Benedict, please,” you murmur, “just touch me.” He shakes his head and lowers your dress back down as you pout.

He gently grabs your left hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses the betrothal ring. Then with a sinful smirk, he suddenly envelopes that finger with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, his hot tongue swirling against the jewellery and your flesh. Your breath stutters hard, something hot blooming in your chest.

“Don’t mistake my proposal to be chaste for lack of wanting, darling,” he drawls after sinfully pulling off your finger with a wet pop. “It is, in fact, very much the exact opposite.” His breath is warm over your knuckles as he looks at you through his lashes.

“Are you actively trying to kill me, Mr Bridgerton?” Your voice breathy, leaning your forehead against his.

“Maybe…” his little smile is something dangerous.

There’s a fizzing slide of want down your spine, and you grab his left hand and mimic his actions. Engulfing his ring finger in your mouth, tasting his tangy skin. Sucking insistently and running your tongue into the slightly webbed skin between his fingers, his knuckle trapped against the roof of your mouth. He groans and surges against your leg. You intend to remind him of what you have done to other parts of his body in the past, and the message does not go unnoticed.

“Anything you can do. I can do too,” you challenge with a raised eyebrow keeping his finger there gently with your teeth.

“This is a dangerous game,” he concedes through gritted teeth. “Three days,” he adds, his voice tight, as his finger slips from your lips.

“Indeed, my love,” you wink.

The morning of your wedding feels momentous. As if your whole life has been leading to this day. The day you wished you could have had six years before.

You greet your parents as they arrive from their journey, so pleased to see them. They are so very keen to know more about your seeming whirlwind courtship and surprise engagement and you have a few moments with them before your fiancé joins you.

“Lord and Lady y/l/n,” Benedict greets respectfully as he walks in, “it’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Mr Bridgerton. I trust you will treat my daughter well,” your father stated, shaking his hand firmly.

“Of course, my lord. Y/n and James are the most important people to me in the world.” Benedict replies solemnly, looking over at you.

Your mother nudges you as the men start to talk. “I see why you like him. He reminds me so much of little James. You seemed to have picked a husband to match your handsome little son.” Her comment is offhand with a chuckle, but your stomach lurches. You may have to tell them the truth someday. “But it seems like such a short courtship. Are you certain about him, my dear?”

You decide to tell a partial truth. “I knew Benedict in the past, mother. He was a friend of a friend. He’s a trustworthy gentleman.”

“Oh of that, I have no doubt,” she nods, “the reputation of the Bridgertons as an illustrious family of excellent pedigree is known everywhere, my dear. It’s more about if you are certain this is a good thing. For you? For James?” Her motherly concern is touching.

“Benedict and James adore each other,” you assure her.

As if wanting to prove your point, James comes running in. He makes a beeline to Benedict, who picks him up instinctively and kisses his cheek.

“Hello, son. Look who came to see us for the wedding. It’s your grandparents,” Benedict tells him softly.

James whips around to look at you and your mother, then your father, who has moved to pour himself a brandy.

“Did he just call him son?” Your mother whispers, a smile plastered on her face as she watches Benedict put James back on his feet. “Good lord, now I see them together; the resemblance is far too striking. Daughter, I think we need to have a private discussion, do we not?”

“Not now, mother,” you answer through gritted teeth, refusing to meet her questioning gaze.

James walks over and greets his grandfather, the embodiment of manners.

“My dear boy. My, how you’ve grown since we saw you last,” your father chimes, “come sit with me. Tell me all about your latest interests.”

“I like painting, just like my daddy does,” James announces proudly, taking a seat next to your father.

“I don’t recall the Viscount being a painter,” your father muses out loud.

“Not my papa, my daddy,” James corrects with a little frown.

“James means me,” Benedict admits quietly, taking a seat next to you.

The look of surprise on both your parents' faces is a picture.

“When we announced our engagement, we allowed James to call Benedict whatever he wanted,” you offer by way of explanation, “he chose that.”

There is a moment of silence then your father clears his throat.

“So you are a painter Mr Bridgerton?” Your father begins. “What sort of income does that afford for the provision of a family?”

Benedict looks sheepish and goes to answer, but you cut him off.

“Father,” you admonish, “James and I are more than adequately provided for by the Darby estate. It matters not what Benedict can provide financially. I love him with all my heart, and that is all that matters. All that will ever matter. Even if the Darby fortune is taken from us somehow, know that I will still choose this, him, every time. Always.”

You feel Benedict’s eyes on you, his mouth slightly agape, surprised at your impassioned outburst.

“I love my daddy too,” James pipes up, wriggles off the sofa next to your father, and walks over, climbing into Benedict’s lap. You ruffle James' hair affectionately as he twines his arms around Benedict's neck and lays his head on his shoulder. The three of you truly are a little family, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your father looks utterly bewildered, as if the concept is entirely alien to him; he just nods politely and swigs his brandy. You feel a sudden melancholy at the realisation that your parents never had the privilege of a love match. While they have companionship, their marriage was arranged, much like yours with John. It makes you reach out and grab Benedict’s hand. So grateful for him, for what you have had and will share, the journey you’ve had to experience to finally be together, somehow making it even more rewarding and all the sweeter. As your fingers entangle, you share a look - a moment - that tells you everything you will ever need you will find in or with each other.

And a few hours later, as you stand next to your father looking up the petal-strewn church aisle ahead you see your two boys awaiting you - Benedict and ring bearer James, with smiles on both their beautiful faces - and you know this is the moment you will treasure the most. Forever.

— The End —

Tagging: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @queenofshinigamis @khaleesjjj @starslibrary @magical-spit @honeylovemoon @justwant2read8421 @nikaprincessofkattegat

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titan-fodder · 3 years ago

Text

Deflowered Part Three

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Rating: E (explicit)

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Count: 10.2k

Warnings: attempted coercion, drugs use (weed, mentioned shrooms and coke), trauma talk (death of parents), reader’s backstory, subtle manipulation, rough sex, vulnerability, zeke knowing better

A/N: you can tell i wrote this before i knew how much i hated floch, otherwise he would be the fuckboy, just so everyone is aware. i actually really like ian in the series lmao.

So, you have a crush on Zeke.

It comes as an annoying revelation, but it's the truth, and you know it's the truth because you can't stop thinking about him. He's in your head all the time, the events and short conversations from a week ago replaying like a slideshow.

You know you shouldn't fall, shouldn't let yourself get in too deep since this can only end badly. Because of that, you turn down any offer to hang out at the Jaeger Bros. household. The mere thought of going over there, of seeing Zeke even in passing, makes your stomach ache in an uncomfortable yet satisfying way.

Even without coming in contact with him, though, it's impossible to ignore Zeke, not with the way your phone has been lighting up with his contact every few hours. It's your own fault. He texted you asking how you liked the playlist a few days ago, and you responded, prompting him to ask a few questions, prompting a conversation. One that won't die (not that you truly want it to).

Z🙊, 4:17PM The dude is kind of a dick, but he's a musical genius so whatever Anyway, what are you up to?

You gnaw on your lower lip, thumbs poised over your keyboard as you contemplate how this might go. Your friends, brother included, are at Eren's, but you're not, and you're sure that if Zeke is there, he's noticed.

Honesty is the best policy, and while you don’t tell him you're purposely putting distance between the two of you, you at least tell him what you've chosen over him.

You, 4:19PM homework unfortunately 😖 AP physics was not a good idea.

It really wasn't, and the fact that you're a year older than most of the seniors only adds insult to injury, makes you feel stupid that these concepts aren't clicking, but you'll be damned before you drop to the regular course. The only way to get a decent scholarship is to show off. It's your last option at this point.

Another reason to not get distracted.

Z🙊, 4:22PM Send me a pic

Your eyebrows raise, gut stirring with anticipation.

You, 4:22PM Uh… of what??

Z🙊, 4:23PM Your homework obviously

Letting out a thin breath, you nod to yourself. Obviously. What else could he have been asking for?

You stare at the textbook on your lap, your paper covered in marks from an abused eraser, then move your phone over it to take a picture, editing it to highlight what’s important.

You, 4:25PM Good luck Attachment: 1 image

Z🙊, 4:27PM I’m literally in grad school for the subject. I think I can handle it, babe. One sec

Your belly feels like it’s suddenly full of bugs, and it’s hard to tell if it’s because Zeke just gave you a little taste of his personal life, or if it’s because said little taste solidifies the fact that he’s extremely intelligent. Even with the condescension, you can’t help but feel hot, skin prickling as you wait.

Z🙊, 4:30PM Alright I can call and walk you through it

The thought that you didn’t actually ask for his help runs through your frazzled brain, but it’s quickly followed by the reminder that you’ve been staring at this specific problem for almost an hour.

Zeke figured it out in three minutes.

You text back ‘okay’, take a few deep breaths and flip to a new page in your notebook. When your phone lights up again, however, it’s with a FaceTime call, and your heart is suddenly in your throat. Hearing his voice is one thing, but seeing him on screen is an entirely different matter.

Swearing, you smooth down your hair as best you can, very aware of your bare face and cami-clad torso. You slide your thumb over the call to open it, and there he is.

“Hey,” he nods, gracing you with a half smile.

The week’s progress of not seeing him goes down the drain in a nanosecond.

Shaggy hair is a little messy, falling over his forehead, curling around his ears so that you can barely see the tips of his AirPods. He’s shaved since you last saw him, thick, blond stubble just a shadow of the beard you’re used to. And, he’s shirtless. You can see his bare shoulders and collarbone, know what he looks like further down, and fuck, you’re already blushing.

“Uh, hi.”

His eyes are somehow just as disconcerting through the screen, lit up by it and glowing pale blue. Zeke stares at you for a moment, mouth curving upward more and more until he finally chuckles and shakes his head.

“Okay, so what you’re gonna do—...”

A relieved sigh escapes you, happy to get straight down to business.

Because your problem isn't that you don't want to talk to him; it's that you do want to. To flirt with him. To get to know him. You want it badly. It makes your palms sweat and neck tingle. Makes you bite your lip and shift your hips. It makes you desperate.

But you push it all away, hold your phone with one hand while writing with the other. Your gaze flicks from your paper to the screen, listening closely as Zeke explains the steps, and you’re impressed with how he can break it down into smaller components when this is probably baby stuff to him. Most people hit a certain level of education in a subject and lose their ability to simplify it, too used to more complicated work so they forget the basics.

Zeke is patient, though, pausing and backtracking when you shake your head, asking, “Where did I lose you?” every time and picking up from that point.

He does this for the remaining seven problems you have, and you knock out homework that likely would have taken you all night in about half an hour. Still, you imagine Zeke had to have had more interesting things he could have busied himself with.

When you ask him, though, walking with your phone to the corner of your room where your backpack is, he just makes a non-committal noise and tells you, “Eren is here with his friends, and I’m trying to avoid going downstairs.”

His friends, your friends, they’re all the same, and you get that bubbling sensation in your gut when you think about the fact that all of them are over there, where you could be, but you’re at home, talking with Zeke on the phone.

Nobody knows. It’s something you constantly ruminate on. Whatever this is you have with him, no one else is aware of it. It’s just between the two of you, and that alone adds another thick layer of tension to the current conversation.

“I mean, I know you have a TV in your room—”

“Nothing worth watching.”

“And a giant bookshelf—”

“Not interested.”

You plop back onto your mattress, sticking your feet under the sheets and getting comfortable only to tense when Zeke speaks up again.

“The real question is why you aren’t over here.” Your grip tightens on your phone, and you look away from the screen, tugging your bottom lip into your mouth without an answer for him. “I’ve seen you bring homework over before, so what changed?”

“I just,” you swallow, try to wet your uncomfortably dry mouth before managing out, “I knew I was gonna have a shitty time with this assignment and didn’t really want your brother and Jean screaming at a screen making it even shittier.”

Zeke hums, and when you meet his stare again, you can tell that he has something else he wants to say, probably the same thought you’re having: you could have always just brought it up to his room.

But, you also know the argument to that: you wouldn’t have actually gotten anything done, too busy admiring or kissing or fucking Zeke to care about any amount of schoolwork.

And, he seems to realize this because he snickers and lowers his head, his face hidden for a moment as light hair hangs over his glasses.

When he looks back up, his expression is softer, and he agrees with a short, “That’s fair. They’ve been especially fucking rowdy tonight, so I can’t blame you.”

Good, good.

“Was just worried you were nervous or something.”

Shit.

You hide your cringe but feel your face heat horribly, don’t even know how to respond to that, but thankfully you don’t have to as the front door to the apartment slams, the familiar sounds of Ymir coming home and routinely shedding everything on her person sending a panicked buzz through your system.

“Definitely not nervous,” you breathe, forcing a smile, then tilt your head and tell him, “Hey, my cousin just got home with dinner, so I’m gonna eat, but thank you for helping me tonight.” You can at least sound genuine about this. “I really appreciate it, Zeke.”

He waves a hand as if he were actually right in front of you, casually shrugging, “Anytime. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

The breath you suck in once the call is ended is monumental, your chest expanding more than it has in the last forty-five minutes, and you toss your phone to the foot of the bed and lay against your pillows, blinking up at your ceiling.

You can already smell fried chicken wafting through the apartment, no doubt picked up on Ymir’s drive home, but all it does is nauseate you, your stomach in knots, any sign of appetite completely gone.

This is getting out of hand. It has been since the first night. Your entire being—body, mind, and soul—feels lit on fire, like you need to scream or cry or come (not helpful).

But, there’s also this deadly calm right at your core, a smooth numbness that’s sometimes able to convince you everything will be okay, just ride it out. It’s that energy that you fall into when you’re around Zeke, like it thrives off his charm and wraps you up inside of it.

Zeke isn’t here, though, and you are alone with your thoughts, groan when your phone vibrates because that pit in your stomach only grows.

You could just ignore it. You are “eating dinner” after all. Naturally your curiosity quickly wins out, making you sit up and reach for your phone.

The name you look down at isn’t the one you’re expecting, though. It doesn’t inspire the same fluttery feeling in your stomach (and pussy) which is strange because just a couple weeks ago, you had been in the throes of puppy-like infatuation.

Ian 💞, 5:18PM hey you wanna come over tomorrow? feel like i havent seen you in a long time

Your response is instant: yeah, what time?

Because maybe… Maybe you can ground yourself with this much safer option, this nice, younger college boy who obviously likes you, who you liked a lot but simply forgot about.

It’s cruel, really. Ian deserves a fighting chance.

And, so do you.

Ian lives in the dorms at the college downtown. You get there at around seven in the evening, smile when you see the boy who is

supposed

to be your crush, suddenly reminded why. Tall and thin, Ian is cute with his high cheekbones and boyish smile. He’s still growing into himself, obviously has a few years on the boys you go to school with but lacks that easy confidence Z—

No.

He invites you in, stepping to the side and waiting to close the door. There are two beds in the cramped space, but before you can ask, he tells you, “Roommate’s back home for a few days. Family stuff.”

You nod, glance around to take in the messy desks, the posters on the walls, the pile of clothes sticking out of a half-open closet. It’s all very…

Underwhelming.

It’s an odd experience, knowing that you should be nervous but aren’t. You can almost feel the empty cavity of your abdomen where those butterflies should be, their flapping wings nowhere to be found. Ian probably has plans for today, the two of you alone in his room for however long, and you’ve prepared accordingly because it’s what you’ve wanted all along, right? You wanted to impress him. You wanted to be good for him. That’s why you did what you did in the first place.

Breathing in deeply, you smile, “So, what d’you wanna do?”

Ian scratches the back of his head, shrugs his shoulders. “I was thinking maybe just watch something—catch up on things, you know?”

“Okay.”

You toe off your shoes, follow him when he steps over to his bed after grabbing a console controller from the TV stand. There isn’t much space on the twin mattress, but Ian leans against the wall, making as much room for you as he can. Still, it’s impossible not to be pressed hip to hip, and you already know in what direction you’re headed, how the two of you will end up before the evening is over.

“So, I have Netflix… Hulu…” You watch as he toggles through the options, having no real opinion of your own. “I’ve just been making my way through the Fast and Furious movies—”

“That’s fine. You can choose one of those.”

He does, reaching over you to set his controller on the nightstand on your other side. As he pulls back, you look closely at him, young and fresh-faced, and something in your stomach drops.

“I’m glad you invited me over,” you tell him.

“I’m glad you came.”

He gets a little more comfortable, makes a dramatic show of putting his arm around your shoulders and tugging you closer, and you giggle for him, willing away the tension in your body.

This isn’t new. You and Ian have cuddled before, have shared kisses. You’ve been ‘talking’ for over a month now, though you’re surprised he didn’t just drop you entirely considering your recent radio silence.

You met through mutual friends—Eren knows Petra who knows Rico who knows Ian. A party here, a chance run-in there, and now, here you are.

The movie holds little interest to you, fast cars and too much testosterone for you to be able to appreciate, so you spend about half of it mapping out what your next move should be. Should you make the first one? Would he appreciate you taking the lead? Are you qualified for it?

“Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that… Fuck, so good. You’re being so good for me…”

Heat travels down your spine, spreading to your hips, your center, and yes—yes, you can do this. You have the experience now.

You scoot impossibly closer, rest your head against Ian’s shoulder and hum when he turns to place a chaste kiss at your hairline. Smiling, you try to take him in, his smell, his wiry arm pressed against you, his long hair tickling your cheek. You want to cement it, drive out any thoughts of blond hair and blue eyes, of confident smirks and praises.

Tilting your chin up, you kiss Ian softly, lips turning up as he sighs contentedly. He waits for several seconds before testing the waters with his tongue, but you gladly accept the intrusion, thinking of his mouth and his face, Ian Ian Ian, not Ze—

Both of you shift on the bed, moving further down to lay on your sides. Ian hooks your leg over his hip, not so subtly grinding against your heat as he starts sucking on your neck.

He's a little sloppy but very enthusiastic, teeth and tongue no doubt leaving marks, and that thought has your stomach rolling.

"You just look good bruised."

Taking his face in your hands, you guide Ian back to your mouth, engaging him in a much more heated kiss as you use your leg to draw him closer to you.

His proportions are off—hips too narrow, legs too long. Your fingers get tangled in his hair rather than simply carding through wavy strands, and when he pulls back to look at you, you're almost startled by his dark irises.

You can do this. You can do this. Just stop thinking about him.

"Can I, uh…" Ian bites his lip and glances away as his cheeks darken a shade. "Can I try something?"

Lifting an eyebrow, you play coy, "Try what?" but the way he's slowly inching down your body, pushing you to lay on your back, answers your question.

"You haven't really… done much, have you?" He breathes against your belly, lifting your shirt to mouth over prickling skin.

"I, uh—no."

It's not a complete lie. Your eyes have been opened, but you're still lacking sexual knowledge in terms of quantity, relatively new to this realm.

Ian situates himself between your thighs, pinches the material of your leggings and pulls them down over your hips. He doesn't ask, just bites his lower lip, and admires the parts of you he's never seen before.

Your gut stirs uncomfortably, a lump forming in your throat as anticipation bubbles up from your chest. Anticipation and… something else.

"Just trust me, okay?" He says, lowering to his chest and gripping the meat of your legs to spread them further. "It's gonna feel really good."

Using fingers to open you up for him, Ian makes the first pass over your entrance with his tongue, and you're able to put a name to that other feeling: dread.

Because it feels wrong. It feels forced. He's too gentle, almost experimenting with you rather than going down. You let out little noises here and there, more for his benefit than for yours, shift beneath him and buck when he finally finds your clit.

He's not bad. He isn't hurting you. He's just…

Not Zeke.

You toss an arm over your eyes, arching your back and groaning. Why why why can't you stop thinking about him? Just for one god damn second. You didn't come here to compare; you came here to forget.

"Feel good?" Ian murmurs against your thigh, and you nod.

He can't seem to keep a steady rhythm as he licks into you, too busy trying different things, trying to provoke a reaction, but the only time he elicits a genuine response from you is when he begins to slide a long finger into your hole.

At last, the image in your head swims and dissipates, replaced by blissful nothingness as Ian starts pumping his hand back and forth. He doesn't curl the digits or aim for any particular spot, but the fact that he's inside of you is enough to at least start scratching that itch.

You think about warning him of the mess you're likely to make, no—the mess you absolutely will make with the proper stimulation. Will Ian actually be able to get you there, though? And, if he does, will he mind the squirting?

"Most guys find it hot. I certainly do."

God dammit.

You wriggle your hips, desperate to feel more of Ian, to feel him deeper and thicker. You want to be full again. You want—

"I think—" you pant, dropping your arm but keeping your eyes squeezed shut. "I wanna—I want you to…"

He moves quickly, climbing back over you to kiss you as he wrenches open the drawer to his nightstand and fumbles around in it.

You don't feel nearly as wet as you have been, but it should be fine with lube. That's what you've been led to believe. You'll be fine.

Ian grabs a little bottle and sets it on the side table then stands up to quickly rid himself of his shirt and pants. Sitting up, you tug your own top over your head, vaguely hear the sound of a cap opening, and when your line of sight is clear again, you find Ian spreading lube over his cock.

It's nice—a little thin, but long with a dark red tip. It would more than do the job you want it to, but—

"Uh," you cough, glance up from his dick and prompt, "Condom?"

He stops mid stroke, looking a lot like a deer caught in headlights, then tells you, "I don't use 'em. Doesn't feel as good."

And, for a moment, you just blink at him, taken aback by his honesty but offended that he thinks this would be okay with you.

"Well, I'm not on birth control yet so…"

He places a knee on the bed and leans over you, trying to be smooth as he catches you in a kiss that you quickly pull away from.

"It's okay, babe. I'll pull out, I promise."

Your stomach lurches.

Last time, in the car, it was different. Both of you forgot, too lost in the heat of the moment.

But now, you're of completely sound mind, know that this isn't what you want and have the time and power to say it.

"Ian, I'd really rather you just put on a condom."

You push gently at his chest, making him straighten up, but he still pouts and grumbles, "The layer ruins the sensation. I just wanna—"

Your patience snaps in a flash, "Alright," and you reach over to grab your shirt, tugging it back on.

"Wait, wait—"

"No." Moving around him, you retrieve your leggings and stand, pulling them up hastily and muttering, "You obviously have expectations that I can't meet, so fuck it. I'm not about to get myself into trouble just 'cause you can't stand the thought of being a little less sensitive."

Your heart is thundering in your chest, hands shaking as you dig through your purse for your keys.

You're not being a bitch, right? It's a safety issue! You don't know where he's been just like he doesn't know where you have.

Ian calls your name, struggling with his pants and choking out apologies, but you just wave him off, slipping your feet into your shoes and walking out. You almost feel bad for him. Maybe if you would have just let your request sink in or explained yourself better, he would have understood.

In the end, though, you're pretty sure he just wanted to get his dick wet, probably figured you were too innocent to know better.

Fuck that.

You have to wait ten minutes for your Uber, but the ride back to the apartment is mostly silent save for the radio station your driver chooses when you fail to voice your own preference. Your brain is a battleground of emotions. Pride for making the decision best suited for you, sorrow for likely ruining this almost relationship with Ian, and guilt for thinking about someone else the entire time you were in his dorm. The two of you would have probably been doomed if you managed to go through with fucking him, anyway. Just saved yourself a lot of trouble.

You're relieved when you make it back home, tip your driver generously then ascend the concrete steps to your apartment. You know Marco is out with Jean and figure Ymir has probably invited her friends over since you told her you would also be away for the evening. You didn't give her any details, but… She knows.

You can already hear loud laughter before you even turn your keys in the door—Reiner, you think—and it brings a small smile to your face, only for it to fall when you walk in to find the same group from the restaurant a couple weeks ago.

The Exact. Same. Group.

"Hey!" Galli is standing before anyone else, avoiding all the feet and knees in his path to you, then slinging an arm around you and taking a sip of the beer in his other hand. "Ymir, I thought you said your cousin was out tonight."

On the couch, Ymir cocks her head and squints at you. "She was supposed to be. What gives?" There's a bong in her lap, a tray on the table covered in little piles of ground up weed. Ymir doesn't like smoking around you and Marco, afraid of setting a bad example or something, but you really don't mind.

It's hard to focus on her, however. You're barely even aware of Galli hanging off you, waiting for your answer. All you can focus on are the pale eyes staring at you from the chair in the corner.

You feel nauseous, phantom touches from Ian playing out on your body as you stare at Zeke, and all you can do is grit your teeth and shake your head.

"Just… didn't work out," you finally tell Ymir, shrugging away from Galli and making your way to the back hallway.

Ymir must pass her piece off to someone else because she's up and following you.

"It was a guy, right?" You grimace. "Was he a creep or something? Do I need to kick his ass?"

You snort, turning just as you reach your doorway and grinning at the older girl. "He was just being a college boy, 'Mir."

"So, I do need to kick his ass."

"No."

She doesn't seem convinced. You drawl, "I'm fine. Just gonna shower," then slip into your room, shutting the door behind you and resting your head against it.

Your hands are even less steady now than when you were angry, breaths fast and shallow. You had been confused initially—what the fuck is he doing here—but, in truth, you should have put the pieces together the night Zeke brought you home. He was out with the whole group minus Ymir, for one, then made the comment about his friend living in the same complex.

It was all spelled out for you; you just hadn't taken the time to read.

Zeke can hear the running water from where he's sitting in the den that's far too small for this many people. It's setting his teeth on edge, making his neck stiff and his skin hot.

You're here. Or, really, he's here. This is your home. He had unknowingly walked into your territory, and now he's paying the price—silently plagued by the thought of your life here. What are you really like? What kind of secrets could he glean from your personal space? And, what do you look like in the privacy of your room, your shower—

He knows the answer to that one already—stunning—remembers all too well the way water streamed over your curves, how droplets hung from your eyelashes and pouty lips. Zeke already knows what you look like when wet (in more ways than one), and sitting here in your apartment is bringing every image he committed to memory back to the forefront of his mind.

The way you moved for him, how he made you moan and cry, what you looked like spread open and dripping and what you sounded like panting his name…

Zeke kicks an ankle over his opposite thigh, resituates himself before anyone notices the state he's in which is bothered.

Ymir said you had been with a guy tonight. Zeke had heard it when your cousin followed you into the hallway. It didn't work out, you told her in a stiff voice, but was your tone so short because you were upset, or was it the shock of seeing Zeke in your living room?

He shakes his foot, flexes his hand, pops his neck. Reiner and Galliard are getting loud about something Zeke has been tuning out since before you even got back. Bertl and Annie are on the couch next to Ymir, the three of them passing the bong back and forth and leaning to hand it off to Marcel every so often.

Zeke only indulges every so often, typically prefers mushrooms for the mood boost or coke for the energy. It isn't often he wants to smoke, and he made that apparent coming over tonight, rolling his eyes at Reiner when he had tried to pass him a blunt and flipping him off when he had snickered and jabbed, "Suit yourself, gramps."

Zeke feels like he's constantly surrounded by immaturity. Between his friends group and Eren's, it's no wonder he's been known to get cranky.

That's why you were such a surprise, having always blended in as one of the dumbass kids, but oh, you are so much more. You still have that hopeful twinkle in your eye like most people your age do, but it's slightly dulled—just enough to notice. You've experienced life in a different way from your friends. You're not careless like the others. You have drive, a force pushing you to do better. At everything. You want knowledge and experience.

And, Zeke wants to give it to you.

Maybe he's trying to capture his youth before it slips away from him entirely. Or, maybe he's just a horny guy presented with a beautiful, willing young girl. Either way, Zeke knows that he is infatuated. Whether it's with you or just the idea of you is also still up for debate.

A door down the hallway opens, and Zeke has to make a conscious effort to not to turn and look for you at the sound. No, he stays absolutely still, forces his gaze to Bertholdt who's droning on about law school even though no one but Annie cares. She's more or less in his lap, petting his hair as she listens to him speak lazily. Reiner is on the ground at their feet, arguing with Galliard who's perched on the armrest of the chair his brother is sitting in.

Everything and nothing is going on at the same time, and Zeke doesn't care about any of it. As soon as he catches sight of you sliding into the kitchen, he's on his feet, uttering, "Water," when Ymir looks up at him curiously.

He passes into the conjoined room, stops at the threshold to admire the view of you balancing on your tiptoes as you reach for a bag of chips on top of the refrigerator. You teeter for a moment, the snack just a little too far back, then drop back to the flats of your feet and sigh.

Zeke makes sure he's wearing his best smirk before asking, "Need help?"

You spin, jaw dropping slightly as you stare at him with wide doe eyes. The shocked expression makes his cock twitch in his pants, and Zeke doesn't wait for a response, just walks over and easily grabs the bag you had failed to retrieve.

Thanks,” you breathe, moving to take the chips, but Zeke holds them out behind his back for a moment, grin widening when you pout. “Wha—”

“Actually, how about instead of eating shitty chips, you come get a shitty burger with me,” he suggests, and the way you blink up at him speechless lights him up. “Come on, it sounds like you had a rough night.”

Your eyes narrow into something more confused. “How do you know about my night?”

“Heard you and Ymir talking,” he answers easily, squinting when he catches sight of something right at the collar of your shirt. Chancing a glance over his shoulder to make sure the two of you are still alone, Zeke brushes hair away from your throat, hooks a finger under the material, and pulls to reveal what’s very obviously a hickey.

His chest is suddenly bursting with a possessive heat, and Zeke has to fight to keep from sucking his teeth or scoffing or looking displeased in any capacity because he really has no right to be.

"Couldn't have been that rough, I guess," he mumbles, trying to keep bitterness from lacing his words.

Seeing a mark like this, left in plain view for anyone to find—for Zeke to find—it makes his gums throb, makes him want to sink his teeth into you, cover that mark and leave behind more of his own.

You reach up and gently push his hand away, rubbing at the hickey as your face darkens a shade.

"It wasn't… ideal," you say with a frown.

"Usually isn't," Zeke chuckles. He knows damn well your expectations are skewed because of him, and that thought dulls his jealousy and replaces it with a certain smugness. "Now, seriously, pack a bag. We can grab real food, and then you can hang out with Eren and whoever else he's with."

He watches you nibble on your bottom lip in thought, wants to tug it into his own mouth but keeps his distance as he turns to put the chips back on the fridge.

"It'll be good for you to relax with friends," he continues. "Plus, your cousin will be able to stop worrying about being a bad role model or whatever."

Nodding now, you force a self-conscious smile. "Yeah, you're right."

"Usually am," he smacks, pointing a finger gun at you, and the giggle that spills past your lips makes him smirk again. Responsive little thing.

"Okay, lemme go change into… Not this." You both look down at your oversized t-shirt and little lounge shorts. You had probably resigned yourself to a night spent cooped up in your room when you had gotten out of the shower.

Zeke has better plans, though.

He shoos you along then walks back into the crowded den, grabbing his keys off the coffee table. Everyone is involved in conversation, and Zeke doesn't have the time or patience to wait for a break in all the stoned conspiracies, so he simply walks up behind Ymir on the couch and plants a hand on the crown of her head, tilting it so that she's staring up at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Do you mind, Jaeger?"

"Not even a little bit," he deadpans before informing her, "I'm gonna bring your cousin over to the house to chill with Eren and company. Cool?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, if that's what she wants to do, I don't give a fuck."

Zeke hums, pushes Ymir's head forward, then walks away to post up next to the front door.

You reappear a few minutes later clad in a familiar ensemble—leggings and Zeke's own hoodie. You also have a knit beanie pulled over your wet hair, looking seven shades of adorable when you tug it down to cover your ears as well.

"'Mir, Zeke's taking me to—"

"I know, I know. Don't do anything dumb."

You wave to everyone else in the room then shove your feet into a pair of beat up Vans and nod at Zeke who opens the door and ushers you out. Once it's closed again, he takes your little bag from your shoulder, holding it himself and suppressing a satisfied grin when you stare at him as if he just gave you the moon.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

He helps you into the Bronco, makes sure your legs are tucked in before shutting the door, then walks to the other side.

Even in the crisp air, Zeke can feel that he's warm, buzzing with too much energy that he can't put to good use yet. The last time—the only time—you were in his car was when he brought you home and had you ride him. Only a week has passed, but it feels like far too long since he's been inside you. Zeke has half a mind to suggest another round, but considering what you had to deal with earlier, he doubts you would be receptive to the idea, may have already had your fill for the day.

It leaves a bad taste in Zeke's mouth, one he hopes a burger will get rid of, so he picks a playlist on his phone, the one he made for you, actually, then pulls out of the complex, heading to the nearest fast food joint.

"So, do you wanna talk about it?" He ventures after a few moment's silence, not totally sure if he even wants to, but there is a morbid curiosity in the back of his head that needs to be sated.

You stare ahead, pushing your lips out in a pout as you contemplate. "There's not really a lot to say."

"Was this the guy? Like, the guy?"

The one you wanted to be good for. The one you came to Zeke for. The one who started this.

"Yeah," you exhale, rub a hand over your face, and at first, Zeke thinks the little hiccup you let out is a quiet sob, but when your shoulders start to shake harder, he glances over to find you laughing into your palms.

"That bad, huh?"

"I mean," you snort amusedly. "I don't have much to compare it to, and I think—before it went wrong—he was genuinely trying his best—"

"How'd it go wrong?"

You scoff, probably roll your eyes, and drop your arms to cross over your chest. "College boy thought he was too good for a condom." The annoyance in your voice is cute, as if you hadn't let Zeke fuck you raw a week ago.

"Anyway, I asked him to, he said he didn't wanna be desensitized, so I left."

Zeke clicks his tongue. "What a good girl."

He hears your surprised inhale, sees the way you shift in your seat, and he has to wonder—did you think of him while with this boy? Did his face ever cross your mind? Did you remember his hands on you while someone else touched you.

He thinks he knows the answer, but he also knows better than to ask right now. Maybe later. Just to watch you squirm.

Zeke pulls into a drive-up spot and tells you to get whatever you want, giving you an unimpressed look when you tell him you’ll just have a kid's burger.

"What? I'm not super hungry," you defend yourself.

He waves a hand, not about to tease you for it, and orders the food, tacking on a milkshake for good measure. When it all arrives, you eye the shake with silent interest, and Zeke laughs, unwrapping his burger and taking a bite before grumbling around it, "S'for you, babe." He swallows. "You had a shitty time with a dude. That usually calls for ice cream, right?"

You scrunch your nose, a cute, snarl-like expression that makes Zeke think things, but he keeps them to himself, just relaxes in his seat and chows down.

You slowly begin to take little bites, bobbing your head to the song that's playing until eventually you speak up.

"I don't know why I was so surprised to see you at the apartment. I should've figured it out after that night at the restaurant."

"Just like I probably should've put together the fact that Ymir's your cousin," he adds, and you flash a tiny smile. "Didn't click for some reason."

"How long have you known all of them?"

"Uh, I've been friends with Reiner and Bertl for a few years, met at a metal show and just didn't really part ways," he tells you, remembering that time long ago when he'd almost beat the shit out of the brawny blond for accidentally pulling him into the middle of a mosh pit. Luckily, his taller counterpart was good at smoothing things over (fucking lawyers) and talked Zeke down, bought him a drink, and the rest is history.

He tells you all this and a little more, enjoying having your undivided attention. "They knew Marcel and Pock who were tight with Annie and Ymir. You get the gist."

You make a thoughtful noise and nod, and Zeke figures it's time to ask a question that's been on his mind since he took you home from work: "How long have you and Marco lived with her?"

You're quiet for a few seconds, lowering your half-eaten burger to your lap before asking, "You wanna get into this?" It isn't laced with sass or attitude, a genuine question if Zeke is ready to take on your burden.

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Well, uh, the answer is about two years."

"And, the explanation as to why?"

He watches as you slide your tongue over your front teeth almost as if counting them, eyes cast toward the roof of the car.

"We grew up about twenty minutes away, little nuclear family and all. 'Mir wasn't super close with her parents, especially after coming out, so she was over a lot. Cool older cousin. Marco and I adored her. Still do. But anyway…" You take a deep breath before continuing. "Mom and Dad went out one night when I was seventeen. Ymir was over hanging out. And, then at around one in the morning there was a cop at our door telling us we needed to go to the hospital 'cause they'd been in an accident."

Zeke swears to himself. He had a feeling it was something like this, but he'd hoped against it.

"They both died that morning within, like, fifteen minutes of each other. We thought our aunt and uncle would get custody since they were next of kin or whatever, but Ymir was twenty-three at the time and straight up went to court for us. She told the judge about how her parents kicked her out as a teenager and everything, and since Marco and I were older, they ruled we would all be able to survive together without any real issue."

It's a lot to take in, and there's an odd sort of ache right behind Zeke's sternum that makes him wrap the last quarter of his burger up and stick it back in the paper bag it came in.

You don't seem anywhere close to crying, but your utterly resigned tone is enough to tell him that you probably ran out of tears a long time ago.

"Is that why you're a year late graduating?" He asks.

"Yeah. Marco threw himself into school and sports to cope, but I just kinda… Stopped… Existing? I was still hosting at Garrison's for money, but I started flunking junior year and eventually stopped showing up altogether. Ymir talked to the counselor and administration who pretty much allowed me to take a gap year for extenuating circumstances. Then, I went back last fall."

You're too young to be carrying this kind of baggage, to be this damaged. But, Zeke knows it's what makes you hold yourself the way you do. Yeah, some people are just naturally more mature even as children, and maybe you were one of those, but your parents dying aged you. You may be naïve when it comes to a few things, but hard life experiences will go a long way in educating a person.

Zeke is being genuine when he tells you, "I'm really sorry you had to go through that—" corrects himself, "—are going through that."

"Thanks. I'm just glad I still have my brother and Ymir."

Zeke has to admit he has a newfound respect for the woman he previously thought to be a little obnoxious—crass and callous for seemingly no reason. Turns out there's more to her than a potential drug problem and a "desire for mad pussy".

Your dinner sits forgotten in your lap, but you finally make a move for the milkshake, taking a sip and showing a tiny smile around the straw. Zeke goes out on a limb and slides his right hand over the back of your neck, is able to stroke over the pulse point on the side of your throat with an outstretched thumb, and you shut your eyes, shoulders going slack as you relax into his touch.

"Listen," he pauses before fessing up to some slightly misleading information he fed you at your apartment. "Eren isn't at the house tonight. He's with Mikasa at the weird little blond kid's—"

"Armin," you laugh.

Zeke doesn't really care about his name, though he should have learned it a long time ago. "Moving on. I have no problem dropping you off over there, but…"

"Honestly," you cut him off with a deep breath. "If you don't mind, I'd rather hang out with you. I don't know if I could handle your brother's… volume. Or Meeks' perpetual puppy-dog eyes for him."

The corner of Zeke's mouth twitches upward. "I was so hoping you'd say that."

He puts the Bronco in reverse and pulls out from his spot, a little too happy to be driving both of you to his house instead of just himself. Inside, he throws away the leftovers from your late dinner, tells you to make yourself at home, then goes upstairs to his room to change into a pair of mesh athletic shorts and an old college t-shirt. You seemed to have had the same idea, in similar, comfortable attire, though your bottoms are much shorter. Looking through the collection of movies next to the TV, you don't notice him, and Zeke settles on the couch, content to just watch you for a few minutes.

He's still ruminating on the sad tale you told him in the car, starting to feel a little bad for getting involved with you. In the end, he knows you should be with someone your own age, that he's taking advantage to some extent, but…

The way you look at him, how you regard him with respect he doesn't deserve. It's intoxicating. You probably don't even realize you do it, but it's written all over your pretty face, and Zeke can't get enough of it.

You pull out a title and crouch in front of the TV to turn on his PS4. It gives him a fantastic view of your ass, fabric stretching over it and making Zeke's mouth water. You turn on the console, grab a controller, then straighten back up and figure out the home screen, navigating to the disc drive and selecting it.

When you turn, you look mildly surprised to see him sitting there.

"Don't mind me. Just being a creep," he admits, watches you take on a nervous expression. Knowing what's probably going on in your brain, he adds, "Don't worry. I didn't bring you here to fool around again. Figure you've had enough of that for the day."

You let out a relieved sigh, and he just barely picks up on your thanks before you walk over and plop down next to him.

He easily recognizes the title screen of the movie you've picked—Fellowship of the Ring—feels himself get pulled even further into your orbit and utters, "Good choice."

The movie starts, but only half of Zeke's attention is on it, too aware of you, of your body heat, of your chest rising and falling with every breath you take. He eventually leans on the armrest, spreading out to take up more of the couch with high hopes that you'll follow his lead. Your gaze flicks to him every so often until Zeke scoots into the back cushions and nods to the extra space in front of him. You have a short, internal debate but give in, lying down with your back to his chest.

He waits for another few minutes before allowing himself to drape his arm over your waist, and you don't complain, moving closer to him in a way that makes Zeke hold back a groan.

The floral scent of your shampoo fogs his senses, and he lets his eyes drift to the jut of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. You aren't wearing a bra, and Zeke cringes when he feels himself stirring in his shorts, right up against your ass.

The only hint you show of noticing is a tiny grin, like you're satisfied with his reaction to your body, and he has to chuckle through his nose.

So much for not fucking you tonight.

You're both still for some time, but you get restless and push back against Zeke in a not-so-subtle manner. He's half hard already, lowers his face to your neck and warns you, "Don't start something you can't finish, little girl."

It only encourages you, and you poke your tongue between your teeth playfully and grind against him harder.

Gripping your hip, Zeke grinds right back, cursing the material separating him from your bare skin before realizing he can remedy that problem.

"Fuck it. Get up," he commands, and you're rolling from your place in the blink of an eye, Zeke quickly following and gently pushing you so that you're not between the couch and the coffee table.

As soon as you're both clear of it, he takes you by the shoulder and turns you around, then bends to pick you up by the thighs and toss you over his shoulder.

You let out a surprised squeal followed by a giggle, kicking your feet a little as he makes his way toward the staircase. However, he pauses about halfway, eyes darting to the hallway that leads to the master bedroom—bigger and, more importantly, closer. He doesn't really care that it so happens to be Eren's room, switching his course and carrying you through the open door.

It's about as messy as Zeke predicted it would be, but he doubts either of you will be paying attention to anything other than the bed.

You bounce when he throws you onto it, watch with huge eyes as Zeke strips his shirt off then covers your body with his.

The first kiss already has him panting, a groan rumbling from his throat when you grab a tight fistful of his hair. You open your mouth for him, eager for his tongue, already arching your back and wrapping your legs around his waist, and Zeke has to know—he has to—so he finally asks, "Did you think of me earlier today? When you were with him, did I cross your mind?"

"Too often," you confess in a whisper, and his spine tingles when you go even further to tell him, "I couldn't get you out of my fucking head. He was literally eating me out, and all I could think about was you."

Zeke is very suddenly more jealous than he's possibly ever been, but he's also extremely turned on by the thought. Another man's tongue buried in your pussy, and you just couldn't help but think of him.

He smirks against your lips, teases, "Yeah? You want me again?"

"Yes, so bad."

He licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue, then pulls back. "Wanna feel me in your tight little cunt again?"

You nod furiously, staring up at him with so much desperation, it makes Zeke leak pre into his shorts.

First thing's first, he thinks, tugging on your shirt until you pull it over your head. He immediately locates the hickey on your neck and all but attacks it, biting the bruised flesh until you whine and scratch down his back. He sucks it into his mouth, bringing more blood to the surface of your skin and working at it until he's positive the first mark is completely covered with his own.

"God," you huff. "You said you weren't territorial, and yet…"

"That was before I knew what it felt like to see you marked up by someone else."

You shiver, and Zeke works a hand between the two of you, sliding it into the waistband of your shorts and panties to dip a finger between your folds.

Fuck, you're already so wet. He doesn't think he's ever affected a girl the way he affects you. It makes him absolutely feral.

"Get these off before I tear them off," he growls, tugging your shorts down before you even have a chance to.

You lift your hips to help, and Zeke flings the material somewhere over his shoulder then stands to take his own off. He rids himself of his glasses too, placing them on Eren's cluttered nightstand, then rips open the drawer and searches blindly through the contents until he feels foil against his fingers. Typical teenage boy.

Licking his lips, Zeke tosses the little package so that it lands on your stomach. You pick it up, lifting an eyebrow.

"I want you to roll it on my cock yourself," he tells you. "Consider it practice. And, maybe closure for earlier."

Nodding, you tear into the wrapper with a canine then carefully pull the latex from it. He watches you study it for a couple seconds, then raise to your knees and move toward where Zeke's positioned himself at the side of the bed.

Before you press the condom to his him, you duck forward and wrap your lips around his cockhead, and Zeke fucking leaks into your mouth, coating your tongue with pre-cum and gasping your name.

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill me."

He gives a short thrust, making you drop your jaw and take him deeper. Fisting a hand in your hair, he slides in until he's against the back of your throat, and that praise is out of his mouth before he knows it.

"Good fucking girl."

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and Zeke sees the way you shift your hips, remembers that you're dripping for him, then pulls out.

"Alright, put it on, baby, come on."

You obey, struggling for a bit, but he just watches, admiring the way your hands look so small around his length.

When you finish, Zeke pumps himself a couple times, pushing you to lay back and grabbing an extra pillow. He slides a hand under your back and lifts you without a problem, situating the padding underneath, then gets between your legs.

Eyes hazy, you question, "Lube?" and to prove you don't really need it, Zeke pushes a finger into your pussy, meeting no resistance whatsoever.

"O-oh my god," you stutter, another breath forced from your chest when he slides a second one in and hooks them to press against your g-spot.

"You really think we need lube, sweetheart?"

He massages your walls, able to feel tissue swell under his touch, fluid already pooling around your slit.

"No, no we don't, okay, I want you, please please—"

Zeke removes his hand, wastes absolutely no time as he lines himself up and works his cock into you. Your head falls back. Your eyes roll aimlessly. Your jaw hangs open.

Zeke is in heaven, lost in the way you squeeze him tighter than he's felt you, sweet little cunt so perfect for him. He buries himself inside you knowing he's too big, that you're holding your fucking breath because you're so full of cock, but he can't help himself, doesn't stop until he's up against your god damn cervix.

You're silent, but your body is twitching on the mattress, near convulsing as you try to accommodate him. He should pull back, should serve gentle, shallow thrusts as your walls flutter for him, but he wants to be in your guts, wants you to feel him in your stomach, wants to leave a fucking impression on your insides.

Zeke grins when he notices your face is just a little too dark, realizes you still haven't taken in any air and reaches up to pat your face.

"Come on, baby, breathe. You've gotta breathe."

He pulls back just enough, and you gasp like you've been drowning, eyes finally finding his again but so fuck-drunk, he wonders if you're even really seeing him.

It doesn't matter. He's about to make you so stupid on his cock, you probably won't be able to focus for days.

Looking down, Zeke relishes the sight of his hips almost flush against you, the fact that you're capable of taking all of him, and when he slides out further, he sees that you've already creamed all over him.

"Mm, you must like a little bit of pain, making a mess like this."

He gathers the thick discharge on the pad of his finger, uses it to coat your clit and rubs over it relentlessly.

His hips are moving again, forcing himself into you as he toys with the little bud. You spasm around him and reach a shaky hand down to try to push his away.

"T-too much, Zeke. Can't—Can't—"

"Yeah, you can." He leans down to kiss you, then murmurs—threatens—"I'm not gonna stop until you come."

You whimper, but the way your cunt opens up for him just informs Zeke that the sense of helplessness you're probably feeling is turning you on.

Straightening again, he continues to fuck into you, swiping over your clit quickly, fascinated by the way squirt is starting to dribble from the tiny hole.

He's far past overstimulating you, rough thrusts hitting your g-spot then that back wall. It's pushing you up and down on the bed, making your tits bounce. Zeke pinches one of your nipples then strokes over it with a lighter finger, apparently just what you needed because your eyes open again, revealing the way they're glistening with tears, and the first one falls just as your muscles lock up.

You let out an honest-to-god sob as your orgasm hits you, words thick and hard to understand, but Zeke listens closely and almost comes when he realizes you're pleading for more.

"Don't stop, god, oh my god, can feel you so—so—deep."

Zeke does abandon your clit, but it's to grip your hips and drive into you. He throws his head back, grunts toward the ceiling, and tries to give you all he has.

You pulse around him, swollen and tight, and he knows he won't last much longer, not with the way you're begging for him, not with the way you're quaking for him.

Falling forward on his forearms, he crushes his mouth to yours, gives several long thrusts, then breaks away as he comes so hard his vision whites out. You surge upward, shoving your tongue back between his lips like you're not finished with him.

His pace slows, eventually stopping entirely, but the kiss continues long after, the two of you panting into each other until Zeke comes to terms with the fact that it is not an efficient way to catch his breath.

He pulls out with a regretful groan, and you release a shaky sigh, still twitching.

"You're gonna feel that tomorrow."

"I am—" another breath, "—well aware."

Zeke rolls to the side but keeps a hand on your thigh, rubbing circles on your warm skin.

"I think you might be a little bit of a masochist," he muses.

"Maybe. Or, maybe it was just the headspace I was in."

It's a likely possibility. Between your encounter with College Boy and the depressing conversation in his car, Zeke wouldn't be at all surprised if you were in the mood to be hurt.

"It's something we can explore later," he says, and you agree with a hum.

It takes some time for either of you to start moving, but Zeke reminds you to go to the bathroom, waiting for the door to open again before he joins you inside.

He runs a hot shower like he did that first night, flushes his condom down the toilet despite knowing he really shouldn't, then steps into the large, tiled stall behind you.

Your head is tilted toward the spray, letting it hit you right in the face. As soon as Zeke wraps his arms around you, you fall back against him, legs barely beneath you. He isn't sure if it's because they gave out or because you simply need to be held, but he doesn't mind, keeps you close to his chest.

Afterward, Zeke gathers all his clothes as well as yours then leads you from Eren's room and up to his own. He isn't entirely sure when his brother will be getting home and would hate for him to stumble upon the two of you in his bed.

You're both relatively quiet as you wind down for the night. Zeke turns the lights off but flicks the TV into a music channel. Back in pajamas, you lay close to him in bed, wrapped in his sheets as well as his loose grip.

Just as he's starting to doze off, Zeke is roused by your quiet voice, timid as the night you first ventured into his room.

"We should probably stop hooking up."

His stomach drops a bit, but before immediately arguing, he asks, "Why?"

You grit your teeth hard enough for him to hear, body tense when you admit, "Because I'm… I'm getting too attached."

And, just like that, his spirits lift again.

Burying his nose in your hair, Zeke murmurs into it, "It's alright. 'Cause so am I."

It's not just your body that he can't get enough of, and it's not the constant validation that you shower him with. Those probably have something to do with his feelings, yeah, but there's something else to it.

Zeke really should look past it—push it all down and encourage you to move on. He knows you're not right for each other, knows that this can get messy for you, and knows that there's a good possibility that he'll end up hurting you one way or another.

But, he also knows he's fucking smitten, and well, Zeke's always been the selfish type.

#mels deflowered #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot fanfiction

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 19: Lack of Communication (Wayne Gala)

AO3

The shrill ringing of her phone tugs Marinette from her sewing machine. Glancing at the caller ID, she grins widely.

“Hey Uncle Jagged.” She says, pushing her chair away from her desk. It’d been a couple weeks since she last heard from the man as his tour had really picked up at the end. It was practically back to back concerts, so that didn’t leave a lot of time for phone calls or face times.

“Little Rocker! Glad I caught you. I have an event next week and I was hoping I could drop by the bakery so you could fix a tear in one of my suits.” He says. Marinette winces. That’s what she was supposed to do. Tell Uncle Jagged about...well, everything.

“Yeah, about that…” She trails off, wishing she’d thought to tell him about the whole ‘adopted’ thing the last time she’d seen him in person. “I’m actually not in Paris right now. I’m in Gotham spending the summer with my birth father.” She says, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. There’s silence for a minute. Then two. She looks down at the phone, frowning. Did he hang up?

“You’re in Gotham?” He finally says.

“Yup.” She says, sighing. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to fix your suit.”

“What, no, this is great! See the event is in Gotham! It’s just a bunch of rich people and- hold on. Penny!” He yells. She catches bits and pieces of their conversation, Penny agreeing wholeheartedly with whatever it is Jagged has suddenly decided. “I have a rocking idea.” He adds.

“Okay? I’m listening.” She says, glancing at the new dress she’d started that was pinned on her dress form. She was having trouble with the shape and was quickly getting frustrated with her struggles.

“You could come with! As MDC, of course. You could wear one of your designs and get known in Gotham. The event is supposed to be highly publicized. Penny thinks it’d be a good way to get known in the US. So, whatdya say?” Jagged asks, and Marinette can just tell that he’s grinning widely, can hear it in his voice. She thinks for a minute, glancing at the dress form with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll have to double check with my dad.” She says, trying to think if they had any plans for next week.

“Of course! Let me know soon, okay? Penny says she wants to start publicizing MDC’s appearance if you’re gonna come.” Jagged says. Marinette agrees before hanging up, thinking. Would her dad let her go alone? Or would he insist on coming with? She knew Gotham was dangerous, it’s why she hadn’t gone anywhere by herself despite being a hero herself. She didn’t want to risk her Miraculous falling into the wrong hands, even if the person didn’t realize what they had. Making up her mind, she sets off to find her dad and ask about the event. She still wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that there would be plenty of big names and plenty of journalists- the perfect opportunity to build up a clientele outside of France. Checking his study first, she’s unsurprised to see he’s not there. Knowing chances were good that he was in the cave, she pulls a domino mask out of her purse. Her dad had asked her a couple days ago to wear one in the cave just in case they had unexpected visitors. Kinda like how her and Chat Noir had shown up unexpectedly that one time. Complete accident. Changing the time on the clock, she presses the button that opens the entrance, sliding in and walking through the passage. Glancing into the cave, she grins when she sees her dad, in costume, sitting at the computer.

“Hey B!” She says, knowing not to call him Dad while he was in the cowl. Something about it making him seem less intimidating, or something.

“Ladybird.” He nods. She frowns, glancing at the computer screen and wincing when she sees Superman on screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” She apologizes, waving awkwardly at the man on the screen. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hello. Ladybird, was it?” He asks and she nods.

“Er, yeah. Ladybird. Nice to meet you.” She says, rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes darting around the cave. Maybe she should just leave and ask later.

“Is everything alright?” Her dad asks, obviously confused at her presence in the cave. Not that she wasn’t allowed, she just didn’t spend a lot of time there.

“I was just wondering if I could go to an event next week with my Uncle.” She says, trying to stay vague. He’s silent for a moment before nodding.

“We can discuss details later, but that should be fine.” He says. Marinette grins, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheers, resisting the urge to hug him. “Bye Mr. Superman!” She adds, waving before running back through the passage to work on her dress some more. This was going to be amazing!

---

Penny had picked Marinette up early the morning of the Gala. She still wasn’t sure what it was for, but that didn’t bother her. She was just excited that she had finally finished her newest dress in time for the Gala. Penny had insisted on her coming over early so that she could help Marinette do her hair and makeup, which she was thankful for. Selina apparently had something to do tonight and couldn’t help her, and she would’ve definitely been her first choice. Smiling down at her dress, Marinette looks at Penny with a grin.

“Could you take a picture for me without my face covering so I can show my parents later?” She asks. Penny nods, smiling back.

“That dress is amazing, Marinette. Truly one of your best designs.” She says. Marinette blushes at the compliment before smiling at the camera. She thanks Penny and takes her phone back, sending the picture to her Maman and Papa as well as her dad and Selina. She was extremely proud of the dress and wanted them to see her in it before she added her ‘disguise’ to protect her identity.

“Hey, Aunt Penny?” Marinette says, looking up at the woman. Penny hums, putting on lipstick. “What is the event for? All Jagged said was that it’s a Gala.” She says, Penny huffs.

“Of course that man didn’t give you any other information. Honestly, sometimes- you agreed without knowing what the event was?” She says, eyebrows raised. Marinette shrugs.

“Uncle Jagged said that it’d be fun. I trust him.” She says. Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to read any contracts before you sign them, okay sweetie?” She says. Marinette nods and Penny smiles. “Good. Anyway, it’s a Wayne Gala. The family hosts several every year to help raise money for the Wayne foundation.” Penny says and Marinette freezes. Wayne Gala? As in, her father? Her family? Were they really having a Gala tonight without telling her? Or inviting her? Were they….were they embarrassed by her?

“Like, Bruce Wayne?” Marinette manages to ask, trying hard to ignore the way her heart breaks when Penny nods. That was why Selina couldn’t help her. She had to get ready for the Gala. And if she had to guess, the rest of her family was also going. What would they have done with her if she hadn’t had plans? Would they have told her then? Or would they have acted like nothing was happening. Where even was the Gala? Oh my god. It was at the Manor, wasn’t it. The thought strikes her and she winces, giving Penny a small, tense smile.

“Are you okay?” She asks, obviously concerned. Marinette nods sharply.

“Yes, one last question. Where is it?” She asks. Penny frowns, obviously not believing that Marinette was okay, but luckily not pushing it.

“Wayne Manor. The Galas are the only time the manor is opened to other celebrities. The family is usually very private.” Penny says. Marinette huffs out a puff of air, working hard to ignore the hurt in her chest. The feeling that she wasn’t enough. That they didn’t need her. Suddenly, she wasn’t excited anymore. She really wished she would have asked Jagged for more details last week, because now she was stuck going. And it was going to suck.

---

Feeling confident in her design and disguise, Marinette walks through the wall of journalists with Penny and Jagged at her sides. She was working hard to push down the intrusive thoughts that were threatening to take over. Instead, she tried to focus on the questions being called out by the journalists.

“Jagged! Jagged Stone, is this really MDC?” One of them asks. Jagged immediately stopping and shooting the reporter a wide smile.

“Of course it is! She designed all three of these outfits.” He says, gesturing between the trio. “Isn’t she rocking!”

“MDC, why did you pick the Wayne gala to make your first public appearance?” Another journalist asks. Marinette turns to Penny, trusting her to answer the question. They’d agreed before leaving the car that it was best if Marinette didn’t speak directly to any journalists. It would make it easier for them to place her age and where she’s from, given her accent.

“She was in the area and Mr. Stone insisted his favorite designer needed a chance to flaunt her skills in America.” Penny says, flashing the journalist a wide smile before gently pushing Marinette along down the line of journalists. Marinette nods to the man who’d asked the question before following Jagged and Penny closely, her stomach churning as they walk up the front steps of the manor. Of the place she’d been living since summer started. Where apparently they didn’t care to tell her about one of the biggest family events of the year. No big deal. She thought they were accepting her, that they were all getting closer. But maybe not. Her dad not telling her didn’t hurt nearly as much as her brothers not telling her. That felt like a knife in her chest. Trying hard to move gracefully instead of tensely, she follows Jagged into the manor and into the ballroom. Her jaw clenches as she spots her family across the room.

“Mr. Stone, I’m Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” A man with a notebook and camera says, walking over and extending a hand. Marinette narrows her eyes. She thought the journalists were supposed to stay outside. And this man looked oddly familiar….

“Rocking meeting you man! You a journalist?” He asks, his calculating look hidden by a wide grin. Mr. Kent chuckles.

“Yes, sorry for being so forward. Mr. Wayne and I are friends, so he lets my wife and I have an exclusive pass to come inside the Galas.” He says, glancing at Marinette over his glasses. She watches as his eyes widen slightly before he schools his features back into a neutral expression.

“That’s pretty rock n roll of him!” Jagged says, clapping Mr. Kent on the shoulder.

“It is. Pardon me, but are you MDC?” He asks, turning to look at Marinette once again. She glances at Penny, shaking her head to let her know that she’ll speak for herself for this one. As upset as she was with her dad, he obviously trusted this man. So she would as well.

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kent.” She says, extending her hand. He smiles, shaking her hand.

“And you, ma’am. I must say, I was not expecting to see you here. I was under the impression that in person events weren’t your forte.” He says, clearly fishing for something. She knew how journalists worked, she’d seen Alya at work enough times to understand that the man in front of her was looking for a story. One she wouldn’t be giving, no matter how much her father trusted the man.

“I like to occasionally surprise people.” She says, waving her hand in a noncommittal way. “Keep them on their toes.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’ll let you all get back to your evening. Nice to meet you all.” He says. She nods back at him, not missing the way he immediately darts off to her dad. She watches as the two start talking, a surprised look on her dad’s face before he turns and sees her. She knows he recognizes the dress. Knows that he knows as well who is underneath the veil. She turns, deciding to ignore him. He didn’t want her here, fine. She’d make sure she stayed out of his way.

---

Clark Kent was confused. He’d known that Bruce must have another kid, adopted in some way. He didn’t just work with random vigilantes, especially not in his city. So knowing that Gotham had a new vigilante named Ladybird, he put two and two together. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective. But what was confusing was the fact that no new faces showed up with the Waynes as they walked into the ballroom for the Gala. Making a note to ask him about it later, Clark makes his way around the room, talking to familiar faces and names, writing things down that would help the story he was being forced to write on the Gala. These events were not his favorite to cover, hardly anything ever happened. Until he heard the commotion outside, other journalists calling out to MDC. He blinks in surprise. MDC had never made a public appearance before. This was an odd one to choose. Preparing himself to confront the designer, he’s surprised as she walks in behind Jagged Stone. He’s even more surprised when he realizes she had to be a teenager. He chats with the girl and Jagged, glancing down at her over the top of his glasses, shock immediately flooding him. The girl had injuries. Hundreds of them. Bones fused back together haphazardly. Quickly excusing himself, he rushes over to Bruce.

“Do you know who MDC is? Because that girl is definitely younger than Tim. And she has hundreds of injuries, Bruce. Hundreds.” He says quietly, watching as Bruce turns and glances at the girl, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“What?” Clark asks, trying to figure out if he should also be concerned. Bruce smiles, but it's tense.

“That is my daughter.” He says. Clark blinks.

“That’s the new one? Why didn’t she show up with the rest of the family?” He asks.

“I knew she had plans for tonight, so I didn’t tell her about the Gala. I was going to warn her about it, if she didn’t have plans. So she knew to stay in her room.” Bruce explains. Clark frowns.

“You were going to keep her locked up?” He asks incredulously. Not even the least social Wayne was kept locked away for the Galas.

“Of course not. It’s just- she hasn’t said she wants to be announced yet. She hasn’t even said anything about being MDC because she hates the spotlight. I couldn’t just throw her to the sharks. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.” Bruce says, standing up straighter. Clark sighs.

“Did you actually talk to her about it? Or did you just assume?” He asks, Bruce huffs.

“I think I know my daughter a little more than you do, Kent.” He says.

“Really? Because from here it sounds like she’s about two breaths away from a panic attack. And Penny Rolling keeps reassuring her that they don’t have to stay long. Oh- and now she’s apologizing for not telling her it was a Wayne Gala until today, but she’s also clearly confused as to why it’s upsetting her. And now-”

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce snaps, cutting him off. Clark raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what happened, but you should fix this.” He says with a pointed look before walking away. God knows the Bats all need a push in the right direction every now and again.

---

Jason frowns as he looks around the room for Marinette. He knew that she hadn’t come with the family, B hadn’t explained that one. But he had heard that MDC was there. And he wanted to talk to her, make sure she was doing okay. These things were annoying as hell and he knew he wouldn’t get through it if he didn’t have his brothers (even if they were little shits). He finally spots her near a wall, clearly trying to disappear. He grins widely, walking over and grinning at her.

“Well, MDC, fancy seeing you here.” He teases with a wink. He watches her for some kind of reaction, frowning when he doesn’t get one. “Pix?” He says, softer this time as he looks at his baby sister.

“Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to be here, was I? Well, sorry to disappoint.” She snaps bitterly. Jason flinches back, surprised at her tone.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Why did she sound so hurt? Why did she think they didn’t want her there?

“Clearly I’m not as much of the family as I thought I was.” She hisses under her breath. He starts to deny that, but she cuts him off with a humorless laugh. “Bruce didn’t even tell me that there was a Gala. None of you did either. A Wayne family Gala and I wasn’t told. I should’ve known better.” She says, turning to walk away. He grabs her wrist gently, stopping her.

“I promise you, we want you here. Dick, Damian, Tim, me- we all want you here. I can’t speak for B, I’ll definitely be having words with the son of a bitch later, but we want you here.” He says, frowning as he listens to her sniffle under her veil. “Pixie, we thought you knew. He told us you weren’t ready to come to this. I swear to you, we would have told you if we knew. I swear.” He adds. His heart breaks as he hears a hiccupped sob break free from her. He wants nothing more than to wrap his baby sister in a hug, but he knows he can’t. Media’d have a field day.

“Really?” She asks in a small voice. Jason nods.

“Hell yeah Pix. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get the others and then we’re all gonna sneak out. Take one of the old man’s cars and get some garbage fast food. Who needs this lameass party anyway.” He says, hoping she’ll agree. He’ll let himself be mad at Bruce later. And boy was he gonna be mad. The old man had really fucked up this time. It was one thing to ask Mari to not go to the Gala, or to think she wasn’t ready for it. It was a completely other thing to not even give her the chance to decide, or tell her at all. Cause now she was hurt and thinking everyone hated her. Well, he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Not on his watch.

“Lemme just go tell Jagged and Penny real quick.” She agrees, scurrying off. The second she walks away Jason lets his smile drop into a scowl. That son of a bitch. Storming over to his brothers, he tugs them over to the wall. Better not to let B get word of where they’re going.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian asks with a scowl.

“Pixie’s gonna tell her Aunt and Uncle that she’s leaving and then we’re stealing one of B’s cars to go to McDonalds.” He says simply. Tim frowns.

“And we’re doing this because?” He prompts.

“Because B apparently didn’t tell the kid about the Gala. And she assumed we knew, and that we all hate her.” Jason explains with a frown.

“Father said she didn’t want to attend.” Damian says, and Jason huffs.

“Yeah, well apparently he lied. She had no clue that the event she was going to as MDC was a Wayne Gala.” He says.

“I’ll go get the car and pull it up front.” Dick says, a determined look on his face. Sometimes his ‘we’re a family and we stick together’ shit annoyed the hell outta Jason, but he was thankful for it today.

“I’m gonna go grab Selina’s coat for her to put on. I saw her dress, and if any MDC fan sees her leaving with us it’s gonna start a media circus.” Tim says, walking away to the coat room. Jason sighs, watching Marinette from across the room. A cleared throat beside him tugs his attention back to his youngest brother.

“What?” He asks, pushing his frustration down. He’d go shoot something later, but right now he was determined to not take his frustration at Bruce out on his siblings.

“Why would Father intentionally keep her from the Gala? She is far more adept at social interaction than I am.” Damian says with a frown. Jason sighs, shrugging.

“No clue. But I’m not about to let her push herself away from the rest of us just because B fucked up.” He says, watching as she walks over to the wall, almost disappearing in the shadows. He nods towards her, making sure Damian follows. The second Tim has Selina’s coat, their small group is off, sneaking out one of the side doors and walking past the journalists, sprinting to Dick and the waiting car. They all jump in and she tears the veil off her face, making Jason wince slightly at her red, puffy eyes. Dick slams on the gas, eliciting a curse from Jason and a squeal of surprise from Marinette.

“So! We broke out of that stuffy party. Where are we headed?” Dick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jason. Jason grins.

“We go get a shit ton of junk food from McDonalds and eat it in the car. Give it the old, fast food smell that B loves oh so much.” He says. Marinette snorts, and Jason grins at her. He’d give B hell later, but for now, he was going to enjoy spending time with his siblings.

---

Bruce frowns as he glances around the Gala, not seeing his daughter. Or any of his other children. He made a mental note to talk to them later. Perhaps keeping the Gala from Marinette wasn’t his best decision.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82

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scarletwinterxx · 4 years ago

Text

End to Start pt. 4 - Jaehyun AU

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

taglist: @the-universe-in-you-jjh @undevotedfangirl @dumplingley @halbae @johnjaespeach @notsooperfect

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2020 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

PREV || NEXT

“I never pegged you for a liar”

“You might be a foot taller than me but I won’t hesitate to deck you if you don’t shut up”

“You said you didn’t know him!”

“I never said such thing” you argued back, it was the typical morning for you. And by typical you mean Jungwoo bothering you as you work around the shop. Everyday he makes you wonder why you hired him in the first place.

“Your ex is Jung Jaehyun, the CEO of Jung Publishing. Their company is like established world wide, his sisters work abroad and his youngest brother works here. The world really is small after all”

“You sound like a fan”

“I can’t believe I tease Sungchan like that when his family can buy the whole block”

“Better start saying your apologies then” you mumbled

The bell ringed just then, making the two of you look up. “Speaking of, Sungchan, Jungwoo has something to say to you” You said as the younger boy walk towards the front counter

“Did I do something wrong again? I swear I didn’t mix up the salt and sugar this time”

“This time?” you asked

“No no no, you didn’t do anything wrong” you and Jungwoo spoke at the same time, the taller boy looking between the two of you like a little kid worried he might get scolded over something

“It was one time, and in my defense it was partly Jungwoo hyung’s fault. He put the two side by side”

“I kinda don’t want to know”

“You have something to say to me?” Sungchan asked Jungwoo, you just chuckled at the latter “You know, you’re a liar too”

“Too? What did I lie about exactly?”

“You’re a Jung!”

“He literally said that the day he applied here, technically he didn’t lie about anything. I was just dumb enough not to put two and two together” you answered for the younger boy. The three of you proceeded to work, the two boys in the kitchen area getting some pastries ready for display, you can hear them bickering from back there.

“Uhm noona, can I ask you something?” you were surprised by the sudden voice breaking the silence in your office, there Sungchan stood by the door peaking in

“Sure, come in. What is it?”

“Am I fired?”

“Why? Did you switch the sugar with salt again?” you chuckled, trying to make him feel less nervous

“Uhm I kinda heard what happened yesterday at home. I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping but you know, you guys weren’t exactly quiet”

You just smiled at the boy, he was so much like his siblings yet so different. He definitely got the good looking genes, much like his older brother he also has a weird sense of humor. But one thing that sets them apart is how shy and nervous Sungchan seems to be, like a little puppy being introduced to the world.

“Of course you’re not fired. Whatever happened between me and your brother has got nothing to do with you, I kinda didn’t even know you were siblings up until yesterday”

“I didn’t know you were his ex too” you chuckled at his answer, of course he didn’t. You never met the young boy when you and Jaehyun dated, you’ve met his sisters and his mom but you never got the chance to meet his father and his youngest sibling.

“That was a long time ago, you were probably still in middle school when we dated”

“He moved out of our house during his third year in college, I never expected he will cause mom wanted him to stay home. But one day he kinda just packed his things then he was out the door. Mom was so mad at him”

The two of you broke up the summer before third year of college, you left for Paris a few weeks before school started. You asked the university to let you go and transfer, which they thankfully approved.

Then you were on the next flight out. Not a single goodbye said.

You never heard from Jaehyun after that, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask about him. You had no right to, after what happened. So the story Sungchan told you was new news to you.

“He really liked the cake by the way, when he came to pick me up yesterday he asked if I could buy him another one”

“It is his favorite flavor” you smiled at the memory.

Jaehyun may or may not be the inspiration behind the uniquely flavored cake, when you were making the menu for your cafe you couldn’t help but add that selection. Given that not many people will like it but still you wanted to make it,

“So I’m not fired right?”

“No, I might have to ask Jungwoo about the salt incident though”

“No matter what he say, he was partly at fault”

This was honestly the last place you thought you’ll be at. You must look so silly right now, standing in the lobby of a corporate building in your sundress holding cake boxes while the receptionist stares you down.

“I’m sorry miss but I can’t just let you go up without an appointment”

“Okay uhm can I talk to someone that I give this to and take it upstairs?” you asked, gesturing at the boxes you brought

“Sorry we don’t allow solicitations” she smiled at you, but you know she was pretty annoyed at you.

You were just about to give up when you hear someone call your name,

“Y/N? Is that you?”

“Hi, Jess” you smiled back at her, “You brought a gift?” she asked, nodding at the box

“Yea, one of them is for you actually. It’s kind of late for your birthday but I thought you might like it”

Jessica smiled at you before taking the box and linking one arm around yours, the receptionist long forgotten.

“Let’s go upstairs, come on” then she whisked you away. When you got the elevator, the two of you made small chats. She was talking about how the designers loved the photos you took during the shoot,

“You should do it again sometime”

“It’s just a hobby now, really” you smiled at her suggestion, you did major in photography for the first two years in college but after moving schools, you decided to change majors too. Culinary was still hard to do, but you enjoyed every second if it. It was also a good thing that you were just as good with a camera as you are with a whisk.

“And let me guess, that one is for Jae” Jessica nodded at the box you were holding

You were about to say no but you both know that wasn’t the truth so you just laughed, “You know after you he never really dated anyone seriously. Chunga is a great girl and yet they never worked out. It’s like he already knew it wasn’t going to, no one was like you so why try”

“I don’t think he actually thinks that” you mumbled, “Just accept it, my brother is still very much smitten with you. He’s just trying to act all tough because he doesn’t want to get hurt again” she shot you a smile.

The two of you stepped out the elevator, you just followed Jessica since you’re not really sure where she was going

“I’m sorry” you know saying those words will never suffice but you still say it anyways.

“Don’t say sorry to me, you didn’t do anything wrong to me. And to Jaehyun too, just be gentle with him” she shot you that sisterly smile

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me, can you give this to him though?”

“Why don’t you give it to him yourself?”

“That’s not really a good idea, I don’t want to ruin his day”

“Believe me, you’ll be the best part of his day” she said as she open the door to her office you assume. She gestured for you to come in first, so you did.

When you turned around you almost lost your grip on the box you were holding,

“Okay, can’t say I walked right into that one” you mumbled, hearing a chuckle from Jessica who was standing behind you

“Enjoy” Jessica says from behind you before closing the door.

Jaehyun almost didn’t go to work today. Yesterdays revelations were too much to take in, of course it didn’t go down without an argument between him and his mother. Plus you were there and you looked like you just wanted to get away from him again, but you stayed rooted at your spot.

The two of you didn’t exchange any words besides an apology you muttered on your way out the door. He really thought that was the last of you he’ll see.

And now you’re here. In his office. He almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming right now because if he’s being honest it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve appeared in his dreams.

“What brings you here?”

“Uh, I’m not sure?”

“You’re not sure?”

“I didn’t think this far ahead”

He can’t help but chuckled at your expression. You were still standing awkwardly by the door, looking around his office.

“You know you can come closer, I don’t bite. Unless-”

“Okay don’t continue that sentence” you said as you walk towards his desk, putting the cake carefully on his table

“What’s this?”

“An apology gift”

“So you’re bribing me now” okay ouch.

He must have noticed the change in your expression because he quickly added, “I didn’t mean it like that”

“No no, it’s fine”

Then it was silent, not the awkward type of silence. You weren’t sure where to look so you just looked down at your feet, you hear a chuckle from Jaehyun

“What?”

“Just yesterday you were close to tears and now you’re here bringing me cake”

You smiled gently at his words, taking a deep breath before speaking again

“It was like a weight lifted off of my shoulder, at least now I don’t have anything to hide from you. There’s no monsters hiding in my closet or something like that. I don’t expect you to forgive me and forget about it. But I do want to fix this, the least I could do is make up for the wrongs that I did”

“Was it wrong?”

“I took your mom’s money, the money that she gave me to break up with you. She pretty much paid me”

“You said it yourself you never touched a cent”

“I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. It wasn’t worth it”

“Wasn’t worth what?” Jaehyun asked, he wasn’t why he did or what answer he wanted to hear from you but he asked anyway

“It wasn’t worth totally losing you. I knew if I used it then that meant I agreed with your mom. I only did what I did not because of the money but because I wanted you to be free from the burden you were feeling. She was never going to let us be if we continued dating, so I just took the money and disappeared”

He didn’t expect you to be this truthful and open about it, but then again you never really lied to him. He knew you like the back of his hand, even after all these years. There was no use to lying if it’s with him, he'll just see right through you.

“You could’ve said goodbye”

“You would’ve known then, you would’ve stopped me from going then we both wouldn’t be where we are now” You answered, this time there were no screams, no anger no sadness.

“Are you happy?” he asked

“Yes, it wasn’t always like this. There were a lot of hard days, now I’m just glad I got through all of that” you answered with a smile, you look over at him to find him already staring at you. “Are you happy, Jaehyun?” you asked him

“I can be”

As he said those words he also held your gaze, looking like he was staring right through you. This wasn’t the Jaehyun you’ve talked to previously, the one that was always angry and throwing words at you. This was just Jaehyun, the Jaehyun you used to know.

But then again he isn’t. He has changed so much in the past five years, as you have. Maybe you two were tossed together by fate at the wrong time, and it ended badly. But here you are now.

You’re not expecting a second shot at love with him, it wasn’t your time then so who call tell it is now? you were willing to gamble again but this time you both were too scared to lose. To hurt to ever risk falling again. Happiness is pretty much what all you want for him.

He deserves to be happy, even if it meant you had to end what you had in order for him to start again.

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

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umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[033] — epilogue!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: this is definitely not my best writing cause my brain was going brr the entire time i was writing this, but i honestly can’t believed i have finished yet another smau! 🥳 ✨if i’m being completely honest this smau took a complete turn to what i was initially planning,, but it ended up not being that bad. i certainly feel like this smau would’ve been a lot better if i didn’t have school preoccupying me 24/7, but i’m still really proud of this. thank you guys for reading and dealing with this messy, messy smau!! ☺️

a year flew by faster than you had hoped. Two weeks turned into a month, a month turned into six, and six months turned into a year. A lot of things can happen within a year. Hell, a shit ton of things can happen within six months, yet here you were, all glammed up in your best dress at the move premiere of love cemetery.

you hadn’t felt this nervous in ages. the quickening of your pulse, the rapidly beating heart, to your pals that perspired as the seconds ticked on by. akaashi stood by you this whole time as your gaze keeps looking over to the guest list as if it were to magically change if you were too look away for one second. akaashi had been by your side, your moral support and the absolute backbone of your sanity the moment you and the team landed in los angeles a year ago. he noticed everything about you. he was one of your best friends, how could he not notice the way you were suddenly quiet and not excited right now?

he laid a careful hand on the small of your back to comfort you, leaning over to the same list of guests you were worrying about. “are you worried about who i invited again?”

“i’m more worried they’re not coming.” you confess without a single beat missed.

“oh, they will,” he assured you confidently. there was even a rising smirk in his expression when he let go of you, “have a little bit of faith in me will you? i was the one who got you back in touch with them.”

you huff playfully, rolling your eyes as you recalled the strange feeling of isolation over six months ago when you landed in la. it was in no doubt the longest flight of your life, lasting a good fifteen hours if you counted the two hour layover in hawaii due to reckless turbulence (it was one of the scariest flights in your life too). you had read their texts then, drowning in the sudden downpour of emotions when you read their words, i love you.

it almost didn’t seem real. you swore it had to have been the fatigue playing games on you as you couldn’t sleep for the life of you on the plane. yeah, maybe that was it, you excused. you were so desperate for their messages to be a figment of your imagination, you literally tried everything—turning your phone on and off, asking sugawara for eye droplets, and even ignored it until you were back on the plane and landed in los angeles. it had to be fake, please be fake. yet, in the back of your head you knew damn well it wasn’t.

there was a plaguing thought within you, one that’s so destructive and degenerative that you hated the fact you thought this way. but it wasn’t like you could help it. insecurity was a troublesome venom that coursed through your veins everyday and there didn’t seem to be an antidote to your own self-destruction.

you loved them both, but you weren’t entirely sure if you had enough love to give for the both of them, let alone one. iwaizumi and bokuto’s feelings confused you to the core. you broke their hearts, yet how could they still love you so dearly?

you didn’t know the answer nor did you have time to even find it.

the film crew stayed in los angeles for two weeks and filmed over the course of that time period. days were filled with twelve hour shoots and a tight film schedule. being the author of the work itself, you were a major part of the production alongside the director. he trusted your vision and you’d often find yourself staying on set the entire day while kaori and the rest of the ddd team felt like they were on vacation. your only free time during that time was the ten minute holy grails in between takes that you were able to check social media.

you simply didn’t have the time to think about them. and yet they were like haunting ghosts that followed you relentlessly. every time you checked twitter or instagram, you would see every post, every tweet, every story. all of which would send your heart spiraling and tugging.

you missed them. but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. you couldn’t possibly strike up conversation with any of them after completely ignoring their calls and texts for weeks. you had to have an odd amount of audacity to do that, and you simply didn’t have the guts to do so. if anything, the only lasting form of communication between you and the boys was the ringing notification that you liked each other’s posts.

it was quite the sad reality.

the film set then transferred to new york city, where the next two weeks would be filled with yet another plethora of twelve hour work days. fortunately for you, the rest of the ddd team were pulling a bit more of their weight, helping you on the creative side of things, yet still having the time to do all the fun touristy things whilst in the city.

you could remember the way your heart lit up seeing iwaizumi and bokuto’s names beneath who saw your story. it was a video of you and your team at the lady liberty statue. in it, kaori and yuko were chomping down on gigantic $2 street hot dogs, sugawara was yelling at semi for getting in the way of his film camera, while akaashi was complaining that the wind kept knocking down his green lady liberty hat.

it was strange thinking how fast things can change. within the first week, you were always up for an adventure in the city when the days were filled with work, but as the week progressed, your social meter decreased more and more.

loneliness hit you then. it was a peculiar type of loneliness, the type that you felt alone despite being surrounded by your closest friends and working on your dream project. you figured you were just homesick the way everyone else was getting all ready for a night out going bar hopping while you sat in the living room of your hotel room in your pajamas.

“are you sure you don’t want to come with us, (y/n)?” kaori asked you, concern washing over her slightly as you flickered her a tired look.

you shook your head, a small smile of gratitude melting upon your lips. “no, you guys go on ahead and have fun.”

your friends could only give you a look. they knew why you were being like this and they knew damn well it wasn’t homesickness. semi specifically threw you a look that’s meant to be teasing and oddly persuasive. “it’s been over a month, this can be a chance for you to finally meet someone new!” he exclaimed optimistically.

what was stopping you, anyway? it was clear nothing was, yet you still held yourself back. homesickness couldn’t possibly be to reason for it either. why are am i being like this?

“it’s okay, i’m with akaashi,” you decline once more, “he’ll keep me company.”

“alright then, join us once you feel like moving on.” says yuko with a hint of venom in her tone. you couldn’t blame her for saying that though as it was the harsh reality of it all.

your friends filed out the door, closing it in a thud and once again you felt alone. isolated as if you were in a void of your own silent thoughts that even the loud murmurs coming from the television wasn’t enough to drown out your shallow inhibitions.

the night continued on like this for a few hours. eating snacks in the dark living room with the remote in your hand, flipping channels every five minutes as your running thoughts couldn’t keep your attention span still. it felt like you were missing something, a part of yourself that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. you thought of all of the possibilities why you felt like there was a void in your heart, yet the only thing you could properly convince yourself on was that you just missed home. but was that really all that you had missed?

you thoughts are interrupted by steps approaching you. akaashi walks into the living room, flicking on the switches and causing you to grimace at the bright lights. your eyes stung slightly as they adjusted from being in the dark for too long.

“where are you going?” you ask akaashi as you noticed his dressed up attire.

“i got done with all the paperwork and emails,” he answers while he fixes the collar of his dress shirt, “i’m deciding to have some fun tonight with the rest of the group. are you still up for it? i’ll wait for you to get ready if you want.”

the thought occurred within you that you should agree. that the possibility of this unexplainable feeling of isolation you were feeling would disappear if you were to just say yes and go. but as self-destructive as you were on yourself, you continued to hold yourself back—hesitant and always second guessing your actions.

you open your mouth slightly, but you ultimately just shook your head no.

akaashi lets out a sigh. he was genuinely hoping you would come around sooner or later. granted, it had been over a month since you guys left japan and he figured you would be over everything by now, but that obviously wasn’t the case. “you might be receiving a call soon... i suggest you should answer it.”

confusion flushed over your expression, giving him a strange look. but before you could even utter a single question to him, akaashi was already up and out the door.

he left you in a wake of curiosity for the rest of the night. it was nearing one in the morning and you still hadn’t yet received a phone call. it honestly sounded incredibly ominous that you grew a tad bit nervous. there were only so many possibilities on who would call, but it would actually infuriate you if akaashi was just joking around. but then again, akaashi isn’t the type to play something childish like that unless it was kaori or semi’s idea. regardless, the thought kept you awake as you eyes practically weighed like cinder blocks at this point.

you couldn’t believe you wait for two hours for a phone call that might not even happ—it shocked you at first, the ringing of your obnoxious ring tone and the buzzing of the vibrations on the table.

furrowing your brows as you reached over, a gasp left you the moment you read the contact name. your slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your shock. your hand shook from the growing bundle of nerves in your gut as you hesitate.

the name ‘kou’ shined brightly against your face, coaxing you to answer as if your thumb wasn’t frozen the accept button. out of all the possibilities on who would be calling you tonight, it just had to be him. it wasn’t like you opposed talking to bokuto. if anything, you had spent countless of sleepless nights wondering if you should finally answer that text of his. yet no matter how many different messages you have typed, none of them ever saw the light of day. a hurricane of stupid conversation starters and ice breakers swarmed in your head, all messy and disorganized that if you didn’t just suck it up and answered, you would’ve probably missed a chance to reconnect with him.

fuck it, you thought as you accepted the call.

“(y/n)!” bokuto called out to you, sending your heart running thousands of miles an hour. it had been ages since you heard your name come out of his mouth, “how’ve you been? a little birdy told me you needed a little company.”

you had to hold yourself back from smiling too much as you could already feel your cheeks ache. you wanted to scoff and perhaps groan at the sudden embarrassment of what akaashi could’ve told him. “bo—” you started, but is immediately cut off.

yet another familiar voice emitted from bokuto’s line, almost as if they were shouting, “you’re supposed to say that i’m here too, idiot!”

the volleyball player chuckles, “oh sorry, iwa-chan! here.” muffles and cups clanking against each other travel through to line to what you assume is bokuto handing his phone over to iwaizumi.

“uh... hi.” his voice sounded deeper than usual.

“hi iwa, how have you been?” you chuckle, finding his sudden shyness absolutely adorable.

“good, good. i’ve uhh... missed you.”

“i do too.”

“yeah, yeah, you miss me most though right?” bokuto’s loud voice thunders through the call.

the juxtaposition of how daftly different they were was something you could never get enough of. perhaps it was at that moment you finally understood your loneliness through their bickering. you were in fact homesick, but the home that you were thinking of wasn’t what you were missing the most. you suppose the home you missed was them. they were your home.

you let out an amused laugh, “right.”

“that’s good because iwaizumi and i should be mad at you for ghosting us for the past month, but we understand since akaashi explained to us already.”

your eyes suddenly widen into saucers, panicking what he could have possibly said. “what did he tell you?”

“everything,” bo sings.

you audibly groan in embarrassment, throwing your head back onto the couch in retaliation. you were glad they couldn’t see how flushed and red your cheeks were right now as they even extended out to the tips of your ears.

“you know it would’ve been easier to say that you love the both of us and didn’t want to choose right?” iwaizumi points out in between your panic.

“exactly!” cuts in bokuto, “besides we don’t sharing you, you know. who knew you were such a prude, (y/n).” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as you couldn’t stop the heat from spreading any further from your face.

now you were really glad they weren’t able to see you at that moment. if they did, you would’ve died from the embarrassment then and there. “give me a break, i was too embarrassed to ask,” you mutter, fearing that they could hear how fast your heart was beating through the call.

“ask what?” iwaizumi teases, “ask if you could date the both of us?”

you were internally screaming at this point. everything that you didn’t think was going to happen, happened all within five minutes and you honestly couldn’t believe it. you were pinching yourself as if you were in a dream, yet no matter how hard you squeezed, this was actually happening. “shut up!” was all you could say.

“even if you did ask... it’s not like we could ever say no to you, (y/n).” says bokuto, his words so enticing that you weren’t sure if you’re heart can handle any more of this.

his words left you absolutely speechless. you honestly didn’t know what to say at this point.

"i’m fine with it and bokuto’s fine with it.” iwaizumi says, “it’s just a matter if you’re willing.”

bokuto then leans forward towards his phone, “so what do you say, (y/n)?”

you swallowed the lump of nerves forming into your throat as the one question you never thought you would ever be asked was right in front of you. and yet you still hesitated despite everything that had just happened. you loved them both, so why weren’t you answering?

a few beats of silence passed before your gained the courage to push out the the very words, “... i’ll think about it.”

“boo! that’s lame!” bokuto shouts.

“i’ll give you guys an answer when i get back home.” you add, hoping to ease the disappointment they were probably feeling at that very moment.

“that won’t be for another few months, though.” iwaizumi deadpans that you could practically see the pout on both of their faces. “but we’ll promise to wait for you, (y/n).”

and so they waited for you to come back home, but you never did. schedules misaligned even when you were finally back home in tokyo. bokuto was getting progressively more busy now that the olympics were coming up and iwaizumi was just as busy, if not busier with the amount of athletes he had to take care of. there was even a constant flying back and forth from tokyo to los angeles for the film, all of which lasted for a few weeks at a time and you swear your couldn’t catch a break.

this went on for months with the only contact between you and the boys were from texting and phone calls that ended up shorter than you anticipated. and now a year had past since you left and this very movie premiere would be the first time you have seen iwaizumi and bokuto for the first time in a year.

this was so ironic how this all played out. you haven’t even realized you already reached the end of the red carpet when an interviewer calls out your name, microphone in hand and a camera pointed directly at your face.

“ms. (y/l/n)!” the woman shouts over the ruckus of snapping photos and other interviewers asking questions to the actors behind you. “there has been rumors going around about your dating life. are you dating msby’s bokuto koutarou or their athletic trainer iwaizumi hajime, who has been getting a lot of attention from stan twitter just recently! could you share some insight on your live life as love cemetery’s creator?”

“um,” you start, not sure how to answer the question as you nervous chuckled, “that’s a secret i’m afraid i can’t tell.”

before the woman could ask you any other questions, you walked away from the carpet and rushed towards the banquet hall. thankfully, akaashi and kaori was nearby and gratefully took your place in the interview without a second thought.

you let out a relieved sigh as much of the noise from the premiere died down as the only people inside the banquet hall were movie critics, the film crew, and other celebrities who were invited. by now, no one in this room would have the audacity to ask you such a personal question which caused weights to fall off your shoulder. you honestly should be used to those types of questions right now as a webtoon author that literally writes romance, but it always catches you off guard when you least expect it. honestly, you were just glad you didn’t slip up.

as a small little reward for yourself, you grab a flute of champagne from the refreshment table, decorated all fancy that you even hesitated to mess up the display. you turn around to face the growing crowd of mingling individuals, talking and laughing amongst each other as you sipped your drink gently. but as you watch you feel a presence on either side of you, both of which sent your heart soaring and a smile to appeared on your cherry colored lips. you didn’t even have to look them up and down to see how handsome they both looked. to think they were all yours.

“so what did you tell that interviewer?” bokuto asks nonchalantly as if he could just get away from a proper greeting. you were surprised he didn’t just engulfed you into his arms then and there.

instead, you opted to play along, “about what?” you tested with a smirk.

“the question about who you’re dating,” iwaizumi adds in from your other side.

you shrug, taking a sip of your champagne, “you guys probably wouldn’t like the answer i gave her.” you could feel the brazen stares bokuto and iwaizumi were giving each other—competitive and oddly provoking.

“she probably said she was dating me,” bokuto hums in response, confidence radiating off him that it caused you to scoff.

“i doubt it,” debates iwaizumi, giving him the same energy. “she probably said she was dating me.”

“actually,” you cut in before the two could possibly start bickering with each other, “i remember specifically saying that i’d thinking about it.”

the boys give you a look, downing their drinks as if they were like the shots they swallowed many nights ago at that bar. it was as if they were trying to win your over again like your feelings had changed since then.

“oh yeah?” bokuto starts, inching closer towards you while iwaizumi rested his arm on the table behind you.

“so what do you think, (y/n)?” says iwaizumi.

they both towered over you, just inches away from your body, but you didn’t cower or back away. if anything there was a playful smirk inevitably resting upon your lips.

now this, was going to be fun.

fun facts! —

sugawara has five rolls of film he had to get developed once they wrapped filming in osaka, each roll is from each city they went to for filming

iwaizumi and bokuto became really close friends when y/n left for la as they bonded over getting ghosted

bc of this,, bokuto posted a pic of him and iwa on his instagram and it got lots of attention that iwa went viral on stan twitter

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogrils @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto scenarios #bokuto imagines #bokuto smau #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi imagines #iwaizumi smau

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pi-cat000 · 3 years ago

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (3)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START / PREV / NEXT

...

There was no latent natural chakra here. The air and environment were dry as a bone, meaning the only chakra he had access to was the stuff produced on his own. Kakashi is not entirely sure what impact this will have on the 1000 or so ninjutsu he has memorised. He suspects it might increase the chakra cost of external and area affecting ninjutsu. Any jutsu that relied on there being natural chakra present in the environment to supplement the user’s own chakra would be harder. So, no large destructive or transformative ninjutsu. No earthquakes or earth walls, no freezing large bodies of water or creating whirlpools, most wind techniques would be out. Fireballs should be okay as they relied primarily on the shinobi’s chakra pool, but controlling large quantities of fire would be tricker. The same reasoning applied to lighting techniques, chidori would work fine but anything bigger might cause some strain. As long as he wasn’t aiming to wipe out a Division’s worth of enemies, he probably wouldn’t notice the limitation. Large-scale destructive ninjutsu had never been a specialty of his anyway. And he still has chakra to reinforce his body alongside genjutsu, taijutsu and the sharingan.

Well, he is pretty sure he still has the sharingan …

The only way to confirm his theories was to do some field testing.

Thus, Kakashi waits for Iori to do her final rounds and, just before the night shift starts, he ducks out of his room. It is at this time that the nurses would be at their most unobservant, tired out by ten hours of work. It is late in the evening, meaning most of the hospital staff have left the building. It makes it ridiculously easy to steal down the halls, unnoticeable even in spaces lit by bight florescence.

After discovering that a Quirk Registry was a literal list of bloodline abilities stored on a digital database accessible to any medical professional, Kakashi has decided to stop applying Konoha’s information security standards to the hospital. He is still a little weirded out by his execution of what was probably the easiest heist of medical information he had ever carried out.

A few days of stalking Doctor Wada around the hospital at opportune intervals led to him discovering the man’s office. After that Kakashi hides in a corner and watches the man work. Because no one here had any sense of environment/spatial awareness, he has no trouble keeping in the man’s blind spot even with a limp. Thus, he can memories how the doctor goes about updating his patient information, which is all digital and stored on the computer, involving a passcode, a name and navigating through several screens worth of readouts and icons; all of which were infinity easier to understand when compared with the readouts produced by the computers in Konoha’s research division, encoded as they all were. Three days later and he has access to all his medical files and the files of every one of Wada’s other patients.

Tonight, Kakashi has the time to properly read them. Hopefully, there would be no complications with his eye, and he could clear himself for experimentation. His chakra levels were good enough for it.

‘Name: ‘Kakashi [no surname]’/ Address: ‘[n/a]’ / Sex: ‘M’ / Blood type: ‘O’ / DOB: [n/a] /

No family or medical proxy located. Hospital billing to be covered under City of Hosu Villain/Hero Collateral Damage Register.

Quirk Factor: ‘Sharingan’ [Primary Effect: n/a]; [Activation: n/a] [Type: emitter] [Secondary Effect: passive regeneration]’

Kakashi scrolls through his report, committing the information to memory, eyeing the many notes on his physical and mental wellbeing, listing his various broken bones, sprains, and other injuries, most of which Kakashi is aware of, all of which were well on their way to recovery.

'...Early concerns expressed over collapse of right lung and damage to respiratory system are being reassessed due to passive accelerated regeneration....'

Ah yes, he vaguely remembers something going straight through his chest during the fight. He examines the surgeon's notes which recommend close monitoring and an extended hospital stay alongside various medications.

'...Additional concerns over potential complications due to prior injuries/scarring (see attached report)....’

Hmm, he skims over a note describing older scaring around his chest. The report has flagged quite a few of his past scars and bone breaks as concerning and evidence of past physical stress involving combat. Not too far off the truth. Something to keep in mind if they ever asked him about his past. Honestly, he is somewhat impressed by the thoroughness of the report and the efforts gone through to keep him healthy. Linked is to medical notes are details of the two surgeries he had undergone while unconscious alongside various other actions the hospital had taken in their bid to keep him alive.

‘Primary quirk factor confirmed by the patient as single-ocular quirk ‘sharingan’ located in the left eye. Quirk most likely to be a passive emitter type with line of sight or eye contact as an activation requirement. Quirk effect is unknown. ‘Sharingun’ was restored during surgy under the supervision of Sueno Manzo and predicted to retain its function upon recovery barring further complication.’

‘Patient exhibits the symptoms of memory loss, apathy, and confusion suggesting a case of post-traumatic amnesia. If quirk has a memory storage function as is typical of ocular quirks then there may be a link between the quirk effect, damage to eye, and memory loss symptoms. Diagnosis requires a second opinion. Requested consolation with Neurologist and Ocular-Quirk Specialist still pending.'

‘Secondary quirk or mutation factor ‘regeneration’ increases patient’s metabolism and bodily functions, resulting in increased cell repair and recovery. Without a baseline for recovery speed predicted recovery timeframe is unknown.’

Well, ‘predicted to retain its function’ was good enough. All the major concerns raised by the doctor were linked to memory loss that didn’t exist. Kakashi ducks out of the office, heading back to his room. It was interesting to know that his recovery rate was considered abnormally fast. Fast enough to be considered a ‘quirk’ in its own right. No doubt a side effect of chakra use. It was a well-known fact that shinobi with developed coils recovered from injuries faster than civilians.

He would have to keep this in mind when engaging the locals in combat. The people here would have slower recovery rates when compared with Konoha’s civilians, who still had chakra even if their coils were underdeveloped. He wouldn’t want to accidentally kill someone misjudging their ability to heal from an injury.

…

...

With patience born from his many years of field experience, Kakashi waits for the next shift change before sneaking out once more. His destination is the hospital’s roof. Guarded by one solitary security camera- which he had disabled two days ago and had yet to be fixed- it is the only place he can go and be reasonably sure not to be disturbed for any length of time. Generally, cameras were pretty useless against any shinobi who could pull off an academy level transformation or a basic genjutsu. Even when the cameras were hidden, most shinobi moved too fast to be reliably picked up on film. He is not sure if that reasoning applied here, seeing as the technology was significantly more advanced. Regardless, as he was recovering and conserving both energy and chakra, avoiding them is his best bet. Most of the cameras he notes are on the outside of the building, placed in plain sight with no care taken to keep them hidden. He wonders if there is a purpose to that. Enforcement of compliance through a display of observation? Are they decoys and there is additional security hidden somewhere he wouldn’t think to look? Is he falling into some sort of trap sneaking around so obviously and gathering information? It was hard to answer these questions when he has no baseline to draw from. As he had yet to see evidence of extensive security or traps in the building he is proceeding with his plan.

It is early morning when he ducks out onto an empty roof, having stolen the key from what he thinks are the hospital's maintenance lockers the day prior. The air outside is cool, devoid of the stench of disinfectant that had been clogging his nose for the last few weeks. He hated how smell played havoc on his sensitive nose, blocking his sinuses.

Shielded on one side by a taller, windowless section of the building he has a good view of a wide two-lane road where the occasional vehicle would enter or exit the building. At night the area is quiet save for the hum of a distant activity, probably more of the engine-run vehicles, which were irritatingly noisy and commonly used by the people here.

The sky above him begins to lighten. Soon the sun would peak between the tall glass-covered buildings opposite the hospital. The artificial structures shimmer, reflecting the whitening sky. A trip into the busier sections of the ‘city’ is still impending, all his attention being focused on scouting the hospital and absorbing as much information about the place as possible first.

The first test he does is an attempt at summoning his nin-dogs. He has a few ideas on how he might reverse summon himself between worlds or, at the very least, send a message to let people know he was still alive.

Quickly, he bites his thumb, crouches, touching the roof with his palm and pumping in the required amount of chakra. For a second, he thinks it might work. Lines of inked fuinjutsu characters blossom under his palm, spiralling outward, absorbing the chakra. However, instead of activating in a puff of summoning smoke, the energy disperses, sinking into the dead, chakra-less concrete, the seal failing. Frowning, he uses the remaining blood on his thump to sketch out a simple storage array. It activates, sealing in a loose piece of brick without a problem. No, it wasn’t the fuinjutsu that had failed but the nin-dog summoning specifically. There went that plan.

Somewhat disheartened, he begins unbandaging the left side of his head. Just as the sunlight begins to peak between the buildings opposite, he opens the sharingan.

The chakra drain creeps up as the world around him snaps into sharp focus. Every crack in the brick, every mote of dust, every wisp of cloud, is clearly outlined even as colour is dulled to increase contrast. Kakashi glances around and waits, letting the image of the foreign skyline burn into his brain to be forever stored and remembered in crisp detail.

After a few seconds without significant pain, he lets out a long breath and prepares for the mental strain of activating the Kamui Sharingan. The process brings with it flashes of memory, Obito’s scared face twisted with hate, and a blurry battle. The memories were all faint and far off despite having the Sharingan active at the time. He rubs his chest in discomfort. He thinks he knows who might have stabbed him now. Obito…He releases a tired breath and shoves all the uncomfortable revelations off to the side where they wouldn’t bother him. There would be plenty of time to ruminate at a later.

Kakashi lets the first stage of Kamui activate, making sure there is nothing in his eyeline. He doesn’t want to accidentally destroy the stairway that led back into the hospital by sucking it into a different dimension. After confirming that the technique is stable and the charka drain is manageable, be prepares to pull himself through, ignoring the beginnings of a faint headache. Despite it being a brand new technique, Kakashi is nothing if not a master at reverse engineering ninjutsu on the fly to suit his own needs. The world warps and shimmers, his chakra levels take a nosedive, and his eye aches.

A field of unmarked stone appears in place of the hospital roof, displacing tall buildings with uniform blocks of grey, white and black. An eternal, unchanging landscape, dimly lit despite there being no light source, stretches out in all directions. The Kamui no Jikūkan, time–space dimension. There is no signs of destruction or the battle he now vaguely remembers occurring before he had been ripped away from the Elemental Nations altogether. He wishes he could recall how it had ended. Had Obito re-joined the fight with Madara? He hopes not. He hopes he at least managed to take Obito out and give his allies a better chance. Obito was his burden to shoulder after all.

As he tries to dig up something useful from his patchwork of memories relating to his battle with Obito, a faint secondary chakra source catches his attention. The thread of chakra is distance, connecting to something very far off. Obito’s eye? A lingering connection between the two eyes was the only thing that made any sort of sense. He vaguely remembers how he had been in the process of activating the Kamui no Jikūkan when the area had been flooded with demonic chakra.

This is good…If it is Obito, and Obito is still in the Elemental Nations, then he might be able to reverse the collection and pull himself back. The only problem with this plan was that he would need the same amount of chakra to return or risk killing himself. In other words, he needs a lot of chakra. Far more than he has or will ever have access to naturally. As he is the only being with chakra here, this is a problem.

Kakashi lets out another tried breath, “Always a problem…” the area around him remains silent. He knows the theory behind chakra draining and collecting seals. With a bit of patience and self-discipline, he would be able to slowly build up and store the chakra needed to return.

Well, he would definitely be breaking his record for lateness by a long shot. He runs calculations and comes up with a depressing year-long wait time. And that was if he dumped every ounce of his chakra into the seal the moment he got it. Obviously, that would turn him into a comatose vegetable and, as nice as he thinks these people are, he doesn’t trust them to look after his unconscious body for a year. So, it would be double, maybe even triple, that time.

Three years of waiting in this weird unknown word unless someone on the other end of the connection figured out how to bring him back. He had seen Naruto pull of miracles before so…maybe there was hope? Though, everyone might just think he had died given how badly injured he had been just before his disappearance. If that were the case, then no one was coming for him and he would be on his own for the foreseeable future.

“Mah, what a pain.”

He crouches examining one of the plain blocks, massaging the area around his eye. It stings and he is beginning to feel chakra fatigued. He can almost imagine the familiar names of the memorial stone etched into its surface. By the time he returned, the fourth great war would be well and truly over, assuming time moved at a similar speed between here and there. He supposed it was fitting. He wouldn’t be Kakashi if he didn’t let the people he cared about down one last time.

He lets out a long sigh and reverses the Kamui technique, letting himself fade back to his new world and reality.

The chakra exhaustion hits him like a landslide and he stumbles onto one knee. His eye, which had been aching since he initiated the Kamui no Jikūkan, is now wet. The wetness turns out to be blood, which is pooling like tears and running down the left side of his face.

Maybe he had been pushing it, using the full Kamui after wasting a bunch of chakra on summoning when he had barely been at half his capacity to start. That, and he was obviously still healing.

Blearily, Kakashi wipes his face with the back of his hand heaving himself back upright. He has dealt with way worse. With one last glance at the sun now shining brightly from between the strange buildings of his new temporary home, he heads back inside to find something sterile to clean his eye with.

He collapses back into his hospital bed where he causes a stir as the nurse checking in on him notices the blood soaking through his hastily applied bandages. He lets them fuss in contemplative silence.

#bnha #naruto #CrossOver #hatake kakashi #kakashi headcanons #dimension travel AU #boku no academia #fanfiction #crossover fic #culture shock #world building stuff

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tsumuniri · 4 years ago

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━━━ Atsumu Miya is a free-loader. Living inside his twin brother's home as if it was his, he would bring home girls and annoy Osamu most of the time. Y/N L/N is quite the opposite apparently because she's a virgin loser. Being the popular anonymous BL mangaka known as Yamazaki, she stays in the homey abode of her parents and watches boys from afar for references (not for admiration sadly).

Now what will happen if fate decided to tie these two idiots together and made them live across each other in one apartment?

。m.list ❯❯ prev┃next

TWO ━━ THE GIRL NEIGHBOR

THE FORTUNE OF GETTING EVERYTHING Atsumu desired had always blessed his luck in his twenty-three years of living on this habitable planet— may it be in his talents for the ball sport or even outside his athletic career. This man surely knew what it means to be spoiled by the gods as they loomed over his being and guided him through the prosperity of his lifetime. He was a guy who could attain his dreams by any means necessary.

So, here he is, debating on which detergent he should buy because he had finally moved into the apartment his brother recommended.

He hasn't settled in at the moment. The room he rented was still a mess of cardboard boxes full of his things piling up on top of each other. It was a new environment for the male as he had always stuck to Osamu throughout his life; they were partners in crime after all.

That was when he decided what was his current goal at the moment; to survive a week of living alone without asking for his brother's help. Hence, the reason why he's here in the cleaning aisle of the grocery close by, having difficulty in choosing if he should use powder or liquid detergents.

"Are you stupid or something?" An irritated voice spoke up from behind the setter's crouching figure. Atsumu sneaked a glance over his shoulder and lazily grinned at his teammate and friend. "Great timing, Omi-kun!" He chirped, standing up from his last position before turning around to face the ravenette.

Sakusa rolled his eyes, "For your information, buying cleaning products isn't the only thing I do. I just like my place and myself to be tidy. Can we also quicken up the pace, please?" He spoke out his thoughts as he got one of the liquid detergents set on the shelves, carefully placing it inside the grocery basket.

"Didn't know you'll get offended by my texts. I was only joking about that time you bought that many cleaning products," The blonde shrugged his shoulders casually, "It was a funny sight. You really looked like a janitor that time." He snickered at the memory of the other with the bags full of cleaning supplies.

Sakusa clicked his tongue and took a step past Atsumu, "I don't usually buy that many supplies. Half of those were for Bokuto-san and Hinata-san," He held the two metal handles of the grocery basket, hoisting the holder up as he let it hang by the side of his thigh. "Speaking of those two, they already texted me that they've finally arrived at your new apartment in Morinomiya. They mentioned your brother also dropped by with some onigiri." He notified the other male.

Atsumu grumbled from his teammate's words as he followed Sakusa's trail towards the snacks aisle. "Ya mean the same brother who decided to betray me?" He mumbled, his expression seeming like a child who just got grounded by their parents for a whole week.

"And yet, you still visit his Onigiri place in the city. You love him, don't be sissy about it. You got kicked out because you were too complacent, and unlike during your high school days, you realized that your brother wouldn't be there for you all the time."

The blonde stayed silent, most likely agreeing with the ravenette's statement. Although the two brothers argued for a while after Osamu announced the unfortunate news about his twin's boot out of the household, Atsumu knew that it was the best for both of them as it was time for him to get an apartment (even if he sort of dislikes the idea of moving).

Despite him understanding this, it wouldn't hurt to be a drama queen for once.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Atsumu mouthed as he motioned his hand in upward movements, walking over to the cashier register to check out their groceries. A frown etched on Sakusa's face from under his white face mask, not a slight bit amused by the latter's laid-back composure. He adjusted his grip on the basket's handle then followed behind to the location of the check-out counter.

The cashier, who looked as if she was currently in high school, kept on stealing glances between the blonde male and the cleaning supplies she was checking out. With lips pursed from her thoughts, her eyes slightly squinted every time it landed on Atsumu.

'What is this girl's problem?' He thought, raising his brows at the girl's serious expression. He cleared his throat and let his eyes wandered around the vicinity to distract himself from the cashier's peeks.

After the uncanny interaction with the young cashier, the two volleyball players made their way to the newly-built apartment building that the blonde-haired setter is now residing. From what the raven-haired outside hitter mentioned before, their two other teammates had already ordered two boxes of pizza and couldn't help but devour its cheesy goodness once it arrives. Atsumu quickened his pace from the newly-given information as he wouldn't like to meet the sight of two empty pizza boxes in his apartment.

"Tsumu-Tsum! Great timing. The pizzas are here!" Bokuto cheered after seeing his two comrades walked in from the front door. His eyes lit up while his mouth formed into a wide smile— almost looking like he won the jackpot of a million yen (not like he needs it anyway since he earns more than that).

A certain tangerine-haired male was already munching a slice beside him, "Omir-shan, Arsurmu-shan," Hinata said, mouth full of pizza dough and toppings. He then chewed the last bit of bread and swallowed the piece down his throat, "Welcome back! I like the new place, by the way, Atsumu-san!" He ended his statement, taking another slice from the pizza box.

Sakusa cringed from the mess on the table and how their two reckless teammates ate the freshly-oven baked slices. He lowered the grocery bag he was carrying on one of the moving boxes beside him as Atsumu followed suit. "Did you guys even washed your hands before eating?" The masked male straightly asked as he sat down on the carpeted floor.

"Don't worry. We did! Bokuto-san even brought the hand sanitizer that Akaashi-san bought for him." Hinata replied, scooching over to the side as he gestured Atsumu with a nod of his head.

Atsumu walked over to his side of the table, taking the spot the short male had spared for him. The blonde then lifted the closed pizza box with his right hand and almost gagged at the chosen toppings, "You guys ordered two Hawaiians? That's sickening." Atsumu stuck his tongue out in disgust and lowered the box's paper lid, deciding to get one of his brother's onigiris instead.

"I'm the one who invited you all here to celebrate my new home, and yet, you guys wanted to be douchebags by ordering my least favorite flavor of pizza."

"You're the only person here who doesn't like pineapples on a pizza, Atsumu-san." Sakusa pointed out, moving the face mask under his chin with his index finger then taking a bite on his slice of the Hawaiin pizza. "Besides, it's three-to-one. You wouldn't win at all." He added, to which the other two avid pineapple lovers agreed with hums of satisfaction.

A thought suddenly popped in Bokuto's mind as he licked the tomato sauce off the tip of his fingers. "Oh yeah! I met a cute girl while I was waiting for Hinata outside your apartment. She also moved in just a few days ago, and guess what? She's living in the room across from you!" He stated out of the blue and laughed lightly at how it was such a coincidence.

This statement caught the attention of the other three, mainly the blonde-headed volleyball player.

"Maybe you could give your new neighbor some onigiri, Atsumu! Like a welcome gift!" Hinata grinned widely, his tone having a trace of excitement as he began eating another slice of the Hawaiian pizza.

Atsumu casually shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe..." He trailed off before taking a bite off the seaweed-rice snack.

The horologe of time had passed by quickly as the blazing sun settled down for the glowing moon to shun upon the busy streets of Osaka, the twinkling stars glittering the night sky with constellations and patches of galaxies from a distance. The simple gathering ended and left the room in peaceful silence. However, Atsumu was still sitting on the floor, his legs overlapping each other as his arms crossed against his built chest.

"Should I?"

He thought out loud as his eyes stare at the box of left-over onigiri. The blonde heaved out a breath through his nostrils before he stood up from his position, patting the dust particles off his bottom. He reached over the box, not bothering to transfer the contents in another container since it would've taken another set of minutes in trying to search for one.

"Here we go." Atsumu swung the door open and immediately noticed the door from across was slightly opened. No light was emitting from the inside. It triggered the male's intuition to check the situation of his neighbor as the scenario of a burglar robbing a harmless female concerned him greatly.

With a slight push of his hand, the door eerily creaked like it was a prop in a horror movie set-up. His eyes tried to look into the dark apartment. But unfortunately, the moving packages were stacked in every spot of the apartment, making it difficult for his peripheral vision to catch anything suspicious of some kind. "Hello?" He called out and didn't get any answer.

'I swear to the gods... If I'm getting killed by a serial killer.'

It's his fault for watching those horror movies in the past. If he hadn't watched that one texas killer with the chainsaw, he wouldn't have gotten scared at all. Atsumu's heart thumped loudly against his ribcage from the anxiety of having to roam around this creepy apartment.

A groan echoed off the walls, stopping the male from his tracks as his body froze like a statue. His throat went dry while his palms started to sweat when he felt an unknown presence creeping up behind him. He closed his eyes shut and quickly spun around to greet the unknown person with a power punch, "Get the fuck away, demon!" Atsumu screeched, still holding onto the box of onigiri safely in the other hand.

"Ouch! Why the heck did you do that for?"

Atsumu peeked his eye open and found you sprawled on the wooden floor, hissing in pain as you caressed your bruised cheek. You were wearing your pajamas as it seemed like you had just woken up from your slumber.

Oops. It's a false alarm, after all.

## it’s gonna get good boiz

## taglist: @underratedmage ; @haikyuuwifu (if you guys wanna be added in the taglist, please comment down! :>)

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ellewritesathing · 4 years ago

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(Un)Requited V

Summary: Isaac Lahey had gone through many twists and turns in his life, but none of them compared to the whiplash he got when you asked him to tutor you. With a few weeks until the end of the semester and the big dance coming up, he’s hoping to figure out a way to ask you to go with him before it’s too late.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 5

Word-count: 2.5k+

A/N: i’m sorry for taking a literal year to update this fic!! i really suck at endings so this was a little hard for me but i hope you like it anyway 💕

I didn’t know where else to go.

God, Isaac couldn’t have picked any better words to string together as his last words? Or, better yet, couldn’t he have just died in the street with the smallest modicum of respect?

No, he thought bitterly, God wouldn’t let him off that easy.

Isaac’s eyes fluttered open after a few seconds falling face-first in your doorway as he coughed and sputtered up some blood. For a moment, he was too disoriented to remember that he didn’t hallucinate showing up at your house, but then he felt your hands cradling his head and everything came rushing back with the force of a vicious punch to his torn-up gut.

“Hey, hey, easy,” you whispered, gently lying Isaac on his back. You reeked of fear and adrenaline. Isaac should have noticed it even before he opened his eyes, but he had been narcissistically preoccupied with his attempts not to bleed out. “What happened to you?”

Isaac struggled to lift his hand to your face. He’d meant for the gesture to be endearing, but his hand was covered in cuts and his nail beds were caked in other people’s blood. He tried to say something to comfort you, but instead of words, blood gushed out of his mouth. You swore as Isaac tried not to choke.

Eventually, he managed to get out the words “Family game night was a little intense” as you rolled him onto his side. Despite your fear, you managed a weak laugh at his joke. Isaac spat up what he hoped was the last of the blood and tried to pull himself to a seat.

With a little more air to his lungs and a few more seconds to process, Isaac finally realized that all this blood must stain. When you scrambled back to him with a first-aid kit and Isaac’s heart managed to start again, he said, “I’m, uh, sorry about your rug. I’ll buy a new one, I swear. I just-”

“Isaac, I don’t care about the rug.” With a breath, you forced a smile at him. Gently as your shaky hand could manage, you reached out to touch the open wound on his forehead. Visibly, you didn’t look afraid, but Isaac knew better. Your heart raced. “What can I do to help you?” you asked softly.

For some reason, Isaac felt like you knew about him. About his inhuman tendencies. The thought spurred about twenty others just like it, and each one was more unbearable than the last. Isaac couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing he was a monster.

“I should go,” Isaac blurted out. “I’m sorry I ruined your night with Stiles. I’ll go and you guys can-”

Isaac pulled his head away but stopped fighting when you pushed down on his shoulders to keep him in place. “Isaac,” you said, still gentle but more forceful this time. “Please stop apologizing and let me help you.”

In the second that it took Isaac to make up his mind, he didn’t need superhuman hearing to listen to your heart beating out of your chest. Or maybe it was his own heart racing. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You touched his face again and smiled. Your smile faltered when you looked down at how torn apart he was. “Can I take you to the hospital?”

“No. I, uh-” Isaac closed his eyes and tried to think. There was no way Derek would let that happen. “I can’t go to the hospital. Can I- could you get me some water? Please?”

It took you a moment but you nodded. You still didn’t move. Hesitantly, your hand hovered over Isaac’s hand on his chest - like you wanted to hold it but couldn’t bring yourself to touch him. Isaac realized that you were afraid of hurting him. “I’m really afraid that you’ll fall asleep while I’m gone and then you won't wake up again,” you confessed.

Isaac could have laughed. He wasn’t exactly used to people caring if he woke up, and you looked so nervous just at the idea of touching him. He lifted his hand to press your hand to his chest. “I won’t go to sleep. I promise.”

But you still didn’t move. You frowned at Isaac’s blood-caked hand covering yours. “I want you to know …” Taking a breath, you looked up from his hand and to his face. “There’s nothing going on with me and Stiles.”

“There’s not?”

“No.” You took another breath and shook your head. “It feels really dumb now. He, uh- he’s in love with Erica and I, um … I have feelings for you,” you said. “He had this idea that if we pretended to date then you guys would get jealous and maybe … I don’t know. It sounded good at the time.”

“Most of his ideas do,” Isaac mumbled. He moved to get a better look at you and winced again. Still, he had to know if he heard you right or just imagined it. “You really have feelings for me?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious,” you said.

“I’m pretty oblivious,” Isaac said. You laughed and Isaac’s heart beat faster - which probably wasn’t advisable for anyone with as many open wounds as he had, but Isaac didn’t care. If he was going to die, knowing that you had feelings for him was better than he’d expected to go. “Do you maybe wanna get dinner sometime? With me, I mean.”

You let out another short laugh and smiled. “If we make it through tonight, you’ve got a date.” Promising to be back with water, you squeezed Issac’s hand lightly and got to your feet.

A date, Isaac thought. He didn’t get too long to grin about it before the angriest looking ball of fluff Isaac had ever seen nudged his leg. Magnus made a noise somewhere between a growl and a meow, but at least he didn’t bite him.

“I’m doing the best I can, alright?” Isaac mumbled. He held a hand out to Magnus but he looked offended by all the blood. Taking a deep breath, Isaac tried to force a shift so he would heal faster. He couldn’t change. Instead, Isaac fumbled for the first-aid kit and started cleaning himself up.

His clumsy hands didn’t get very far before you knelt beside him and offered him a glass of water. Isaac reached for the glass but his fingers were too numb to wrap around the glass. One of your warm hands covered his cold hand and the other tilted his head back, your thumb brushing the bone in his cheek that his father had embedded with glass.

The water felt foreign and stolen; a kindness that Isaac had never been gifted before.

After the last drop of water had been drained from the glass, Isaac closed his eyes and took a breath that pushed at his ribcage. It still hurt, but he could feel his bones mending and muscles knitting together again. You and Magnus were gone when he opened his eyes, but you were back again in a few minutes with a washcloth and bowl of warm water.

First, you cleaned his hands and face, washcloth as soft as the hands that wielded it. Delicate, precise. Every second that passed peeled back more of Isaac’s tarnished veneer and softened his edges. Then you took off his ruined dress shoes and blood-soaked socks. You unknotted what was left of his tie and lay it in the palm of his broken hand. Slowly, gingerly, you undid each and every button of his shirt to lay his mangled upper body bare. Sucking in a breath, you washed away all the hurt and bandaged what was left.

Isaac wasn’t sure if there was still a piece of him that hadn’t been broken.

For the first time in what felt like years, your voice replaced the sound of rinsing, wringing, and wrapping. Your hands knotted nervously in your lap, but the smell of fear disappeared long ago. “Are you okay?”

Isaac was afraid of breaking the moment if he spoke, but he forced himself to try. “Doing better now,” he said with a smile. He wasn’t sure how comforting his smile was.

You gave him a matching unsure smile. “Good. You had me worried for a second.”

“Yeah?” Isaac straightened up slightly. His smile felt a little more genuine as he tilted his head to get a better look at you.

“Yeah, I thought I’d have to get a new algebra tutor,” you teased with a hollow laugh. Isaac laughed, ribs aching, and your shoulders relaxed. You untangled your hands to touch the frayed edges of his tie, his open fingers grazing your wrist. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Twitching his fingers, Isaac curled his hand around yours. The tie was the only thing keeping his palm from bursting into flames at your touch. “Me too.”

---

“Dude.”

Isaac gritted his teeth and kept packing away his lacrosse gear. Ignoring Stiles Stilinski was a near-impossible task, but it was one that Isaac grew better and better at each day - and one that Stiles made more difficult each day. He tapped on Isaac’s locker rhythmically.

“Dude,” he repeated. “Don’t ignore me. You can’t ignore me.” Stiles hung on the locker door and forced his head around to peer inside. “I’m unignorable. It’s my superpower.”

Not taking his eyes off the messy lacrosse gear, Isaac mumbled, “I thought your superpower was being annoying.”

“I’m sorry, what- what was that?” Stiles stepped closer. “I didn’t hear that over the sound of you completely failing to ignore me.”

Isaac shoved the last of the year in his locker and slammed the door shut, careful to make sure Stiles’ fingers were out of the way despite his careless facade. “I said,” ignoring Stiles jumping out of the way and his outburst, “That being annoying is your only superpower.”

“But you admit that I have a superpower?”

“Dude, do you ever stop talking?”

“No. Now stop complaining and just listen to me, alright?” Stiles said. He waited for Isaac to nod in agreement before going on. “It’s your first date since the whole, you know, bleeding out in her foyer thing. You need a plan. Now, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but-”

Isaac let out a deep breath and looked at his locker for a second in hopes that would help him come up with the right words. “Stiles, I’ve been thinking about this since I was seven years old. I think I’ve got it covered.”

Stiles was quiet as he rocked on his heels and ran a hand down his face. “God, you don’t have anything planned, do you?” Isaac was quiet for a heartbeat too long and Stiles smacked him on the shoulder. “Ten years and you’ve got nothing! This because that stupid scarf keeps cutting oxygen off to your brain.”

“You took Erica to Chuck E Cheese on your first date, dipshit. I don’t think you get to judge anyone.” Despite his snark, Isaac was kinda hoping Stiles would have something in that idiotic brain of his. Stiles, however, was too busy arguing that Chuck E Cheese has something for everyone at very affordable prices to be any help.

Luckily, Scott finished his talk with Coach and started walking over. He pulled a face when he heard what they were arguing about. “Do you guys ever not argue?” he asked.

“Yes,” Stiles said, at the same moment that Isaac said: “No.”

“Jesus.” Scott sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I think I’ve got an idea. Stiles, think you could keep the Hales busy for one night?”

Stiles got a smile on his face that could only be described as purely malevolent. “I’ve got a couple of ways to keep them occupied.”

Scott nodded at him. “Great.” He patted Isaac’s arm and nodded towards the parking lot. “Come on, you’re with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

---

Isaac hadn’t gotten sick since his sophomore year. Two years with no cases of flu, no nausea, and no fevers. Two years without the headaches he’d been prone to since Camden shoved him into the sidewalk and his dad wouldn’t take him to the hospital. Two years full of healing from broken bones in minutes. Isaac was so used to being perfectly healthy that he’d forgotten what it felt like to want to throw up, but he was so anxious before your date that two years' worth of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks.

As he let you into the newly redecorated loft, Isaac was fairly confident that he was having a heart attack. He led you to the faux dance floor and tried to be polite as he rattled off the signs of a heart attack in his head. Pressure in his chest? Check. Nausea? Check. Shortness of breath? Check. Cold sweat? Probably.

Oh, god. What if you wanted to hold his hand and they were sweaty?

“You did all this for me?” you asked, fingers barely grazing the star-shaped lights as you reached above your head. Isaac would have had a hundred heart attacks if it meant he could see the wonder on your face when you turned to him just one more time.

“Yeah,” Isaac said quietly. It felt like looking at the sun; if Isaac looked at you for a second longer then he’d be blinded, but he couldn’t look away. He took a step closer. “I kinda ruined our last dance. Thought maybe we could try again?”

“Well, I think you do still owe me a dance,” you said with a teasing smile. You stepped closer to him and took Isaac’s hand in your own, and somehow, his heart didn’t give out. “And I owe you a very gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.”

Isaac might have spoken too soon about his heart. “Come again?”

You laughed and put your other hand on the side of Isaac’s neck. “Before you left to almost die, you kissed my cheek.”

Isaac did his best not to groan. Not only did he show up to your house when he was on the verge of dying, but the last image you would have had of him was him kissing your cheek like some loser from the 1800s. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“I thought it was sweet.” You looked down and laughed. “It was actually the first time I thought that maybe my feelings for you weren’t so unrequited.”

Isaac would have laughed if he wasn’t so surprised. “Wait, you thought you were the one with unrequited feelings?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re way out of my league,” you said. You untangled yourself from him to count on your fingers. “You’re on the lacrosse team, you’ve got a 4.0 GPA, popular, extremely good looking, kind of a bad boy but still somehow the nicest person I’ve ever-”

Isaac used one hand to cover yours and the other to cup your face. Before he lost his nerve, he kissed you. He rested his forehead to yours when he pulled away. “Just so that you know,” he said quietly. “Your feelings are requited. Totally, completely, one hundred percent requited.”

“Totally, completely, one hundred percent requited,” you repeated. You smiled and put your arms around his shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

Tagged: @lettherebelovex @britty443 @ietts @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @chocolate-raspberries @jellybelly-jones @f1nal-g1rl @linkpk88 @iclosetgeek @lyanna-the-giantsbane

#(un)requited #i watch teen wolf for the plot #teen wolf #isaac lahey #isaac lahey fanfiction #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey x reader

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anjuschiffer · 4 years ago

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Amira Wayne - Chapter 5

I’ve officially ran out of prewritten chapters QuQ

Day 5 of @biodad-bruce-month event

Chapter 5: Overprotection

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

“I’m sending you to Paris.” Amira heard her father say out of the blue.

“Wha-what?” Amira sputtered out, rising from her seat, cushions tumbled to the floor.

“I’ll have all the necessary arrangements done by the end of this month, no, week.” Bruce said, searching his desk for some papers.

“Dad, what are-”

“You’ll be living with Tom and his wife-”

“What do you-”

“I’ll also have to do the necessary paperwork for you to attend a school in Paris-”

“But I don't need to move to be safe. I’m perfectly-” Amira argued, standing in front of his desk, the Batman plushie in her hand.

“If I thought you were safe here, I wouldn’t have you-”

“I don’t want to-” Amira cut off again, trying to get her feelings across to her father.

“You’re going to go to Paris where it’s safe. Where no villain nor enemy will find you.” Bruce stated, almost glaring at Amira.

“I. Don’t. Want. To.” Amira gritted, feeling her hand tightly squeeze the plushie in her hand. She just started to do well again. She finally had someone to talk to at school, even if Babs was years older than her.

“This isn’t up for discussion Amira.” Bruce glared, his eyes narrowed. “You’re going to Paris where it’s safe, whether you like it or not. Am I clear?”

Amira felt herself shake, hating that she held no power to go against her own father. Amira looked at the Batman in her hand, scowling as she looked at it. Without a second thought, Amira ripped it in half and threw it to the floor. “Why the hell did I ever idolize you?” Amira growled, marching out of the study, ignoring her father’s yells for her to come back.

She almost slammed the doors into Dick’s face, but even when he asked her what happened, she simply glared at him with unshed tears before picking up her pace.

She shut her room door closed as she walked to her bed, or at least attempted to. Just two steps away from it, she collapsed to the floor, grasping the rug underneath her as she let her tears escape.

She let herself scream into the void that was her room.

Amira looked at the boxes surrounding her and then at the empty room before her, feeling her panic rising as she started at the brightly lit attic.

She couldn’t say goodbye to Dick...nor Wally...or Barbara.

Even as she kept locked within her room that week, her mode of communicating with Dick was also cut off.

She was made to leave the manor without a word that Friday morning, to board the jet without a word and be sent off without anything more than a hug from Alfred.

Her father had told her that she would keep doing her class work remotely, seeing as it was the last semester of the school year and there was no point in making her completely withdraw.

But come the next school year, she would be a student at College Francoise Dupont, the school across the street from where she and the Dupain-Chengs would reside.

She knew her father was hurting, but this? This was too much.

She headed up the skylight, thinking fresh air would help to calm her down, but was proved wrong when she saw the blue sky.

How the hell was this supposed to feel like home when it felt nothing like Gotham?

Where were the gray skies? The arcs and cobblestone that hid malicious secrets? Where were the gargoyles that followed her every move? Her home?

Amira went back down, looking at the place she had to call her room. The tall ceiling loomed over her, as if laughing at her.

“How are you doing, Amira?” Tom asked her in French, Amira turning ever so slightly to look at the baker. Right, how did she forget? This was Tom’s hometown. Of course he would feel at home here in Paris while she didn’t.

“Doing alright?” Sabine asked, holding their daughter in her arms. She really forgot about her too, didn’t she?

Amira looked at the couple, letting a smile form on her lips.

“I’m doing alright, Papa, Maman. If anything, just taking in the view.” Amira lied through her teeth.

That’s right. She couldn’t make any trouble for her host parents. While she knew Tom since she was a toddler, she was still figuring out Sabine.

Tom met the woman years ago and married her just two years ago. A year into their marriage, they had Bridgette. Of course, the Dupain-Chengs knew that Amira would once again use their surname while in Paris. It will be a bit confusing, but they knew it would be fine as long as the name was used for school purposes only.

Documents for school were easier to forge than for those for the government, or so Bruce once told them.

“Well, if you need anything,” Tom started.

“We will be right downstairs.” Sabine finished.

With that, the two went down the stairs, leaving Amira to unpack her things.

So this was her new life.

As she unpacked her things, she found Jason’s old journal with a worn out bookmark in her hands. She watched as her tears hit the surface of the journal.

“Jason...just what am I supposed to do?”

Dick couldn’t take it anymore, hell, he wanted to do this when he first heard about Amira leaving the country against her will. Of course, he couldn’t do anything when Alfred practically threatened him if Dick ever did what he was currently doing.

Barging into Bruce’s study, Dick didn’t care if Bruce was in the middle of a phone call. Ending the call, Dick made Bruce look at him.

“What the hell made you think sending Amira by herself to Paris was a good idea?” Dick growled, hating that Bruce remained indifferent.

With a sigh, Bruce set down the phone.

“She’s not alone. She’s with Tom and his wife. They’ll take good care of her.”

“That isn’t the point here Bruce! You’ve literally sent Amira across the Atlantic, away from all the people she knew as family, just because it would give you a peace of mind?”

“It was necessary.”

“It was extreme, even for you!” Dick gritted. “Amira needs us to be by her side, not across an ocean, all by herself!”

“If that's what you came here to talk about, I suggest you leave. I have an important call to-”

“Fine! Be that way! Dick yelled, slamming the door behind as he left the study.

He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t.

Sending Amira to a place she didn’t know, a place where she would have trouble with adjusting to all on her own?

How could Bruce do this to her?

Once in his room, Dick huffed, pacing around his room in attempts to calm himself down. As he kept pacing around, he noticed his suitcase peering from under his bed.

That’s right. He was 17, almost 18 in a few months.

Who needed Bruce anyways?

Amira needed a break from unpacking, so taking her keys and her phone (that she managed to buy without her father knowing), Amira went off to explore. Of course, she told her ’parents’ before going off, thanking that they at least understood her, unlike her own father.

Amira sighed as she looked out towards the Seine, wondering why many tourists believed that this river lived up to its fame, the river making her remember one of her father’s stories about her mother.

Her mother and father had come here before, a year before she was born. Talia. That was her mother’s name. While Amira hated the fact that she learned her mother’s name 12 years too late, she was glad to finally have the name of the woman who brought her into this world.

Even if the world was against her.

The two were just two love birds, even if they only knew each other for a year. In that year, they came to the Seine together and placed a lock on that very bridge, thinking they too would end up together. Seems like the universe had other plans for the two.

Amira kept walking around town, getting a feel for it, remembering landmarks in case she ever got lost and didn’t have her phone.

As she passed by a park, she couldn’t help but notice the mob of girls looking at something...or rather, someone.

As she approached the mob, she finally saw what they were all desperately trying to get to see.

“Adrien!” A girl shouted, said boy turning to greet them, causing the girls to let out a deathly squeal, causing Amira to cover her ears.

Damn fangirls and their screams. Just when she thought she got used to them, she was always proven wrong. Then again, Dick’s fanclub wasn’t as rowdy as these girls. They at least respected Dick and his wishes of them not causing trouble for him.

Amira left the mob, wondering why the boy looked so familiar only to look up and see why. His damned face was all over the place.

A model...he was a model...

A decent looking model to be quite honest. But despite being a model, he had nothing compared to-

Amira caught herself mid sentence, wondering why she thought that...

Did she really miss him that much?

Not thinking much of it, she kept walking.

“What do you mean he isn’t home?” Bruce asked, looking up from his documents. He watched as Alfred remained unfazed by Bruce’s raise in tone.

“Master Dick told me to give you this if you should ever ask about his whereabouts.” Alfred handed over an envelope to Bruce. But Bruce simply let it hang, getting up to search for his missing son. “Master Bruce, I suggest you don’t-”

“We have patrol tonight and he should have been here by now, prepping for it. He should be-”

“-in Bludhaven by now.” Alfred completes, making Bruce stop.

“What?”

“Master Dick wanted to tell you that he was heading to Bludhaven.” Alfred said, laying down the envelope Dick had wanted to give to Bruce. “‘Crime never rests’ he said before leaving with nothing but a small suitcase. Although if you ask me, it seems like he’s taken the next step in his life. But what about you, Master Bruce?

Are you ready to take the next step?”

Bruce’s mouth formed a thin line, eyeing the envelope on the desk.

“I guess I better get used to doing patrols by myself then.”

Amira couldn’t believe her eyes. Who the hell would just push an elderly old man as they’re crossing the street? Not even Gothamites did that (unless there was some type of crime going around).

“Are you alright sir?” She asked the elderly man, helping him up and handing him his cane.

Yes, she was the daughter of a billionaire, but that didn’t stop Grandpere Alfred from making sure she was shaped into a decent human being.

“Thank you, young lady.” The elderly man replied, shakily getting up. “I’m terribly sorry for making you-“

“No problem at all sir.” Amira told him with a small smile. “If anything, it gave me a slight feel of home.” Amira bid the old man goodbye, not realizing the perplexed look on his face.

Bruce let out a long sigh as he rubbed his temples, trying to figure out why the universe was against him so much lately.

First, Dick leaves for Bludhaven without a single word. Then he wouldn’t pick up his phone whenever Bruce called, although he did at least read the messages Bruce would leave him.

Second, Amira also stopped picking up the phone as well. Whenever Bruce would call the bakery, Amira would pick up before hanging up promptly. Unlike Dick, Amira didn’t have a phone, so he couldn’t just leave her a message directly for her. He would have to relay it, something he didn’t want to do.

And when he thought his week couldn’t get any worse, it did.

He was at another charity event, when Killer Croc decided to attack. Stuck between a stone and a wall, Bruce was about to resort to possibly exposing himself when a girl crashed in, wearing a bat logo across her chest.

While she was knocked out the minute she came to the scene, it gave Bruce a decent window to change into Batman.

And here he was, standing in an alley with a girl who’s red hair made him think he knew her behind the yellow mask and black cowl.

“What were you thinking?” Batman hissed, looking at the girl in front of him. “What made you think that wearing that outfit would-”

“This was the only way to get your attention.” The girl spoke, unfazed by his furrowed brows. “You need a partner and don’t say you don’t, because your recent fights tend to prove otherwise. The girl cut to the chase, placing her hand on top of her yellow utility belt. “Your attacks are sloppy and you’re biting off more than you can chew to make up for Nightwing’s sudden change of patrol.”

Batman frowned, wondering how much this girl knew about him and his activities.

“It wasn’t sudden. He was going to-”

“Because that clearly explains why Nightwing is only seen patrolling Bludhaven as of five days ago.” The girl says, waiting for Batman’s next excuse. When there was none, the girl continued. “I know why he moved. I know why you’re lagging behind. It’s what happened to Robin...isn’t it?”

The girl knew that it was a touchy subject, she knew and yet she still needed to voice it. She needed Batman to come back to his senses. Gotham needed him to come back.

“Robin-”

“Robin died in your last mission involving Joker. It didn’t take long to connect the dots when all of the evidence was there. No Robin sighting in the past month, no Nightwing seen with you for the past two weeks and Nightwing suddenly appearing in Bludhaven this week? Not exactly being the most discreet here, B.”

“Listen here-” Batman started, only then realizing who this young woman was. How did he not notice her before? After all, she used to follow her father like a chick would follow its mother. “Barbara.” He didn’t miss the way she flinched, her eyes growing wide. “Vigilantism isn't a game.”

“How-”

“If your father found out-”

“He won’t.” Barbara declared. “He may be a detective, but he is my father. It shouldn’t be too hard to make him-”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, although I’m sure he would quickly find out about you doing this.” Batman said, starting the Batmobile. “I’m worried about how it will affect your relationship with your father. What would he say when you finally decide to tell him your…” Batman realising he never heard her alias.

“Batgirl.” Barbara provided.

“What will he say when you finally tell him your Batgirl? That you’re working with Batman, a man he despises?”

“He doesn’t really despise you.” Barbara said, looking down at her feet. “If anything, he’s grateful that you're doing what you’re doing: keeping Gotham safe.” Batman looked at Barbara with calculating eyes before he stepped into the Batmobile.

“Get in. I’m taking you home.”

After dropping Barbara home, Bruce wasn’t expecting to find yet another unwanted visitor in the Cave.

“Hey, um..hi.” The boy said, Batman wondering why the Drakes’ kid was doing in his Cave.

Sure, the two families have never talked to each other, but Bruce made it his business to investigate them thoroughly. “My name’s Tim. Tim Drake. I...I know you’re Bruce Wayne and I knew who Robin was too, but that’s not why I’m here!” Tim quickly added when he noticed Batman approach him with narrowed eyes. “I..I wanted to ask you something else.”

“Then speak.” Bruce growled, towering over the boy, but Tim didn’t back down from his glare.

“Where’s Amira, your daughter?”

Amira looked at the picture on her phone, not realizing how much she was squeezing it until her hand started to ache. Scowling, Amira threw her phone against her wall, yelling as she began to thrash her room. Thankfully, half of her things were still in boxes and the Dupain-Chengs were out for the day.

It hasn’t even been two months since Amira arrived in Paris, not even one year since Jason’s death and yet...and yet! He dared to replace him!

Amira recalled the headline on the Gotham Gazette’s latest issue.

FINALLY BACK! : ROBIN’S FIRST APPEARANCE AFTER TWO MONTHS OF SILENCE

As if that wasn’t enough, when she scrolled further down the article, she was met with another revelation. Batgirl.

She remembered the years of pleading with her father to let her join him, to let her help keep Gotham safe and each time she asked, her father dismissed her out of hand.

She knew how to operate the Batcomputer, she knew she could have worked perfectly with Jason, she knew how he operated, she knew she was ready...but he always shut her down.

And yet when this girl comes around, he quickly accepts her? Just like that?

This girl who came out of nowhere... This girl who probably knows next to nothing on how he operates? On what it meant to wear the infamous bat emblem on her person?

He lets her join him?

Amira stopped throwing her things, quickly going to pick them up and putting them back into place.

Maybe this is why her father sent her to Paris, using his ‘concern for her safety’ as an excuse to kick her out of Gotham. To make her leave so he can replace her with someone else. If that was the case...then fine…

Let him keep replacing them.

Let him do what he wants, because guess what?

She too is going to do what she wants, whether he likes it or not.

Months passed by, it finally being September, Amira finally having adapted to her new home. But just as she started to adapt to her new life, another thing was hurdled her way.

College Françoise Dupont.

Her father insisted she attend this school, one of the few reminders that he had control over every aspect of her life.

Sighing, Amira made her way to school. She stared at the stairs that lead to the school, scoffing at the size of it.

To be honest it looked like the size of her old school’s library. That or perhaps Amira just forgot how Gotham Academy’s library truly was in size.

Knowing that she had no other choice, Amira walked into the school and hunted for her class, looking at her timetable and at the numbers of the doors within the school.

Something she quickly realized was that she was right. This school was small. Too small for her liking.

She managed to find her class, located on the second floor of the building, a bit too close to the stairs if you asked her.

Stepping into her classroom, she was met with several pairs of eyes. Ignoring them, Amira headed to the teacher, remembering everything she had researched before transferring to this school.

Caline Bustier - her main teacher and her teacher for French, literature, and poetry.

From what Amira could remember, Bustier is a supposed passionate teacher, eager to protect and nurture her students, hence why she has had the same class for the past several years. Apparently she begged the principal to let her keep teaching the same class year after year.

While yes, it did show her love for her students, Amira took it as a sign of fear. Fear of not being able to teach another group of students that weren’t the ones she had already taught before. Students that she knew how to control, not having to start from scratch to learn about their weaknesses and strengths. She feared failure, perhaps change.

“Hello, Miss Bustier. My name is Marinette-”

“So you’re Marinette!” Miss Bustier interrupted, causing Marinette to narrow her eyes and scrunch her nose in annoyance. “I’m so glad to have you in our class! Please take a seat!”

Marinette simply stood there, looking at her class and then at Miss Bustier. “I can sit anywhere?”

“Pardon?” Miss Bustier asked, tilting her head a bit. That’s when it hit her. “Oh! That’s right! You’ve recently transferred from-”

“Can I or can I not?” Marinette asked impatiently.

“Y-Yes. You can sit anywhere you want.” Miss Bustier stammered, watching Marinette choose the seat in the front towards her left.

Marinette proceeded to take out her notebook and go over her classes, taking mental notes on what supplies to buy and which she didn’t.

Everything was going swell, the class slowly filling in until a certain brat entered the class.

“Move aside! Your Queen is coming through.” Chloé announces as Sabrina made sure that her path was clear.

Chloé Bourgeois, the daughter of Paris’ mayor. Nothing but a spoiled brat from Marinette’s research. As long as she steered away from Chloe, she was fine.

With Chloé being the last person to enter, Miss Bustier started the class.

Hell. It was utter hell.

Marinette held the urge to drag her hands down her face at how boring French was.

Despite already being 13 year olds, they were going over material that Marinette knew they covered during Ecole Primaire. Why was Miss Bustier still teaching this material?

With the sound of the bell, her class started to move around when Miss Bustier called out Ivan.

Turning around, Marinette watched as Ivan was about to punch Kim. Within seconds, Marinette put herself between Ivan and Kim, staring at Ivan.

“What is going on?” Marinette asked, hating herself that she still managed to get into anti-bullying mode thanks to being in the role for five straight years.

“It's Kim.” Ivan growled, Marinette noticing Kim shift in his place. “I’m going to-“

“Punching him won’t do anything.” Marinette cut off, noticing that Miss Bustier still hadn’t bothered to come up to the two boys to see what was wrong. “If anything, it might prove you guilty rather than innocent.”

Marinette watched as Ivan lowered his arm, only then Marinette noticing the paper in his hand. “Kim. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kim cried out. “Ivan just suddenly wanted to hit me!“

Marinette glared at him as she took the info, gesturing Ivan to hand over the paper in his hand. Hesitantly, he did.

Reading the paper, Marinette knew who started it. Turning to her teacher, she frowned. “Miss Bustier, I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with my old school, correct?”

“Yes.” Miss Bustier replied. “Gotham Academy, if I remember correctly.” Marinette ignored the waves of gasps that rippled through the class.

Was her school that known? Or simply because Gotham was in the name?

“As you know, Gotham Academy is well known for its anti-bullying program, for I was the head student of that program for 5 years straight. So my question is, what haven’t you moved?”

“Pardon?”

“I said: why haven’t you moved? Instead of rushing here to see what actually happened here or to even dismantle the fight, you decided to just stand there and watch. You called out Kim. While I understand that you were worried about Kim, what about Ivan?”

“Ivan?” Miss Bustier repeated, wondering where exactly Marinette was going with this. “Ivan was going to hit Kim, so of course I was going to worry about Kim! As a teacher-“

“But what about Ivan?” Marinette asked again. How she hated when people didn’t answer her questions properly. “What were you planning to tell him? Or rather, what were you thinking when you saw Ivan raise his hand against Kim?”

“I...I was going to send him to the prin-“

“Then you failed him as a teacher.” Marinette cut off, walking up to Miss Bustier. “As a teacher, you’re supposed to be there for the students, meaning remaining neutral during arguments. As a neutral party, you have to look at both sides of the story.” Marinette slammed the crumbled piece of paper against her desk. “You were just about to make the situation worse by sending the victim to the principal rather than the person who started the problem.”

Marinette went to grab her bag and stared at Miss Bustier. “If you were a teacher at my old school and someone reported this incident the way it almost happened, you would’ve had your teaching license suspended and sent to several anti bullying workshops. You would then be re-evaluated to see if you can teach again. If not, you would be fired then and there. So word of advice Miss Bustier, don’t let the spark turn into a flame when you have the chance to snuff it out.”

Marinette left the classroom, heading to her next class. Hopefully she would be able to convince her gym teacher to get her into the fencing club. She needed to blow off some steam.

There went her chance at asking the teacher to join the fencing team.

As soon as Marinette got to persuade the coach to teach her how to fence, a villain appeared, wrecking havoc with her...whatever it was she was using.

Thanks to the attack, the students were sent home early, Marinette now in her room. She frowned as she paced around in her room, hating her situation.

There was a villain. In Paris. Where her father couldn’t reach her. The irony.

Marinette let out a dry chuckle, not believing this all.

“Father is across the ocean, there’s a villain running loose in the streets and here I am! Missing the opportunity of a lifetime!”

She would have proven herself to her father. That she was up for crime fighting.

But the universe just had to be against her...or so she thought.

As she slumped into her computer chair, she noticed the black box with an ever so familiar red emblem on the top of the hexagon shaped lid.

Something screamed at her to leave it alone while a piece of her whispered to open it.

Prying the box open, Marinette watched as a red orb manifested in front of her, her eyes following it as it morphed into an odd creature. Making sure the creature was what emerged from the box, Marinette looked back down to the box, noticing a pair of earrings.

Ladybug themed earrings...o...okay…

“Hello!” The being spoke, Marinette quickly snapping from her trance. “I know this is all weird to you, but I can explain. My name is Tikki and I am a Kwami. To be more precise, the Kwami of creation.”

Kwami of creation...that implies that there are others like this creature out there.

“Tikki...although I want to say that it’s a pleasure to meet you, I know there’s a reason behind you gracing me with your presence.” Tikki nodded, handing Marinette over the earrings.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I need you to take down Remediator.”

After Tikki laid down the groundwork on how her miraculous worked, Marinette got to work.

She managed to track down Remediator, surveying her action before deciding on a plan to take down the...akuma?

No, that was the name of the thing that possessed her teacher. Villain would be the better term.

As she watched Remediator ‘fix’ people’s problems, Marinette couldn’t help but notice the heart located on Remediator’s chest fill up, almost as if it fed off - no.

It did feed off of the problems Remediator supposedly fixed. Now, how exactly was she-

“Get away from them!” someone shouted, Marinette looking to the direction of which the voice came from that was about to attack Remediator.

A blond boy cladded in black -black leather to be more precise- extended his bo staff to try and fling the ‘villain’ away from her new set of prey.

Sighing, Marinette sprung from her hiding spot and prevented the boy from hitting the ‘villain,’ earning a glare and a ‘hey’ from the boy.

“What were you thinking?” Marinette growled, crossing her arms.

“Well hello to you too.” The boy said, eyeing Marinette’s odd choice of wearing a black slit miniskirt and short black cape over her red skin tight bodysuit. “To think such a bossy-” the boy promptly shut up when Marinette glared at him.

“I’m going to forget what you just said if you answer my previous question. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of defeating the villain. Isn’t that our job?” The boy asked in response.

“Yes, it’s our job to-”

“Then let’s go! The people-”

“The people are alright.” Marinette spoke, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If anything, the akumatized person isn’t really doing much.” Marinette filled in, watching the boy tilt his head. How did he not notice the victim actually helping solve people’s problem despite being dubbed a villain? “Are you being serious right now?” Marinette dragged her hands over her face. “Are you telling me you haven’t been trying to investigate the victim to see if they’re truly hurting anyone?”

When she saw the boy slowly shake his head, Marinette let out a heavy sigh.

“What? I see a villain, I quickly head over and fight them off. It’s our job after all.”

“Our job is to protect the people, but that doesn’t mean we have to ruthlessly attack the victim or villain. Since we don’t know the full capacity of their powers, we have to proceed cautiously. We also have to make sure they destroy as little property as possible.” Marinette warned, the boy arching a brow. Just how much did he not realize? “We don’t know if the damage they cause is permanent or not...we don’t want innocent people to die, or do we?”

She watched as the boy’s eyes widened, only then his role finally sinking in. Marinette watched as the boy looked down at his hands, trembling more as he kept staring at them.

“So what are we supposed to do?” The boy asked Marinette, looking at her with fear in his eyes.

“De-escalate the situation.” Marinette said, only then realizing something. “What’s your name?”

“Adri-”

“Not your actual name you idiot. We mustn’t know each other's identities under any circumstance!” Marinette warned. “So, what’s your alias?” The boy hummed before he smiled.

“Chat. Chat Noir. What about you?”

“Ladybird.” Ladybird provided quickly, raising a brow when Chat Noir looked at her in...admiration? “What?”

“Not only did you already have your outfit down, but also your name. Have you been Ladybird for a while?”

“Nope. Been Ladybird for a few hours.” The two were snapped from their conversation when they heard a scream nearby. “Come on Chat, we have a victim to help.”

After an hour of trying to calm the victim down, but coming to no avail (since Ladybird couldn’t exactly bring her Marinette to her), the duo resorted to fighting the victim, finding her akuma to be trapped in a piece of paper tucked in her skirt pocket.

Ordering Chat to take Miss Bustier back to the school, Ladybird stood below the Eiffel Tower.

“De-evilize.” Ladybird said as she captured the akuma, purifying it with her yo-yo and then releasing it. “Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybird shouted as she then threw her yo-yo in the air as Tikki had told her, watching as millions of ladybugs erupted from her tiny yo-yo and spread throughout Paris, fixing any damage and reversing the victim’s effects on any person inflicted by the victim’s power.

“That was amazing!” A girl shouted from across the police tape, Ladybird turning to see her classmate...or rather her seat ‘buddy’. Alya is her name...if Marinette remembered correctly. “Say, can we know the name of the hero who just finished saving Paris?” Alya asked, smiling as she watched Ladybird approach her.

“The name’s Ladybird, but I am no hero. I’m just doing what I must to keep Paris safe.” With those words, Ladybird ran off, using her yo-yo to lift herself onto a building and disappear into the distance.

Stepping into her room, Amira finally let herself relax.

“Tikki, spots off.” Amira recited, watching her transformation wear off. Just as she was about to ask Tikki for her end of the deal, a voice spoke up.

“What is the meaning of this?” Amira whipped her head around, her eyes wide before narrowing upon seeing her father.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find a way to keep knowing of your activities outside of Gotham?” Bruce asked, looking at her monitors at her desk. It was only then that Amira understood what he meant by that.

“You hacked into my devices from across the ocean?” Amira gritted. “Was isolating me not enough for you, so you had to resort towards invading my privacy too?” She didn’t get a response.

“When I heard that there was a villain in Paris-” Bruce continued, walking to her small window that was across from where he stood.

“Don’t-” a whine. “She wasn’t a villain! The true mastermind manipulated her emotions and took advantage of it to turn her-”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce stated. “She was still putting you in danger, whether directly or indirectly. But judging from your entrance and outfit, I’m going to guess that it was directly.”

“I was able to defend myself. I was able to defeat her.” Amira pointed out, not bringing up that thanks to her suit being magical, all of her injuries were healed once dropping her transformation. She didn’t want to give him any more flaws to tear apart. “Some random stranger had more confidence in me being able to take down a villain than you ever-”

“They were lucky that you knew what you were doing. That you had experience in martial arts and weaponry. Or did you forget who trained you?” Bruce reminded, making Amira shrink into herself, because...he had a point.

“But-”

“Not to mention how much of a deadweight your partner was.”

“He-”

“He relied on you to keep catching him, to keep directing him. All he did was follow your orders, never once thinking for himself or trying to guess your next step. What good is a partner if all they do is create more work for you?” Bruce asked, watching Amira shut up. “Did you really think this situation-”

“Yes.” Amira answered. “And I wasn’t wrong. I-”

Amira was cut off by a video appearing on her main monitor’s screen. A video addressed to her...or rather Ladybird.

He introduced himself as Hawkmoth, declaring himself as Ladybird’s and Chat Noir’s enemy. Declaring that he was after their miraculous and wouldn’t stop until he had them. Once the video ended, Amira felt her father’s shadow loom over her.

“Hand them over.”

“What?” Amira squeaked out, making sure to keep looking at her father. She couldn’t afford to hand them over. So to prevent that, she had to avoid looking at the box at her desk and try to not shield the earrings she was wearing. “No! I’m not going to hand them over just because you said so!”

“Amira, hand them over. If that man is after these miraculouses, then I need you to hand them over. I won’t allow him-”

“I vowed to protect them! To keep them away from the enemy that is Hawkmoth and he will not get his hands on them! Nor will I allow you to have them either.” Amira promised, taking a stance. “If you want them from me, you’ll have to-“ Amira called back her transformation, watching her father stare at her with wide eyes. “You will have to take them from my cold dead body! After all, you don’t need me, just like you didn’t need Jason! We are so easily replaceable after all.”

“Amira, what are you-”

At that moment, her ceiling began to rumble, causing the two of them to go on alert. Soon, someone crashed through her small skylight, cement falling into her room while dust filled in the remaining space.

With the dust making her lose sight of her father, Amira kept her guard up when she quickly turned around to avoid being hit from behind.

“Amira! Where are you?” She heard her father ask, but she didn’t respond. Who knew if this was part of his plan. Who knew if this was his way of telling her he would get his way no matter what.

Amira dodged another attack to her side, Amira crouching to avoid it while also sweeping her leg under her opponent, only to find out he was able to fly. Looking up to the person before her, she froze.

He was glowing green, also wearing a domino mask across his face.

“Sorry kid. But we were left with no choice but to take you by force.”

“Wha-” Amira’s words were cut short when she felt someone else behind her.

The last thing Amira remembered was a beautiful woman giving her an apologetic look as Amira fell to the ground. Had she remained conscious for a while longer, she would’ve heard her father crying out her name, agony coating his voice.

#maribat #b!dbwm2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #amira wayne

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bumbleberrysky · 4 years ago

Text

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 02

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: same as before, wounded gabriel & removal of those stitches notes: the fire under my ass burns as strong as ever, hallelujah

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

Much to your regret, your plans the next morning to continue being a nuisance to Dean are thrown in the bin at his decision to leave early and meet Castiel somewhere a state over for a case that the angel had found. Something about vamps in a mine or something, you’re a bit hazy on the details. You’d only half-listened when Sam filled you in upon your arrival in the kitchen, a good hour after Dean had already departed the bunker.

While you would like to say Dean is completely to blame, the truth is that once you passed out last night you slept like a log and didn’t wake up until mid-morning today, which classifies as a sleep-in of sorts for you. You love sleep, but your body is wired to wake up not long after sunrise, unfortunately. It’s that hunter lifestyle you love to hate.

Sam had huffed a laugh at your face when you found out you’d missed Dean, but otherwise had kept to himself with his healthy breakfast as you went about making yourself a coffee. You tend to be a bit nauseous in the mornings, so a coffee will be enough for you for a few hours. It’s likely your stomach won’t roar in hunger until a bit after midday, as it is wont to do.

“How is your arm?”

Sam’s question breaks you out of the dissociative state you’d slipped into as you sip your coffee, grip on the mug tightening in reflex. It takes a few blinks before your eyes focus back on him, a small smile on your lips.

“Much better, thank you doctor,” you answer, before mumbling into your coffee as you take another sip. “Despite apparent attempts at making it otherwise…”

Sam snorts, not even bothering to comment on that. “I’m glad. Did you have anything planned for the day?”

A contemplative hum escapes you, your gaze wandering to the ceiling. “No, not really. I kind of went hard for a while there, one case after the other, so I’m due for a break. Not much of a fan of burnout.”

Your eyes move back down, meeting his own. “I’m probably going to just hang back, for a bit. Recuperate. I mean, I didn’t get any injury besides my arm, but I’m just… tired, I suppose. Didn’t get much sleep the past few weeks.”

“Of course you didn’t hurt anything but your arm,” Sam rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his smoothie—you’re not a fan of the green tinge it has, but if he likes it then you suppose it must be alright, at least. “You and your stupid good luck. Dean is still mad about last time, you know. When he got splattered in monster guts that just missed you by a centimetre.”

The memory yanks a giggle out of you before you can stop it, almost spilling your coffee as a result of the abrupt movement. “Oh, that was good. I wish I had a picture so I could scrapbook it.”

Sam laughs around a mouthful of food, swallowing it down before he continues. “Dean would kill you.”

“I know, but it would be worth it.” You place your cup down, deciding it a better course of action than continuing to hold it and risking spillage. “Also, I know you think my luck is really good all the time, but it’s kind of just good occasionally. All other times, it sucks.”

“It kicks in when you hunt, though, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” Sam muses, flicking through an article on his phone somewhat distractedly. He hums to himself before turning the screen off and angling his body to you properly, meeting your questioning gaze.

“I’m… I’m gonna need your help,” he says, appearing somewhat sheepish. “With Gabriel.”

You try not to let your sharp intake of breath show, but from the look that flickers through Sam’s eyes you figure he catches it anyway. Your teeth worry your bottom lip for a moment before you can muster a proper response. “Alright. What are you thinking of doing?”

Sam adjusts once more, pushing his plate away, cutlery stacked on top; it’s only now that you realise he’s finished the meal and the only thing left to consume is his smoothie.

“Well, I’m not… entirely sure yet.”

You huff a laugh, attempting to regain a sense of normalcy. It isn’t that you’d forgotten about the battered archangel hiding in a room a few doors down from yours, but it’s moreso that you’d made it a point not to think about it so early in the morning, lest your mood be ruined for the entire day. Thinking of Gabriel… it kind of hurt. You’re not sure you’re ready to sit down and analyse exactly why you’re having such visceral reactions yet.

“I don’t think we can really plan much, here,” he says, features softening with empathy. It reminds you that when it comes to Hell and being tortured, the youngest Winchester isn’t as unfamiliar as you might hope. A pang of something hits against the confines of your chest at his tone and the passing look in his eyes; as always, there’s the useless feeling, the wish you could take away all the bad memories and experiences and make it all better. You know you can’t, nothing can, but you hate seeing your friends in any modicum of pain.

You suppose that includes Gabriel, if the sensations whirling within you at the thought of him are anything to go by.

“We’ll just have to take it as it comes,” you say, taking your mug into your hold and downing the rest of the drink in one go. “Alright! I’m gonna shower and then… I guess we go see him.”

x x

Unlike the Gabriel you were once so familiar with, this Gabriel is decidedly not fond of visitors.

Sam had gone and prepared some things while you’d showered and dressed, and by the time you reappear outside your room you hear shuffling from the direction of the library. Curious, you make your way down the hall, peeking your head in and blinking in only minor surprise at the sight of Sam, his shoulders heavy.

“What’s up, Sam-o-saurus?”

Sam looks up and gives you the closest approximation to a bitch face that you’ve ever received from him, clearly not fond of the new nickname that came to you on the spot like a divine enlightenment. He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe, though, which is probably for the best considering your mission for the day. It would do none of you any good if he went near Gabriel while all riled up.

“Gabriel is, uh,” he clears his throat, placing down a sterile steel tray in the shape of a bean and small surgical scissors, along with a scalpel. Your gaze strays to the side and sees that it was the first aid box he’d been ransacking as you arrived. “Not very open to visitation from me right now. I think I might be a bit… bit big. He doesn’t really even see me when he looks at me, so I don’t think he realises who I am.”

You wince, trying not to dwell on the information longer than needed to file it away for later consideration. “Oh. Sorry, Sam. You want me to go see if I can bring him out?”

“Please,” the tall man says, gesturing to the tools on the glossy oak table. “I figured we could start by getting rid of those stitches over his mouth, if nothing else. I don’t think he has enough grace right now to stop infection so we should try and reduce the risk.”

His words sadden you, but you know the truth they hold. Your limbs feel a bit heavy as you push away from the doorway.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel’s allocated room isn’t all that far from the library, and the note on the door sticks out like a sore thumb so you don’t have to worry much about getting lost on the way (ignoring that at this point you know most parts of the bunker like the back of your hand). Once outside his room, something gives you pause though.

Are you ready to see him in that state again? Or is it that a small, tiny part of you fears he won’t recognise you, either?

Ridiculous of you, really. You take a moment to admonish yourself for the thought. If you take a second to factor in the difference in time spent in hell, even without considering all the time he was missing, Gabriel had to have been trapped and tortured for over a century at the very least. Centuries and years might mean nothing to a celestial being who has been alive for millennia, but over a century of fear and torture is a lot even for someone with such impressive mileage.

You shake your head, attempting to clear your thoughts and emotions so you don’t enter his room with an overwhelming aura. Okay, showtime.

A soft knock echoes as your knuckles meet the wood, a moment passing before you speak, attempting to keep your voice as soft and nonthreatening as possible.

“Gabriel? It’s y/n, I’m going to come in now.”

You allow another moment to pass before you ease the door open, blinking in surprise as your eyes are greeted by light—it seems the archangel has every bulb in the vicinity burning its brightest. Understandable, since you presume he wasn’t exactly kept in well-lit conditions.

For a second, you think he’s not in the room. You don’t see him anywhere, and you’re about a split-second away from turning and calling Sam when you catch a glimpse of something shifting in the corner, behind the bulky side of a wooden dresser. You think for a second that you’ve forgotten how to breathe, chest painfully tight, as you realise that the small form huddled and curled in the corner is, in fact, the archangel Gabriel.

You hate that you’d noticed him only because of the filthy scraps of material that stick out against the dark décor of the bunker.

“Hey, Gabriel,” you say softly, keeping the door open so he has a route of escape and moving over as slowly and cautiously as you can. “I’m just gonna come over and sit in front of you, alright?”

You figure that even if he’s not entirely listening to everything you’re saying, it’s better to announce what you’re doing before you do it, for his benefit.

Something painful ricochets off the inside of your chest as you grow close enough to see him around the dresser and you’re confronted with his beaten, bloody and battered figure once more. His gaze is anywhere but you, and the way he presses himself into the corner is like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. It takes all of your willpower to squash down the unexpected sob that catches low in your throat. What is wrong with you?! You need to get a grip.

“Oh, Gabriel,” you find yourself saying before you can stop. “I’m so sorry…”

The closer you get to him, the lower you try to make yourself in his peripheral. It wouldn’t do any good to startle him by appearing big and threatening. It makes you frown when you remember just who it is that you have to think this way about. It’s sad, you think. The Gabriel you’d known was prideful, glaringly bright and loud in his presence, both as a trickster and an angel, and that he’d been reduced to… well, to this? It made your chest feel heavy.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, you ease down onto your knees in front of him, doing your best not to rush anything. It’s hard—you’re a hunter, used to moving with speed and a sense of urgency. So to take your time and really be in the moment for each of your actions is definitely an odd change from the usual autopilot your brain resides in.

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence once you’re still in front of him, not really. You had expected as much though, and as much as he seems unresponsive you do see the occasional flick of his eyes in your direction before they dart away, like he couldn’t believe he’d dared to look at someone instead of the floor.

For a few minutes, you simply let him adjust to your presence, your company. Ever so slowly, you see the tiniest bits of tension ease from his shoulders, his eyes no longer darting around like a frantic squirrel. You take the opportunity to take in the wounds and sores littering his body, doing your best not to get too upset by what you see. Dirt and grime coats him in layers, and you mentally note that your next goal with him would be to get him in a damn bath.

It can’t be comfortable, sitting in all that grime…

“For the sake of transparency,” you begin when he seems like he will be open enough to listening. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. This is your space right now, and I don’t want to intrude on it unless I really need to.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, but you sense you have his attention. “Given that right now you’re low on… strength, and not healing as you usually do, we need to take care of some of the worse wounds you have. If we don’t, it’s a risk of infection, and we don’t know how well you would fight that off in this state…”

You clear your throat, attempting to keep yourself on track. “So, if you’re able, we’d really like you to come out just for a moment, so we can fix up some of your sores. I promise that you can come right back in here afterwards, and that unless we have something really important we’ll leave you alone. Sound good?”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t really move, but the way his eyes move to yours and hold your gaze for a bare second longer than you expect, you gather he’s not entirely against it. You offer him a smile, oddly proud of him. You’d seen firsthand how hard it can be to get out of these mindsets, even just for a moment. Effort is hard and that he’s making it means everything.

“Perfect,” you say, shifting in your spot so you can stand more easily. “Alright, I can help you up, if you’d like, or you can stand on your own if you want. What do y—”

Your hands had already begun to outstretch as you spoke, and you’re taken by surprise when before you even finish speaking his hand is whipping up to grab your wrist in a sort of monkey grip. You’re left blinking as you help him up, moving on autopilot. You expect him to release you as soon as he’s standing, but it adds to your surprise as he wobbles in place and retains his grip, if anything shuffling a little closer.

“Okay,” you say, angling your body and adjusting your grip so that it’s loose and as nonthreatening as possible. “Let’s go. Thank you for cooperating.”

Of course, there’s no response and he’s silent the whole way to the library. You remember that Sam is in there only as you approach the threshold, but unlike what you feared, Gabriel doesn’t seem to react too poorly to him like he apparently had earlier. Risking a glance his way reveals that actually, amongst the frayed and almost manic energy, he seems oddly… grounded, just for the moment.

Well, this is certainly going better than you’d anticipated.

“I went to bully Dean this morning, but he woke up before me and left before I could get to him.”

You’re in the process of cleaning the wounds around Gabriel’s mouth and removing the ugly stitches that have been sewn into his lips. As something to distract him as much as you from what you’re doing, you’ve begun chatting idly to the archangel, unbothered by the lack of response. Sam sits a metre or so away, researching for Dean who had apparently called earlier when you were coercing Gabriel out of his room.

Still Gabriel doesn’t hold your gaze, eyes averted as he leans forward in the chair for you to reach his mouth, but you can tell from the way his eyes occasionally flick to you as you speak that he is listening, somewhat. It’s enough of a win that you’re willing to take it.

He winces each time your alcohol swab goes over the entry point of a stitch, but doesn’t flinch away too badly. You’re pretty proud of him for that, actually, because it must hurt like a bitch.

“You got him yesterday, though,” Sam pipes in from the side, amused as he recalls your arrival. “Barely an hour after you got here and he was quitting and heading to bed.”

“It’s hard being so naturally talented,” you say, placing the swab down and reaching for the small scissors and tweezers. “I’m an absolute delight, and Dean should appreciate that!”

“Has anyone ever believed you when you told them that?” Sam asks, presumably referring to the ‘delight’ bit.

“Why wouldn’t they, Samuel?” you ask, giving the massive man a light spritz of stink-eye. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he snorts in response, turning a page in the tome he currently has in his lap.

You bite your lip to hide your amused smile, turning back to Gabriel. You place your hand softly on his cheek to let him know that you’re about to go back in for the stitches, before raising the other tool and bringing it to the first of the thick threads woven through his flesh. Wincing, you try and snip it as delicately as possible. Now seems like a better time than any for more distractions.

“If you think I’m bad, you should be glad you never met my grandfather,” you inform the youngest Winchester, successfully severing the first stitch and beginning the icky job of pulling it out. Gabriel makes a muffled noise of pain but remains still, and you pat his hand softly in support. “He could stir the shit out of anyone, man. Like, I’m not even kidding. The bastard gene I got from him was actually watered down by the time it got to me, so count your lucky stars.”

Sam makes a noise of contemplation, like he really is taking the time to thank whatever powers that be— those apparently being Chuck, as you’ve heard— that you’re not more like your grandfather. Honestly, you’re not kidding—they really should be grateful. You loved your grandpa but you’d never met anyone so quick to stir whatever pot may present itself before them. An opportunist with bastardous tendencies, one might describe him.

In the silence that follows, you jump to another topic for the sake of distraction once more—you’re about to move onto another stitch.

“So, now that your mother is here, are you guys actually eating like normal human beings?” you ask, tongue pressed between your lips in concentration as you try to snip the thread as painlessly as possible by manoeuvring the small scissors. “Like, balanced meals with vegetables and shit?”

You hear Sam pause in the motion of turning a page, a scoff turning into a laugh as it climbs his throat. “What—homecooked meals? Our mom? Dude, she’s worse than Dean in the kitchen, and I really didn’t think that was possible.”

You pause your ministrations to face the tall man, squinting. “What? No way. No way is she worse than Dean—”

“We’ve had to replace the fire alarms twice already,” Sam says, meeting your gaze with a look that is full of both fondness and exasperation. He lets out a laugh at your flabbergasted face. “Dude, I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it for myself. You’ll see, whenever she gets back with Jack. She can’t cook but it doesn’t really stop her trying.”

“Another terrible chef joins the ranks,” you proclaim dramatically, pulling the stitch you were working on out and going in on the next one. “Oh, to be able to cook. I suppose this Jack kid is our last hope.”

“He’s not even a year old, y/n,” Sam says, deadpan. “I wouldn’t count on it. Also, you can cook, you’re just lazy.”

You shrug, making a face; he has you there. “I will neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

Once more, you feel Sam roll his eyes behind you—he should get that checked if he’s rolling them so heavily you can feel it yourself. They’re not even eyes that are in your own skull, man.

You proceed to pull shit out of your ass as you take Gabriel’s mouth stitches out, the metal tin to the side soon filled with scraps of thick thread covered in dried blood and muck. The exit wounds where the thread had been have begun to well with blood, the wounds agitated by the removal of the stitches, and you bring a new cotton pad back with alcohol to clean them up. Gabriel hisses at the contact, and you rush out apologies under your breath as you finish up. You’d forgotten to warn him, and it’s only something small but you still feel bad.

“Alright, that’s done,” you announce, mostly to yourself. You look over him, deciding which wound to treat next, when your attention is drawn to the way he seems to be shaking a little on the spot. He’s not as grounded as he was earlier when he sat down with you, and even though you have much more work to do you can tell intrinsically that this is the most he can take right now. Dressing his other wounds would have to wait until tomorrow.

You turn to find Sam already giving the archangel a scrutinising look, apparently arriving at the same conclusion you had. He gives you a nod and you let out a soft breath, turning back to Gabriel and offering your hands should he need them.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get you back to the room.”

You can only hope tomorrow will offer the same amount of progress as today.

prev. || next

#supernatural gabriel #supernatural #supernatural fic #gabriel x reader #supernatural gabriel x reader #gabriel x you #supernatural gabriel x you #supernatural soulmate au #soulmate au #my work #alexa play candyshop #spn fic #spn gabriel #gabriel fic #gabriel series #gabriel fanfic #supernatural series #wing fic

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 27: Princess (Royal/medieval AU)

AO3

The shrill akuma alarm wakes Marinette up the next morning and she sighs, rubbing her head gently before grabbing the bottle of painkillers that Dick had left next to her on the table.

“Don’t leave yet!” A voice calls from the other room. Marinette frowns, but listens, quickly taking a couple painkillers and letting herself wake up. Dick rushes into the room, nearly falling as he slides across the floor in his socks. He rushes over to her and kneels in front of her, staring into her eyes. She frowns.

“What are you doing?” She asks, too tired to try and comprehend what’s wrong with her brother right now.

“Checking your eyes and seeing how bad your concussion is so I know if I need to call Adrien to keep a closer eye on you for this fight.” Dick says, frowning slightly at something he sees. He reaches out and gently pushes a spot on her head and she hisses in pain.

“Hey, ya big jerk, that hurts!” She complains, giving him her best ‘Damian’ glare. He just rolls his eyes.

“This is serious kid, you got seriously injured last night.” Dick reminds her. She purses her lips.

“I know, and I promise I’ll take it easy later, but right now I really need to go.” She pleads. Dick sighs, but nods, standing up.

“Go kick some butterfly butt.” He says with a small grin. Marinette grins back at him, quickly calling her transformations and portaling away to Paris. She blinks in the bright sunlight, trying hard to push away any disorientation she has from the stupid concussion. I can do this, she thinks, glancing around to assess the situation. She frowns at her surroundings. She knew she was technically in Paris, she could see the Eiffel tower and Kaalki never misled her before. Well, not during an attack anyway. But where the giant modern buildings should be, there were small stone buildings with thatch roofs. Glancing around, she also notices a huge, stone castle where her school used to be. That should be fun.

“I am the Dark Knight, and I will not rest until I have Chat Noir and Ladybug’s Miraculous!” A voice shouts out above the rest of the noise. Marinette creeps over and just blinks at the fashion atrocity before her. She was going to slap Hawkmoth twice when she found him. Once, for terrorizing Paris for over a year. And again for the awful wardrobe choices he made. Seriously. And the Dark Knight? Isn’t that name trademarked, or something?

“Hey Bugaboo, what’s the plan?” Chat asks, landing beside her and leaning on his baton. She frowns.

“I don’t actually have one yet. I just got here.” She says, and this time he’s the one confused.

“But you always rush over.” He says, careful not to include anything about Kaalki. You never know who might be listening.

“I’ll explain later. Any idea where the object might be?” She asks, scanning the akuma. It’s power didn’t seem too awful. It had changed most of the structure in Paris, and now it was changing people’s clothes too when they got hit by the orange light. Some citizens were in what Marinette could only assume was the height of fashion during the Renaissance, whereas some citizens were draped in obvious “peasant” outfits. But there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the difference. Just a difference.

“The satchel looks promising.” Chat says, and Marinette grins, a plan slowly taking hold in her mind. She’d just need two paper clips, a stick of gum and whatever her lucky charm was.

---

“Pound it.” Chat says holding out a fist. Marinette grins, returning the fist bump. “Did you have time to talk? You know, about why you were late?” Chat asks, and Marinette sighs but nods. They both recharge in an alley before swinging to sit on the top of the Eiffel tower.

“I fought an akuma alone, while you were out of town.” She says first, shrugging lightly. “I didn’t think about it, honest. I’d done it a million times before with Monsieur Pigeon. But the Bat got mad.” Marinette says, not wanting to risk calling him her dad while she’s masked in Paris. It just felt like it was asking for trouble.

“Cause you fought alone?” Chat asks, frowning.

“Well, that and I sort of jammed the Zeta tubes so that outsiders can’t come to Paris during an active akuma attack.” She mumbles under her breath, wincing at the noise Chat’s neck makes when he jerks around to stare at her dumbfoundedly.

“That’s insane. How’d you do it?” He asks and she simply grins.

“Spent enough time with Pegasus and Red Robin and Oracle. Add in a tiny bit of luck and boom. I win.” She smirks

“So you were late cause you’re grounded.” Chat says simply, a proud smile on his face as he thinks he cracked the code. Solved the mystery.

“Not quite,” Marinette says with a slight frown.

“Then what?” Chat asks. Marinette lets out a long sigh, glaring at Adrien to let him know she’s not happy about this situation, she does not want to talk to him about this. He’ll just get all worried.

“Well last night I was still benched from patrol because of the whole akuma attack thing but Tikki thought I should be ungrounded so I went out anyway and then the dude that stabbed me a couple months ago found me and the rest of the Batclan didn’t know that I was out so they couldn’t help me and I was all alone and then he knocked me out and I don’t really remember much except I woke up at Nightwing’s apartment and met Starfire and yeah that’s it.” She rambles, shooting him a smile and waving nonchalantly.

“I’m going to wrap you in bubble wrap. No, I’m going to make the Batclan do it.” Chat finally says, pulling out his baton.

“No, don’t! Batman doesn’t know. Neither does Hood or Red Robin. Only Nightwing and Robin know.” She says, swatting the baton out of his hand. The last thing she needed was for him to accidentally call her dad on her. She’d be in so much trouble.

“Geeze Bug.” Chat mutters under his breath, tugging her into a hug. She sighs and hugs him back, taking just a moment to relish being with her friend.

“I’m pretty sure Batman is narrowing down his Hawkmoth suspect list.” She mumbles, and Chat pulls back from her, staring into her face.

“Are you serious?” He asks, the relief on his face clear. Marinette nods, and Chat lets out a long sigh. One that Marinette could feel in her bones, because she was tired too. She also wanted to end this fight. Hopefully her dad would have a suspect soon.

---

Bruce Wayne was the world’s greatest detective. He had solved cases infinitely larger than this one, so he didn’t understand why he couldn’t find a damn lead on Hawkmoth. Actually, he understood perfectly. It was magic. God he hates magic. It’s unpredictable, and most of the time it’s more trouble than it’s worth. He sighs and sends a quick text to Dick, double checking that Marinette had made it back to his apartment okay. He knew his daughter was...upset with him for benching her and demanding she take someone with her to Paris. But they were all precautions, just to guarantee that nothing worse happened to her. She wasn’t invincible, no matter how much she seemed to think she was. He frowns at the text he receives back, quickly hitting call and waiting a few moments for Dick to pick up.

“Hel-”

“What do you mean she’s not at your place?” Bruce asks, not giving his eldest son a chance to talk.

“Well hi to you too, B.” Dick teases, and Bruce just knows he’s grinning. He lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Is she really not there? The akuma attack ended nearly twenty minutes ago and she’s not here either.” Bruce says, trying to think of where else she would go. Jason was even at the Manor, and hadn’t heard from her either.

“No, B, she’s not-” Dick pauses, then lets out a long sigh. “It’s B. He was wondering where you were.” He hears Dick say, and Bruce is surprised to hear his son’s tone. It was less carefree and more...like a father. He was a father, with Mar’i, but it was still odd to hear him use the tone on someone besides his granddaughter.

“I had to talk to Adrien.” He can barely hear her say and Bruce lets out a frustrated huff. Of course she was with the Agreste boy again. Honestly, he seemed nice enough until Selina pointed out the crushes that the two had on each other. Now, Bruce wanted nothing more than to lock him away. Far away.

“Can you please ask her if she’s coming home tonight?” Bruce finally says, listening to the silence on the other end. He wonders if they’d put the phone on mute or if Marinette was signing furiously the way he’d seen her do over a video call with Cass earlier in the week.

“We’re all coming. See you at dinner.” Dick says, hanging up almost fast enough for Bruce to not hear the protest from Marinette. Almost. Bruce walks to find Alfred, trying not to let the fact that his daughter doesn’t want to see him again get to him.

---

Marinette glares at her oldest brother as they walk into the manor. He just grins, acting as if he hadn’t practically forced her home. It’s not that she didn’t want to come home, but she knew she had a couple bruises and a lump on her head. She also knew that Damian was apparently barely holding himself back from hunting down Slade. She really didn’t need Tikki giving him any ideas.

“Welcome home, Miss Marinette. Would you like me to look at your injuries?” Alfred asks immediately walking towards her as he walks into the room. Marinette glances around, hoping her dad isn’t around before sighing.

“No thank you Alfred, I’m fine.” She reassures him, or she tries to. His face doesn’t look like he believes her.

“Yes, I’m certain a concussion is nothing to worry about. Especially since you’ve had so many.” He drawls, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Hey, whoa. You said this was your first concussion.” Dick says after urging Mar’i to fly off and find Jason or Damian or Tim. Marinette huffs.

“It is.” She says, crossing her arms.

“The concussions you sustain in the suit still count. Head injuries are not an exact science. Nor are they an exact magic cure, either. They often heal at an accelerated speed, but can still have long-lasting effects.” Alfred says and Marinette blinks. That was almost- Almost- information about the Miraculous. And only someone who knew about the Miraculous would know about the whole head injury thing. She blinks at him for a moment, running possibilities through her head. She sighs, realizing that if Alfred had been a holder, it was definitely for a Miraculous she didn’t have. She could just...feel it.

“I promise I’m fine, and if I start feeling any of those other concussion symptoms, I’ll come to you.” Marinette promises.

“And how did you get a concussion?” Her dad asks, practically materializing out of nowhere.

“Akuma attack. Miraculous cure can’t do a complete heal with concussions, it’s too, uh, dangerous. Not exact.” Marinette lies, trying hard not to do any of her tells. She doesn’t tense up, she doesn’t grin, she doesn’t look at someone else and giggle, nothing. She lies with a straight face, which honestly almost scares her more than getting yelled at by her dad. He just hums before nodding at her.

“Will you be staying here tonight? Most of us have patrol, but afterwards Tim suggested that we all watch a movie together.” Her dad says and Marinette tries hard to suppress her grin. There’s no way.

“Wow Tim, you really wanna have a full-family movie night?” She calls out, grinning at the surprised look on her brother’s face. Because of course her dad was the one to set it up, but of course he didn’t want anyone to know. “I think that’s super cool Tim. As long as we can watch some Disney princess movies.” She adds, laughing as Mar’i comes flying around the corner with wide eyes.

“Did someone say princess?” She squeals, flying straight into Marinette’s arms. Marinette grins at her niece and nods.

“Oh yes. Timmy has decided we’re gonna watch Disney princess movies as a family all night long!” She says, laughing as her niece cheers. She glances at her Dad and tries hard to hold back the snort that wants to come out at his exasperated look. Looks like it’s gonna be a Disney night for the Wayne household.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

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jaehyun-eclipsed · 4 years ago

Text

Before I Met You | Nineteen

Next Update: ~December 13, 2020

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: Hello! I’m back with an update! I apologize for not coming up with an update schedule. Things have been very hectic, but I made time to write the next chapter! Next update will be in a month or so. Thank you to the person who checked in a few weeks ago! Very happy to hear you still thought about this story.

Warnings: Some suggestive content

Before I Met You Masterlist

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“So you’re telling me that this guy taught you how to play pool, sat with you for three plus hours to help you with physics, made sexual comments, and then told you that he was ‘just being friendly’?” Xiaojun asks in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“What the heck?!” Ten interjects loudly.

“Do you do this when you hit on girls?” I ask Xiaojun.

Xiaojun opens his mouth to respond when Ten cuts in again. “That’s the wrong question, Y/N. He’d have to talk to girls in the first place.”

I try to mask a giggle as Xiaojun punches Ten in the arm. “It’s not like you’re doing any better on Tinder.”

“Excuse me, but I have a boyfriend that I am very much in love with.”

“You guys started dating like two weeks ago.”

“Whatever! Why didn’t you ever ask out Y/N?!”

There’s a deafening silence between all of us. My eyes shoot open and my jaw nearly drops as I look back and forth between the two boys. Xiaojun looks genuinely confused.

“Um, what?” I ask.

“Didn’t you two have a thing last year?” Ten asks us.

Xiaojun and I exchange a look of confusion before turning back to Ten and simultaneously answering with a very forceful, “No.”

“Oh, but I thought… because… I asked if Xiaojun wanted to go get dinner with me, but he was studying with you and I wasn’t invited so I thought that you two were…”

“We were studying for physics,” I say.

“Yeah… and?” Ten asks as if studying physics spontaneously creates romantic attractions.

Oh, right. That’s because it does in some cases. That was all of my sophomore year. I’m so stupid. How could I forget?

“You weren’t in physics with us, Ten,” Xiaojun responds.

“Oh, right… I wasn’t.”

Xiaojun blinks a few times and presses his lips together in a line before speaking again. “Anyway, there’s no way Jaemin didn’t know what he was doing. Guys know what they’re doing. I know when I’m flirting with someone.”

“When was the last time you even flirted with anyone?” Ten cuts in again. “Ooh, what about that girl from biology last year?”

“Shut up, Ten, this isn’t about me. And if you really must know, I did ask her out and we went to grab coffee, but I found out I wasn’t into her,” Xiaojun replies, annoyance lacing his tone. He turns back to me. “Y/N, would you still go out with him?”

With a heavy sigh, I contemplate for a moment. Though I’m upset about it, I have to admit that I’m still not really over it.

“If he asked, probably.”

“Do you guys still talk?”

“No, not exactly. I run into him around campus all the time though.”

Ten laughs. “What if he’s following you?”

“He’s the one who rejected me! Why would he follow me around?”

“Maybe he feels bad and wants to talk to you again.” Ten waves his hand in the air. “You know what? Forget him. Is there anyone new at your house that’s cute?”

“Um, there are a couple guys I think are kinda cute.”

Ten claps his hands together. “Perfect! Have you talked to them?”

“Once or twice.”

“Y/N! You live with these guys for the entire semester and you’ve only talked to them once or twice?!”

“One of them has a girlfriend!”

“So?! It’s cuffing season! You gotta find someone to cuddle with… and cry with since finals are coming up in a few weeks.”

“I am not interested in home wrecking,” I say firmly.

Ten groans. “You’re never going to find anyone at this rate.”

“Not everyone can be a Tinder fanatic like you, Ten,” Xiaojun says with a roll of his eyes.

Ten clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “All I’m saying is that you two gotta put yourselves out there! No one’s gonna know you exist if you spend all day inside studying!”

“Speaking of which,” Xiaojun begins, “don’t you have an assignment due at midnight, Ten?”

“Oh shit! Yeah!” Ten pulls his sleeve up to check his watch and then waves his hand down. “It’s fine. It’s only five.”

“Actually, I better get going,” I say. “It’s getting dark.”

“We’ll walk you home,” says Xiaojun.

“Hey, have you guys ever had your feet sucked?” Ten suddenly asks as we walk up the slow steeping hill towards my house.

Xiaojun and I stop mid-step and slowly turn around to face Ten. “What?”

“Okay, guys, hear me out.” Ten puts his hands up defensively. “I’m just saying, but if someone ever offers to do it, you should take them up on that offer.”

Xiaojun and I exchange a look of disgust before turning back to Ten.

“What?” we repeat.

“Yeah!” Ten responds adamantly, his eyes wide.

My mouth is agape as I look at him with great concern. Ten looks perfectly serious about his stance on… whatever this is.

“Xiaojun, why are you roommates with Ten?” I ask, keeping my gaze on Ten who has a very stupid, yet innocent expression on his face.

“Believe me, I ask myself that every day.”

Ten runs up to us and throws his arms around our shoulders. “Aren’t you so glad we sat next to each other in biology last year?”

“I would’ve been fine if it were just Xiaojun, but it sounds like you two come as a package deal that Xiaojun never agreed to.”

“You got that right,” Xiaojun responds.

I wiggle out of Ten’s hold around my shoulders. “So, if I’m hearing you correctly, it sounds like you speak from experience?” I ask.

“Okay, okay, hear me out. It feels really good,” Ten says quickly. “Okay, so there was this guy, Sungho –”

“Sungho?!” Xiaojun interjects in disbelief. “Like our roommate, Sungho?!”

“Uh, yeah…”

Xioajun covers his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

“Anyway,” Ten continues as if this is nothing out of the ordinary. “Sungho and I got kinda drunk one night and we both came home and I got into bed and noticed that someone was in my bed. It turns out it was Sungho and we were both laying opposite of each other. So his feet were next to my head and my feet were next to his head. So then he grabbed my foot and started sucking on my toes and yeah…”

I turn to look at Xiaojun who is looking at Ten completely horrified.

“I am never borrowing your socks,” Xiaojun says.

“I think the socks are the least of your worries…” I say.

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it!”

“Pass,” we both say sternly.

“Why can’t I find a boyfriend?!” Jia laments as she slams her head back onto her pillow.

I stare up at the ceiling as Jia props herself up to look over at me from her bed. “How do you find a boyfriend, huh?”

Tilting my head to look up at her, I press my lips together, unsure of an answer to her question. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one.”

She huffs and falls back onto her pillow again. “I’m nice and smart and can cook. I would take good care of him! How come boys don’t ask me out?”

“Do you even talk to any boys?”

“No.” I chuckle. “That might a problem if you’re trying to find a boyfriend and don’t talk to boys.”

“You have lots of guy friends. How do you do it?”

“I’ve always just gotten along better with guys, but I’m also not trying to date any of the ones I’m friends with.”

“Do you just… go up and talk to them?”

“Sometimes. If I’m in class, some of the ones around me start talking to me.”

“What do you talk to them about?”

“Nothing really. Just things about class or things that have happened. You can just talk to them like you would any of your other friends.”

“I don’t know what to do because when I try to talk to guys, I don’t know what to say. I try to talk to them about school, but they don’t really say anything.” She groans again. “There aren’t any cute boys in my class. And the semester is almost over!

The semester is almost over and I’m still hung up on some stupid guy. Way to go, Y/N. Feelings are so stupid.

“Do you think I need to do my hair and makeup like you do every day?” she asks.

I frown. “No. That’s something I do because I like to do it. You need to do what you’re comfortable with.”

“You get asked out a lot, right?” Jia queries.

“No, not really.”

“But you always have all of these guys that like you! Like I’m pretty sure that Jaemin from last year liked you.”

There’s a twinge of pain in my chest, like my heart has been rubbed against a cheese grater upon hearing his name unexpectedly. I’ve never actually told Jia that I liked Jaemin, though I’m sure she could tell. And I certainly never told her how I’ve been feeling for the past couple months and why I’m always cooped up in the library or our room.

“Yeah, I don’t know about Jaemin…”

“Did he ever ask you out?”

“No.”

“Did he ever tell you he liked you?”

“No.”

She sighs again. “So what happened?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

And I’ve been trying to figure it out for the past couple months to no avail.

“This is so bad!” she exclaims. “If you don’t know what happened with Jaemin, how could I have a chance?!”

“It takes time. If you really wanted to, I guess you could try Tinder or something… Ten found his boyfriend on there.”

“Tinder?” The word rolls off her tongue like she’d eaten something bitter. “But isn’t Tinder mostly for hookups?”

“There are other dating apps out there.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” she responds solemnly before changing the subject. “Are you going to the library again tomorrow?”

“For a little bit and then I’m meeting Suji to get ice cream for the end of the semester.”

The leaves on the trees had mostly fallen to the ground. Orange and brown mosaics filled the black asphalt. The continuous crackling and crunching of the leaves filled the air as students walked and biked over them. November would be coming to a close in a few weeks and I spent the whole semester locking myself in the library as a distraction from my guy problems. I felt pathetic admitting to myself that Jaemin occupied my mind that much. I was known as the callous one in high school that didn’t have any emotions. I shouldn’t be this affected. It was like a repeat of Lucas with an ending that made zero sense. Only this time, I didn’t have a third party to give me any clarity. Jaemin was a situation where I would never have the full story and I would have to learn to live with that.

I sigh. At least coffee ice cream will always be there for me.

Suji and I grab a seat on a bench outside the university café.

“I’m going to miss this,” Suji says.

“College?”

Suji is laughing like I said something absolutely ridiculous. “No, not college, silly. I’ll miss getting strawberry ice cream with you and complaining about life.”

“Oh, of course.” I chuckle lightly. “How silly of me. Ice cream with Suji is definitely one of the main highlights. We have one more semester to enjoy it. And then I guess I’ll have to get ice cream on my own next year and pretend you’re here.”

“You’re graduating early, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, a semester early. I suppose I’ll only have to suffer without you for one semester!” I take another bite of my coffee ice cream. “Have you been applying for jobs?”

She lets out a long and defeated sigh. “Yeah.” There’s a pause as she pushes the pink cream around her cup. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know what you want to be?” she suddenly asks.

“Like, career-wise? Uh, well, the plan is to go to grad school, get a PhD, and become a researcher. Why?”

“I don’t know what I want to be. I don’t know what I like.”

“Aren’t you like… a triple major?”

“Yeah, public health, public policy, and sociology.”

“Do you like those subjects?”

“I do. I’ve been applying to HR jobs because that’s all I’ve been able to get. I thought about grad school, but because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do at the beginning, I took a bunch of random classes that I didn’t do super well in. So my GPA is kinda low to get into any good programs.”

We’re both silent for a moment, watching several students in suits walk up the steps to pose for headshots in front of the library.

“I’m scared,” Suji says quietly.

I turn to look at her as she gnaws on her lip.

“I don’t know what I want. I don’t really know what I like. I’m graduating in a semester and it feels like I’m just going to get a job and be stuck there for the rest of my life.”

I continue to stay quiet, silently encouraging her to continue.

“My older sister is a doctor. She went to med school right after college and has always seemed to know what she wanted. But I don’t and I don’t know how to figure it out.”

“I’m pretty sure she felt the same way you do. You’re only twenty-one. You have plenty of time to figure this out. You have the ability to change jobs, you know? You can choose to go back to school later on. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”

“It sure feels that way – what with everyone getting big tech firm or consulting jobs.” She lets out another long sigh. “You know what I hate?”

“What?”

“Everyone always says they want to be ‘happy’ and I feel like that’s a cop out answer. Like yeah, I want to be happy, but what is it specifically that’s going to make me happy? What if… what if my sister went to med school and in her last year, she decided she didn’t want to do medicine anymore? Then what do you do?! You’re too far in to quit, but then you’re gonna get stuck doing something you don’t like.”

It’s a scary thought being a senior in college. It’s not the same as being a senior in high school. There’s a genuine and valid worry of needing to figure out what career to pursue and how to take care of yourself. And because of external pressure, there’s this feeling of impending doom that if you don’t become a successful, six-figure salary, VP or CEO or whatever, by the age of twenty-five, that’s it. You’re done. End of story. You’ve failed.

You’re supposed to be constantly working towards something.

“Everyone around me is getting a job or going to grad school and I feel like I’m doing nothing. Look at all the CS majors. They all have these six-figure salary jobs right out of college and I’m just… I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I want to go to grad school and if I do, I should probably figure it out soon because I don’t want to be in school when I’m forty!”

It’s a fear of being perceived that you’re wasting time.

“I wish I had an answer for you because I worry about the same thing,” I respond.

Yeah, I had plans to attend grad school and dedicate the next five years of my life to pursuing a career I was fairly sure I liked. But with every day that passed, attending classes I didn’t fully throw myself into, obtaining internships out of obligation rather than actually wanting to do them, and never wanting to engage in conversation about my field of work, I found myself in the same boat as Suji. Pursing a degree in a field I sort of liked because I didn’t really know what I wanted to do either.

There’s a loud fist pounding on the table followed by a triumphant, “Ha! I won!” Hendery, Johnny, Chaeyoung, Shotaro, and Sungchan are playing a card game in the dining room. Their heads turn upon hearing the clacking of my boots on the wood floor of the foyer.

“Hey, Y/N!” Johnny greets. “You want to play with us?”

“What are you playing?” I ask as I walk towards them.

“Exploding Kittens,” says Shotaro.

“I don’t know how to play,” I admit.

“We’ll teach you!” Chaeyoung says.

After a few games, I found out that I was very bad at Exploding Kittens. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t totally invested in actually trying to win, but nevertheless, I lost every game.

The bright side to all of this was that I made new friends. Shotaro and Sungchan were roommates that lived across from me. Both were CS majors. Chaeyoung, a data science major, lived a few doors down from me and she was kind enough to share some chocolate truffles with me. Hendery, a statistics and CS double major, was Johnny’s roommate and he had a tendency to make use of SAT words when something unpleasant happened.

And Johnny… well Johnny was still really cute and funny. He was fun to play with and tried to play nicely since his turn was before mine. He intentionally tried to keep me in the game.

“I’m going to go make dinner,” Johnny announces before getting up and walking into the kitchen.

“I gotta go upstairs and finish the CS lab,” Hendery says.

Seeing that most of the others are leaving, I go to grab my backpack when I catch Shotaro’s eyes widen as if he wants to say something urgent.

“Y/N, do you want to continue playing?” Shotaro says quickly.

I pause and when I turn to fully look at him, he’s smiling and suddenly that weird feeling I had experienced when I first met Jaemin overcomes me.

Oh no.

“Um… I’m going to go upstairs to put some things away, but I’ll come back down a little later to study…”

While I’m upstairs, I open my laptop and pull up Facebook. To my surprise, there’s already a friend request from Shotaro. I chuckle to myself and accept.

My next immediate thought went to Johnny.

I think it’s okay to add him on Facebook now. Right? It’s not creepy. I know him. I’ve talked to him a few times. It should be fine. He knows your name.

I bite my bottom lip and hover my cursor over the “Add Friend” button.

Why am I making this so difficult? Shotaro added me already. He obviously didn’t hesitate and his reasoning was probably, “Oh, we’ve played card games together now! We’re friends! Easy, peasy.”

I press the track pad and let out a sigh of relief.

“What were you doing downstairs?” Jia suddenly asks.

“I was playing Exploding Kittens.”

“Oooh. With Johnny?” she asks teasingly.

“Well, yes, Johnny was there. The other people are nice too. I like Chaeyoung.”

“But Johnny has a girlfriend, right?”

I shrug. “I think so. I didn’t ask about it.”

Right then, I receive a notification. Johnny Suh has accepted your friend request.

I’ll admit, there’s a slight excitement in my chest upon seeing the notification, but I make sure to keep my expression neutral.

“I met Shotaro too,” I say, switching the subject.

“Oh yeah, I’ve talked to Shotaro. He’s taking Chinese and tried to talk to me.” She starts snickering to herself. “He’s okay. His accent is a little funny.”

I nod at her comment and when I turn back to my laptop, there’s a blinking chat box on the bottom right of the screen.

Johnny: hi!

Oh?

I stare at the message for a moment. I shouldn’t be overthinking it, but really, who immediately messages someone they just added on Facebook unless it’s for some school or work related thing?

Me: Hi

J: did you have fun playing earlier?

Me: Yeah! I’m not very good, but it was fun

J: I tried to help you too!

Me: I’m sorry! I tried!

J: I won’t go so easy on you next time! 😉

“Who are you talking to?”

My head snaps up. “Hm? Oh I’m talking to Johnny.”

“What? Johnny?!” Jia exclaims. She blinks several times and quirks her eyebrow. “Did he add you or something?”

“Uh, I added him and he accepted my friend request and started messaging me.”

Her forehead creases, almost as if she’s a bit miffed that Johnny didn’t add her and start talking to her instead. A silence overcomes her and her gaze falls to the ground. I turn back to my laptop.

Me: That’s fine! I’ll just have to beat you at a different game instead lol

J: oh yeah?! what game?

Me: I mean, I’m pretty good at archery if you’re still up for that

J: I feel like you’ll cheat

J: or you’ll shoot me so I can’t shoot back

Me: *gasp*

Me: You know, I’m pretty sure that’s a crime…

J: lol

“What are you talking about?” Jia suddenly says. “You’re smiling a lot.”

Shit. I am? Good grief. Why are you even watching me? Aren’t you studying?

“About the card game we were playing earlier.”

She frowns. “Was the game really that funny?”

“It was all right. I was bad at it, but it was fun.”

J: what are you doing?

Me: I’m in my room. Was cleaning up. Might come back downstairs to study

J: oh yeah you should come back down

J: hendery and i are working on a CS project

J: i’ll share my cookies with you

Me: What kind of cookies?

J: chips ahoy chewy

Me: 😮 I might really have to come back down

J: lol ya

J: oh are you busy tomorrow?

Me: Uh, just studying, why?

J: do you want to go grocery shopping with me?

I blink several times. Grocery shopping? He wants to go grocery shopping?

That’s an awfully strange request.

There’s something nudging me in the back of my mind.

It’s whispering, “Psst, doesn’t he have a girlfriend? If he does, why is he doing this? Is this another Jaemin situation?”

I have no idea, but I’m curious.

Me: Sure lol

I’ll bite.

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

#nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #lucas wong #wong yukhei #nct lucas #mark lee #nct mark #na jaemin #nct jaemin #nct johnny #johnny suh #nct u #before i met you

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