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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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scarletwinterxx · 4 years ago

Text

First and Last (BONUS CHAPTER)

Just one last chapter for my favorite sunshine. thank you for the support and love you’ve shown First and Last!

for scenarios and future series, do leave a message on my blog about what you want to see next and I’ll see what I can do. I love hearing about your ideas :)

See you on the next series! xx -A

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

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

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE || PART FOUR || FINALE || BONUS

“Can you hurry up? We’re going to be late. I don’t want to end up single before this trip even started” Donghyuck shouted through the apartment, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for his bestfriend to come out of his room so they can finally leave

“Has anyone told you you’re dramatic?” Renjun said as he emerges from his room, pulling his duffle bag over his shoulder

“You, let’s go let’s go let’s go” the other one replied, taking his own bag and making their way out to the car.

“We’re finally going on a vacation, we deserve this” Renjun said as he slides in the passenger seat

“Seatbelt, and yes finally. I just hope Y/N isn’t grumpy right now. Let’s both hope that” he mumbled, fully knowing that his girlfriend gets grumpy when she just woke up from a nap or sleep.

It was very early in the morning, or late at night. It’s 3am. Who decides to drive out that early? Well they all decided to just leave at this time so when they arrive at the vacation house it’s early in the morning and plenty of time to do activities for the rest of the day.

Donghyuck didn’t have a problem with staying up this late, he was used to it. Although, he can’t say the same for the other two people who will be with him in the car

“Did you text her? Are you even sure she’s awake?” Renjun asks Hyuck as he drives to Y/N apartment complex

“Yes, she didn’t say one cohesive word but she’s awake”

When they got to her building, Hyuck could make out Y/N silhouette from a mile away. He made a mental note to tell her not to wait outside especially during this late hour. Ofcourse he was going to do this once she’s rested enough, he didn’t want to risk being kicked again.

When they got to where Y/N was waiting, Renjun was just about to get out of the passenger seat to exchange seats but Y/N stopped him,

“I’m not planning on talking so I think it’s better if you stay there” she mumbled, she threw her bag beside her and held the small pillow close

“Hi, baby” Hyuck said cutely, looking back to the girl at the backseat. She was wearing his hoodie, one of many she has claimed ownership of over the course of their one year relationship.

Hyuck didn’t mind, he loved seeing her in his clothes. She looked so tiny and adorable, this made him want to just cuddle with her

“Remind me again why did we decide to drive at this hour?” she asked, the pout on her lips making Donghyuck smile as he started to drive again

“Because, we’re dumb” Renjun answered

“I know right, anyways I’m going to sleep. Wake me up when you guys get snacks or when we get there. I’m sorry in advance if I kick you when you try to wake me up” with this statement, Renjun starter to laugh and Hyuck slightly winced at the memory.

----------------------------------

It was a weekend, Y/N was over at Hyuck and Renjun’s apartment. They weren’t really doing anything. Like always they grabbed some lunch together then went back to the apartment to spend the rest of the weekend together.

There’s only a few things Hyuck does when he isn’t swarmed with activities at university. He’s either: One, with Y/N or Two, playing games with the rest of the boys. It’s a bonus when Y/N hangs out with him while he plays. She didn’t mind, most of the time she does some school work or catch up on her reading list while Hyuck plays his game.

Much like right now.

Hyuck had been playing for several hours he didn’t notice his girlfriend drifting off into dreamland.

“Babe, should we order some pizza? I kinda want some” Hyuck said while he continued on playing

“Baby?” he asked again when he didn’t hear a reply

“Y/N?” this time he took a quick look over at Y/N only to see her hugging one of his pillows, quiet snores coming out from her slightly parted lips. The scene before him made his heart stop and beat so fast at the same time. He wanted nothing more but to keep her there with him everyday.

Suddenly the idea of waking up with Y/N next to him didn’t seem like a bad idea, or sleeping with her in his arms. Tangled up in each other.

These thoughts swam around Hyuck’s head. He didn’t even notice his character dying on the game, his interest already switching to the girl on his bed.

He put the controller down and silently walked towards his bed, carefully he sat down beside her.

“How can you look so cute without even trying?” He thought

With a gentle smile on, he tuck those thoughts in his brain and gently shook Y/N

“Baby, wake up” he said quietly

“Love, wake up. You’re not going to be able to sleep later if you nap any longer” he already knew she was going to say this once she wakes up, a statement she always says when she accidentally naps at random times during the day

He was just about to shake her again when Y/N suddenly moved around and accidently kicking Hyuck on the stomach making the boy fall off the bed

“Oh my god, Hyuck. I’m so sorry. What were you doing there?” she said as she looked over at the boy on the floor

“I was trying to wake you up, warn me next time to not wake you up” he replied once he recovered, taking his previous seat on the bed

“Sorry, I get really grumpy and annoyed when I get woken up” she mumbled, already feeling guilty from the little accident. Hyuck quickly noticed this.

“Hey don’t worry, no harm done” He assured the girl, landing a quick kiss on her forehead. An action Donghyuck often does but still makes Y/N blush like crazy, he liked the fact that to now he still has this effect on her.

“Why were you waking me up anyways?” Y/N asked

“Oh right, do you want some pizza?”

------------------------------------------------

The drive took a couple of hours. The two boys just talking to each other, singing out songs, and just watching the view as it passes by.

Just like Y/N said, she passed out a few minutes after they drove off. Hugging the little pillow close to her.The pillow was a gift from Hyuck, he knew she likes to hug something to sleep. As much as he wants it to be him, for now the cute pillow will do.

“Who knew right?” Renjun mumbled catching Hyuck’s attention

“Knew what?”

“You two”

“You know” the boy continued, “Even before you two started to date for real, anyone with two eyes could see just how good of a pair the two of you makes”

“What do you mean?” Hyuck asks his bestfriend

“You’ve been pining for her since the beginning, you just didn’t know it”

“I wasn’t pining”

“Oh please, you whined so much when you didn’t get to see her. When she’s around you wouldn’t even spare us a glance”

As Renjun further explains, a small smile starts to form on Hyuck’s lips

“Look at you, whipped” Renjun teased his bestfriend, he’s joking right now but he’s genuinely happy to see Hyuck this happy.

After that they fell back into comfortable silence, enjoying the rest of their ride.

When they got to the vacation house they rented for the weekend, the two guys stood beside the backseat door contemplating whether who should wake Y/N up

“She’s your girlfriend, why are you making me do this?” Renjun asked, crossing his arms across his chest

“Because” Hyuck reasoned out, this made the other guy raise his eyebrow at his friend

“Because? because what? You deal with this, I’m going to get the bags” with a pat on Hyuck’s back, Renjun walked away.

Donghyuck took a deep breath before opening the door, screaming a bit when he saw Y/N staring back at him

“How long have you been awake?” he asked his girlfriend

“Since the car stopped, you know I have this sensor in my head” she joked then jumped out of the car, “Were you that scared to wake me up?”

“You kicked me once!”

“You said it didn’t hurt”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not pleasant” that earned him an eye roll from Y/N, before she could take her bag from inside the car Hyuck already took it and slung it over his shoulder

“I can carry that you know” Y/N said but made no effort to take it back from him, already knowing she wasn’t going to win. It wasn’t a ‘because I’m the guy I should be carrying the bag’ thing, Hyuck just liked doing things for Y/N. Whether it’s carrying her bag, a book, her hand, he just liked doing it.

“See, I have this theory” Hyuck stated, the pair started to walk towards the house. Even though he was holding both of their bags, his hand still found its way to Y/N’s hand and interlocking their fingers together.

“Do tell”

“You like carrying books around, those things are heavy. You know they say that can stop you from-”

“Stop it right there, I know what you’re about to say” Y/N warned, already knowing what’s about to come

A big smile already on Hyuck’s face, even when Y/N’s trying to look intimidating he still finds her cute and tiny he wanted to keep her in his pocket

“I wasn’t finished telling you my theory, you said you’d listen”

“It’s not a theory, you’re just teasing me”

“You know I only do it out of love” Hyuck took their intertwined hands and kissed the back of Y/N’s hand

“One day, I’m going to accidentally kick you” she said, making air quotes when she said accidentally. Hyuck laughed out loud, knowing she wouldn’t hurt a fly much less her most beloved boyfriend

“You love me too much” he mumbled

“I know, but we never know” she mumbled back then skipped ahead towards the house, the big smile still plastered on Hyuck’s face as he watched Y/N run up towards the rest of his friends.

The whole day they just hung out, went out to the beach until they sun set, pretty much ate every thing they wanted. Now it was dinner time, Jaemin and Jeno were in-charge of grilling the barbeque and burgers. Mark and his girlfriend by the fire pit, playing the guitar while Renjun sings. The two youngest ones even tagged along: Chenle and Jisung.

Y/N met them a few months after being official with Hyuck, she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a dolphin like scream when she got to their apartment. Now she thinks of the two youngest like her own brothers, ready to step in and protect them from the older guys when needed.

The three were making or trying to make some smores, during this time Y/N noticed that Hyuck was nowhere to be seen.

Finishing the last of her smore, she brushed her hand on her pants before standing up to look for her missing boyfriend.

Leaving the little hang out area at the back of the rented house, she walked a bit down the beach. From a distance she see the hammock attached to two trees moving, a leg hanging outside making the hammock move side to side.

She quietly made her way towards the swinging hammock, a plan already forming in her head.

Just as she’s about to scare the guy laying comfortably, he spoke up

“You know you can’t scare me”

“How did you even know it was me?” she asked, walking to side to look down at Hyuck who looked so comfortable laying there with one arm at the back of his head

“I just know” he smiled up at her

“What are you doing here anyways? Do you not want to hang out?” she asked again, the hand that wasn’t under Hyuck’s head already reaching out to grab Y/N’s hand using it to pull her closer towards him

“Just wanted to see the sky for a bit, come here”

“We’re not gonna fit and it might break”

“It won’t, come on we’ll cuddle”

“No, we’re going to-AHH” Y/N didn’t even get to finish her sentence before Hyuck pulled her in by the waist almost making her topple over. If Hyuck didn’t manage to catch her by the waist it time, she would’ve landed on her face on the other side

“Don’t do that! I almost fell”

“You didn’t though, you know I’d never let you fall” the boy chuckled while Y/N finds a more comfortable spot. Settling to the little space beside him, she was almost on top of Hyuck but he didn’t mind. He just wanted her close.

“Will you relax, look up”

“We’ll fall if I move” she mumbled, too scared to make one move

“We won’t, just trust me baby. Look up” Hyuck whispered, landing a soft kiss atop Y/N’s head. Carefully the girl moved until she was looking up too.

“Oh”

“I know right, we don’t get to see this often” Hyuck said quietly, almost scared to disrupt the peaceful moment they were having

“I also know you like the stars”

“I do” Y/N smiled at Hyuck’s statement, she may have mentioned it once or twice but it warms her heart that he still remembers what she said

“Do you like the sun?” the boy asked

“Is that your subtle way of asking me if I like you?” she chuckled, Hyuck didn’t miss the little movement she did to cuddle closer to him. His heart beating strongly in his chest, all because of this girl he’s holding in his arms

“You said the moon is your favorite” Y/N could just imagine the little pout he had on, so she turned her head up to land a little kiss on his chin before burying her face on his chest. His heartbeat against her cheek.

“You’re my most favorite” she mumbled

“Am I? I feel like that’s Chenle and Jisung”

“Okay maybe you’re a close third, okay okay I’m kidding” Y/N joked but Hyuck started to push her off

“You already know I love you the most” this time Y/N whispered those words by Hyuck’s ear, making the boy smile so big he felt like his lips would tear apart

“Say that again”

“I love you”

“I know”

This answer made Y/N look up at her boyfriend, a cheeky smile already plastered on the boy’s face

“Yah, you’re supposed to say it back. You know what I’m going to go back to my two favorite boys” with this, Y/N pushed her self up and started to walk back to the house

“I was kidding come back!” Hyuck said in between laughs while chasing after his girlfriend. He jogged after her, catching her by waist and turning her around to face him

“Wipe that pout off before I kiss it off you”

“All talk, No do” Y/N knew what was going to happen the moment those words left her mouth.

Before she could utter another word out, Hyuck’s lips were on her. Sealing whatever she was about to say next. It was a gentle and sweet kiss, the kind of kiss that feels like time slows down and it’s just the two of them.

“You were saying?” Hyuck asked when they broke apart

“I love you” the boy added

Y/N just smiled up here favorite boy, landing one last delicate on his lips before hugging him close

“I know”

206 notes · View notes

victimhood · 4 years ago

Text

The one in which the Euros 3rd place playoff is abolished after Italia 1980, and then restored at short notice for Italia 2028, making it the historic occasion in which a whole country cockblocked their captain Nicolò di Genova.

It is June 1980. The European Championship is taking place in Italy. It is the first edition of the tournament with eight teams, divided into two groups. The winners of each group move on to play in the final, and the runners up of each group move on to battle for third place.

It is the final edition of the Euros to have the third place playoff. With dwindling attendances and television viewers, UEFA deems the fixture unnecessary for future editions of the tournament. Italy hold Czechoslovakia to a 1-1 draw, and the match is decided on penalties. The final outcome? 9-8 to Czechoslovakia.

For as long as it has existed, there has been vocal opposition to the third place match. There are those who question its purpose, who see it as a meaningless extension of the tournament for advertisement money. A kinder commentary on offer is from those who see it as cruel to make losers play yet another competitive fixture, for little to no reward. Just think of the fourth-placed team—they played better than the rest of the competition except three—yet they must go home with the bitter memory of having lost twice.

On the other camp, there are those who recall with great fondness the third place match of the 2002 World Cup between host nation South Korea and Turkey. If that doesn’t work for you, what about the consolation it offered to the host nation in the 1990 World Cup, a breakout tournament for Italy’s Roberto Baggio?

Now we skip to June 2028. The European Championship is once more taking place in Italy. There are twenty four teams divided into groups, followed by a knockout stage. There is no third place fixture on the schedule. The much-beloved Italian captain takes his team on a blistering dream run, in front of an adoring home crowd, beating a well-regarded Portugal and incumbent holders Belgium along the way. He has declared his intention to retire for good, once this tournament is over.

Picture this: you are Italy. You play England in the semifinal in Napoli, at the Stadio San Paolo, also known as the Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. You arrive in the stadium, or you watch from home, full of hope, with faith in your captain and your squad. Your team scores one at the 20th minute. Perfect opening. England try but they can’t get past the deadbolt across goal, past your much vaunted defensive line. At the 63rd minute, Foden puts one past your goalie, but VAR rules it offside. At the 89th minute, the scoreline is still 1-0 and you’re nearly through, and some egregious fans are already cheering, and then Foden gets it in for real in a stroke of sheer luck. The ball hits the crossbar but somehow bounces downward into goal. The game goes into extra time, and then to penalties. The final result? England wins 4-3 on penalties. This is a brutal game. At the end of your match, your captain sheds tears and apologizes for not being able to do more to push the team through to the finals. No! You want to scream. Caro Nicolò, il nostro capitano, it’s not your fault. You have done so much for us. You begin to blame yourself: it’s us, it’s our fault. We dared to dream too early. You were so busy dreaming of your beloved captain raising the trophy that you forgot the game wasn’t over. In fact, even before this semifinal you were already dreaming of the trophy. This is how fate punishes you. You hate to see him end his career this way. He didn’t let you down, you let your captain down! Can we do this one over? You’ll do right by your captain this time.

Picture this: you’re the president of UEFA, and the tournament is hosted in your home country. It would have been the honor of honors, to award the winner’s medals to your compatriots. The papers are raging over the match outcome: England squeaked through on a razor’s blade, and Italy were the more inspired team. The fans are out in the streets. The people have spoken! Let us bring back the third place match! Let us see our captain off with dignity and honor! Your colleagues say: this is preposterous. We got rid of it years ago, because of Italia 1980. But does anyone really remember why? The advertisers tell you they’re willing to pay. One extra match means extra revenues. Worse things have happened in the pursuit for money. What’s the harm in a consolation match? An emergency meeting is called. Who’s playing in the second semifinal? France and the Netherlands. Both their feds agree to the third place match. From the next tournament onwards, there’ll even be a sweet cherry of a coefficient bonus—all the feds agree to this, but it would not be fair to the rest to apply it this ongoing tournament (and you hear minor grumbles from the FIGC, FFF and KNVB, who think they should be compensated for the inconvenience). No matter; the people have been given what they want! Another football match in the grand machine of things! The meeting takes so long that France beats the Netherlands 3-2 in the meantime, and now someone has to do the unpleasant job of telling the players. Were any of them consulted in this affair? What a preposterous concept. That’s not how UEFA works. UEFA says jump and they say how high.

Picture this: you are Nicolò Di Genova, and you’ve played the final match of your professional career. It did not end in the way you wanted, but such is life. You are ready to put your former self in the grave. You say goodbye to your treasured teammates, and the very next morning you check out of the training center to make your way to Turin, to see your fidanzato in the semifinals. Well, he crashes out too, his downfall orchestrated by that paraculo of your club teammate, Sébastien of the number 23. And so it is England vs France in the final, to be played in Italy. The thought of it turns even the strongest stomach of any citizen of this noble country. The only silver lining to this cursed final lineup is getting to whisk the love of your life off into the secluded countryside, and maybe with a few rounds of passionate lovemaking you can even forget the pain of loss.

You’re in the car. You just picked up your inamorato from his team hotel. You want to push him into the backseat and blow the brains out of him but you have better self control than that.

“How does retirement feel like?” he cracks a joke at you.

“You know full well my plans,” you return cheekily.

You’re driving off into the E70 when your phone rings. It doesn’t stop ringing so you pull over to take the call.

It’s your national team coach. “They just restored the third place match. Can you come back to the training ground?”

Who agreed to this? Your mind is reeling from the preposterousness of it all.

“They love you, Nichi. The people want you back.”

You exchange a look with your lover. Now his phone is ringing too. It’s his coach.

Due to this unfortunate turn of events you end up having an argument with your lover. You are principled, and having principles means not giving in to this total farce of a circus show, the third place match. Your lover is an incurable romantic, and pleads on behalf of your people. They did this all for you—show them some love in return. And what was the meaning of the past 31 years of your life again? You have already given them everything.

If only the people of Italy knew how much they had to thank Yusuf Al Kaysani. It’s because of him—it’s because of his beautiful deep brown eyes that glisten with all the stars of this universe that you cave and you agree.

“Get out, let’s switch. I’ll drive, and you call your mom and tell her the news.”

How do you begin to articulate how much this man knows the answers in your heart before your brain catches up to the same conclusions?

And so, like Lazarus, on the fourth day of your death you come back to life.

ITA vs NED

Picture this: you’re the cameraman, in the tunnel. The teams are lining up. The two captains emerge from the dressing room and compliment each other on their good looks with wry smiles. Some good natured ribbing, you think. They’re old friends. They played together for eight years at the same club. The Italian captain puts his hands on the Dutch captain, and then, like magnets, his hands seem incapable of leaving the Dutch captain’s back. You start to feel uncomfortable, like you’re seeing something that you shouldn’t be seeing. You look around. Everyone else in the double file of blue and orange is just chatting away, acting normal. Maybe...it’s just your imagination? You train your camera on the chatting crowd, giving the captains space. The match officials appear, taking the lead in front of both teams. You get in position for the money shot, following the two teams out of the tunnel and into the adoring crowd.

Picture this: you have never missed a single football match your grandson plays in. So when there’s a surprise third place match announced, you have to bail on karaoke night with the girls to watch the match on tv. Your friends don’t watch football, but if they do, they watch for the “hot guys on the Italian team”. Oh yeah, he’s playing Italy, you tell them. Feel free to come over to my place, if they don’t mind your oldest son and your rowdy grandchildren. Karaoke night swiftly becomes football night. There is an argument between Hamza and his dad over the pointlessness of the third place playoff. So...your family has been behaving in an unusual manner for several months now, and you suspect it’s because your grandson said he is gay. The papers here don’t report it, because they still want to claim him to some extent, but you have noted that the coverage is more conditional than before. You don’t live under a rock, and you’ve seen the news on YouTube even if no one around you is prepared to talk about it. As the two teams walk out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, you notice the Italian captain letting his hand slip from your grandson’s back, and Hamza suddenly jumps in front of the TV screen to adjust the volume.

“What the heck are you doing?” Mehdi, Hamza’s father and your eldest son, yells.

“The audio was...wonky,” Hamza replies sheepishly. “But I think it’s okay now.”

The match begins. At a corner kick, the Italian captain practically plasters himself all over your grandson, and it’s Hamza messing with the TV remote again, this time accidentally switching channels. Mehdi slaps him in the back of the head. You think that maybe it’s time you called Ibrahim. Someone needs to tell you the truth they’ve been so bad at hiding. Your grandson is not just gay, he seems to have a lover, and it’s that evil-eyed captain, the man who curses all who cross him.

Picture this: you’re a fan from the friendly town of Muggenbeet, watching from the San Siro. You came all this way to support the Oranje and they had to concede that final goal to France in front of your face. Sore and in denial about your loss, you start to make jokes about Waterloo to cope, handing the French off to the English. And then—out of nowhere, UEFA announces that they’ll restore the third place match. You think it’s the most shameless attempt for the host country to award themselves something ever. But, you know, does anyone really want to watch an England-France final? No. Never. For forever. We hate them both. It’s not football. It’s a circus of clowns. The viewership for this third place match is through the roof, higher than for your semifinal vs France. Let’s just treat this as the real final. What a galaxy-brained idea. Your country could steal it from the hosts—no hard feelings to Italy. You’ve enjoyed the pizza and the pasta, maybe it would be fun to crush their team like little peppercorns to sprinkle on your food. Based. Now you want a cacio e pepe after the match. Wait, you’re not in Rome, where the real (fake news!) final is. Boo. There is a corner, right at the end where you are sitting. Poepjes is taking it. Dekmijn and Blootgat are running up. Your captain is being felt up by the Italian captain. (No literally, that guy isn’t even looking at the goal? He’s just...pressing himself against your captain? Why are his hands encircled around Al Kaysani’s waist like so?) Anyway, the ball pings between the Italian keeper and Blootgat, and then it flies into Di Genova’s rather shapely calves...and bounces into the goal.

Uhhhhhh, THANK YOU? Grazie mille Nicolò Di Genova!!!! You gave us one goal!!!

The Italian fans must be flabbergasted. Isn’t this the dude’s retirement match? Or whatever. Who knows. Italy is a place of the greatest contradictions, so you’ve been told. But you’ll take what you can get. You kinda feel bad for the guy, who has buried his face in his hands. Maybe...you should cheer for him. And so...the lot of you, the orange lot, sitting in the Curva Sud, you start singing for the Italian captain. Nicolò Di Genova! There’s only one Di Genova!

The third place match is the most lawless ninety minutes in the historical timeline.

Picture this: you’re an Interista and season ticket holder. And of course you support your national team. You were heartbroken when the England keeper denied Marcuzzi to progress to the finals. You cried when your captain cried. And then, out of nowhere, they said, let’s bring back the third place match. The finals are in the Stadio Olimpico, so...maybe let’s have the third place match in the San Siro? You score a ticket at your usual seat. You get to see your captain one more time before he rides off into the sunset? What more can you ask for? This is romance of the highest order. The San Siro loves Nichi, of course all the staff and volunteers come together to make the event happen in a matter of days. You can’t believe this is happening. And then...your captain opens the scoring with an own goal. The Dutch fans are singing for him. What do you do? Well, if you can’t beat them, join them—you can sing louder for your captain! He’s your captain! And you know, their captain, he’s kinda your guy too, because Sempre Inter. Revenge is served, sweet and cold like a scoop of gelato, when your captain heads in the equalizer. The crowd goes wild. He’s taking this match seriously, but you knew he always would—that’s why you love him. He could ask for your firstborn and you would gladly give it up. You can always trust your capitano. There is a penalty call in the second half of the match and his teammates give it to him—a little unorthodox—but like a deadly sniper your captain sneaks a cool and calculated one past the Dutch keeper. You cheer. Does it count as a hat trick when you’ve scored at both ends? What a scoreline to retire to!

Picture this: you’re Yusuf Al Kaysani. You just lost in the third place match, a match widely panned as the least necessary match in a tournament by those who don’t know better. And yet, the third place match is the purest expression of love for the beautiful game. All other matches are clouded by the temptations of fame and fortune. The third place match you play for love and honor. You watch from the sidelines as your boyfriend leads his team to collect the medals, from none other than Paolo Maldini. Maldini, who’s doing an admirable job as UEFA President. Who knows where and how they got these medals at short notice—sometimes this country pulls miracles like a rabbit out from the magician’s hat of chaos. Everyone in the stadium is acting like this is the final. It’s not—it’s something a little better, a match born of love, played for love, with nothing to win and nothing to lose.

There is no trophy to lift, so Nico’s teammates lift him. They’re yelling for you. You’ve played with and against at least 90% of that team. Come join us, the men in blue say, and everyone forms a circle, arm linking arm, bouncing to the music. There are no losers here—your whole team is invited to the celebrations. The Dutch fans are singing: Second place! Second place! Let’s pretend we’re second place!

Let’s be real, for this one night, in this exact stadium, there’s only one captain, and the ones in the know push you towards him. Here’s your man, the unspoken acknowledgement. But you know your place—this is not your night. This night is for him. It’s for the country that loves him, and for him to say one last goodbye. Daniele Pirozzi jumps on the captain’s back, and the captain carries him for a while, laughing away. Pirozzi, whom you spent countless hours training how to read the field, in a fashion after yours. And then there’s Boselli, Marcuzzi, Poepjes and more. From one generation to another, the baton is passed. Nico, look around, these are our boys, as good as any. They’ll be better than us, and we are happy to see it, for the love of the game. Pirozzi jumps off the captain’s back and jumps onto you, asking you if you want to lift the captain together. You laugh and agree. On the count of three, uno, due—

Picture this: you’re Nicolò Di Genova, and you’re sitting on the shoulders of your protegé and your lover. Here we can mark the passing of the guard—tonight you are unburdened and the only thing that’s left, you realize, is love. Yusuf was right. Look, look how much they love you. Even San Paolo did this for you. Could you ever have denied all of them this? You almost screwed it up at the beginning, but perhaps God was just reminding you to take your responsibilities seriously. You are but a servant of the game and this ground is your ground, your hallowed ground, the church of your sins and glory.

It’s the final competitive match of your career, and you get to walk off the field, arm in arm with the love of your life, cheered on by a country you gave everything to.

Now, for the rest of your life to begin.

(chapter 106: nel blu, dipinto di blu, of The Beautiful Game)

#the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysanova #immortal husbands #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #this is fanfic!!#football!AU #soccer!AU #this chapter cracks me up each time #tog: the beautiful game #tog fc

12 notes · View notes

ddaenggtan · 6 years ago

Text

KEY

☽ - angst | ♡ - fluff | ꕤ - smut | ⛒ - dark

i’ll be updating this as I go! this will be the first place i announce the actual publishing of fics, so y’all know when to expect them officially, but i do also have a wip list for you if you’re curious about what i’m actually physically writing. every series i post will also have its own masterlist page, which is always going to be linked with the story’s blurb and in the actual post for the fic.

✧ 666 masterlist

stories that feature you, a millenia-old vampire lovingly nicknamed Medici by your friends, and the somewhat debauched and very interesting adventures you all have.

✧ monsters and gods masterlist

a series of oneshots, each centering around the greek gods and legends. learn the truth behind the myths, and see how some of these deities and creatures of old navigate the modern world.

✧ lay me gently | greek god!au | ♡ ꕤ | 12.9k | monsters and gods pt 2 | 9.7.2019

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin.

✧ 666 butterfly kisses (666verse) | vamp!reader, fae!jin | ꕤ | 4.7k | 6.10.2019

✧ birthday candles | ꕤ | vamp!reader, werewolf!yooongi, fae prince!jin | 4kish | 11.11.2019

you’re a vampire in renaissance italy who likes earning favors from the most powerful men in the country. you just aren’t used to meeting handsome men that might be assassins and definitely give you the best orgasms of your life.

or; the first time you met the fae prince, but certainly not the last. | 666 masterlist

a few of your friends help make your birthday extra special. | 666 masterlist

✧ half-baked holiday | ♡ ꕤ | baker!jin, grump!mc, f2l, i2l | 12.6k | 04.12.19

Granny Park’s Gossip:

That Seokjin, don’t get me started on him. He’s worked hard to open and run that bakery of his, you know, and I’m so proud that it’s so successful now. Wish he would find a nice person to settle down with, though, he deserves it, as long as he’s been on his own. Well, I guess you can’t really call it alone when he’s got that grump of a best friend always hanging around him. He really should be paying her, what with all the time she spends at the bakery with him. She’s always waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but she’s not so bad when she brings me some of those cookies of his, or just around Seokjin in general, if I’m honest. Too distracted by staring at that pretty face of his, I suppose, though who can blame her? | part of The Snowball Effect Collab

✧ monachopsis | ☽ ♡ | namjin | selkie!jin, marine biologist!joon | 5.7k | 16.03.20

seokjin knows - has known, for years - that his life will be like this forever. there is no more sea, there is no more swimming, there is no more of anything he used to know. this is life - wake up, go to a shoot, try not to piss giho off, go home, sleep, wake up again. because he was caught. because giho owns him. because he can’t.

but then he meets namjoon. and seokjin starts to realize that maybe…just maybe. he can.

✧ from eden | greek god!au | ♡ ꕤ ☽ | 15.6k | monsters and gods pt 1 | 16.6.2019

you’ve been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can’t have. you’ve accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | ft jhs | alternate ending

✧ penguins | boyfriend au | ꕤ | 3.5k | 18.7.2019

your long-time boyfriend takes you on a cute date to an aquarium, but gets a little jealous when you run into an old friend. it becomes his mission to set you back on track and remind you just who you belong to.

✧ backalley brawl (666verse) | werewolf au | 3.5k | 23.9.2019

You've been followed by a werewolf all day, and you're done being stalked in the night. Somehow you didn't expect him to need you to help him with a rather sensitive problem.

or; yoongi’s in rut and needs someone to help him out | 666 masterlist

✧ birthday candles (666verse) | ꕤ | vamp!reader, werewolf!yooongi, fae prince!jin | 4kish | 11.11.2019

a few of your friends help make your birthday extra special. | 666 masterlist

【ｍｉｎ　ｙｏｏｎｊｉ】

✧ as we go along | ♡ ꕤ | neighbors au, e2l, pining | 10.4k | 24.12.2019

Four years ago, the beautiful stunning attractive frustrating Min Yoonji came into your life. Ever since, it’s been a competition between the two of you to win the HOA’s Holiday Decorating Contest. The fiery looks she gives you paired with the pointed insults throw you off your game every year, but not this time. This holiday season, you’re determines to win; and along the way you might just find that Yoonji’s been trying to win something else.

;OR the queer hallmark movie of your dreams. | part of the 25 Days of Christmas: A BTS Anthology

✧ amae | neighbor!hobi | ♡ | 6.7k | 28.05.2019

amae - japanese. the way you act when you want to depend on another person. relying on someone’s goodwill and love to help you. frequently thought of as wanting to be loved and taken care of.

when someone new moves in next door, you don’t expect to become friends. everyone on your block was friendly, yes, but none of you gave more than a courteous wave when you spotted each other in passing. that changes with jung hoseok; a literature professor with sunlight gleaming out of every pore, who enjoys complex lectures, random coffee trips, and…sleeping in your hammock? curiosity gets the better of you as you befriend him, but just what could have this man sleeping in your garden hammock every night?

✧ from eden | greek god!au | ♡ ꕤ ☽ | 15.6k | monsters and gods pt 1 | 16.6.2019

✧ hearts on fire | hanahaki au | ♡ ☽ | 6.5k | 02.02.2020

Hoseok has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he’s beyond excited to see you married and glowing.

He just really wishes that he was the groom.

✧ give and take | mechanic!au | ♡ ꕤ | 10.5k | 18.05.2019

when your beloved jeep breaks down, you have no choice but to take it to a mechanic for once instead of trying to fix it yourself. you fully expected to empty your wallet or get told to just buy a new car. you don’t expect to meet kim namjoon, nor do you expect him to be hot like burning, sweet as honey, and interested in you.

✧ backseat memories | mechanic!au | ♡ ꕤ | ongoing drabble series | 18.05.2020

A collection of memories between you and the mechanic who saved your Jeep.

;or, the give and take sequel | on ao3

✧ 666 medici drive | supernatural!au | ꕤ | 4.5k | 30.08.2019

you decide to help garden witch kim namjoon gather ingredients he needs from local incubus kim taehyung, in a much more fun way than the two originally planned. | ft kth | 666 masterlist

✧ forever rain | ghost!reader au | ☽ ♡ ꕤ | 18.8k | 12.09.2019

being dead isn’t anything exciting. just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. things change when the new tennant arrives, though. kim namjoon isn’t anything you could have expected; not the way he’s so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he’s psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he’s being haunted and he has some questions for you. you didn’t know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you’re standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. you should’ve known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. you should’ve known that heartbreak was the only way this could end. that the rain doesn’t last forever.

✧ midnight wishes | roommates/coworkers/fwb au | ☽ ♡ ꕤ | 10.3k | 21.12.2019

Granny Park’s Gossip:

That boy. Never met anyone as prone to disaster as he is while being so damned smart, except maybe that roommate of his. The two of them could probably cure cancer if they wanted to, but you leave them alone for more than a few seconds and you’re liable to come back to disaster. Jiminie did say they’ve been acting a little different, though, maybe they finally wised up and made things official instead of just humping like bunnies around that apartment of theirs. Oh, am I not supposed to say that? | part of The Snowball Effect Collab

✧ monachopsis | ☽ ♡ | namjin | selkie!jin, marine biologist!joon | 5.7k | 16.03.20

but then he meets namjoon. and seokjin starts to realize that maybe…just maybe. he can.

✧ coming soon ✧

✧ 666 medici drive | supernatural!au | ꕤ | 4.5k | 30.08.2019

you decide to help garden witch kim namjoon gather ingredients he needs from local incubus kim taehyung, in a much more fun way than the two originally planned. | ft knj | 666 masterlist

✧ black irises in the sunshine | greek god au | ☽ ♡ ꕤ | 14k | monsters and gods part 3 | 31.12.2019

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses.

✧ chasing butterflies | nerdy!jk | ♡ ꕤ | 12.7k | 01.06.2019

you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend’s orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you’ve spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he’s around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it. | sequel drabble posted 01.09.2019

✧ birthday candles | ꕤ | vamp!reader, werewolf!yooongi, fae prince!jin, small kook feature at the end | 4kish | 11.11.2019

a few of your friends help make your birthday extra special. | 666 masterlist

#masterlist #ddaenggtan

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screensirenfic · 5 years ago

Text

Black Leather - Chapter 8

I’d had to wait an additional twenty minutes at Steve’s house, because despite his near fanatical dedication to Farah Faucett; his hair had continued to fall flat.

Lucky for him, Nancy was there, otherwise I would’ve broken down the damn bathroom door and shaved the birds nest off myself.

Eventually; he’d managed to get his hair to a reasonable level of poofiness, and we’d gotten to Tina’s just an hour after the start time on the flyer; fashionably late without it being too busy to make an entrance.

Sitting in the backseat of Steve’s thankfully spacious BMW gave me front row seats to the newfound awkwardness between Hawkins most beloved royal couple.

Despite Steve’s insistence that everything was fine between the pair and that Nancy was just still upset about Barb; I couldn’t help but feel there was a bigger void between them than that. One that was gradually getting bigger by the day, judging by the near complete lack of conversation for the entire car ride over.

He wouldn’t even let me talk to her for him; insisting he could handle it himself, but Steve really didn’t know girls like I did.

There was something big on Nancy’s mind; something that parties and corny jokes alone wasn’t gonna fix.

“That is a lot of carnage...” Steve remarked, drawing my eyes from the world’s slowest relationship train wreck, to the much more literal train wreck outside my window.

The word “carnage” was putting it lightly.

The party had already spilled out onto the street; bodies in varying stages on unconsciousness littering the front lawn like the vast amount of beer cans and bottles surrounding them. Those that were conscious were reveling in a variety of vices, from cigarettes to cheap booze to near all out sex on the AstroTurf. High school partying at its finest.

“Half the school must be here!” Remarked Nancy; eyes wide at the near renaissance painting of absolute debauchery outside.

“You got that right...” Agreed Steve as he slowed his car to park; and if Hawkins High’s keg king said that it was a rager, then she must be right.

Steve eventually found a space just outside Tina’s house; surprising considering the sheer amount of people present, however I guess most people considered a night in Hawkins PD’s cells too steep a price to pay for one night of drinking and dancing.

We got out of the car, and already the music hit our ears at full blast; someone’s parents were gonna get a lot of noise complaints in the morning.

“We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off” was the song of choice, but clearly the song’s message fell on deaf ears, as most of the boys were down to shorts and skins, and the girls in even less.

Steve led the way through the highway to hell, ringing the doorbell to Tina’s, which chimed out in an almost comedic rendition of “Messiah” considering the situation.

Moments later, the door swung open to a smiling Tina, dressed in a skimpy leotard and fishnets, in what must’ve been a cat costume considering the black velvet ears in her perm.

“Steve! Nancy! Love the costumes!” She exclaimed with such enthusiasm; it must’ve been partially forced.

“Risky Business; right?” She asked, taking note on the pair’s cute matching black and white combo.

“And Lola! You’re..?” Her ever expanding smile faltered as she struggled to work out what exactly a tartan miniskirt and a Bon Jovi tank top had to do with Halloween.

“A vampire.” I replied with a fake smile, showing off the plastic fangs glued to my canines. She wasn’t the only one who could feign enthusiasm.

“Well; you all look so great...” She spieled; that plastic smile returning even quicker than it fell.

“Why don’t you come on in and get a drink...” She beckoned us in as she led us further into her temporary den of teenage rebellion.

Costume party could be used very loosely to describe what Tina’s Halloween party was.

People wore costumes alright; ones that made them look sexier, less restrained, more depraved. Anything from a pair of sunglasses, to an oversized bedsheet counted here; and trust me, someone had tried them all. My outfit honestly looked like a nun’s in comparison to some of the other girls.

Since when did lingerie count as a Halloween costume?

“Looks like a good party.” Steve remarked, though I wondered if it was only for our host’s sake.

“Yeah. If you like cheap liquor and herpes...” I muttered, earning myself a chuckle from him; so we were on the same page.

I glanced around the room, unable to believe people had managed to get this fucked up in an hour. There had to be some pregaming, or a high amount of class C drugs involved; definitely drugs, judging by the smoke in the air.

I was definitely gonna have to do the laundry before dad got home.

My eyes glanced over to the living room where some jock was spread out on the coffee table, whilst a line of cheerleaders did body shots off his chest.

I was definitely gonna need a drink to get through tonight.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink...” I told Steve, not waiting for a response as I slipped through the crowd towards the kitchen and what would hopefully be semi drinkable booze.

—————————————————

The liquor was shitty; the punch wasn’t much better, but still better to suffer the taste and be drunk, than suffer the company sober.

God knew there was nothing worse than being the only sober one in a crowd of drunks.

Steve had long abandoned me for his princess, in yet another attempt to drown an underlying uneasiness with cheap alcohol and fake happiness. Jonathan was a no show, but there was no surprises there, and I was kinda wishing I’d done the same, even if it’d cost me my left ear to Steve’s nagging.

The only consolation was that Billy Hargrove hadn’t spoken to me once. It was quite possible he hadn’t even noticed me; he was so sucked into the superficial cloud of party popularity that seemed to circle him like a storm.

Every girl in their fake leather biker boots and discount rack leather jackets was hanging off him, in a poor attempt to act as my replacement; as if being the resident basket case was as simple as smudging on a bit of eyeliner and smoking more Camels than usual.

I don’t think Billy was convinced; his mind so preoccupied with stealing Steve’s crown that he didn’t have time to think about getting laid.

No doubt when he came back down to earth; I’d be the first person he’d have in mind to help with that little problem.

But for now; my night looked relatively sleaze free. No one had tried to hit on me since Billy had taken an interest; probably valued their molars too much for that.

It’s strange to think that despite my total disdain for Billy and the clear message that I’d rather eat my own fingernails than date him; people still acted like he had some sort of “reservation” over me, as if I was unofficially “his girl”.

Right now, the man in question was challenging the royal reign of keg king; a position previously held by Steve, before Nancy had him saddled and bridled.

Even I had to admit; Billy Hargrove made quite the Lancelot to Steve’s Arthur. Billy had Steve in term of upper body strength; his keg stand lasting twice as long as Steve’s had, without any of the signature unsteadiness.

The keg court already loved him, counting down with unrivalled enthusiasm and chanting Billy’s name as if he’d just won a championship belt.

He’d even managed to steal Steve’s right hand man; Tommy H naturally taking his place behind the new alpha male, reminding me of a snappy hyena at his heels.

Billy’s keg stand finished on a impressive count of forty two; him touching ground soon after and spraying the crowd with lukewarm beer.

“That’s how you do it; Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” He yelled triumphantly, in that moment seeming more of a celebrity than the cocky asshole with a Camaro.

Even I had to admit that Billy seemed different tonight.

Maybe it was the punch talking, or the overall excitement of the crowd as they practically worshipped him like a god, but he just seemed larger than life.

He’d styled his hair different; his curls actually holding shape, rather than just falling into a dirty blonde mess. He also followed the crowd in terms of forgoing a shirt; just a leather jacket draped over his impressively built torso.

I could see why the other girls went crazy over him. Everything about him screamed dominance and raw testosterone.

Now Billy was walking my direction and I was running low on punch and confidence.

Yes; originally I’d planned to play the role of tease tonight, and drive Billy crazy with what he could see, but couldn’t touch. But he was forty two seconds of beer down and pumped up on the adoration of half the school, so I was having second thoughts.

Sober Billy was fun to tease, if not a little over persistent; drunk Billy was an unfamiliar entity that could turn out to be downright dangerous.

So I made my exit, slipping back into the crowd and relative anonymity.

—————————————

The kitchen looked like it had become the first fatality of what was sure to be a deadly night of binge drinking and bad decisions.

The tile floor now closely resembled a a swimming pool, complete with indeterminate objects that I had no intention of inspecting swimming on the surface.

The kitchen counters looked like the world’s largest game of beer pong, cups of various colours and fullness on every available inch of clear space. I didn’t even want to know what was in some of them; the smell of them strong enough to hit you from across the room.

I’d managed to find Steve and Nancy again earlier, though it was clear Nancy was well in her cups, and Steve was trying desperately to stop her from becoming any deeper.

I’d managed to convince her into trying something that didn’t have enough of an alcohol content to sedate a horse, but it seemed Tina had stockpiled just as many mixers as booze; though the former seemed vastly less popular.

I made my way back through the thick of the crowd, wanting to make sure I got Nancy something that’d actually stay down, rather than end up painted across the front of her sweater. I could already see the top of Steve’s hair, rising high above the crowd like a homing beacon; at least it wasn’t completely useless.

“Hey Nance; do you want soda or...” I began, threading through the crowd towards them, when I suddenly realised they weren’t alone.

I felt like I’d walked on set in the middle of one of those Wild West movies my dad liked to watch; the sheriff facing off against the stranger in black.

Billy stood nearly chest to chest with Steve, looking as if he was moments away from flooring him, but at the sound of my voice his focus shifted; his demeanour no less predatory.

“Lola...” He purred, with a smirk that made me feel like he was undressing me with words alone. Up close I could see the evidence of his keg stand running down his tanned chest; slick trails threading between his taught abs.

Still; I kept stony, not trusting Billy in the slightest.

“Hargrove.” I spat; arms crossed over my chest in a way hoped said back off, but may have came across as nervous.

His smirk spread across his face; eyes falling to trail over my body, stopping at all the strategic points along the way.

”Like the costume...” He commented, wetting his lips as if I was desert on a platter. “Just like I imagined.”

I could already figure out exactly what he’d imagined, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t include clothes.

“Thanks.” I forced a smile faker than Tina’s attitude; dry and bitter just like half the booze on offer at this shithole of a party.

Still; Steve wasn’t gonna just stand around whilst Billy stared at me as if I was something from his private Playboy collection; the usurped king was instead experiencing a serious case of white knight syndrome.

“Hey; why don’t you back the hell off...” Steve warned, stepping forwards between me and Billy, so Billy could no longer blatantly leer at me.

It didn’t put his successor off in the slightest; Billy stepping past Steve as if he was an inanimate object to continue to proposition me.

“Why don’t you come and have a dance with me?” He asked with one of those smiles that made Tina turn into a shivering puddle of hormones.

“I’ll pass.” I replied with another dry smile, then turned to make a swift exit before he could come up with another bullshit reason to waste my time and my patience.

“Come on; sweetheart...” He purred, and I felt his hand lock around my wrist; not painfully so, but just firm enough to tell me that I’d leave when he let me, and not a moment sooner.

I gave him a dark look, because really? He was gonna try this with me?

But before I could give him the verbal lashing of a lifetime; Steve beat me to it, ripping Billy’s hand from my wrist with more force than I thought was possible for the doe eyed brunette.

“Dude; she said no!” Steve said, and despite his gentle chastisement; his face and tone told him that he wasn’t messing around.

But neither was Billy. He turned to Steve; his former aggression returning as quickly as it left.

“I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware you were her boyfriend...” Spat Billy; already ready to open an entire new can of worms and with it, let out a whole lot of alcohol infused testosterone.

Steve wasn’t gonna take it; though sometimes I really wish he would.

I really didn’t need saving; I’m goddamn Lola Hopper. Boys like Billy Hargrove should shit themselves when I approached.

But Steve; always the hero, came at him with all the verbal reasoning that Billy had no patience for.

“Just because she’s not my girlfriend; doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you drag her around like-“

But Billy truly didn’t have the patience or the mental capacity. He was half a keg in and looking for a fight.

Steve never got to finish his argument; Billy slamming him hard against the wall like some freshman, and not the previous reigning keg king.

“Excuse me?” Billy growled; his voice low and threatening, and really doing more for me than his sleazy flirting, but I had more important things to worry about than how Billy’s temper was a turn on!

My best friend was about to become an interestingly shaped stain on Tina’s parents’ wallpaper.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Harrington?” Billy’s voice dropped another octave; his body inches away from Steve’s and although he didn’t touch him,

I knew he was seconds away from knocking the noble idiot unconscious.

Even then, Steve couldn’t take a hint. Always honourable; he was prepared to go down fighting, but I wasn’t ready to see him become a martyr.

“Billy; I’ve changed my mind...” I quickly thought on my feet, slipping between the two of them in the vain hope that the possibility of physical contact on the table was enough to shake Billy out of his rage.

“I think I want that dance...” I forced a pretty smile, grabbing his wrist softly in the hope he might unclench his fists in favour of touching me again.

It wasn’t working. Billy was far too worked up; it was if I was invisible. So I moved a bit closer; letting my body brush up against his as I slipped my hand down to grab his.

“Come on; Billy. He’s not worth it...” I whispered; my voice just husky enough to hold a little promise.

“But I might be...” I gave him an impish smile; all raw sexuality and desire, one that I’d of previously thrown up at the prospect of exchanging with Billy Hargrove.

To my great relief; he relaxed, his shoulders lowering and his jaw unclenching. His hand wrapped around my own, squeezing with just a little bit of pressure; a reluctant retreat on the condition that I upheld my end of the bargain.

I took him by the hand and pulled him away from Steve, heading towards the dance floor and hopefully putting as much distance between the two alphas as possible.

But even now; Steve wouldn’t relent, stepping forward ready to defend my honour.

“Lola; you don’t have to...” He petitioned, as if I wasn’t doing this to protect him.

“It’s fine, Steve.” I reassured him, making the words more forceful than necessary in case his dumb overprotective brain continued to reject self preservation.

But of course; my pushy prospective dance partner couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, Steve; it’s fine.” He mimicked; his smirk so full of venom, I’m surprised it didn’t melt his pretty face off.

At last, Steve relented, letting me lead my volatile pretty boy onto the dance floor without blood on his knuckles.

————————————

Surprisingly; Billy was actually a semi decent dance partner. He kept rhythm well enough and gave me enough room that I didn’t feel he was trying to hump me in front of the whole school.

We were two songs down; “Dancing With Myself” pumping through the overdriven sound system, and I hadn’t once accidentally-on-purpose tried to step on Billy’s toes.

If I was to be painfully honest, and believe me; admitting this was painful, I was actually enjoying dancing with Billy.

When he wasn’t so heavily focused on appearing the bad boy, he was actually pretty cool. He smiled more often; a genuine warm smile that was nothing like that sleazy grin he used on me all the time. He was actually cute.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asked after spinning me under his arm for the third time tonight; and I’m not sure if it was the dizziness or the alcohol, but I was actually beginning to feel giddy.

“Yeah; why?” I replied with a smile; my gaze getting lost in those bright baby blues that were staring at me with something other than lust.

“It’s just; it’s been half an hour and you haven’t threatened to shiv me with a beer bottle...” He joked; yeah, actually joked, with a wide smile on his face.

And God! His face just lit up when he was being genuinely funny and not an ass; and for a split second I was hit with the almost uncontrollable urge to kiss him.

Almost uncontrollable. I reigned it in at the last minute; not trusting my tipsy brain to have that much control, at least not when it came to Billy Hargrove.

I bit my lip instead; feeling an honest to God blush spread across my cheeks.

“Shut up once in a while and it might happen more often...” I retorted, lowering my voice just enough that he could tell his joke hit right.

He just smiled, and my pulse just skipped another beat as he swept me into another spin; happy just to keep his body close to mine for the remainder of the night.

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fandom #stranger things2 #fanfiction #fanfic #strangerthingsfanfiction #strangerthingsfanfic #original character #stranger things oc #strangerthings oc #jim hopper daughter #hopper daughter #Billy Hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #Nancy Wheeler

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mrs-i-have-too-many-biases · 6 years ago

Text

Yandere!Stray Kids going to the mall with their S/O

If you don’t know what ‘Yandere’ is click here or here.

Scenario: Yandere!Stray kids go with their S/O out to shop.

Genre: Fluff/ angst

Pairing: Reader X Stray Kids

Warning: Possesive and Obsessive themes! Do not read if uncomfortable!

Author’s note: This is pure fiction, nothing it based on real life or how the boys are in real life. And this is my first time trying this so bear with me.

(It's probably not going to be as extreme as the other yandere scenarios I saw online.)

This is for entertainment purposes only!

Chan:

You two were out to the mall. It might had been two months since you had been outside. Your boyfriend told you that it was dangerous outside and that if you’d go outside without him you’d get hurt. And you believed him, why wouldn’t you? You couldn’t see a reason why your beloved boyfriend would be lying to you.

Chan knew that you had an innocent mindset and he took advantage of it. You were walking hand in hand through the mall where he had taken you to. He had spoiled you with many gifts and clothes, so you wouldn’t had to leave the house for another couple of months. As the two of you were walking around, something had caught your eye in the store. At that moment your boyfriend had let go of your hand to look for something in his bag, whilst he kept on going.

“Baby, would you like something to eat- baby? Y/n!” He yells in panic when he noticed that you were gone. His head almost made a 360 degree turn as he kept looking around for you.

‘What if she’s gone? She wouldn’t run away from me right? Did she act innocent to trick me- no she wouldn’t. She loves me. She loves me, only me.’ Chan said to himself aloud.

He ran around for a little bit longer and he sighed in relief when he saw you staring at something in the display. He tried to hold back any unnecessary feelings.

You yelped in surprise when Chan had pushed you against the window, making you look at him. “Were you trying to run off doll?” He asks in a low voice. “You know I don’t like it when you talk to other people angel. You know how much I hate it.” He gritted through his teeth.

“I’m sorry Channie. I saw this cute necklace.” You smiled brightly as you showed him the necklace your eyes had caught. Chan’s heart melted. He couldn’t stay mad at you.

You obeyed his rules: you didn’t talk to anybody. And he was relieved you didn’t ran away from him. You were his innocent angel. And he was ready to spoil you.

Because he loves you that much.

Woojin:

You went with your boyfriend Woojin out on your weekly date. This week he took you to the mall, just a relaxed date where the two of you would eat some delicious food and catch a movie. Even though you two wouldn’t see much of it, because Woojin would intend a make out session throughout the movie.

You two were walking around and somehow,he had lost you. He didn’t care when he screamed your name loudly. His brain was panicking, his heart was racing and his body was raging with anger. When he had found you he didn’t even bother dragging you somewhere private when he scolded you.

You ran away from him.

You needed to be punished.

“I ask you one thing! And it’s to never leave my side! Yet here we are! This date is over, we’re going home.” He had you trapped in between his hands as he held you by the shoulders.

“Woojin, I’m-”

“Maybe I should tie you up to keep you close to me. You know that I love you right?” He whispered harshly into your ear before he dragged you home.

Minho:

Your boyfriend was amazing. He loves to spoil you, he came home with presents for you everyday. He kissed you every second he could. He wanted to touch you, to hold you. You were his and only his.

When the two of you were going to the mall he made his rules and his intentions very clear.

“When we get there, you’ll hold my hand. You never let go, understood? If I ever lose you out of sight, if you even try to run away from me. I think I’ll have to visit your little family. You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them right? That’s right, that’s my good baby. I know you won’t run off, you love me too much. Just like I love you.

You love me. Right, Angel? I need you to say it.”

"I-I love you."

" That's a good Angel. Oh, I love you."

Changbin:

Changbin had a gut feeling that something would happen when he’d take you to the mall. He was scared you’d run off and his worst nightmare came true. He had turned around for maybe two seconds and you were gone.

He saw you running in the distance and he smiled to himself. ‘Awh, my baby wants to play a game. Well two can play that game.’

He ran after you, yelling playfully making it seem like it was a joke you two did as a couple. He didn’t wanted to make a scene, he was too scared people would take you away from him. Nobody could love you beter than him. You were his and his only.

When he had caught up on you he dragged you to his car. He had tied you carefully in the front seat before he started to drive the two of you home.

“You know that I love you so much, right baby? I couldn’t imagine a life without you. You’re mine. I knew you were playing when you ran off. But you scared me, you deserve a punishment baby.” He said with a sickening smile.

“Tell me you love me. I know you do.”

Hyunjin:

‘You’re okay Hyunjin, there’s nothing wrong. It’s okay. She loves you. Why wouldn’t she? You love her too.’ Hyunjin thought to himself as you two walked through a store in the mall where he had taken you to. Hyunjin knew you hated it when he made a scene when he was jealous or showing any signs of unnecessary behaviour.

He remember the last time he made a scene in public, you didn’t talk to him for two days straight. And he cried his eyes out and begged for your love. He was so scared those days, because he thought you’d leave him.

And you couldn’t leave him.

You’re his and he’s yours.

Nobody could love you like he could.

When you took too long in the store, he had thrown you over his shoulder, not caring you hadn’t changed back to your own clothes yet. He paid, too much money, for the clothes as he threw the money on the counter. People were looking at you, they knew how stunning you were.

And Hyunjin hated it.

You squealed as he dragged you throughout the mall to your car. He had thrown the clothes in the backseat before he had pushed you against the car doors. You couldn’t even protest, he had his lips already crashed on yours.

“Did you do that on purpose? Making all those man looking at you? You looked so good Angel. But you’ve been bad. You’re mine remember. I should’ve made you worn that pretty necklace, the one with my name on it. Then everybody would know you’re mine, only mine.”

Jisung:

Jisung hated it.

You kept begging him to go on a date in the mall. A relaxed date where the two of you would just hang out together.

And before Jisung knew it, you were at the mall. He didn’t know how or when you managed to convince him, but as soon as you stepped into the mall, he regretted coming there. Everybody was looking at you. You looked too stunning and he hated that people also seemed to notice.

When he saw you smiling at a guy who was staring at you his head went all over the place.

‘Did she know him? Is she secretly dating him behind my back- no. She wouldn’t do that, right? She’s mine. Who does he think he is? Looking at her like he has a chance.’

You had whipped your head around when you heard somebody groaning in pain, it was the guy who received your smile who wasn’t Jisung. Jisung was too busy punching the guy to hear your cries for him to stop. And when you finally dragged him off the beaten boy, Jisung had dragged you back to the car, leaving him to bleed.

“This is all your fault.” He hissed to you.

“No, that’s not true.” You whispered back, hurt by his words.

“Baby please-” “No, they’ll try to take you away from me! You’re mine!” Jisung would yell as he storms down the stairs of your shared house. “They won’t! And besides, it would be so much fun!” You would whine.

“If you didn’t beg to come to this place, I wouldn’t had to beat that fucking bastard up. But don’t you worry baby, your disobedient acts will be punished at home. You asked for this to happen. But I love you baby. I could only love you so much. You’re mine. Only mine. And don’t you worry about him, I’ll handle him off, as part of your punishment baby.”

Felix:

Unlike the others, he loved showing you off. He wanted everybody to know you were his and he didn’t care who was watching.

You were at the moment on your weekly visit to the mall, looking for an outfit for your weekly date. Felix was spoiling you a lot so he loved taking you shopping. He was waiting for you to come out with your new outfit and when you did. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Felix got a kick out of the feeling that people saw you as (his) eye-candy. His jealousy often got the best of him and he’d take you by the waist and start a make-out session in the middle of the store. He wanted to let everybody know you were taken by him.

You would be blushing and stuttering as he kissed your neck, marking you as his.

You’d slap his chest playfully before you went into the fittingsroom again. Felix gave you a sweet smile, but his gaze changed within a millisecond when he looked around him, glaring at all the guys who noticed the two of you making out. The death stare was the first warning.

“She’s mine, only fucking mine prick.” Felix would growl in his deep voice. Before you came out again, putting his sweet smile back on, like nothing happened.

Seungmin:

“Can’t you just shop online? It’s dangerous outside there darling.” Seungmin would say.

“But I want to go on a date with you. A really cute one! We would hold hands and we can eat delicious food- maybe we could get some matching items! I love those!” And after you said that, he was sold.

Showing you off as his, without even trying.

That was the dream.

After your first trip to the mall he had bought an entire collection of what seemed to be couple items. He’d make you wear the items, otherwise he’d go mad.

“What do you mean you don’t want to wear it? Don’t you want other guys to know you’re mine? Do want to go date somebody else? Because darling, you and I both know that ain’t going to happen.”

“No, Seungmin. That’s not what I meant-”

“Shut up. If you’re trying to hurt me, you should try harder. You’re little game wasn’t going to work anyway. Maybe we should stay home instead. I’ll tie you up and I’ll lay you next to me, so you can’t leave. Wouldn’t that be nice? It wouldn’t even be a punishment! That’s how much I love you! I forgive you baby. Remember you’re mine and mine only.”

Jeongin:

He was scared. He was scared on not only losing you, yet he took you to a mall. A place where there were hundreds of people walking around. He held your hand so tightly he had apologised when you winced in pain. He wouldn’t want to leave your side for a minute.

You had to go to the bathroom? He was coming with you. You wanted to try on new clothes? He was coming with you. He didn’t wanted you to be alone.

Anyone could be slipping in between the two of you and he didn’t wanted that to happen.

You had noticed his anxious and possessive behaviour. You didn’t think much of it and kisses his lips every now and then. And he loved you for that. You were his innocent little Angel, who couldn’t do no wrong.

You loved him and only him.

You’re his. And he'd keep you as his and his only, no matter what.

Gifs aren’t mine.

I hope liked it.

If you have any Yandere reaction ideas you could send them! It will take a long time since I'm slow in updating.❤ I don't do like special requests and I'll put the ideas on a to do list🤗

I do not write smut!

@klynvan

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odderancyart · 7 years ago

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Third Time’s the Charm

Kedgeup AO3

This is set in the same universe as Lucky, only with Kedgeup instead of Spicyhoney, so it's kind of non-canon if you can call a one-time-fanfiction canon.

I also kind of forgot that Sans and Papyrus are brothers, so let's just pretend this makes sense anyway, shall we? Thanks.

The cab was late. Fell was pacing the hall, gripping the handle his black leather briefcase hard. Not only had he been late because his brother had gotten into a brawl again so he’d had to bail him out of custody, but now he got even later because the cab driver couldn’t be on time. Being late was awful. It was stressing and rude, and he had a very important meeting soon. The house was quiet except for the clicking of heels on the marble floor and Red’s grumbling from the kitchen. Every time he got taken by the police Fell would make him clean something in exchange for bailing him out, was their agreement. This time he was doing the dishes. Fell had sent the kitchen staff home early. With full pay, of course, since it was still working time and not their fault his brother was an irresponsible idiot sometimes.

Impatient, he looked out the great, ironbound window. This was the last time he’d take a cab. The only reason was that his own car was at the garage for the annual inspection. Growling loudly, he dragged his phone out of his pocket, checking for messages. Nothing. Where the hell-

A cab drove in on the driveway. With a relieved sigh and a glance at the clock Fell yelled that he was leaving and stepped outside. He had fifteen minutes until the meeting began. The driver was seemingly just about to step out to ring the bell as he hurried over. With a blink, they shrugged and closed the car door again.

Fell scowled deeply as he sat down in the backseat. The driver turned around, grinning apologetically.

“sorry i’m late, bud,” they said. “the traffic’s a nightmare at this time of the day.”

His scowl only deepened as he put the case in the seat next to him. The driver began to back out from the driveway, looking questioning.

“SAPPHIRE AVENUE 2,” Fell told the other, who nodded. “AND HURRY UP. I’M LATE.”

“so…” the driver eventually said. Fell was looking out the window, at the fancy streets passing by. They’d been travelling in tense silence for a minute or two. Sighing, Fell turned his head away from the window, toward the other. “that’s a nice house ya got. very fancy.”

“THANK YOU,” Fell replied shortly. “NOW WILL YOU STOP SPEAKING AND FOCUS ON GETTING ME TO MY DESTINATION? MY MEETING STARTS IN-“ he looked at his wristwatch. “-EIGHT MINUTES.”

Blinking, the driver frowned slightly before shrugging. Never losing that wide smile, though. Fell suspected a permanent smile. It happened sometimes to skeletons. For the rest of the drive, silence reigned. The only thing heard was the humming of the motor. As they pulled up outside of Serif Bakery Enterprise’s office building Fell scrabbled together a few dollar bills from his wallet and almost threw them on the driver.

“KEEP THE CHANGE,” he commanded. “EVEN IF YOU HAVEN’T EXACTLY EARNED IT. I DON’T HAVE TIME TO WAIT.”

As he snatched his case from the seat and ducked to step out of the car, the driver stared after him.

“thanks?” they said, their sockets narrowed and frowning. They looked incredulous. Not bothering to say anything else, Fell almost ran inside. He was four minutes late.

…

Sans stared after his passenger. Well. That one was rude. Not like he was a stranger to rude customers but c’mon. Ah well. He shrugged. At least he’d left a grand tip.

Also, he was kind of hot with that scar and obviously strong, healthy bones.

No matter. They’d most likely never see each other again.

…

As he made his way out of the confectionary in which he personally worked; the very first Serif Bakery Fell grinned widely. It had been a week since the meeting and during it they’d made a great deal. Serif Bakery Enterprise was now responsible for the confection at all the monster government’s events. Papyrus, who had been newly appointed Ambassador of Monsterkind, found their cakes the best he’d ever eaten. Not that Fell expected anything else from his childhood’s best friend.

With long steps, he walked toward the parking place twenty metres away. Red was supposed to pick him up, as he had wanted to borrow the car. Normally Fell wouldn’t let anyone do that, but he had been feeling generous.

It was a wonderful day. The sun was shining and autumn was turning into winter. Frost still lied on the grass next to the streets despite it being afternoon. A light, chilly breeze fanned his face but dressed in his thick jacket the cold wasn’t a problem. Fell made his way toward the sleek, red car standing a bit away. Frowning, he realized there was two people in it, yet it was undoubtedly his car. As his brother’s laughter rang loudly he got his confirmation.

He closed in on it, and blinked. Two skeletons sat there, laughing loudly.

“’lright, pal, these gian’ squid jokes are kraken me up,” Red exclaimed loudly, and two voices giggled in unison. The other skeleton began to speak, but Fell interrupted him by clearing his throat. Two sets of eye sockets turned to him; one white, one crimson. Red grinned and waved. “hiya, boss. i got tired o’ drivin’ ‘n’ hired a driver, ‘n’ sans ‘ere ‘s hilarious.”

“WITH WHOSE MONEY?” Fell replied dryly, already knowing the answer. Red may have a job, but a bouncer didn’t earn nearly as much as a CEO and his brother had already proven that he really didn’t care whose money he used. If he was being honest, Fell didn’t either, even if he practically had to scold the other for being so uneconomical. They were rich, a couple hundred gold here and there didn’t matter much.

Turning to look at the driver, he blinked. The driver blinked back, just as surprised as he was, before his apparently eternal grin widened.

“well, this is unexpected,” ‘Sans’ said, waving. He leaned backwards in the driver’s seat, not reacting as Fell’s socket twitched at having someone he hadn’t approved of behind the wheel of his beloved car. “nice to meetcha again, mr serif.”

Red raised an eyebrow, looking between them with a slight smirk on his face.

“ya know each other?”

Fell shook his head in reply, walking around the car to put his bag in the trunk. When he came back to the front, he finally bothered to reply. Sans was watching him in curiosity, no doubt waiting to see what he’d answer.

“THIS IS THE CAB DRIVER WHO TOOK ME TO THE MEETING I WAS LATE TO,” he said, not explicitly stating ‘the driver who made me late’ but not needing to either.

For a short second, Sans’ grin seemed strained. Then it relaxed again, and he shrugged.

“well, ya know how it is. can’t always do everything perfect.”

“try tellin’ my bro tha’.” Red rolled his eyelights, an exasperated look on his face. Yet his smile was fond, and Fell couldn’t help but smile back. Only a little. “he’s a fuckin’ perfectionist.”

“YES, YES,” was all he deigned to reply, walking toward the driver’s seat. “NOW GIVE ME THE WEEL. AND YES, I WILL DRIVE YOU WHEREVER YOU NEED TO GO. I’M NOT ASSHOLE ENOUGH TO LEAVE YOU HERE, DESPITE WHAT SOME PEOPLE MIGHT’VE TOLD YOU.” He threw Red a mock glare.

“notice how ‘e’s not denyin’ anythin’,” Red pointed out, sounding gleeful.

Sans gave him a slightly bemused gaze, but obediently hopped out of the driver’s seat. Fell slid down in it instead, enjoying the warm feeling he always got from sitting there tingling through his bones. This was his most cherished property, an old, classic, but fully functional car he made sure to treat with outmost care.

As soon as Sans had sat down and given him an address of the company he worked for – not the cab company, Fell noted in the back of his mind – they were off. The motor purred as he steered them out on the road. Despite the chilly air the roof was lowered and the wind hit their faces and made their sockets tear. He grinned. Red was turned around in the seat, continuing to tell puns to their passenger, and the laughter rang loud.

Physically unable not to, he groaned at every especially bad pun or joke, which only seemed to encourage the other two more. Rolling his scarlet eyelights, Fell felt the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly once in a while. Red knew he actually quite enjoyed puns; both of them just so happened to love their little game as well. Red told puns and Fell pretended to hate them. After a short while, Sans seemed to catch on as well. Surprisingly quickly, seeing how Undyne – his best friend – hadn’t yet after so many years.

“hey, mr serif,” he commented, leaning forward. “i’m a real lazybones ya know? or well, ya don’t ‘cause we don’t know each other, but no matter. apparently i snore so loudly it scares everyone in the car i'm driving. that's almost impressing, ain’t it?”

Red broke out in uncontrollable laughter, hitting his knee a couple times. His brother had such a bad, dramatic sense of humour. Still, Fell felt his mouth stretch into a small grin, and he sent the pun-teller an amused but unimpressed gaze. Laughter was all he received in return as the other chuckled at his own joke.

The punning continued until Fell pulled up at a parking place outside of a private chauffeur office. Sans thanked him for the drive, said goodbye to Red and left with a friendly wave. Fell looked after him for a few seconds before turning to his brother as they left to drive home to the house.

“HOW COME YOU DIDN’T HAVE THE ENERGY TO DRIVE HALF AN HOUR TO THE NEIGHBOURING TOWN?” he asked, unimpressed, and received only a lazy half-smile in return.

“eh, ya know me, boss. ever th’ lazybones.”

…

Fell hurried through the park, his assistant at his heels. The rain poured down, and they’d been drenched half a minute after leaving the safety of the Ambassador’s Manor. Unfortunately, he’d declined Papyrus’ offer to stay until it stopped. Stupid of him, but he hadn’t been able to know it’d start raining quite this fast and violently.

“over th-there, sir,” Stretch suddenly said, teeth chattering loudly, and pointed toward a small hot dog restaurant about a hundred metres away.

With a sharp nod, Fell set course over there. The wet grass squelched beneath their feet and the rain made the world seem grey. It was raining hard enough to make it almost impossible to see the park fence a hundred and fifty metres from them. They both sighed in relief as they reached the building, and Fell jerked the door open. They both almost ran in.

The warmth that hit them was almost overwhelming, and he felt his shoulders sink and the strained grimace on his face disappearing. Low music was playing from the speakers and the only people except them and the vendor were three teenagers sitting at a window table and talking quietly. A low laugh echoed through the room, coming from the small kitchen.

As Fell turned over there, he couldn’t help but stare as he found himself looking at Sans. The other was dressed in a blue t-shirt depicting a ketchup bottle and a hot dog talking. The bottle said It was nice to meat you and the hot dog replied Yeah, hope to see you soon again so we can ketchup. Fell heard Stretch snort loudly. Undoubtedly had the other seen it too. He had the same terrible sense of humour as Red. They got along well, to say the least. Sans was also wearing a small square hat, the stereotypical hot dog vendor hat.

“what?” never seen a guy with three jobs before?” Sans asked, smiling, as he saw Fell’s confused gaze. He studied them from top to toe. “nah, just kidding. who would’ve thought we’d stumble upon each other again, mr serif? a third time? it’s almost starting to get weird. ya want a ‘dog? you both look quite frozen.”

In the corner of his eye, Fell saw the longing look in his assistant’s eyelights. With a sigh, he nodded to Sans who immediately got to work.

Stretch had been his assistant for a couple months, but he knew the other was still nervous around him and worried about being thrown out. About ending up on the street again. Which was why he hardly ever asked for something. He was a good, hardworking employee though, and really had no reason to worry. Anyway, even if he hadn’t been Fell wouldn’t be so cruel as to not make sure he’d get employment somewhere else. Even if the risk of Stretch and his brother getting on the street again was minimal since Blue too had been employed – at his own bakery as a baker apprentice, as well as still having his street hot dog stand.

After being asked what kind of hot dog they wanted – grilled or boiled, paid and received their orders the two of them sat down at one of the tables. The teenagers threw them a glance, one looking amused at Fell’s wet business suit and the other two concerned – before ignoring them again.

After a minute Sans came over to them, leaning on their table and grinning curiously.

“so what’re you doing in the park in pouring rain in such fancy suits, pals?”

Fell sighed. He supposed it had been unavoidable. Taking a hesitant bite from the sausage – neither he nor Stretch appreciated grease but the hot dog was at least warm – he resigned himself to explain.

He didn’t have to, he supposed. No driver or hot dog vendor could actually demand to get to know what the CEO of a multimillion business had been doing when it came to subjects like this.

No one could demand that, to anyone, at least not without power abuse. Which Fell was very much against. He knew how awful that was from first-hand experience when he had his first own job. The owner of that bookshop had detested rich people and even though Fell hadn’t been more than sixteen and wanted to be a simple baker – he hadn’t expected his business to blow up so despite having his father’s money as backup – she had made his life a living hell until he’d had enough and quit.

“WE – I – WAS STUPID ENOUGH NOT TO ACCEPT AMBASSADOR PAPYRUS’ INVITATION TO STAY. I DIDN’T THINK IT’D START RAINING QUITE SO QUICKLY, AND IT HAD BEEN NICE WEATHER WHEN WE CAME SO WE HAD WALKED,” he explained anyway. Sans gave them a sympathising smile and chuckled.

“that’s too bad,” he said. “well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want even without continuing to buy stuff. i’m sure the boss won’t mind. not that he’d know anyway ‘cause he’s never here.”

“thank you,” Stretch breathed, seeming to bask in the warmth. He looked relieved as he glanced toward Fell. Fell nodded once.

“YES, THANK YOU.”

Sans sat with them for the rest of the evening. The teenagers soon left, since they’d been smart enough to take umbrellas with them, and no other customers came. It took hours for the rain to stop, and Fell was very grateful that their working day was over anyway. He’d have to pay Stretch overtime, though. Not that that mattered much to him; Stretch would get a raise soon and it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it without even noticing the money leaving his accounts.

It was very pleasant, surprisingly enough. Sans and Stretch got along great, to no one’s surprise, and Fell found himself enjoying the conversation. He and Sans was discussing the fact that NASA had named the satellite keeping track of Jupiter and its moons Juno of all things – they sent Hera to keep track of Zeus and his lovers, NASA was just amazing – when Stretch subtly cleared his throat.

As they turned their heads his way, he pointed a thumb outside. The sky was blue, and the sun shone brightly in through the window. Fell blinked in surprise. When had that happened?

“I SUPPOSE WE CAN GO HOME NOW,” he stated unnecessarily, almost feeling his soul sink. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to talk more to Sans. Why? The vendor nodded, smiling. Fell was sure he was just imagining things, but didn’t he too look slightly disappointed?

“yeah,” Sans agreed. He looked thoughtful before holding up a finger. “one moment please.”

Hurrying behind the counter, he scribbled something on a paper. Soon after he came back out, and, with hunched shoulders and an almost shy smile, gave it to Fell before throwing a glance at the clock and waving them out.

“i need to close. it’s already over closing time.”

As Fell and Stretch stumbled outside, he gripped hard on the note. When the door closed behind them and the sign turned from Open to Closed he turned it and read.

I had a nice time, the note read in Comic Sans. If you had too, and want to hang out again, feel free to call. /Sans. And then there was a number written down on the bottom of the paper.

His face glowed slightly scarlet, and Fell felt his soul flutter. A small smile made its way into his expression. Stretch giggled.

“looks like you’ve got an admirer, sir,” he said. “and by the looks of it, i’d say you like him too.”

Fell only sent him a glare before starting to make his way back to the bakery where his car stood parked. For once Stretch didn’t look regretful while receiving it, instead chuckling louder and quickly following him.

With a still fluttering soul, Fell smiled.

Perhaps he should call Sans up and see if he wanted to go take a coffee someday.

#Kedgeup #Underfell #Undertale #Underswap #uf papyrus #uf sans #ut sans #us papyrus #my writing #Fell's a bit of an asshole but he's a kind-hearted asshole #kind-souled perhaps #he's kind anyway #ut sans/uf papyrus

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anotherehetalia1p2pblog · 8 years ago

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Can I request a scenario of 2p Germany having a s/o who lives in a home with a toxic older sister who constantly screams at them for making small mistakes and belittles them at almost every chance their parents aren't around and he calls them to hear em crying because they have emotional breakdowns constantly and crys that they want to move out but is completely broke and this 👌 close to just run away because I'm literally going through this rn and I need something to feel better

I’m sorry you are going through this love. Just know I’m always here if you need someone to talk/rant to.

So I’ve based this panic attack based on my own, so not sure if it seems different or wrong. Personally I get quiet, cry, and literally hide in a corner. I freeze when I have one, so basting emotional breakdowns off of that.

Lutz was just chilling at home playing video games with his beloved big brother Gilen when he got a call from his s/o. He paused the game, and Gilen quietly left the room to give the two love birds some privacy.

“Hey babe! What’s up!”

“Lutz…..”

Lutz instantly realized that something was wrong. They were together long enough for him to know about their home situation. S/o willed with their older sister who was not kind to them. They often get yelled at for the simplest mistakes. Their parents are not there to help them either.”

“Babe, what’s wrong you ok? Can you talk right now?”

“Lutz…”

“Ok no, that’s fine completely fine. You don’t have to talk. Are you at your house?”

“..yes”

“Ok good good. Well not the best since your older sister is there, but I know where you are. Want me to come get you? Hold and rub your back till your panic attack is over?”

“…yes”

“ok, I’ll be on the way. Want me to keep talking?”

“…yes”

“Ok then, totally fine. So, I was just hanging out with Luci the other day. We were at his house chilling with Kuro, watching some dumb movie that I suggested. All of a sudden Flavio breaks in saying that he completed his masterpiece. He pulled out this gorgeous dress! Looked amazing. It was Belle’s dress in the movie, you know, the ballgown scene. It was an exact replica, amazing. Apparently he is going down to Disney World for fun and he figured whu not make some dresses for him to wear. Be a Princess and make a bunch of little kid’s day when they see him. I thought that was really sweet. Oh, Speaking of Flavio, you know how he loves you. He decided to make you something too. Won’t tell me what, but I’m sure it is going to great if he makes it. Guy knows his way around a sewing machine.”

As Lutz was telling his story to keep his s/o calm he grabbed the car keys and told Gilen he was leaving. Gilen knows the basic situation of s/o having a mean sister, but nothing more. He figured something was wrong, s he offered to drive so Lutz could focus on his s/o.

The two brothers drove to s/o’s house. Lutz never once stopped talking, Gilen eyes on the road and serious.

“Ok babe, I’m here. I’m just outside. Do you want to come out? Can you walk?”

“…yes”

“Ok babe, I’m right outside the door ready to hug you.”

The door open slowly to revealed a shaking s/o who was crying with every breath.

“That’s it, it’s ok, I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you, ok? I love you”

Lutz held his s/o tight. Gilen watching from a polie distance.

“What the h*ll is going on out here? S/o? Get your boy toy and that freaky albino away from here. You hear me? Or can you not even do this simple task right!?!”

S/o’s older sister is now standing in the doorway of their house yelling at the three people in the yard.

Lutz was mad, but he was doing his best to control his anger. S/o did not need to be in the middle of a fight right now. That would make everything worse. Just as he was about to say something though, someone beat him to it.

“Hello, I’m Gilen, s/o’s boyfriend’s older brother. Am I correct in assuming that you are s/o’s older sister?”

“Yeah, what of it?

“I was afriad that I was right. You are a failure as an older sibling. An older sibling is suppose to look out of the little one. Teach them, nurse them, and love them. You do none of those things it seems based on the reaction of s/o and those words you said earlier. As an older sibling myself, I can not stand by and let this happen. I will be taking s/o to my house tonight where they can stay in the guest bedroom. I will take good care of them. Something you clearly can not do.”

Gilen said his speech confidently. It was one of the few times Lutz has seen Gilen appear so strong.

“HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO ME! I WILL NOT TAKE THIS! FINE TAKE THE KID, SEE IF I CARE! GET THEM OUT OF MY HAIR!”

The older sister slammed the door shut leaving the trio outside.

“Alright you two, let’s go home. We’ll get you some nice warm milk, does just the rick to calm the nerves.”

Prussia lead the pair into the car. Lutz and s/o in the backseat so they could still hug each other.

“Wow brother, thank you.”

“It’s no trouble. That is what an older sibling is suppose to do, look out for the younger one. And s/o, I’m sorry your sister was like that. If it makes you feel better, feel free to think of me as an older brother.”

“…thank you. both of you.”

“Anytime babe, anytime.”

#hetalia #2phetalia #2ptalia #2p germany #lutz beilschmidt #2p prussia #gilen beilschmidt #scenario

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andthest0ryg0es · 8 years ago

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Do You Really Want Me - chapter 5

“Why did you tell him that stuff?” Izzy screeches, her arms flapping as she runs down the stairs. Kate can see the anger in her eyes. “That’s none of his business! How could you do that to me?” she cries, turning and running back up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door and collapsing on the bed.

Kate follows Izzy up the stairs. She contemplates knocking but just busts into the bedroom. “I told him for your own good!” She walks over and sits next to Izzy. “You know how you would cry and wonder why your future was ripped from you?”

Izzy sniffles, turning on her side to face Kate. “Yeah,” she whispers.

“Maybe this is your reason. Maybe this is your future, but you'll never know if you don't give it a chance.”

“I don’t want to feel that pain again,” Izzy cries.

“Don’t you want to feel happy again? I know you felt it yesterday with him. I could hear it in your voice. It was written all over your face when I walked into the bathroom,” Kate insists. “It looked so beautiful on you. Can you just go out with him once more?”

“No!” Izzy growls, burying her face in her pillow. “Don’t make me.”

“I have the most beautiful pair of Louis Vuitton heels with your name on them. All you have to do is say yes. I wouldn’t push you into this if I didn’t trust him. I think this is going to be good for you. Don’t you trust me?”

“Fuck, that’s not fair!” Izzy whimpers, kicking her feet like a schoolgirl. “You know I trust you... What color are they?” She smiles, thinking of giving in.

“Nude.” Kate runs her hand up Izzy’s thigh, leaning her body over Izzy’s and whispering in her ear. “Your legs will look phenomenal in them. You could wear them with that little black lace dress. I bet Jared won’t be able to keep his hands off you.” Kate forces Izzy to look up at her. “Besides, if he doesn't fuck you in those heels I will.”

Izzy rolls over shaking her head at Kate. “I don't know if you're trying to convince me to go out with Jared again or to fuck you.”

“Fuck off! Take the deal or leave it,” Kate laughs, slapping Izzy on her thigh and pushing herself up from the bed.

Izzy groans rather loudly. “Fuck!!!!! Okaaayy!!” She whines. “Last one! Now get me the fucking shoes!”

Kate pulls her phone out of her pocket, dialing Shannon's number as she retreats to her bedroom. She’s talking the moment she hears him pick up. “You’re son of a bitch brother better appreciate what I just did for him, because I’m giving up my favorite LV shoes for him.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Shannon asks, completely caught off guard by her statement.

Kate sighs, flopping down on her bed. “Tell Jared to start planning another date night. I had to promise her my favorite pair of LV nude heels but she’s agreed to give him one last shot. And I do mean one LAST shot, Shan. So make sure he’s on his best behavior please,” she begs him.

“I can buy you a new pair, babe,” Shannon offers, amused at her attitude.

“No, it's fine, they look better on her anyway,” Kate sighs. “I just want these two to get their shit together already. Playing matchmaker is exhausting. And Jared fucking owes me, make sure he knows that.”

“How much longer are you gonna meddle in this?” Shannon asks her, keeping his tone light but a little concerned about his brother fucking this up and her stressing out over it.

“I’m not kidding when I say this is his last shot. Don’t let him fuck it up,” she responds sternly. “And if he breaks her heart, I’ll break him,” she warns.

“I love it when you get feisty,” Shannon teases.

“Fuck off,” she laughs. “Go talk to Jared. I have to walk my beloved heels across the hall,” she says with an exaggerated sob.

Izzy is looking at her phone when she walks in the kitchen the next morning, absorbed in texting with someone. “Who’re you talking to?” Kate asks, pulling two cereal bowls out of the cabinet.

“Jared’s texting me… I don’t know what to say back. I keep typing and deleting things over and over again.” Izzy sets the phone on the counter and slides it to Kate so she can see what J’s said.

Kate reads the string of texts from Jared.

Good morning. It’s Jared. I hope you slept well.

What's your favorite color?

What's your favorite food?

Do you like red or white wine?

How do you take your coffee?

Favorite film?

What kind of music do you like?

Cats or dogs?

Do you like art?

What is your favorite thing to do?

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?

Kate smiles after reading the last text. “He’s so sweet.”

“Sweet? Kate it’s every half hour,” Izzy explains. “I’m pretty sure this is borderline harassment!”

“Harassment?! Stop it. He wants you to respond. He wants to know you.” Kate laughs, rereading the texts out loud to Izzy, contemplating a response in her own head. “You have to respond to him.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Izzy complains, biting at the inside of her bottom lip.

“These are easy questions. Just answer him,” Kate says sternly. “You already agreed to another date. You could at least answer the man.”

“It’s just a simple text, right?” Izzy huffs, sitting at the bar and pouring her cereal. “Okay. Help me, please.”

Kate laughs, swallowing her bite of cereal. “You know all the answers! You don’t need my help.” She pushes the phone back across the bar. “Do it now.”

Izzy takes a deep breath in and picks up her cell phone, carefully reading through the text messages once more before starting her message.

I did sleep well. Thank you for asking. Here are the answers to all your questions: I love purple. Food is impossible it depends on my mood. I love sushi but I also love pizza, hummus and avocados go on everything. I like red wine, specifically cab. I hate merlot. Two Splenda packets and a tad of almond creamer makes my coffee cup smile. You don’t really want to know my taste in film...you’d laugh at me mister Oscar winner; but if you must know Gone With the Wind. 16 Candles (every girl needs a Jake Ryan moment). Dazed and Confused (told you you’d laugh). Interview With the Vampire...well any Brad Pitt movie except Kalifornia. I hate that one. Star Wars and...Dallas Buyers Club (aren’t you in that one) I like any music that makes me smile, dance or sing (Yes, this includes your music). Dogs! They never stop loving you. Art makes life more beautiful. What kind of question is that? I like going to football games and concerts (just not backstage. I feel like the illusion of the artist is lost once you meet them), I love backyard parties with friends or hiking or camping or basically doing anything outside and with people that I care about. If I could go anywhere in the world I would go to Paris or Italy or...never mind...everywhere. Any other questions Mr. Leto?

“Are you done? Let me see.” Kate giggles, trying to pry the phone from Izzy’s hand.

“No!” Izzy shouts, tightening her grip and hitting send before she has time to rethink her answer. “I’m sorry. I just I need this to be just from me. No influence from you.”

Kate smiles and releases her grip. “Yes ma’am.” she teases. Both girls tense when Izzy’s phone buzzes on the bar. “I bet it’s him,” Kate smiles, looking over at the phone on the bar.

Izzy picks up the phone and smiles at his quick response.

Yes, would you accompany me to an art exhibit and dinner Thursday night?

Yes. Sounds like the perfect opportunity to wear my new heels.

She responds quickly, sliding her phone across the bar for Kate to read, who slaps her arm playfully as soon as she’s done.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8.

Jared responds immediately, Izzy’s phone buzzing in Kate’s hand. She reads the message to Izzy and slides her phone back across the bar. “So what dress are you wearing? Should we go shopping? You need something super sexy to wear with those shoes.”

“Yes! Let's go shopping!” Izzy squeals, jumping up and washing her bowl.

“Excited?” Kate snickers, watching her friend impatiently waiting for Kate to follow her lead.

“If I say yes, will you hurry the fuck up?” Izzy pouts, cutting her eyes at Kate before turning on her heels to rush up the stairs to primp.

***

“Hey! They're here,” Kate says quietly, walking into Izzy's bedroom. She's sitting in front of her vanity, a blank stare on her face. “Wow! You look beautiful. I knew you'd pick that dress. Let me see the heels,” Kate says taking a seat on the bed behind her, noticing the terror in her friends face. “What's wrong?”

“I'm just...nervous I think,” Izzy confesses, applying her lipstick and tucking it inside her clutch before taking a deep breath in. “Let's go.”

“Your face had been stuck in your phone all week texting him. Tonight will be perfect. I just know it. Relax and enjoy it,” Kate encourages.

The girls walk down the stairs, giggling at their own private joke, meeting the guys in the kitchen. Kate kisses Jared on the cheek, giving him a warning look before throwing her arms around Shannon’s neck. “Hey handsome. I've missed you all day,” she sighs as he lifts her from the ground, praising her beauty.

Izzy smiles up at Jared, nervously touching his chest and straightening his tie. “You look very dapper this evening, Mr. Leto.”

“You look stunning,” he whispers, taking her hand and looking her over. “Are those the new heels I've heard so much about?” He laughs, remembering the story Shannon told him, both of them looking at Kate who is pouting.

“Yes!” She points her feet out turning her feet to show every angle of the shoes. “Kate has excellent taste don't ya think?”

“She does,” Shannon chimes in, kissing his girlfriends cheek.

“She does and she's a very generous woman too,” Jared says smiling at Kate and holding his hand out for Izzy. “Shall we go?” Izzy looks at Kate placing her hand in his, allowing him to lead the way.

Jared drives, and Kate and Shannon make out in the backseat as usual. Izzy tries to block them out with music from the radio but there’s nothing good on so she gives up and turns it off.

“What's a Jake Ryan moment?” Jared asks, teasing Izzy about the text from earlier in the week.

“You don't know?” Izzy questions. Her nervousness fading instantly when he smiles innocently at her. “Jake Ryan shows up with his fancy car to sweep Molly Ringwald off her feet. They sit on a glass table and eat birthday cake and he kisses her,” Izzy explains, watching Jared’s reaction to her explanation.

“Have you had one?” Jared smirks, taking his eyes off the road long enough to witness her blushing and shaking her head no.

“No! Those moments only happen in movies,” Kate calls out to them from the backseat, pulling herself away from Shannon just as the car pulls into the lot of the gallery.

Jared pulls up to the valet stand and goes round to help Izzy out of the car as Shannon does the same for Kate. The group walk into the gallery together, Jared immediately being recognized by several people in the room. They make small talk with a few people who come over to say hello for awhile until Shannon excuses himself to get drinks for the girls. When he returns, Jared is still trapped in small talk hell. Izzy is slowly drifting further away from him and closer to Kate.

“He’s too polite to excuse himself,” Shannon whispers in Kate’s ear, his hand on her hip holding her close to him.

Kate steps forward and clears her throat, “Jared, we’ve got reservations,” Kate interrupts whatever mind numbing conversation is happening, subtlety hip checking Izzy closer to him. Jared says a quick goodbye, grabs Izzy’s hand and leads them all away to the opposite side of the gallery.

“I’m sorry. I always feel bad getting out of those conversations, I’m horrible at it,” Jared apologizes to Izzy then turns to Kate. “Thank you,” he tells her, smiling and giving his brother a look that clearly says he approves of his choice in girlfriend.

“I’m gonna take Kate and show her my favorite piece, why don’t you show Izzy around a bit, hmm?” Shannon tells his brother, leading Kate away towards the back of the gallery tih her giggling as they disappear into the crowd.

Izzy puts her arm through Jared’s and holds onto him as he leads her towards one of the larger pieces in the front of the gallery. “He has a favorite piece?” she asks.

“No, he knows where the broom closet is though,” Jared tells her, chuckling.

“Ohhh,” Izzy responds quickly, leaning her head against his arm and laughing. “My friend the whore.”

Jared takes his time showing Izzy through the gallery. The exhibit belongs to a friend of his, so he’s fairly familiar with each of the pieces. Shannon and Kate don’t resurface for nearly an hour, but to their credit they don’t look too disheveled when they reappear at Jared and Izzy’s side. Kate pulls Izzy away from Jared for a moment under the pretense of going to the ladies room.

“How’s it going?” Kate asks her as soon as they’re out of earshot of the boys. Over her shoulder, Kate can see Shannon grilling J just the same.

“Good,” Izzy smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He's been…attentive and oh god he smells so good!” She squeals covering her face with her hands. “Kate, I can't breathe when he touches me.”

The girls walk to the bar ordering another round of champagne. Kate insists on making a toast to friends and possibility and the future, finishing up just as the boys find them.

“Ladies, we have reservations for dinner. We should probably head that way,” Jared announces upon their return, looking down at his watch and once again offering Izzy his hand, squeezing her softly when she accepts. Shannon and Kate walk just ahead, the two of them lost in their own private conversation.

“Do you think you two can manage to not make out for ten minutes while we drive to the restaurant?” Jared begs his brother as they all get back into the car.

“I can’t help it, she’s irresistible,” Shannon answers, looking into Kate’s eyes with a goofy smile on his face. Jared rolls his eyes.

“They’re ridiculous,” he tells Izzy, who is also rolling her eyes at the goofy grin on Kate’s face. The pair do keep their lips to themselves for this trip out of respect, but Izzy’s pretty certain she caught Kate’s hands wandering at some point.

Once inside the restaurant the group is quickly ushered to a private booth. The girls scoot inside to the middle with the boys falling in on either side of them. They're assigned a private waiter and Jared instructs the staff to keep the curtain closed at all times.

After reviewing the menu, ordering cocktails and appetizers Kate nudges Izzy’s arm, urging her to move closer to Jared. Izzy nudges Kate in return, shaking her head no; however, Kate is persistent, nudging her repeatedly, harder each time. When Izzy doesn’t follow through with Kate’s orders after several minutes she slides her hand over onto Izzy’s thigh and squeezes hard, digging her nails into her thigh, making Izzy wince uncontrollably in pain, swiftly removing her hand when Jared asks if she’s okay.

Izzy looks up at Jared nervously, stuttering on her words looking for an explanation when Kate chimes in, “Did you have another one of those sharp pains in your thigh?”

Izzy cuts her eyes at Kate “Yeah,” she responds through gritted teeth, rubbing her thigh.

“Is it still hurting?” Jared asks, placing his hand on her thigh in an effort to rub out her pain.

Izzy reaches for Jared’s hand, placing her hand on his hand and bites at her lip, their eyes meeting. “Uhhh, no. It’s better now. Thank you.”

Kate nudges Shannon’s arm and they silently watch the two of them, lost in each other's eyes when the waiter disturbs them, arriving with the appetizers. Jared quickly removes his hand from her thigh, slapping his hands together, instantly breaking the friction between them.

As the dinner progresses Izzy finds herself tucked comfortably under Jared’s arm, listening intently to his stories of touring, the two of them even sharing a dessert while Shannon and Kate quietly make plans for a weekend getaway.

“How do you deal with them when he’s at your place?” Jared sighs, looking over at the couple next to them canoodling.

“It’s not so bad. Sometimes I just disappear. I spend a lot of time on walks but when I need my girl I just barge right into her room and snuggle right up next to them.”

“You do?” Jared chuckles, raising his eyebrows at her, images flooding his head of the innocent girl next to him tangled in the sheets with his brother and her best friend.

“Well, only if it’s safe, ya’ know.” Izzy laughs, covering her face in embarrassment.

Shannon leans forward, a smile on his face. “You have no idea what it’s like to have to share your girlfriend. These two will get lost in a private conversation, completely forgetting I’m even there,” he teases. “Lucky for her, she’s sweet and cooks for me all the time, so I don’t mind when she steals Kate from me too much.”

“She a good cook?” Jared asks Shannon, who's quick to give a thumbs up.

“Kate never cooks because Izzy’s cooking is so good,” Shannon adds. Kate nods her head in agreement, smiling at her friend.

“Maybe you could cook for me sometime?” Jared asks softly, his blue eyes shining back at her, alluding to another date.

“I’d like that very much,” Izzy says, nervously twirling her hair between her fingertips, avoiding his stare.

“J, I think we should go back to your place and light a fire in the pit and hang out for a bit by the pool,” Kate encourages.

“You up for that?” Jared asks Izzy, who nods her agreement shyly, making a mental note to thank Kate later for continuing their evening past dinner. “Okay, let’s get out of here then.” Jared wastes no time scooting out of the booth and taking Izzy’s hand, helping her up, their waiter stopping them and requesting a photo before they exit. Shannon and Jared kindly posed for several photos with the staff before they’re able to head out the door.

Special Thanks to my co-author/Lobster @jletolove4eva for being patient with me on this chapter.

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