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ofjunemoment · 2 years ago

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let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters?

OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills.

pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader

genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn

wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports.

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face?

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand.

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,” You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg.

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield.

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times.

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful.

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class.

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin.

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t.

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from.

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped.

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket.

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.”

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow.

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves.

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following.

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly.

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple.

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green.

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both.

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night.

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes.

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break.

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name.

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class.

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,”

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving.

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist.

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath.

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit.

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag.

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead.

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag.

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process.

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot?

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently.

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more.

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.”

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit.

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?”

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side.

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation.

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton.

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . . a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation.

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead.

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time.

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue.

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack.

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face.

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie.

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you.

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?”

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit.

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date?

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm.

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness.

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups.

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment.

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play.

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here.

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place.

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?”

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead.

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?”

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner.

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left.

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh!

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps.

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure.

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea.

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement.

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.”

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench.

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.”

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer.

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors.

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy; but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water.

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek.

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream.

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second.

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair.

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.”

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him.

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee.

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more.

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,” His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress, for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more.

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength.

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso.

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you.

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again.

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills.

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you.

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.”

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!”

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time.

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly.

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows.

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

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queers-gambit · 2 months ago

Text

Careful What You Wish For

prompt: he's highly reactive, you're incredibly enduring. he's a righteous dick, you're criminally empathetic. he's temperamental, you're amenable. but you're done being his doormat. -> or in which Billy resorts to breaking up when you two fight, but when he comes to make up (like clockwork), you finally have a change of heart.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5k+

warnings: it's not much so don't expect a lot! author has Daddy Issues™️ and you're gonna deal with it, cursing, drama for drama's sake, Billy Boy's trauma translates into a toxic relationship, feelings are hard, abrupt ending, angst, hurt not a lot of comfort; healthy parent relationship? wild.

and NO this is NOT influenced by Hoover's book / Blake's movie! i have NOT read the book nor seen the movie, so if you recognize similarities, it's 100% unintentional!

To be reactive means to impulsively act upon circumstances instead of rationally considering situations that would asses a humane, clean, agreeable, "legal" response. To be reactive is exactly what it sounds like. It's reacting. It's not thinking, it's not being considerate or logical. It's being fueled by emotion, to be impulsive and rash. To be reactive was borderline selfish as the response is one-sided and results from only a single person's perspective.

Part of growing up is learning to handle your reactions; to absorb situations and consider the best possible option forward. Thing is, it's not a skill people could master in a day, week, month, year - it took a lot of time, focus, and constant, conscious dedication. People in high school were attempting to master this skill; people in college, their 20's - hell, there's even people in their 30's and 40's still trying to learn and perfect the ability to fucking handle their reactiveness.

So, in actuality, you couldn't fault Billy for being "this" way. It's not like he was doing it consciously, maliciously, or on purpose; he genuinely didn't know better and it's hard to unlearn lessons life taught you. Considering the environment he grew up in, you knew Billy stood absolutely no chance to learn and develop healthy coping mechanisms and forms of communication - but Christ, it was difficult to date him.

All romantic bullshit aside, Billy's attitude was increasingly concerning the further your relationship progressed. He required a lot of love and patience - of which, you had an abundance of and was happy to give. Yet that's the key word, abundance - NOT unlimited. He's sensitive, meaning easily irritated; damn near any and everything inconvenienced him. His mouth moved before his neurons could fire. He refused to compromise or admit defeat like Flat Earthers refuse scientific evidence. He would always choose throwing a fist over using his words. He embodied the cutting image of "bad boy", but he also lived it if his lack of manners and foul mouth was any indication. He was aloof, malcontent, egotistical, had the emotional intelligence of a fucking jellyfish, operated as an iron lock with a thrown-away key.

And Billy loves you. You knew, in his way, he loves you. But you also knew how hard it was for Billy to have any degree of emotion for any given reason. This meant more often than not, you worried his feelings for you were forced, or at the very least, ebbed and waned. Odd, isn't it? How his trauma causes a trauma response in you?

Billy was far from perfect, but you didn't need him perfect. You needed him to be loving, supportive, kind and caring, honest, empathetic... All things nobody would EVER think of when trying to describe Billy.

Yet you two worked. Polar opposites; two ends of the spectrum; a flowery romance novel and a doomed tragedy.

You used to think he was the ebony ink and you, the pure snow in the Yin and Yang symbol - or a taijitu. He was dark and brooding and abused and hateful - but with you, as that single dot of white, he felt balanced. You're bright, blinding, glittering, passionate - and with Billy, he added that speck of darkness (or realism) to your purity.

Sure, this could mean literally since you lost your virginity to him within a couple months of dating, but more so in the sense that Billy's pessimism was darkening your optimism; almost as if he was pouring water from your glass into his to force you to see your glass (read: reality) as half empty. It was as if he was corrupting you. Yet perhaps not in the sense we all might think - like he takes you to party all weekend, blow off school, engage in sketchy or concerning or dangerous activities, experiment with drugs and sexual positions that border on acrobatic. His corruption was more along the lines of draining you; where you were once bright and happy, so excited to love and be loved, to live life; you're now just tired and passive and accepting.

Billy wasn't easy to love. When you first started dating, it felt like a challenge - winning him over. You were determined to prove yourself ideal, capable, and willing to endure him and all his (and his family's) antics. Yet as time passed, you fell so deeply in love with him that you didn't even remember why you first kept coming back for more. He was intoxicating; he invades any space and commandeers not just attention, but leadership and control.

Billy was the flame. You, the moth. Yet eventually, fires will die. They will not burn forever. Whether from a lack of oxygen, wood, or something like the wind snuffs it, no flame ever endures forever. And now, the flame was dying and you were finding lesser reason to linger around dwindling warmth.

You see, there's only SO much a person can take. Being so reactive, fighting with Billy is fucking clockwork. It's eerily like a science the way you two will always fight when one of you has the realization, "Wow, things are SO peaceful and SO nice right now!" Naturally, because God (or karma, the universe, whoever) had a sense of humor, would choose that moment to cause issue.

Fights with Billy were usually sparked by something decently simple - like you being paired with Jason Carver for a tutoring session, or taking an extra 10 minutes in the shower after your sports practice, or telling him, "Sorry, I can't go out Friday, baby, I told the Wheeler's I'd babysit." This would cause Billy to spiral. Akin to a ripe, seasonal Kansas tornado.

Fights with Billy usually got personal, and since you knew and trusted one another so well, there was plenty of ammunition. Insults were hurled for an unGodly amount of time, but it was because Billy loved pulling loose threads to watch everything unravel.

Fights with Billy usually ended in a single, consistent manner: with him breaking up with you. Oh, it was infuriating! Billy had both fight and flight instincts - you know, from being so reactive - that he was all for throwing a punch, but when it came to real accountability or resolution, he'd flee; never caring about who he might hurt in the process. He'd engage his "fight" response, and then turn around and "flee", only to return later and resume fighting! Talk about fucking whiplash! Billy was like a wrecking ball, and if you were gonna fight, he was gonna make sure he was ready for it.

This fight was no different.

You can't even remember why it started, but it did and now, you sat on the front porch stairs of your family home, head bowed into your arms while silently weeping. Was it sadness? Was it despair? Acceptance? Frustration? Defeat? Was it anger that made you cry? Were these tears of humor? Disbelief? Exhaustion?

Perhaps all of the above at once.

"Look, I just think we need to take a break. From each other."

You held your breath, rolling your lips between your teeth and slowly looking up at the boy you loved and hated most in this world. Billy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one arm propped on the freshly painted wooden bannister to hold his balance; watching you with mild remorse, mostly neutrality. You smirked mirthlessly, nodding, "Right, okay."

Billy scoffed, ash falling from the end of his lit cigarette, asking, "Really not gon' say nothin'? Don't wanna fight or argue 'bout this?"

"Why bother, Billy?" You snipped, wiping your tears. "You do this every time. Fuck's sake, it's like something gets a little hard or inconvenient and we break-up."

He scoffed, "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Well, maybe this is the last time, sweetheart."

You just sighed, "Okay, Bee. I'm gonna go in, you kinda interrupted movie night to do this. So, now that you have, cool if I go in? Great, get home safe." You stood without waiting for his answer, turning for the front door and immediately seeking refuge inside. You locked the doorknob, then the deadbolt, and just for dramatic flare, latched the chain, too.

Using the sleeves of your shirt, you dried your face.

"Who was that, honey?" Your mother asked as you entered the dark living room, sighing as you dropped into your spot on the sofa; taking your little sister in arms as she settled on your chest once more.

"Just Billy."

"Oh, he didn't want to come in?"

"No, Mama, he had to go."

"Shame," she sighed, "I thought he would like this movie."

You only hummed, draping a thin blanket over you and your sister. "Pops. Hey, hey," you whispered, hand out, wiggling your foot into your father's thigh, "dad, hey. Daddy." Without looking, he handed over the bowl of popcorn mixed with Peanut M&M's and jumped when the sound boomed and the screen flashed with blinding action.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't focus on the heavy Austrian accent of the time traveling Terminator. Your head repeated the argument with Billy; how it had now spanned over several days and he had the audacity to knock at your door tonight, interrupting the week-standing movie night he KNEW your family participated in, and proceeded to break-up with you - AGAIN!

Yet something felt so fucking different this time.

You weren't sad by this "break-up" (yet) because you knew he was just being reactive and sensitive, but something didn't sit right about tonight. Your parents both worked incredibly long hours at tedious, stressful jobs, but they were very firm that every Thursday night was movie night - and Billy knew this. He knew where you were every Thursday. He knew better than to interrupt, he knew this time together was sacred since your parents worked so frequently but also actually seemed to like family time.

So, he chose tonight as the best time to initiate this break? Your heart hammered as you began to convince yourself this was a malicious move; he knowingly came to your house to inflict emotional turmoil when you were with family. It was deliberate, it was a manipulative power move; knowing he had such a hold on you that even during your beloved family time of bonding, despite being in a fight, you would still receive him; still come back to him.

Angry tears coated your eyes as Sarah Connor fought for her life. Where Billy was always highly reactive, being the eldest daughter, you were resilient and enduring; able to handle anything thrown your way. You were rational, decently calm; able to think through a storm, being only motivated by the sight of the sun. Billy had a bad attitude, he was arrogant, his ego inflated by the small town girls all drooling over him, but it was his abuse and lack of coping ability that made him into a righteous dick. Perhaps that was why he was attracted to you, being so empathetic and understanding that it bordered on criminal - especially with the way it slowly drained you of life. Billy was temperamental, angry and hurt by the world; and you were amenable, agreeable - not a pushover, but similar to water in the sense that you could adapt and conform to any space, shape, or circumstance you're put in (willingly or not).

Something in your gut finally clicked.

You're done being his doormat. Loving Billy was dismantling you brick by brick; he thought because you were so accepting and understanding that he could act anyway he wanted, get away with it, and you'd always forgive him. You'd always take him back. He could rip your heart out of your chest, crush it into dust, and you'd still thank him when he sprinkles it in your hands - because at least he did that. At least he gave you a sprinkle. You were supposed to be grateful - never-minding that he was the one who continuously hurt you in the first place.

Your eyes drifted from the television to your mother and father sat together at the far end of the couch. 20 years married, and they still sat together like high school teens; his arm around her shoulders, kept close, sharing snacks, a throw blanket cocooning their legs. They were so gentle with one another; relying majorly on nonverbal communication, like when there's a jump scare, your father's thumb would sweep over the back of your mother's hand resting on his lap. It was a grounding technique you have long taken note of, but seeing it now just made you sad.

The desire to have a relationship like your parents was strong, but what was even stronger was simply setting a good example for your sister. You'd be devastated if you ever learned she dated a man like Billy; who put her through the emotional wringer for no direct or good reason. You thought you'd tell her it wasn't her job to fix anyone; it wasn't her responsibility or burden to help mold a boy into a man. Your heart would shatter if you learned she was like you - crying to sleep, throwing towels over all mirrors to avoid any reflection, walking on eggshells in an effort to keep the peace you weren't even charged with!

Watching her eyes glittering in the glow of the action movie, you knew what you had to do. If you didn't practice what you preached, you had no true leg to stand on; your words become contradictory, your concerns warped by perspective. You didn't want her to look at your parents, then at you and Billy, and think someone was wrong - or that love was somewhere in between your relationship examples. You wanted her to know love wasn't supposed to hurt, and if you needed her to understand that she deserved the best of the best, you needed to walk the walk that you talked.

Blinking back tears, you resigned yourself to forcing the feeling of contentment; hugging your sister closer, relishing the feeling of your father's warmth against the bottom of your feet where they laid. And as if he could read your mind, your father mutely kept his one arm around your mother, the other laying on your ankle; glancing over to catch your eye and offer a small, soft smile before focusing on the movie again.

You pecked your sister's forehead quickly, whispering, "You okay, Bug?"

"Uh-huh."

"Not too scared?"

"No," she answered, completely entranced by the television.

"Sure?"

"Uh-huh. Can you pause it?" She asked your father, who almost instantly reached for the remote to hit pause. Your sister jumped up and rushed from the living room before quickly doubling back to hang in the doorway, "I'll be back." Then she dipped behind the wall, only to pop back out a second later and punctuate, "With weapons!"

The living room was full of boisterous laughter as she scampered off to the bathroom.

There was a gentle knock at your closed bedroom door, head lifting from the lowered crane it unconsciously drooped into while reading the novel on your lap. With a grimace, you rubbed your neck and called, "Come in!"

"Hey, honey," your father spoke softly, poking his head in, "got a second?"

"Yeah, sure, Daddy, c'min."

He offered a small smile and entered at full, shutting the door behind him and confirming what you sensed - this was sure to be a serious conversation. He sat gingerly at the foot of your bed, heaving a great sigh, asking, "Whatcha readin'?"

"Oh, uh, just," you showed him the cover of your book, "it's for school, I have to write a report on it."

"Is it interesting?"

"It has a good message," you allotted, making him snicker. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, sighing again. "Listen, honey, I just wanted to talk to you about... You know, Billy."

"We use condoms, Daddy, and I'm on birth control."

"While that's great and exactly what every father wants to hear," he whined, "that's not what I meant."

"Oh," you sat up, book marked and set aside, "you mean tonight?"

"Yeah."

You shrugged, "It's not that big of a deal."

"You sure?"

"I got a handle on things, Daddy."

"I don't know if I can believe that, honey," he frowned, dimples on display, "because - you've - you're just..." He paused, shaking his head, "Your mother and I are worried about you. You're different since dating Billy and it's hard to ignore. I know it might not be comfortable to talk about, but you know you can always come to us, right?"

You nodded, "I know, Daddy."

"Good. 'Cause, he's 18, right?"

"I'm almost afraid to answer that, but yes...?"

Your father nodded, "Good, so I can legally kick his ass."

"Being friends with Hopper helps."

"Damn straight," he confirmed. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, we just broke up."

"What!?"

"Daddy, chill," you chuckled, "we do this every few weeks."

"Oh, Jesus - "

"But it's the last time!"

"Well, how can you be sure?"

"'Cause I deserve better."

The sigh your father released was out of relief, musing, "Goddamn right you do! Good girl!" He leaned in to peck your forehead quickly, patting your leg. "Well, I'll let you get back to reading..."

"Hang on," you halted him, feeling your heart lurch, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything, kid."

"Do you... not... like Billy?"

"Well, now that I know you two break up every few weeks, less so."

"Daddy."

He nodded, "I thought he was an all right kid, and you never had an ill word to say about him. But he was always kinda troubled, something about him always made me a little suspicious. Is there reason I shouldn't like him...?"

You stared at your father for several long seconds, both with varying expressions as you tried to telepathically communicate. When you understood his meaning, you blanched, "Wait - woah - hey - what!? No! No, Daddy!" You groaned, "Jesus, no! Billy's - Billy's troubled, yes, but he's not abusive or aggressive - not with me! I swear!"

"I'm sorry, I just - I needed to be sure! There's no easy way to ask these things, you know?"

"I know," you nodded, "and I appreciate you checking, but I promise, I'm okay, Billy's not like that. He's abrasive, yes, but he's still respectful."

"Noted," your father breathed, "that's actually relieving. So, uh... Am I supposed to bring you ice cream? Or rent some romcoms? This is your first break-up and I'm not sure what to do."

Your eyes rolled lightly, "Not yet, but keep that energy for when the emotions really set in."

"I'll stock up after work tomorrow," he promised.

"You're... Home this weekend?"

"Your mother and I thought for the next couple months, we'll take a break from conferences," he grinned, "spend some time with our favorite girls. Maybe even take a family vacation this summer!"

You grinned, "You mean it?"

"Of course!"

You launched into his embrace with a laugh, both full of mirth and amusement. Instead of leaving, your father actually situated comfortably on your bed and listened to your read your book - reminding him of the days he read you bedtime stories. He eyed the essay prompt your teacher had passed out with his listening ears on, and when there was a quote or relevant detail he thought related to your thesis, he made sure to speak up.

It was the most at-peace you've felt in ages.

"Bug! You have exactly 90 seconds to get down here!" You hollered into the house, walking out the front door while storing your novel in your book bag. Turning forward, you gasped when you nearly ran into Billy - standing before you, fresh as a fucking daisy. "Jesus Christ, Billy, you scared me," you scolded, keys jangling.

"Sorry," he muttered, sighing, hands going to his back pockets, "didn't think you'd be comin' out so quick."

"We gotta catch the bus," you told him, turning to holler again into the open door, "BUG! LET'S GO!"

"Why? You know I normally drive you two."

"Yeah, but we broke-up last night, Bee, didn't think you'd wanna play taxi driver still."

"It's not bein' a taxi - "

"You live on the other side of town," you scoffed, "my house is literally out of your way. So, don't feed me that line." You could see Max leaning on the passenger door from where Billy's Camaro was parked on the street, waving to her; watching her grin and wave back. "What're you doin' here?" You asked him pointedly.

"Look, I know we argued and I got a little mouthy, but I was just pissed off and reacted poorly. But I slept on it, and I'm sorry for what I said. Can we please just try to move on?"

You scoffed, "Billy, you do this so often, I can't keep up anymore. Your insecurity isn't your fault, you're not to be crucified for it, but I can't be your punching bag. You can't lose your cool and yell and get 'mouthy', break up with me, run away for me to deal with shit, and then come back the next day. So, I appreciate the offer, but Bug and I are gonna catch the bus 'cause... Because..."

"Because why, baby?" He asked, voice hazy and thick.

"Because you should really be careful what you wish for, Billy, you might just get it. I think we should honor this break-up."

"What?" Billy breathed in earnest confusion. "No, hold up - "

"Billy, I'm sorry, I am. You know I love you - "

"So you're breaking up with me, 'cause you love me?"

"You're the one who broke up with me, Billy," you reminded, "and yes, I do love you, but I have to love me, too. I can't do them simultaneously, it seems."

"Of course you can - "

"Loving you means disrespecting myself," you told him. "Every time I come back to you, I'm chipping away at who I am. You and I - we used to be so good for each other, Bee. Remember? But now? You're just on this warpath and I refuse to be a casualty. So, yes, I love you, I love you so much, but I don't think we should be together anymore. I need time alone, to breathe and figure out who I am outside of you - and you obviously need time to process and get your shit together. If we stay together, we're only gonna hurt each other. But apart, we can freely move and improve and curate change without risk of harm to the other."

You both just stared at one another, the sound of thundering footsteps heard from behind you. "Bee!" Your sister squealed when she rushed out the door.

"Hey, Bug!" He beamed, bending to scoop her in his arms - just like she wanted. "Woah, woah, woah - when did you get such cool shoes, kid?" He asked her, holding her ankle to show off her tie-dye canvas shoes.

"Daddy got them! Aren't they cool!?"

"So cool."

"Do you want a pair? We can match!"

Billy smirked, setting her on her feet, "Tell you what, Bug, if you can find a pair my size, I'll match with'cha, yeah?"

"I'll tell Daddy!" She gasped, turning to look up at you. "Can we ride with Billy to school?"

"Not to - "

"'Course, kid, c'mon," Billy cut you off, and it was like you never even opened your mouth with the way your sister bounded down the porch, over the yard, and towards Max.

"Billy," you grumbled.

"You really wanna break the kid's heart this early in the day?" He asked, sighing and offering his hand. "C'mon, just until the end of today - she'll have the weekend to process."

"You know we're not a married couple getting a divorce and Bug is our kid?" You grumbled, slapping your hand into his and allowing him to lead you towards his car; where his sister was settling yours in the backseat.

"Might as well be."

"You're dramatic."

He only hummed, opening your passenger door and waiting until you were inside safely before shutting the door. You greeted Max happily in the backseat, Billy getting in the driver's and pulling off safely - slowly - to start towards the elementary school. While the middle and high school conveniently shared a lot, the elementary school was just a couple streets over. Bug was excited to tell the car all about her upcoming "field day", where the entire school participated in these outside courses, doing various physical activities - it was all good, honest fun.

"What team were you on?" Bug asked Max. "I'm on the Blue Team!" She proudly pulled out the bottom of her shirt; showing off the color. "We won last year, too!"

"Woah! That's so cool, you gonna win again this year?" Max asked.

"Uh-huh! Did your team win?"

"We didn't have field day."

"What?" Bug asked, sounding heartbroken.

"They didn't go to school here, Bug," you told her from the passenger seat, "they lived in California. Remember?"

Bug frowned, "You didn't get to play?"

"We had other activities," Max assured, "we just didn't have a whole day of it - your school sounds so cool!"

"You should come!" Bug gasped. "Today! You and Bee should come! Then you could have field day, too!"

Your heart melted listening to Max tell her why she and Billy couldn't - but that she needed Bug to pay extra close, extra special attention to the games so they could all play together later in their very own field day. You didn't have the heart to halt the plans, to tell Bug why that wouldn't be happening.

You felt Billy's eyes on you periodically through the drive, sisters in the back discussing what California was like. Bug was fascinated by the beaches - having never been - and asked all kinds of questions, nearly exploding in excitement when she learned Billy knew how to surf. You knew it was a source of anxiety for him; you knew Billy associated surfing with his mother and that ever since she left, he couldn't ride the waves. He wouldn't. It hurt too bad to look back on shore and miss that bright smile, yellow blonde hair he inherited, loose, free-flowing dress, and floppy straw hat.

Yet talking to Bug, he seemed relatively at ease.

From the back, Max watched as you, who hadn't so much as looked at Billy since he got in the car, reached over for his hand to hold in silent support. He held on tightly.

"All right, Bug," you called when Billy pulled up to the elementary school, getting out to pull the seat forward and assist her out.

"Bye, Max!" She hugged the redhead, then lunged between the seats, "Bye, Billy!"

She clamored out of the car, Billy fixing the seat for you as you knelt on the sidewalk and helped fix her backpack. "You good?" You checked, smirking at her.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Listen, we'll take the bus home today, okay? Billy's got practice, so, remember - it's bus 104. Got it?"

"Bus 104."

"That's right, good girl. You get on bus 104, it'll take you to the high school and pick me up. All right?"

She took a deep breath, nodding, "I can do this."

"I know you can, Bug. All right, big hug!" You hummed as she wrapped her wee arms around your neck. "Oooooh! All right! That's good stuff!" She pulled back. "Have the best day, Bug. Love you."

"Love you," she messily pecked your cheek before rushing to join the procession of streaming kiddies. You stood straight and dusted off, sliding back into Billy's car, and once clear of the children, let his lead foot drop on the gas and speed into the school lot.

"Jesus," Max grumbled when the car swung into a parking space, "inna rush or something?"

"Just," Billy sighed deeply, shaking his head, "get out. You," he pointed at you, "stay put, we gotta talk." You remained, wishing Max a good day, watching her climb out of the car with her skateboard. As the redhead rode off for the middle school, Billy dropped back into his seat, slammed his door, and lit a cigarette with slightly trembling hands.

Silence echoed between you both, Billy handing over the cigarette mutely; students, peers, and faculty all milled around the Camaro to head into school. Smoke wafted from the rolled down windows. When time, the butt was tossed out and the silence remained.

"Bee," you whispered finally.

"I'm just..." He trailed, sighing, "Trying to savor this. Don't know when I'm gonna have you this close again."

He took your hand gently and stroked it with his thumb, emotion heavy in both your chests. "It's not like we're not gonna see each other again," you whispered.

"Not in the way I want."

"It's not like I want this, either."

"Then why're you doing this?"

You scoffed gently, "It's not me doing a damn thing, Billy, you've already done it all. I'm just holding you to your word because I know how fearful you are of commitment." You tossed his hand to his lap and grabbed your bag, reaching for the door handle, then pausing. "For the record," you ended softly, "I'm sorry, and I love you. I hope you find what you're looking for, Bee."

As you finally climbed from the sports car and into school, you felt like you were breathing air for the first time. Like you were feeling sunshine after a decade underground, like there were springs in your sneakers; vigor in your blood, optimism misting your mind into new possibilities. Yet, behind you, in a navy blue Camaro, Billy loosed two tears before tearing out of the parking lot in a fit of anger. Rage. Sadness. Desperation.

He wasn't seen at school the following week, but by the next weekend, rumors spread that he hooked up with both Allison Scott and Kimberly Jones at Donald Reefer's weekend party - so, you know, he seemed to be handling this break up well. It was what he wanted, after all.

And you? Let's just say, you were finally happy, healthy, feeling confident, rejuvenated, and ready to move forward and ONLY accept that which you KNOW you deserve.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

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mochinomnoms · 8 months ago

Note

I am eating up shirmpy chronicles content

I was thinking of the mix of genes that maybe there are some shirmpkids that have sharp pointy teeth like eels and eelkids that have a bit more blunt teeth like yuu what if we add Azul to the mix? Either in octopolycule or in uncle Azul either way he just wouldn't tolerate if the kids get bullied by "not fitting their species standards"

Also i fully agree with the ideas of mixes of shirmps and eels for the kids learning how a hybrid would work looks interesting but tiring I do think little eels and shirmps in case of octopolycule with purple-ish colors and spots would be so cute but as far as hybrid goes maybe MAYBE one of the elvers get born with shirmp antennas AND THAT'S WHERE I DRAW THE LINE and and more Azul and merkids Azul's mother teaching the kids how to do simple cooking stuff and while preparing the ingredients there is an elver next to her playing trashcan so when there is something that isn't of use from the ingredients the elver just goes :O and eats it

-Vaquita

Hell yeah! I have a few ideas for hybrid shrimpkids, I'll separate them via Tweels and Octopolycule:

Shrimpy Chronicles: Explanation of Hybrid Children

For reference: Fries can refer to both baby shrimp and octopi, so the shrimps will be called berries (cause the eggs look like berries lol) and octopi as hatchlings. Elvers are still baby eels! I'll refer to all the babies as fries in general to make it easier to read.

General:

All the kids, regardless of their fathers, are half-human. While the transformation potion permanently alters Yuu's appearance, it doesn't change their DNA. As such, the kids are a bit more mammalian than aquatic. This means that technically speaking, if Yuu is able to, the fries could be breastfed, but this depends on how human the fries are born as.

The most common variation in the hybrids is more varied colors/patterns. However, certain aspects of one species can pass over, such as the twin's teeth, pharyngeal jaws, and claws. Azul's dumbbell-shaped eyes, rectangular pupils, ink, and chromatophores can also be passed down. Shrimp Yuu's antennas, legs, “cleaning” behaviors, and patterning can be passed down, as well as some more human traits. Namely, the ones mentioned before, but they also have the potential to transform from merform to human without the aid of a transformation potion.

Because the fries are half-human, they are not suited well for the deep sea, unlike their father(s). Neither is Shrimp Yuu, even their type of merfolk is suited for corals reefs and bays. There is a chance that at least one or two of the fry will develop closer to their father(s), however.

The more gluttonous fries are actually a tie between the berries or the elvers. So the fry going :O to be a trashcan can be either shrimp or eel.

All the fries are prone to hiding. Eels, octopi, and shrimp all tend to hide in corals, crevices, etc. This makes them excellent at both hide n seek and giving their parents heart attacks.

Their diets are extremely varied due to their parentage, and while technically the berries and hatchlings can eat shrimp and octopus, it's more of the principle of the thing.

Moray/Shrimp Children

The most common result in hybridization for the twin's and Yuu'd children is higher variation in their colors and patterns. Teal and red at best makes a muted purple-brown, at worst is just a plain brown. Their kids are more likely to come out as either teal, red, or a more mosaic coloring (think of mantis shrimp's colors and patterns).

The elvers can develop antennas on their heads, like their berry siblings. Alternatively, they may not have pharyngeal jaws or sharp teeth, or claws. These elvers require more protection/supervision. Likewise, berries can develop all those traits as well.

Whether or not the elvers or berries are bioluminescent is random, but the ones with more eel traits are more likely to develop the trait

Sharp teeth are a dominant trait, so more likely than not most of the fries will have sharp teeth. Not all of them will develop the pharyngeal jaws though, and is more likely to show in the elvers than the berries.

Behavior-wise, the fries that take on more eel traits (regardless if elver or berry) will be prone to more predator behavior and instincts. You can find one of the berries barring their teeth at one of the elvers if they both take after their father(s) in this case. The opposite is true for the fries that take on more shrimp traits.

All the fries, regardless of which parent they take after more, will have the need to tend and clean each other and their family. This is because I just think the idea of Jade/Floyd being covered in fries is funny.

Octopus/Shrimp Children

Various patterns and coloring are also a common result for Azul and Yuu's children. Purple/lavender and red are adjacent colors (I think that's the word) so they mix much better. These kids will find themselves in a variety of shades of magenta, cool pinks, purple, lavender, red, or a patterned mosaic of those colors. They will have patterns similar to freckles on their skin, rings, but due to their ability to easily change their colors, they will copy their parents' patterns out of comfort.

The hatchlings can develop antennas like the berries, but the berries won't develop tentacles. They will, however, have more arm strength similar to their hatchling siblings.

Similar to the elvers, the hatchlings and berries with more octopi traits or behaviors are more likely to be bioluminescent

Berries may be able to produce ink from their mouths, while not all the hatchlings are able to do the same. Because of this, they are more prone to hiding to avoid danger and conflict.

Behavior-wise, both hatchlings and berries are prone to hiding. They are much shyer than their elver siblings, and you can find them using baskets, large shells, pots, etc as hiding spots. Often, if you find one, you will find many in that same spot. Sometimes, the hatchlings will develop the same cleaning tendencies as the berries.

These kids will also find themselves prone to cleaning their siblings and parents, but they are also collectors. The hatchlings and berries will get into groups and compete on who can find the coolest items. Their elver siblings are judges.

Moray/Octopus Children

Various patterns and coloring are once again the most common result for any of Azul and the twins' fry. Purple/lavender and teal produce a muted blue. But the fry will find themselves in a variety of shades of muted blues, purple, lavender, teal, or a patterned mosaic of those colors. They will have patterns similar to freckles on their skin, or the stripes seen on the twins' skin. They can also easily change their skin colors.

Hatchlings can develop Jade/Floyd's pharyngeal jaws and sharp teeth, as well as their claws. On the opposite end, the elvers may not develop those traits.

Regardless if they take more moray or octopus traits, they are all bioluminescent.

The elvers may produce a more ink-like mucus on their skin, while the hatchlings may not produce any ink at all. They may however produce the same mucus on their skin as the elvers.

Behavior-wise, technically speaking both morays and octopi are a type of predator, morays just more so. But you can find eels and octopi fighting in the wild. So, you can actually find the elvers and hatchlings play fighting against each other. They make it a game (whoever loses has to take over the other's chores).

The hatchlings and elvers are more protective of their berry siblings, and you can often find them in pairs or trios, with at least one elver/hatchling with one or more berries.

And that's all I got today folks! Womp womp, I love the Shrimpy Chronicles, they're so fun to write!!! As me for more, I have many thoughts and names for the potential children, hehee.

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #octotrio #octopolycule #jade/azul #floyd/azul #shrimpy chronicles #vaquita anon

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loganjameshowlett · 2 months ago

Text

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

01: AND YOU MAY ASK YOURSELF (WELL, HOW DID I GET HERE?)

pairing: peter parker/mutant!reader summary: you tutor peter parker. you dodge a robbery. you get run over and are somehow unhurt. all in a day's work, i guess. word count: 4.1k+

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You were beginning to regret promising your tutoring services to Professor Sorensen.

The early morning sky was pink outside the library’s picture windows, and you stared wistfully as you spread your things out across one of the empty tables, wishing that you were still in bed. But Sorensen was maybe your favorite professor ever, and when she stopped you after class last week and asked you to tutor for the general education English classes in exchange for a meager pay and some extra points on your final essay, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

You couldn’t imagine, though, what kind of linguistically-inept STEM major would be desperate enough for tutoring to schedule an appointment with you at eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning. You kind of wanted to beat them over the head with your laptop. Instead, you took a searing gulp of your coffee and opened your current required reading for Sorensen’s class. If you were going to be up this early, you might as well make some use of the time beyond tutoring.

“Excuse me,” a voice calling your name cut through the otherwise silent main reading room of the library a few minutes later, and you looked up to find a tall boy with messy brown hair standing at the other side of your table. He had a frayed backpack slung over one shoulder, and a look of exhaustion in his brown eyes that was very familiar to you. “Am I in the right place for Professor Sorensen’s English tutoring?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, shutting your book and briefly glancing down at the email from Sorensen open on your laptop to catch his name. “Peter Parker?”

“That’s me,” he nodded, offering a small smile as he slid into the chair to the right of you.

“So, you’re taking Beginnings of American Lit with Professor Liu, right?” you asked, checking the email once more.

“Yeah. She’s kind of a tough grader, and if I don’t score an A on my next essay it’ll fuck with my GPA,” Peter explained, glancing over at you sheepishly as he dug through his bag, eventually producing a thin stack of rumpled papers. “I was hoping we could edit this one together? Maybe you’ll be able to explain what she’s looking for, ‘cause I really don’t know.”

“Yeah, Liu is… particular, but not impossible,” you told him, reaching forward to slide the essay toward you. “Luckily, I’ve taken her twice, so I think I’ll be able to help.”

“Oh, thank god. I was starting to feel hopeless,” Peter said, and you couldn’t help but snort at the complete earnestness in his voice.

“So, I take it you’re not a humanities major,” you observe, and Peter laughs, shaking his head.

“Definitely not. I’m a chemistry major, actually. Science has always come easily to me, but writing not so much. S’why I put off taking my literature requirement until Junior year.”

“That’s what I did with my lab science requirement,” you said. “And now I’m struggling through a biology lab that might actually kill my GPA. Okay, so, your intro paragraph looks pretty good. Thesis is solid. I think your trouble is probably in the body– Liu is a real stickler for thorough analysis of quotes and citations. And by thorough, I mean extensive to the point of near-redundancy.”

“Alright, I already know I’m gonna have to beef up the middle, in that case,” Peter sighed, taking the first page of his essay to look over the few line edits you had penned in with red ink. “Hey, about your biology lab. I can help, if you want. As a thank you for helping me with Liu’s class.”

“Yeah? That’d be a lifesaver, honestly,” you said, raising your brow at him. “I don’t really know anyone in the department to help me find a reliable tutor. Not that I know you’re a reliable tutor. You could be a really shitty chemist, for all I know.”

Peter let out a theatrical gasp, bringing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very good chemist. And, lucky for you, a perfectly average biologist. Good enough to get you to pass that lab with an A, I bet.”

“Well, then, I’m gonna hold you to that, Mr. Parker.”

“Just Peter’s fine. Mr. Parker makes me sound geriatric.”

“Okay, Peter,” you hum. “Look, this quote you have at the top of this paragraph? It’ll be really easy to beef up your analysis if you introduce how it speaks on gender roles in American culture at the time. In fact, you could probably get a whole extra paragraph out of it, if you provide enough context.”

“Would you mind writing that in the margin? I’ll forget otherwise,” Peter asked and you complied, writing the potential edit in small, neat letters next to the paragraph. “If you’re free Friday afternoon, we could go through some of your biology work.”

“I actually am free then,” you said, eyes roaming over the last paragraph of his essay. You scribbled a few notes and line edits in, before stacking the pages neatly and sliding them back towards Peter. “Tell you what, you make the edits we talked about today, and we can go over the next version of your essay then, too, yeah? Make sure it’s up to Professor Liu’s standard?”

“You’re an angel,” Peter said, glancing up from where he was absorbing your edits to shoot you a grin. “Hey, sorry to be so abrupt, but I gotta run. How does same spot, two o’clock on Friday sound?”

“Works for me. Thanks for volunteering to help, Parker.”

“ ‘Course. We should exchange numbers, in case anything comes up. I never check my email,” Peter said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He passed it along to you, the contacts page opened, and you entered your information, sending a text to yourself so you had his information in return.

“See you Friday,” you smiled, handing the phone back to him.

“Friday,” Peter confirmed, taking a few backward steps away from the table before turning around. He glanced over his shoulder once more, waving, before he disappeared into the hall.

***

“God, this shift couldn’t be any fuckin’ slower,” Mickey groaned, dropping her head against the bodega’s countertop. Her red curls fanned all around her head, dripping over the edge of the counter.

“Closing shift is always slow, Mick,” you reminded her, leaning against the wall with your arms folded over your chest. The thick of the after work rush had been over for about an hour, leaving the bodega deserted, aside from the two of you and Gary, the ancient orange bodega cat.

“Dontcha ever just wish somethin’ interesting would happen around here?” she asked, picking her head up in order to blow a big pink bubble from her lips.

“Interesting things happen in this city every day,” you countered. “Spider-Man fights some new fuckin’ loser every week, man, and that’s just him. Daredevil broke Mrs. Llewellyn’s kitchen window, like, four days ago.”

“That shit’s not interesting anymore; you said it yourself, it happens every day,” Mickey said, stepping around the counter to pretend to organize the shelves. “Tell you what’d be interesting: if we found out who Daredevil or Spider-Man or any of the others are beneath the mask. And if not that, I’d settle for Daredevil crashing through my bedroom window tonight. That man is fine.”

“How would you know? Nobody’s ever seen his face.”

“He’s built, baby. That’s how I know,” Mickey scoffed.

You shrugged. “I’d rather the cape types stay away from my bedroom window. Or my general vicinity. I’ve got enough going on between class and this job and tutoring without getting involved in one of their situations.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me the thought of some sexy superhero literally crashing into your life isn’t appealing at all?”

“No, dude. I don’t want the drama. Or, I’m sorry, the adventure,” you doubled down. “You can have it.”

“Amen,” Mickey nodded. “I hope Daredevil heard you say that somehow.”

Before you could respond, the mostly quiet night was cut through with the sound of police sirens, loud and close and then fading slightly as they passed down the street.

“Wonder what’s going on,” you murmured, craning your neck to follow the red and blue lights down the block.

“Whatever it is, I hope a man in tights responds to it.”

“God, Mickey, you are incorrigible,” you groaned, turning away from the window and grasping the handle of the broom, looking for something to do.

“Don’t use your fancy English major words on me, woman.”

“Incorrigible is not a fancy–” you started, but were cut off by your phone ringing in your pocket, the specific song you assigned to Mr. Browne, your boss.

“Hey, bossman, what’s up?” you asked, answering. Concern laced your voice; it wasn’t like Mr. Browne to call during closing shift. He trusted you and Mickey not to burn the place down, and his watching reruns of Jeopardy! time was basically sacred.

“Honey, listen,” his gruff voice filtered through the speaker. “I want you and Mickey to close up and go on home now.”

“What? Why? There’s still an hour until closing,” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“I just saw on the news that there’s a robbery going down in the neighborhood, and I don’t need you girls getting caught up in any danger, okay?”

“Oh, guess that explains the police cars,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

“You see? Lock up and get out of there,” he said, his voice firmer. “And no dilly-dallying, you hear? I got a bad feeling.”

“Okay, Mr. Browne, you got it. We’ll close up now and go straight home,” you promised.

“Good. Just feed Gary before you go.”

“Will do. G’night, bossman,” you said, before hanging up the phone.

“What’s that all about?” Mickey asked, brushing a piece of her wild hair away from her face.

“Apparently those police cars that went by are responding to a robbery in the neighborhood,” you informed her. “Mr. Browne wants us to lock up and go home now before we get caught up in any of the trouble.”

“Must be my lucky day,” Mickey grinned. “You get the keys, I’ll feed Gar.” You did as she said, retrieving the keys, your jacket, and your bag from behind the counter. Already, you were lost in thoughts of going home and crashing immediately in bed. You had been out and about for over twelve hours that day already, and you were practically asleep on your feet. You had half a mind to walk down the block and thank the robbers for cutting your shift short.

A minute later, the two of you were standing out on the sidewalk. You could hear shouts and the sirens as more police responded to the scene, even the drone of a news copter overhead. The robbery must be closer than you expected, and maybe a bigger problem than you were assuming, too. There was a bank two blocks down and one over; you wondered if it was all going down over there.

“Alright, text me the minute you get home,” Mickey said sternly.

“You, too,” you responded. The two of you lived in opposite directions, so you wouldn’t have the comfort of each other’s company on the walk home.

“We’ll be fine,” Mickey responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I bet the neighborhood is safer than usual– bet nobody else will try shit with the place crawling with so many cops. But still text me when you get home, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pulled you into a quick, tight hug before waving and heading down the block towards home. You turned in the opposite direction, back towards your apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. The night was cool for the beginning of October, and you pulled your flimsy zip-up tighter around your middle, hiding your hands deep in the pockets. Your head swam with all the things you needed to do for the week, wondering if you should get a jump on some of it with your newfound hour of free time, or actually give yourself a rest for once. You were leaning toward the former; if you hurried, you could probably finish the reading you started at the library before Peter showed up, and the corresponding question set.

With that thought in mind, you cut through a nearby alley, shaving off a block from your walk. You wouldn’t normally, but you had a feeling that Mickey was right, the high concentration of cops in the area would deter any other criminals. Probably you’d be fine. You stuffed your earbuds in your ears and pressed play on whatever had last been going, lost in thought as you tried to plan the rest of your week around class and work shifts and your new tutoring session with Peter.

As you cut through a second alley, bringing you just half a block from home, chin tucked in and head down against the wind, you didn’t hear the squeal of tires as they turned around a corner and sped down the street you were just on. You didn’t hear as they abruptly turned into the alley, doors scraping against a dumpster. The hair-raising screech of metal on metal finally cut through your music, and you turned around just in time to find a large, black SUV barrelling straight towards you.

There was nowhere to go. The alley was hardly wider than the car itself, and fear or shock or some horrible mix of both at the sight of it coming toward you had rooted you to one spot on the wet asphalt.

Fuck. I am about to die, you thought as you stared down the headlights, so bright you couldn’t see whoever was driving the thing.

The next ten seconds– because, really, it couldn’t have been any longer than that– occurred in a blur. The impact, your body on the wet ground. Front right tire crushing over your torso, the back tire following half a second later. Vaguely, with the small part of your brain where synapses still seemed to be firing, you knew there must be immeasurable pain, but all you felt was cold and static. There were too many things happening at once, too many pains and thoughts all garbled together that you couldn’t feel or register any of it.

You laid there, staring up at the dark, gusty sky, expecting death to collect you at any moment. When, after several minutes of slow blinking and shallow breathing, you were still alive, you figured you might have experienced a miracle. Maybe the tires had passed over you in just the right way to preserve your life? Not that you thought such a thing was possible. Getting crushed by a speeding SUV felt like a very final kind of thing.

Slowly, your senses started coming back to you. Hearing first, as you registered sirens rushing past at the mouth of the alley. You grimaced, tensing as you waited for them to also cut down the alley and actually kill you this time, but they passed by without incident. The pain started next: a horrible, dull ache across your ribs and a sharper, prickling kind of hurt along your shoulder blades, but nothing like you thought you should have been experiencing. You were worried that it was still all a trick of the mind, that you’d muster up the courage to lift your head and look down to take stock of the damage and find your torso resembling roadkill more than anything human. But you couldn’t lay there forever, you reasoned, and so went to work testing appendages to see if they were in order.

You wiggled your fingers and toes first, surprised, frankly, that you were able to do so. If you could wiggle your toes, everything below your ribs must still be connected to everything above your ribs. Good sign. You bent your arms at the elbow next, which reignited the flame of pain in your shoulder blades, but they moved fine otherwise. Bent your knees, turned your head from side to side. You were… okay, you concluded. Physically not dying in a dirty alley, at least.

A jolt of effort, and you sat up all the way, despite the protest of pain across your ribs and shoulder blades. Looking down, you took stock of the dark tire track running across the front of your sweater, but more importantly, the very uncrushed nature of your ribs and internal organs.

“How the fuck,” you muttered to yourself, brushing your hands tentatively down your front. The contact of your palms against your middle was like irritating a nasty bruise, but that was it. That was… impossible, you were pretty sure. Maybe you could gaslight yourself into believing it was if it had been some tiny, dinghy little car that had run you over, but it was a fucking monstrous SUV.

Blinking, you reached back toward the wall behind you and used it to hoist yourself up onto your feet. A terrible panic was creeping up on you now, and you preferred to deal with that in the privacy of your bedroom, not on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. As you turned to stumble your way out of the alley, you noticed something else: the pavement beneath where you had fallen was crushed in a peculiar shape, almost like wings and six feet across.

“What the fuck,” you said, louder this time. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. This situation was getting stranger by the second, and you were pretty sure you were about to experience a mental break, if you weren’t already.

Maybe I actually am dead, and none of this is happening right now, you mused as the alley spat you back out on the street. Your feet headed in the direction of your apartment on their own accord, your mind caught up in bright headlights and wing shapes stamped into asphalt. A horrible headache was building behind your eyes, and all you wanted was to get to the safety of your own home, dead or not.

The walk seemed to take an eternity in your dazed state, but eventually the familiar redbrick corner building that had been your home for the last two years loomed in front of you. You fumbled in your jacket pocket for your key, gripping it in your shaky fist as you punched in the key code to the front door. Up four flights of stairs, a fight with the apartment door as the lock rejected your key like always. You went through the motions in a dream state, so many thoughts tumbling through your head, but none of them sticking. Before opening the door, you shucked off your sweater and balled it up in your arms, in case either of your roommates were up and about. You really had no idea how you’d be able to explain the tire tracks across the front.

Inside, the lights were dim and a Bob’s Burgers rerun was playing at low-volume on the little television. An electric blue pixie cut shot up over the back of the couch at the sound of the opening door.

“You’re home early,” your cousin, Winona, called to you. “What’s the deal?”

“Uh…robbery. Down the block. Mr. Browne wanted us to leave early to be, um, safe,” you stammered out, toeing your shoes off at the door. Each subtle movement sent more pain lancing through your ribs, and you struggled to keep a straight, unbothered face.

Winona wasn’t convinced. After living together for two years and knowing you since birth, she was familiar with all of your little idiosyncrasies. She could tell when you were just a little irritated, so of course she could tell when you… well, when whatever the fuck just happened, happened to you. Her thick, dark brows drew in until they met at the center, brown eyes narrowing as she scrutinized you.

“What’s going on with you?” Your cousin was not one to beat around the bush.

“What do you mean?” you asked, skirting around the question.

“Somethin’s wrong with our girl?” a sleepy voice called from the other end of the couch. A second later, Odie’s head of wild brown waves popped up over the back of the couch. Winona’s best friend since grade school and your other roommate, she was extremely protective over you. Always had been, since she met you when you started freshman year at Midtown High and she and Winona were seniors.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you huffed. Even that extra expansion of your lungs caused the pain to flare. “I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

Winona frowned at you, clearly disbelieving. “I made lasagna earlier. You hungry?”

“Ate a bunch of junk at work with Mick. But I’ll bring some with me for lunch tomorrow,” you promised, and wrenched open your bedroom door and disappeared behind it before either of them could question you further. You pressed yourself against the door once it was closed, then jumped away quickly as the action sent an explosion of pain through your shoulder blades. You’d forgotten about it that fast.

“Fuck,” you whispered, closing your eyes against the burning of tears suddenly threatening to come. “Oh, god. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

What was even the next move? You couldn’t very well go out there and tell Winona you’d been crushed by an SUV earlier in the night. Nothing about your current state would corroborate the claim, why would she, or anyone else, believe you? And honestly, that was the least of your worries. More pressing issues: why weren’t you crushed by the SUV? Why weren’t you fucking dead? What was up with the weird, wing-shaped damage in the street below you? What had actually happened in that alley?

Something was deeply, deeply not right. You could feel the wrongness of it all buzzing through every inch of your body. You knew that the feeling would overwhelm you if you let it, and you were dangerously close to just sinking to the floor and letting it take you.

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket. Opening your eyes, you fished it out and brought the too-bright screen to your eyes.

Make it home okay? The text from Mickey read.

No, you wanted to say. Got hit by a fucking car but somehow I think that might be the least of my problems. I think something’s really wrong.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but of course you didn’t type it. You shot off a text confirming that you did– because really, you supposed, you did get home okay in some sense of the word– and asked if she did, too.

After Mickey texted back that she did get home safe, you set about the task of peeling off your uniform. Every movement hurt like a bitch, and you reminded yourself every five seconds that you should be grateful for the pain. You didn’t even have a single broken bone. You weren’t dead. You could handle some aches and bruising.

You worked your jeans off first, then your shirt and bra, heaping them in the corner of your room and plucking a random t-shirt and pajama shorts out of your drawer. Before pulling on the t-shirt, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror tucked in the corner. As you suspected, a thick line of bruises was already purpling along your ribs, the width of a car tire. You sighed, turning to see how far they stretched on either side and paused when your back came into view.

Two thick lines of what looked like red, irritated scar tissue traced along the lines of your shoulder blades. It looked as though someone had surgically cut them open, and recently. You brought a hand to your mouth, suppressing the gasp threatening to worm its way out. You felt like all the crap you ate at work was about to make a reappearance.

Those certainly hadn’t been there this morning. You would know: you stood naked in front of this very mirror after your shower, sleepily trying to pick out your outfit. The skin of your back had been smooth, unscarred. Obviously. You would have remembered if you had gone through something that would have resulted in scars like this.

“Okay, no,” you muttered, throwing the t-shirt over your head as quickly as possible in your bruised, hurting state. This was all too much to deal with in one night, you decided suddenly. You were tired and hurting and you had a busy fucking day tomorrow, damn it.

You pulled your blankets back and turned off the light, climbing gingerly into bed. Maybe if you were lucky, you would wake up in the morning to all of this having been some wild fucking nightmare. Not that you were ever that lucky.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spider-man x reader #spider-man #marvel x reader #marvel #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #marvel comics

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generic-sonic-fan · 1 month ago

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Tensile

Summary: Shadow says he is drawing a model of a combat encounter. Omega suspects there's more going on.

796 words

---

“YOU ARE STILL AWAKE.”

Shadow looks up from where he’s sitting on the living room floor. His hands hold a pen and paper against the coffee table.

“ORGANICS REQUIRE AT LEAST EIGHT HOURS OF REST.” Omega says.

“I’m modeling a combat scenario.”

Omega approaches and, with only a little bit of clattering, sits down on the floor beside him.

Shadow spreads the paper out, revealing a crudely-drawn oval. At the top of this oval is a symbol that might represent a door. Six red dots are placed loosely around it. On the other side of the oval is a square-shaped symbol.

“They enter here.” Shadow points with his pen. “Blocking the entrance.”

“THEIR ARMAMENTS?”

“M16 rifles, 40 round magazine size. Secondary HK-45 tactical pistols. For each of them.”

Omega knows immediately these were not Badnik armaments.

“They enter here.” Shadow repeats. “The only other exit is here. It requires external activation.”

He gestures to the square-shaped symbol across the oval from the attackers. There’s a smaller station drawn just outside of it.

“There is one person with adequate power to fight. And there is a civilian.” Shadow says quietly. “They are trying to get through the other exit to escape.”

“WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU TRYING TO MODEL?”

“How the defenders could escape.”

“THE COMBAT-EQUIPPED DEFENDER COULD UTILIZE THE FREE-STANDING EXIT OR ITS LEVER AS COVER.” Omega points.

“No, the pod- it’s glass. Any bullets hitting it would damage the exterior and cause problems during re-entry.”

“THE COMBAT-EQUIPPED DEFENDER COULD CHARGE THE ATTACKERS, PROVIDING DISTRACTION FOR THE CIVILIAN TO ESCAPE.”

“No, you don’t understand! They’re already trained on her, they’d fire the moment I’d-” Shadow stops himself. “The moment he moved.”

Omega stares down at the sheet of paper, at the six red dots, the pen marks pressed down so hard that they’ve almost torn through the page. And he analyzes Shadow’s use of pronouns. And the time of night he is modeling this “combat scenario”.

And he replies, “THERE IS NO POINT TO FURTHER ANALYSIS.”

Shadow clenches his fist, breaking the pen he’s holding in two, spilling ink across his glove.

“YOUR BEST COURSE OF ACTION DURING THIS EVENT IS ALREADY APPARENT TO YOU. THERE IS NO FURTHER VALUE IN RE-SIMULATING THIS.”

Shadow shoves Omega, smearing the ink across his chest.

It’s a paltry gesture, not enough to actually move him. “THIS IS WORTHLESS SPECULATION.”

“Worthless?” Shadow hisses. “You think this is worthless?”

“AFFIRMATIVE. YOU HAVE ALREADY LEARNED AND IMPROVED FROM THIS COMBAT ENCOUNTER LONG AGO.”

Omega recalls more sophisticated tactics Shadow had employed seconds after awakening from stasis, to save an startled Rouge from a hail of gunfire greater than any squad of GUN agents could hope to muster. Gunfire from Omega’s own targeting.

He does not mention this.

Shadow stares down at the page.

“THERE IS NO PURPOSE IN UPSETTING YOURSELF OVER THIS AGAIN.” Omega grabs the paper from the table.

Shadow doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t stop him when he rips the page in half, either.

“RETURN TO YOUR QUARTERS. WE HAVE A MISSION TOMORROW.” Omega draws a flame thrower and with a small puff incinerates the remains of the combat model.

But before he can stand, Shadow throws himself against his chest.

He freezes as Shadow’s hands scrabble for purchase on the sides of his plating as his body begins to shake. As the first sob registers in the air. As he closes his eyes and moisture begins to spill out.

Omega sheathes his flamethrower, and in a motion he has to calculate from only a few quickly-retrieved memory files of Amy’s posturing, he lowers his hands until they settle around Shadow’s back.

Between his fingers he can feel Shadow’s diaphragm spasm with every breath, along with the trembling bundle of muscles in his core, feeding arteries that pulse just beneath his skin. Fragile mechanisms laid bare.

For two tenths of a second, Omega worries that a single movement might disrupt the erratic combination of rhythms keeping Shadow alive. A recall of data from countless combat encounters puts a stop to that worry, however.

“YOU ARE STRONGER THAN THIS," he mutters.

Shadow stiffens. “You’re right.”

“STRONGER THAN THE MEMORY.” He adds quickly.

“Are you sure?”

Every response Omega tries to calculate stops at the third word in. His language processor is woefully unprepared for the task.

So he simply replies, “YES.”

Shadow presses his forehead against his chest plating.

“NEVER DOUBT MY ANALYSES.”

Shadow gives a strange combination of sounds, something between the classifications of a laugh and a gasp.

“Thanks.” Shadow says. “Don’t tell Rouge.”

“LIKEWISE.”

He pulls against his grasp, and Omega lets him go. He watches as he wanders off to his room, and does not move until he is sure Shadow has fallen into the rhythm of sleep.

#e-123 omega #e 123 omega #shadow the hedgehog #hurt/comfort #Shadow has PTSD #not intended as shadomega but I give you full permission to tag it that way if you'd like

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tiktowafel · 6 months ago

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hi and hello i'm back from the dead here are some 1b quirk headcanons (that may or may not contradict canon but i'm too lazy to check everything)

Kuroiro

dad had a very limited phasing quirk, mom had an ink quirk. neither had #000000 skin that part kinda came out of nowhere

despite obviously being connected to his ability it's just a mutation that appeared along with it and isn't required for the quirk to be usable -what i mean by this is that Monoma's skin doesn't turn black when he copies it

it's. a really confusing quirk mechanics wise. Kuroiro himself isn't exactly sure how it works, it just does and thinking about it too hard makes his head hurt lol

he can merge into dark surfaces. doing so doesn't increase the weight of the object he's merged into. it's like he straight up disappears.

when he fully submerges himself in a shadow, he finds himself in kind of a black void in which he can move freely (without using his muscles, i think. just zooms around somehow...) and which he can leave whenever he wants through the same surface he used to enter or another one connected to it. is it some sort of super limited alternate dimension that he can enter through shadows?? PERHAPS

since he doesn't lose his clothes when he uses his quirk, he has to be able to bring objects into the darkness with him. i imagine he can do it with all things that aren't living (them being black is not necessary because it seems to work with white shoes and bracelets) and as long as they're touching him - if he lets go of an object while in a shadow, it will just fall out. therefore his quirk can be used for transporting things, but not for storing them.

you can also explain him not losing his clothes by them being mirio style dna fabric but that's the more boring option so screw that

when jumping out of a shadow, his speed matches that at which he was moving inside of it. i think it would be cool if he could build up speed while moving through a shadow and then just SHOOT out of it and kick someone real hard

Pony

Pony actually has "two quirks" - the one that gives her horns and the ability to shoot them (inherited from her dad) and the one that gives her the appearance of a horse/pony (inherited from her mom). it's registered as "horn cannon" for the same reason why Tokoyami's quirk isn't "raven" and Mina's isn't "pink alien thing" - it's a passive mutation quirk so it gets "overwritten" by horn cannon, which is more "active" - does this make sense?

thanks to her secondary quirk Pony is much stronger than the average person and can run really fast when on all fours. she can also neigh like a horse, digest celulose a bit better than average and sleep while standing. it's... not much besides that

Pony's horn cannon quirk requires keratin to function, because it's what her horns are made of. regrowing her horns too many times causes her to suffer from keratin deficiency, worsening the condition of her hair, skin, nails and hooves

most telekinetic quirks cause headaches when overused, but Pony's ability to control her horns is very minor so that drawback doesn't really affect her

Kendo

her quirk is a mix of her parents quirks - her mom can extend her fingers and her dad has superhuman strength in his arms

enlarging her hands increases their weight a lot, but Kendo's abilities don't suffer from that because her back and arms are naturally extremely strong as an adaptation to her quirk (she can beat everyone in the class at quirkless hand wrestling - it's highkey unfair, but she can)

however, she still sometimes ends up with lower back pains if she uses her quirk too much

Setsuna

her dad does have a lizard quirk (that actually gives him a tail that he's able to detach and regenerate), but her mom's quirk is actually more similar to Setsuna's. it basically lets her detach and re-attach parts of her body along predetermined lines, and lacks the regenerative abilities

her quirk makes her basically indestructible because it lets her regenerate any destroyed or injured body part, plus she seemingly doesn't even need any of her organs to be connected to each other. her only weak point is her head, attacking it is the only way to knock her out (or kill her)

her head/brain is also her "core" - she can only regenerate body parts that are connected to her brain. i'll use the final exams as an example - if she managed to get her whole head outside the gate, she would be able to regenerate her whole body around it and pass (she would probably pass out from exhaustion, but still). however if she only got some other body part, like one of her arms outside the gate she wouldn't be able to do that because the arm isn't connected to the brain. hope you get what i mean lol

in-universe, her quirk probably isn't censored with black, so i'm guessing it looks quite gory and tends to freak people out when they see it for the first time. an upside to this is that thanks to having to deal with the sight of it on a daily basis, no one in class 1-B has to worry about the shock of first seeing gruesome injuries during hero work. they're all desensitized through safe means👍

a drawback that is shared by most regeneration quirks is that due to the rapid cell division that occurs when regenerating body parts, she is at a high risk of developing cancer. however that's far less troublesome than it sounds, as she can always just painlessly detach the cancerous part and grow a new healthy one. doctors hate this one weird trick or something

as you can probably tell from my art, i really like the headcanon that her skin looks kinda patchwork-y because her regenerated pieces are never exactly the same as the original body parts

due to those imperfections, she's extra careful about her brain pieces bc it's such a complicated organ that the tiniest change in its structure can seriously mess things up. like cause memory loss or personality changes, setsuna finds that terrifying and honestly who wouldn't!!

Tsuburaba

another 50/50 mix - his mom can create colorful smoke/mist with her breath and his dad can produce a glass-like liquid from his skin and solidify it at will

i gotta admit that i'm not sure what the "solid air" actually should be. if it was actual solid air, it would be incredibly cold, unless there's some pressure fuckery happening here. and since i kind of don't understand that hypothetical pressure fuckery i generally prefer to think that it's some different substance that's a solid in normal conditions and was just named "solid air" because the way it's created makes it seem like it.

while the amount of solid air he can create does depend on his lung capacity, the quirk itself doesn't give him any extra amount of it. in other words he has the lungs of a regular athletic teenage boy, nothing special

his actual "quirk factor" is his throat, using his quirk too much first dries it up, then proceeds to damage its walls, which can result in him not being able to use his quirk for a while. throat damage due to external factors does the same thing

he can make the stuctures created with his quirk disappear at will. it's not required, but he likes to snap his fingers when doing so. makes it look cooler.

he's only ever been shown to create stationary structures, but i like to think that he can also make mobile ones (in other words i think he should be able to make solid air weapons and tools because that's cool)

Tetsutetsu

exact copy of his mom's quirk. gotta go with the joke

along with the temperature resistance, inability to regulate his hardness and dependence on iron consumption, another difference between his quirk and Kirishima's is that turning into steel also significantly increases his weight, which allows him to hit harder at the cost of slowing him down a little

the wiki says that it was never clarified what "iron consumption" means, so it's up to me to decide - i think they meant that he needs to eat food that contains iron, judging by the fact that the (stereotypically!) rich in iron spinach is his favorite food. i don't think he eats the actual metal, lol

even when his quirk is off, his hair is slightly affected by it at all times, which makes it resemble thin metal wires. he styles it by bending it with his hands

Reiko

since it's an extremely basic quirk, i think she also directly inherited it from one of her parents i don't have concepts for them so idk which one oof

she can only use her quirk on entire objects, not parts of them

while she doesn't have to always keep the objects she's manipulating in her field of view, she has to see them in order to "pick them up" in the first place

i believe that the "can only lift things that weigh less than an average person" limitation she has in canon is supposed to explain why she doesn't just use it to throw people around, and yeah that makes sense. what doesn't make sense is why she can't pull them by their clothes instead, so i'm going to make up an explanation for that too - clothes are usually pretty thin, so trying to grab them without also grabbing the person themselves and therefore exceeding the weight limit usually requires quite a lot of precision, which Reiko doesn't have (yet - one day she'll learn, i imagine)

the term "weight limit" is a simplification, it's actually a mass limit. in other words when she can't lift something it's not because can't exert a strong enough force to counteract its weight, but because she can't manipulate this much matter at once. she wouldn't be all-powerful in space or when cooperating with ochako

speaking of the force that she can apply to objects, it can be pretty insane if she concentrates hard enough for a long enough time

she doesn't actually need to move her hands to use her quirk, but it helps her focus and visualize its effect better

as it's a major telekinetic ability, overusing her quirk gives Reiko headaches

(i'm making up so many rules and limitations because telekinesis is a BROKEN ability if you think about it enough lol)

Shiozaki

mix of her dad's ability to speed up plant growth and her mom's ability to manipulate her hair

since her vines are green, it's safe to assume they contain chlorophyl and therefore are able to photosynthetize. however, due to the way they're shaped, i doubt it's very efficient (bad surface area to volume ratio), so i suppose Ibara has to provide most of the nutrients herself. in other words i think she eats way more than the average person and drinks more water, too

failing to provide those will cause her ability to extend and move her vines to suffer, and in more extreme cases, they will just fall off. she can regrow them when that happens, but it takes time.

while theirs are obviously very different from ours, plants do have senses, and Ibara can use those plant senses of her vines as kind of an extension of her own

Kamakiri

another exact copy, of his mom's quirk this time. she actually used to be a pro hero, too (one day i might elaborate on this)

it does come with the innate desire to cut things, however thanks to his mom sharing the same quirk he received proper support so it never grew into a problem. on the other hand despite seeming scary, it's not that much to handle. he just satisfies that desire by cutting vegetables lol

by default his blades are extremely sharp, but if he focuses hard enough he can make them more blunt and less lethal

unrelated to the blades, but due to part-bug biology, he's much lighter than you'd expect someone of his posture to be.

and that's it for today~ i do have thoughts about the others' quirks but i felt like they weren't coherent enough to put here lol. maybe another day? also if anything here directly contradicts canon or if you just have other ideas, you are more than welcome to share your thoughts, i really like discussing quirks :]

#bnha #class 1b #tikto's textposts #tikto's headcanons #character tag time baby #shihai kuroiro #pony tsunotori #itsuka kendo #setsuna tokage #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu #reiko yanagi #togaru kamakiri #ibara shiozaki #kosei tsuburaba #i also had hcs for kaibara but decided i didnt like them.#the only points on the list that i still vibe with are that his quirk is the same as his dad's (mom was quirkless)#and that he never gets dizzy #god tier semicircular canals #and those two dont feel like enough idk ill leave them here as a treat for the curious ones

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undertale-fic-librarby · 2 months ago

Note

Hello :D Do you have any fanfics about the Bad Sanses/Nightmare's gang stashed away anywhere?

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Love and Roses by FineappleQueen (Mature, Incomplete)

Running from your past isn't so simple when it's actively trying to catch up with you. Cross never had a simple life, no luxury, rare instances of happiness. When he finally breaks free, he's willing to do whatever it takes to stay out of the chains of a puppeteer. An Underverse fic where Cross is in hiding from XGaster and gets taken into Nightmare's gang. (The tags make it seem more horny than it is, it is horny in places but it's a more serious fic about morality and difficult emotions.) NOTE: Cross is not sharing a body with Chara in this fic.

Not Broken, Just Bent by FeallanGilyvor (Mature, Incomplete)

Ebott was a city that promised a fresh start after breaking all ties with your family. It still is, almost a decade later, as you find yourself having to land on your feet again after a particularly heart wrenching breakup. But you’ll pull yourself up, always have, unexpectedly helped along the way by a gang of skeleton Monsters who are no strangers to the pitfalls of negativity. A non-linear short story collection about our reader-insert Addison and the bad guy bone-heads that have taken up residence in her life. Now with a table of contents!

Welcome Home by GrapeSoda, SargeLovesFandoms, StormyFictioners (Explicit, Incomplete)

Nightmare was in the middle of speaking to the murder trio when he felt it, the distinct feeling of despair that was overwhelming. It was something he had felt before ending up with the three of his cohorts- wards- no, the better phrasing these days would be 'his boys'. He was the oldest by a few hundred years, and they were like children, but in adult form. Anyway, it was that exact feeling that had drawn him to each of them, with Killer it was despair mixed with overwhelming guilt. With Dust, it was an emptiness that had come along, just knowing the human was no longer interested in resetting after Dust had murdered over and over, letting him drown in it. With Horror it had been an overwhelming hunger that had caused overwhelming food anxiety that took forever to get under control. This- this despair was like that, but there was a sadness, a loneliness, and he could taste it more than any other form of negativity right now. It was the strongest feeling throughout the multiverse and it was calling to him, practically screaming at him. ----- Or: How Cross joined the Bad Sanses. PS: XChara isn't in this. [This fic is based on a roleplay] [Tags will be updated as story progresses]

Xtra Small by Warriorstale001 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Ink is so sick of Nightmare’s gang destroying his creations. He wants to stop the Dark Sanses from destroying the multiverse he had worked so hard to perfect once and for all. And he has just the plan to do it. But it will require a test subject. Perhaps he can start this plan off with the gang’s youngest member? Nightmare looks after his boys like any loving father would look after their sons. But will he be able to actually look after a child and protect them if it came to that? (First story in a series of Babybones/Child fics!!) First few chapters are currently under major edit!!!

Across Time and Space by Clichely (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Nightmare's gang has always been close-knit. They're a family, despite their occupation; they love eachother as any other family would. The multiverse wasn't exactly aware of that when they exiled them. Nightmare's gang story, with lots of cliches and twists. I do not own any of these characters..unless I do? It's going to be a bit hard to judge, since, uh..well, you'll see.

#i think that these are what you're asking for #fic rec #fic recommendation #ao3 fic recs #utmv #bad sanses #bad sans gang #nightmare's gang #not suitable for minors #ask #mod sleepy

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coolcattime · 6 months ago

Text

A Mianite Superpower AU I've been cooking up where the gang is split between heroes and villains. This little explanation focuses on the “villains” because I came up with the Au based around them so I'm more sure of their backstories. (More of the AU under the read more because as it turns out, I had a lot to say. This focuses on Tom, Sonja, Capsize, and Redbeard).

The universe is one where some people are just born with superpowers. Their strength grows with time, and generally it's accepted that a person with powers will have fully developed them by teenhood. Hence the heroes association has a required test for children to find those with major powers so they can be properly trained to become superheroes.

The test is controversial, and has only been growing more so in recent years. Especially as being caught ‘cheating’ the test has become an arrest-able offence. From this development a small group of villains has been forming from those caught ‘cheating’.

Tom

Powers: Creation and manipulation of explosions, creation and manipulation of fire, mild healing factor, will come back to life after dying

When he had taken the test, Tom only had minor powers. He could create tiny explosions the size of firecrackers and manipulate the flame of a lighter, but his powers weren't anything to write home about and certainly not superhero worthy. The superheroes association agreed, marking him as having minor powers and letting him remain to live his life rather than training him. It seemed that Tom was destined to live a normal life.

Then Tom died. He was hit by a car and died on the scene. Technically nothing out of the ordinary. Except, a day later, Tom woke up.

He woke up confused as hell in a hospital morgue with no idea as to how he was currently alive. What should have been a miracle was quite tainted by him getting arrested mere hours later for “hiding superpowers”. No matter how much he tried to explain that he had no idea had he come back to life, they didn't listen to him. Only made worse by the powers he had already being amplified to the point that he's pretty sure he could blow up the building he was being kept in. He didn't go that far, but he did end up breaking through a good number of walls to escape custody as, for reasons as unknown to him as the rest of his newly upgraded powers, the power-restrictor that was put on him didn't seem to work.

That night Tom was declared a super villain. And if they were going to call him a villain, Tom was going to be the biggest thorn in their side they could possibly imagine. After all, who can cause more trouble than a villain who can't die?

Sonja

Powers: The ability to comprehend all written language, clairvoyance via ink and paper, shape-shifting

Sonja's original power of language comprehension was never going to be the sort of thing that got her put on active hero duty, but it was deemed useful enough to get her recruited for behind the scenes work. She liked it well enough, even if her job seemed to mostly be being told to dispose of anything actually interesting. But it wasn't a hard job, she got training, and above average accommodation, and she was well liked by pretty much everyone in the building.

Her life probably could've just continued this way, working her way up behind the scenes until she became irreplaceable. But one day, Sonja became intrigued by one of the documents she'd be given to investigate. A set of instructions for an apparent ritual written by a newly captured villain. Now those were, at least in her line of work, dime a dozen, but the exact nature of this one was something she couldn't ignore. A ritual for an individual to be gifted new powers. And that was just too interesting for her to either destroy or hand over the document to be sat in an archive for the rest of time. So she tested it on herself.

She had no idea if it would work or how she would get to grips with a brand new power, so she set it up to get herself the ability to gather information via ink and paper. It seemed similar enough to her current power to quickly get to grips with and useful to the heroes association since it would be great for low stakes intel gathering. And it worked. She did the ritual and suddenly just spilling ink on paper could produce maps or lists of information. She was so excited to present the ritual to the higher ups, because she was sure it could help the association.

Sonja was arrested. Officially she was arrested for hiding her powers, but she knew it was really because she did something she didn't like. Her arrest was argued against by a number of heroes and association staff alike. She had always been well-liked, a bullshit arrest wasn't going to change that, but none of their arguments stopped her from being sent towards the same facility that held actual supervillains. What actually stopped her from being locked up was Tom causing the transport truck to crash. He offered her freedom, and if she was going to be deemed a traitor anyway she might as well take the road where she isn't imprisoned.

Since joining Tom, she's managed to gather the resources to perform the ritual again, giving herself the ability to shape-shift. She's also used her clairvoyance to figure out what precisely caused Tom's revival and sudden power spike. An odd heart-shaped artifact apparently sewn into his corpse. Though her powers won't say exactly what it it or who put it inside Tom, leaving them a goal to investigate.

Capsize & Redbeard

Powers: The ability to transfer their powers between each other, water manipulation (Capsize), short distance teleport of themself and others (Capsize), air manipulation (Redbeard), minor charmed speech (Redbeard)

Coming from a small coastal town, Capsize and Redbeard were very used to the idea that their powers meant that one day they would be taken away to never return. The only time heroes ever showed up was when a villain threatened to rise sea levels and honestly even that didn't make them show up sometimes. The only time they saw anything of the heroes association was once a year when a single clerk would come to administrator the power test to the of age kids. Not liking the idea of being forced away from their home, Capsize and Redbeard decided to trick the test.

With the clerk only able to administrator the test to one kid at a time, they knew that they just needed to transfer all their powers into whoever wasn't being tested and hope that they didn't get caught. By some miracle, they didn't. There was some brief questioning as to what exactly their transference power did when they didn't have powers, but seeing that nothing could be proved, they were marked down as having a minor power and left to their own devices. Given the town's less than stellar opinion towards the heroes association and the twins doing their best to help around town, they were more than happy to keep the secret.

Years passed, the two growing up with being able to live their lives and learning their powers at their own pace. As long as they hid their powers one day a year, they could continue to do so. But eventually everyone's luck runs out. It wasn't as if Redbeard wasn't aware of the day, but that thought went out of his mind when he saw a workman falling from some scaffolding. He acted on impulse, slowing the man's fall. Unfortunately the heroes association clerk was walking by and quickly Red was arrested for having hidden powers. He just about managed to transfer his powers to Capsize before the power-restricting handcuffs were put on him, but now the heroes association was aware of his powers, the power transference made sense.

Heroes were summoned to the town for the first in over a decade as a Capsize was marked as a wanted criminal and the mood of the town threatened to turn riotous. The news managed to also catch Tom and Sonja's attention who headed to find Capsize with Sonja's powers, a little surprised to find she hadn't yet left town. They found her already being confronted by a hero who was attempting to talk her into surrendering. Said hero is extremely distracted by two supervillains turning up and turns his attention towards them only to be knocked out by Capsize who frankly isn't in the mood for the heroes associations bullshit. She isn't stupid. She knows that the only thing waiting for her and Redbeard from them is prison. So she asks Tom and Sonja if they'll help her break out Redbeard. Of course, the two agree.

Capsize and Redbeard end up fleeing their home town being officially declared super villains as they join Tom and Sonja. The group counts the whole thing as a victory as the heroes association's reputation has never been lower in Capsize and Redbeard's home And, for their long term goals, Capsize and Redbeard recognise the idea of a heart shaped relic from an old story about the original three heroes giving them at least some kind of a new lead to look into.

#mianite #mianite superpowers au #tom syndicate #sonja firefoxx #captain capsize #skipper redbeard #sometimes i have thoughts and i make them everyone elses problem #i have thoughts about the heroes just i came up with the “villains” first so thoughts about them consumed me

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queen-of-deans-booty · 1 month ago

Text

Dark Dynasty: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Rowena and Charlie work tirelessly to decode Nadia's codex to get the cure for the Mark. Meanwhile, you've stopped looking for your kids because you have a new agenda. Sam and Dean can't decode the book without Charlie. Kill their nerd kills all chance of getting that cure.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

Sam and Dean still have a case to do which involves a killer who jumped three stories out a window, leaving behind a victim with the eyes cut out. The office manager allowed Sam and Dean to come in and look around once he saw their FBI badges.

"Police told me no one was allowed in. That didn't mean the FBI, right?"

"The janitor came in right after the killing?"

"Yeah, he heard screaming. The janitor saw a man jump out the window and run down the alley."

"Running? After falling three stories?

"That's what he said."

"Is there security footage?"

"Yeah, sure. Only one of them caught any action out in the alley. That's the guy who rented the office."

The manager shows Sam and Dean the footage of the man landing on his feet like fucking Superman.

"That's pretty slick for a three-story drop."

"Wait a second. Can you play it again?" Sam asks. The manager plays it again until Sam directs him to stop. "Zoom in on his wrist." He does. There is a tattoo that looks just like the one Jacob had. "It's the same ink as the Stynes."

"How long was he renting here?" Dean asks.

"Just a month. I only saw him for a day or so."

"Alright, if you remember anything else, give us a call."

Dean hands over his car before both of them leave. He thinks about Rowena and Charlie and hopes that either of them is getting something done. Charlie is working hard on her iPad while Rowena is sitting at her table tossing chicken bones onto it. Cas is out getting something to munch on so it's just the two women alone.

"Damn it," Charlie sighs.

"That miraculous machine of yours hasn't solved everything by now?" Rowena fake coughs. "Overrated, I'd say."

"I'm using the computer to find some pattern in the book's coding or any synchronicity with the symbols in Nadya's codex."

"I'm more old-school. I read the signs nature shows me, the forces that ruled before there was man."

"Wow. Why didn't I think of that?" Charlie says sarcastically.

Cas enters carrying a white plastic bag with snacks inside.

"Okay, it sounds like blood sugar is dipping in here. I got snacks. When I was human, I grew very fond of these pork rinds."

"What do you know about the chick who wrote The Book of the Damned?" Charlie asks Rowena.

"Agnes was a hermit nun and as mad as a hatter. She made it her business to undo curses like the one that caused the Mark of Cain. As in any struggle between good and evil, balance is required. To cure one curse, Agnes had to know how to inflict another. They live side-by-side in the magic world. One cannot be without the other."

"Sure, sure. Like, uh, a binary system. So, I got to think like a hermit nun," Charlie nods.

"Did I mention they burned her alive?"

"They?"

"A cornucopia of curses and satanic visions did not go unnoticed by the church hierarchy. These men would not abide a rogue nun."

"Poor Agnes. Ahead of her time."

"Much like you and I," Rowena shrugs.

Charlie is shocked Rowena would say something like that and Cas walks away to put the snacks somewhere.

"I actually don't see our similarities all that much."

"Because you're young and good and I'm ancient and evil? Is that it?" Rowena glares. "Let me tell you about you. You've had a difficult and lonely childhood--Tragedy. Absent parents. Always outside the mainstream. Sexually progressive. Living in your own head for solace and direction."

"Yeah, but still, we are pretty different."

"I read you the minute I saw you. I'm sure you're learning that the line between good and evil is quite flexible, but we part company when it comes to blind devotion. Case in point the Winchesters. You've made them the family you don't have. Foolish."

"Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them. Y/N... She saved me. She made me own up to my own fears and saved me. She's more than just a sister to me... I'm not giving up on her. On either of them."

"This is it, the boss battle. Come on, we gotta save the patients," Charlie says, getting her gun ready.

"Charlie, you have to stop. You said we're stuck in a loop, and that loop is only going to continue. However, you're dying out there in the real world, and I might be too. Dean is alone trying to bring us back so you need to break the loop."

"Okay. How?"

"You gotta stop playing."

"What?! No, no. We gotta save them. Nut up, Winchester." A vampire punches through the door, but you use your magic to kill him. "See? You can't stop either."

"Charlie, listen to me. This poison is designed to put your mind into an endless cycle while your insides turn to mush, okay? Its fuel is fear. Now call me crazy, but I think the only way to break the cycle is to let go of the fear and stop playing the game."

"You don't know that."

She shoots another vampire trying to get in, but you take her shoulders in your hands and make her face you.

"Your fear is not to stop playing the game. It's not of the vampire soldiers. It's not of this game. You're afraid of losing her, Charlie. She's already gone."

Charlie doesn't want to believe that her mother is gone, but you have to convince her to let go of her fear.

"I didn't want to believe my dad was gone, either. I know you don't want to live in a world where your mom is gone, but by keeping her in this hospital, you're only hurting her. It's time for her to move on. It's the only way she can start to heal because it's the only way for you to start to heal."

"I can't," she whispers as tears fall from her eyes.

"My dad should have never gotten shot. I was the one who killed Dick's friends, and then I used the last of my Borax on Dick. He killed my dad because of what I did. Sometimes I feel like it was my fault that he got shot, but you did not kill your mom."

"No, you don't understand. You don't understand!" she cries. "I was at a sleepover, and I got scared. I called my parents to come and get me. They should never have been driving that night."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I just wanna tell her that I'm sorry and that I love her," she sobs. "I just need her to hear it again. I just need her to hear that one more time, but she can't. She can't."

"She knows, Charlie. Parents always know," you say, letting your tears fall. You hope Robert knows how much you love him, whenever he may be. "You have to let her go."

You let your arms fall at your sides, and Charlie looks at the door. The vampires continue to get in, but the minute Charlie drops her shotgun, they disappear; the hallway is empty. Charlie walks over to the bed where her mom is, and when she slides the curtains open, her mom is gone. Even your son is gone, but you know you're not ready to let him go just yet.

This is not your nightmare, it's hers.

Charlie knows the kind of person you are and she will not stop until you're back to who you were before.

"I know, and that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl."

The tension between the two girls only goes up from there and before Cas knows it, both of them are yelling at each other. Nothing is getting done because they don't know how to work with each other. Cas takes out his phone and calls Sam who answers on the first ring. Sam picks up his phone as he watches Dean try and fails to turn the chair into a desk.

"Cas?"

"Yeah, listen, we have a problem here."

Charlie storms away from Rowena and approaches Cas with an angry look on her face.

"Okay, I am doing my best, but with her criticizing, breathing down my neck, and trying to sign me up for Team Witch, I am going crazy."

"I know," Cas sighs.

"No, she is evil."

"She is a wicked witch by definition--"

"No, I mean something bad is going to happen here. Please, give me two hours or even one hour in any place that's quiet. Y/N and Dean are counting on me to get this one and I can't screw it up."

"Do not let her go off, Cas. Do you hear me?"

Cas looks at his phone and sees his call to Sam is still connected.

"Let me talk to Sam real fast." Charlie huffs out and goes back to Rowena. The bickering continues louder if possible. "I don't think I'm making myself clear. I've got a situation here."

"There's no way Charlie can go off by herself. Cas, there are dangerous people looking for her."

"Fine, I'll go with her."

"No, you can't leave Rowena there alone, either."

"Nothing is getting done, Sam. What do I do?"

Sam looks at Dean who slams his hand against the table in frustration.

"Why don't we trade places? I'll go there and you come here. Dean really needs you right now. He's trying to use magic but it's not going right. Do you want to switch?"

"Yes. I'd like that."

"Good, I'll be there shortly." Sam hangs up. "Hey, man, I'm going to switch places with Cas. He's gonna come here. He might be able to help you get in touch with Y/N... the real Y/N."

"Yeah, please."

"Okay."

Cas enters the Bunker an hour later to see Dean sitting at one of the library tables with his head in his hands.

"Dean?"

"Cas?" He looks up at the angel with tears in his eyes. "You gotta help me. I need to talk to Y/N... the real Y/N. She's in my head. Please, help me talk to her. I can't do this without her. I wasn't meant to do something like this. Please."

"Of course," the angel nods.

Cas walks around to Dean and places both hands on his head. His eyes shine blue as his grace pours into Dean's head.

The room you're in is almost completely white. Except for a few dark spots, you can see everything. There is not a damn thing in this room to entertain you with, and Dean hasn't stopped pacing outside the room. You can't escape so what's there left to do but sit here and wait for something... anything to happen. You're sitting on the back wall with a ball of blue magic in your hands. You throw it to the other side of the room only to have it bounce back to you.

That's what you've been doing. Playing catch by yourself.

You catch the ball and let it mist away with a sigh. You lean your head against the wall and look at Dean who suddenly has stopped pacing. He turns to look at you with tears in his eyes.

"Y/N?"

"Dean!" You get up and run to the door but the invisible wall stops you. "I can't leave here." Dean steps into the room and you fling yourself at him, wrapping your legs and arms around his body. You shove your face in his neck and cry happily. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Dean lets you go and he looks down at you while tears are streaming down his cheeks. The love you just showed him is overwhelming. The damage you have done to him is evident in the way a simple hug makes him burst into tears.

"Y/N, you're here," he cries.

"What is going on? I've been stuck in this room for weeks."

"Try almost a year."

You step back with a gasp. "What? What's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"We were going to fight Metatron. We tried but he was too powerful. Did we beat him?"

"No. He killed me," tears well in your eyes, "and because of that, I sucked your soul out of your body. You're inside my head right now. Your body is out there right now walking around without a soul. You have red magic and it's all very, very bad."

"What about our kids?" you panic. You grip his shirt and cry softly. "Tell me our kids are safe."

"For now but she wants them. Y/N, the things she has done. She--"

"I don't want to know," you shake your head and wipe your tears. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"Your soul is locked inside my body. I've been purifying it for you because I turned into a demon when Metatron killed me. The Mark made me into that. I turned your soul completely black, but because I have your soul, I have access to your magic. I need help harnessing all that power."

"It makes sense," you nod. "She's chaos magic and I'm order magic. We cancel each other out. The only way to beat her is with my magic."

"How? I'm at a crossroads, sweetheart. I don't know what to do. I don't know how you did this."

"I did it because I had you, Dean. My love for you made it so." You walk over to him and grab the sides of his face. He closes his eyes and lets two tears fall down from your gentle touch. "When I use my magic, I don't use this," you point to his head, "I use this," you point to his heart. "I think about our kids and the love I have for them. I think about you and how happy you make me. I use love to fuel my power. All you need to do is clear your mind and let your heart do the talking. Once you do that, you can do anything you desire, and that includes taking her down. You're the love of my life, Dean," you sniffle, "and I believe in you."

Dean breaks down crying right in front of you. He grips your shoulders so make sure you're real and right in front of him. You reach up and wipe his tears away, and he leans into your touch.

"She's hurt you, hasn't she?"

"Yeah, she has," his voice cracks. "It's bad, Y/N."

"I want you to know something, Dean." You grab his cheeks and make him look at you. "No matter what she says or what she does, just remember I love you so much. You are my best friend, my husband, the love of my life, and the father of my children. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. I'd trade the whole world for a minute of your time. You are strong and brave and caring. I don't know what she said to you but just know my love for you is stronger than her magic. Please don't forget that."

You pull him down and kiss him with every bit of love you have for him. His tears mix in with the kiss but you don't care. He needs this. You need this. Now that you know what is going on out there, you're going to do whatever you can to help him.

"Do me a favor, Dean."

"Anything."

"Kick her ass and bring me home."

Dean is transported out of his mind and he rests his head on the table while he cries. Cas gets tears just seeing how broken Dean is right now. He puts a hand on his shoulder but Dean jumps up, eager to get this moving along.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"I will be." His face hardens and his eyes shine blue. "I can do this."

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural season 10

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m1ckeyb3rry · 10 months ago

Text

Pomegranate Ink: XXXI

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Some moments that take place during the month you have between Gojo’s unsealing and his inevitable confrontation with Sukuna.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: i want you all to know that even though i am caught up with the manga, this fic and the idea for its ending predate whatever is happening rn, so i will be choosing to ignore gege on this one and shall continue with my original ideas — even if that may mean characters do/don’t die that have the opposite happen to them in canon. hope that doesn’t distress anyone too badly hahaha

The month that passed between Gojo’s unsealing and Christmas Eve, the day when he would face off against Sukuna, was spent in a way reminiscent of your days at the school. Your mother had never been busier, taking a few of your cousins from the L/N clan to help her cook for everyone, as everyone had voracious appetites after training all day.

Gojo had been accepting of your choice to be a healer, so he allowed you to make rounds, checking up on everyone, advising them when you could and healing them when it was required. Everyone else, though, was subject to Maki and Hakari’s grueling personalized routines, pushing their bodies and limits to the absolute max and then some. The people that you all were today had no hope of surviving against Sukuna, let alone fighting him, and so you all had to become sorcerers who were capable of that feat.

“So,” you said, resting your hand on Itadori’s arm, healing the bruises that Choso had inadvertently caused him, even though you knew Itadori probably hadn’t even noticed any of them forming. “You’re an honorary Kamo now or something?”

“It’s really complicated. Actually, I don’t even understand it myself, but I guess in a way, I am,” he said.

“You could’ve been my cousin-in-law,” you said. “Though I’m sorry to say that I’m not too broken up about the fact that it won’t happen in that way.”

“It’s okay, I don’t take any offense,” Itadori said. “It makes sense and all. For us to have had that relation, you would’ve had to be in a marriage that nobody wanted, so of course you’re happy it’s not like that.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Thanks for being so sensitive to the situation.”

“Sure,” he said. “Anytime.”

Before, he might’ve flashed you a smile to accompany that kind of statement, but now, he only gave you a tired nod, rolling his shoulders and then returning his attention to Choso, who had been waiting for you to finish with the sort of patience that only an elder sibling could ever possess.

“You’re good to go,” you said. “Don’t overexert yourself, though. That won’t help anyone, and it certainly isn’t the way to success.”

“This isn’t overexertion,” Itadori said. “This is just me finally actually refining my skills instead of relying on my natural, raw abilities.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, even still, please take care.”

He did not make any such promises, and you could only hope he would at least try to be wary of himself and what he was truly capable of. Just as you would never be an all out brawler, Itadori had his weaknesses as well as his strengths, and these could not just be ignored or pushed through. You thought about telling him this, as you had once told Megumi, but for some reason, you didn’t think Itadori would appreciate it in the same way. So instead, you were silent, deciding there was no point in hovering over him while he was trying to practice.

Kurusu was sitting in a window seat, resting her forehead against the glass when you found her. She had also been exempted from training — even though her cursed technique was the most effective against Sukuna, it would be too dangerous for her to go against him with only one arm, so she was supposed to be more of a reserve than anything, only entering battle if things went completely sideways.

When she noticed you approaching, she shot to her feet, scrambling to bow or show some other sign of respect. You stopped her as best as you could, shaking your head at her.

“There’s no need for any of that. I’m only one year older than you, so please don’t treat me like I’m someone Gojo’s age or something,” you said, motioning for her to sit back down and then settling beside her yourself. For a moment, neither of you spoke, still in that awkward phase of friendship where it was difficult to find the right words to vocalize what you meant.

“Alright, L/N,” she said softly.

“Y/N,” you said. “That’s fine. It’s not like the L/Ns have ever done me much good, so on the whole, I’d prefer to not be associated with them. Please call me by my given name, instead.”

“Y/N,” she said. “You can call me Hana, then. I am your junior, after all, so it wouldn’t be right for me to refer to you informally and not extend the same courtesy to you.”

“Very well,” you said. “Hana. I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” she said.

“If we can’t save Megumi, what will you do?” you said. “It’s not to say that that’s the certain outcome. But there is a chance that in killing Sukuna, we must destroy his vessel, too. You’re here because you love him, but if he’s gone, then what?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Everything I’ve done so far is to become a person worthy of standing in front of him without shame. This isn’t something I tell people, but the truth is that when I was young, he saved me. I was being held hostage by a curse, and he sent one of his Divine Dogs after it so that I could be freed. I know — I know he didn’t do it because it was me, but I’ve always felt grateful for that. It’s not even that I love him. I just want to say thank you.”

Of course. It was impossible to love someone you didn’t know, but maybe somewhere along the line, Hana’s gratitude had twisted into an affection for the boy she had never really met. He had saved her, if she was telling the truth, and so it was a reasonable outcome. You mulled over the turn of events.

“He doesn’t save people because he wants them to be thankful. Even if you said something like that, he wouldn’t appreciate it,” you said. “Not based on what I know of him. Just by saving you, he was satisfied. You should let go of that dream.”

“Then what should I replace it with?” she said. “I’ve clung to that for so long that it’s become a part of who I am. What should I dream of if I let go of that?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Just don’t forget to dream of something.”

There wasn’t much else for you to say to her after that, so you left. It was in times like this especially that you wished Tullia were there — she would be able to cheer Hana up, tell her how to keep living even when she lost someone she loved. You were a bad example of it. You didn’t know how to do it yourself, so how could you command someone else to? It was hypocritical of you, but you had realized some time ago that you wanted Hana to end up in a better way than you had. If you could not have the internal strength to stand by yourself, then you wanted her to do it in your stead. At least that way, even if the rest of you fell, one person would remain on their feet.

As of late, Toge had been carrying Panda from place to place instead of walking next to him as he once had. You weren’t sure if it was because it would be faster for the little bear to be toted around like that or if there was some other reason, but it always made an unreasonable lump grow in your throat when they passed, a bear-printed ribbon tied around Panda’s neck, his body tucked under Toge’s single remaining arm as they went to wherever they were going. Neither of them would be fighting, either — Toge’s technique would simply never let him face off against someone like Sukuna, and now that Panda was at his current size and didn’t have his sibling cores, he probably couldn’t even fight a flyhead, let alone the King of Curses himself.

You were partially glad that Kashimo had done what he had to Panda, rendering him unable to fight — because otherwise, he would’ve. If he still had his siblings, if he was still at his full size, he would’ve charged into the fray against Sukuna, even though he had no chance at winning, even though it would’ve led to his death. So although you mourned what had happened to him, you were also happy, as it meant he did not ever have to come in harm’s way again.

“Hey, Y/N,” Panda said when Toge rounded the corner and almost ran into you. Shadows the same color as his irises hollowed out the skin under his eyes, and you focused on those the most, even as he handed Panda to you.

“Hey, you two,” you said, instinctively beginning to pet Panda, who was soft as ever. “Have you not been sleeping well, Toge?”

“Mustard leaf,” he said. You frowned.

“You don’t look okay. Stop going on YouTube so late; it’s bad for your eyes and your brain. Just because you’re not fighting doesn’t mean you should let yourself rot away like this. When was the last time you had something proper to eat? Not counting chips and shit,” you said.

“Two days ago,” Panda supplied helpfully, since Toge refused to say anything. “He had a sandwich.”

“Two days!” you said incredulously. “That’s that, then. Come on.”

“Bonito flakes,” Toge said. You used your free hand to grab his wrist and dragged him after you against his will, ignoring his protests as you marched towards the kitchen and set him down at the table, placing Panda beside him.

“No, you don’t get to say no to this. Even if I have to feed you with my bare hands, you’ll eat,” you said, turning on the stove and beginning to make the same soup you had made for Maki the other day. It was easy to digest and wouldn’t upset his sensitive stomach, and you remembered he had liked it when you made it during your first year at the school, so it was a safe choice. “Why haven’t you been eating actual meals?”

“Salmon,” he muttered rebelliously. You turned to Panda and raised an expectant brow. Panda, who was a loyal friend second and a concerned one first, did not take much convincing to spill everything to you.

“It’s not just everyone who’s died,” Panda said, luckily not naming who you were both thinking of. “It’s that he can’t do anything about it. Everyone else has a role to play, but he’s stuck with nothing. That’s enough to depress anyone.”

“I’m not fighting, and neither is Hana,” you said. “You’re not the only one.”

“Bonito flakes!” he snapped. You took advantage of his open mouth to shove the spoon in, only removing it once he swallowed and then sliding the bowl over to him. Even though he seemed reluctant, he did not argue, dutifully eating while you watched.

“You can heal,” Panda explained. “You’re arguably more important than the others because of that. And Kurusu still has her technique; we’re conserving her for the final moments, if necessary, so she’s vital in that sense. On the other hand, there’s nothing that Toge and I can really even do. We can’t help in any way that matters. How would you feel if a person killed someone you love and there was nothing you could do but watch the rest of your friends prepare to die against them, too?”

“Like lambs to the slaughter, right?” you said. “It does give that sense. None of us can really win, besides Gojo of course, but it’s not in our nature to accept defeat. We’ll keep going until we die or attain victory somehow.”

“Not us, though,” Panda said. “We’ve been forced to give up. We don’t get that choice.”

“I know,” you said. “It relieves me some, to be honest. I know why you’re upset, but as for me, it makes me feel better to know you two will be alright.”

“Neither of us are upset about living,” Panda said. “It’s the fear that we’ll be the only ones left like that which is driving him to such a state.”

Finished with his soup, Toge pulled out a notepad and began to write, his letters shaky and nearly illegible, the ink bleeding through the thin page and smudging as he went.

I am not like you.

“What does that mean?” you said.

I am not strong.

“I’m not strong, either. I gave up fighting. I was just pretending to be like that,” you said. “Just a kid who wanted to be more than she really was. You don’t see me training, do you? It’s because I can’t do anything anymore. I can only hope that Composition is enough to save someone someday.”

You are strong.

“He’s right,” Panda said. “I don’t know why you think that you’re weak. You never have been. Do you think you would’ve been recommended for the designation of Grade 1 sorcerer otherwise?”

“I’m not weak,” you agreed. “But I’m not strong in the way that the others are. The truly powerful, like Yuta, Maki, Itadori, Hakari, and Gojo…they’re on a different level entirely. I can’t compete with them. I’m nothing like that.”

It’s different. At least you made the choice to do that. My technique is what makes me weak.

That was true. Although your technique wasn’t strong by itself, it didn’t harm you for using it, either. Toge’s Cursed Speech was a punitive one, hurting him if he tried to utilize it against someone stronger than him. It actively undermined him, whereas the worst that could come from a misuse of Dissection — besides losing Composition — was a failed or missed attack.

I don’t want to be the only one left.

“Do you really have such little faith in Yuta and Maki?” you said, untying Panda’s ribbon and then redoing it so that it was in a voluminous bow around his neck instead of the simple knot that Toge must’ve somehow done.

Sukuna is a completely different sort of opponent. It’s not that I don’t trust the others; I’m just not certain what he’s capable of. He’s already done so much. He’s already killed so many.

“If things go to plan, then Gojo will take care of things, so the others won’t even get involved,” you said. “There’s no point in destroying yourself like this in the meanwhile, though. You’ve always been one of the most athletic of us — if you’re really so down in the dumps, why don’t you try helping the others who aren’t Itadori and Maki with physical training? You’re the perfect example of how even without Heavenly Restriction or absurd abilities, sorcerers can still hold their own. You understand normal bodies better than Maki would, too, so you’d know where the line between overkill and reasonable is more than she would.”

That’s true.

“Even if you don’t, there’s no sense in what you’re doing right now. By barely eating or sleeping, you’re not going to bring the others back. By ruining your own body, you’re not helping us all more,” you said.

Maybe not.

“Definitely not,” you said.

“She’s right,” Panda said. “Even if we can’t fight, we should at least help the others prepare.”

Should we talk to Gojo about it?

“I’m sure he won’t say no,” you said. “You’re his students, too. He’d do anything to help any of us, and you two are naturally included in that.”

“Let’s go, then!” Panda said, most likely energized by both the proposition and because he was looking so smart with his freshly styled ribbon.

“Yes, go,” you said, not adding on that he had best capitalize on the momentum while Toge was still willing to. Panda was intelligent enough to pick up on it, though and he blinked meaningfully at you in acknowledgement.

We’ll do that, then. See you later, Y/N. Thanks for everything.

“Anytime,” you said. “Don’t forget that you’re my friend, too, alright?”

As long as you don’t forget that you’re mine.

The sparring arena was almost completely empty, save for two people: Yuta and Maki. Both of them were using wooden swords instead of their typical cursed blades, but that did not take away from the deadliness of the dance-like match. They almost moved faster than the eye could see, Yuta’s delicate body no match for Maki’s sheer strength, Maki’s mere humanity no match for Yuta’s massive reserves of cursed energy. Neither of them showed any signs of wavering or giving an inch, each matching the other’s moves with some counter or another.

It was beautiful to watch. You didn’t know much about sword fighting, had never had much cause to learn, but despite that, you could tell that even in practice, Yuta and Maki were leagues above anyone else. This was nothing short of mastery on display, and they did it so casually, as if it was simple for them, as if the bout was simply all in a day’s work. Then again, you supposed that that was the case; they had obviously paired up to train, using similar weapons and having similar proficiencies, alongside a long history of sparring with one another, so this kind of match really was just a daily occurrence for them.

Finally, at once, they both decided to concede, stepping backwards due to some unspoken and invisible signal. Yuta threw his sword to the ground and wiped the sweat from his forehead, while Maki brushed hers off on her pants and hung it up alongside the other practice weapons.

“That was impressive,” you said. Both of them froze, turning at once to look at you, for they had of course not noticed your entry. Then Yuta grinned and rushed over to tackle you in a hug, Maki close at his heels, so that as soon as he let go of you, you were being pulled into an embrace by her.

“Y/N! Did you really think so?” Yuta said.

“Of course, I was better, right?” Maki said.

“I think you guys are both disgusting and sweaty and should get off of me,” you said, though you didn’t make any attempts to shove them off. They were the two taking things the most seriously, and you rarely if ever saw them nowadays, just because of how focused they were on improvement. Even though you and Maki were sharing the room next to the one that Toge and Yuta were using, both of them were so drained by nightfall that they just went straight to their beds and passed out with barely more than standard greetings.

“What brings you this way?” Maki said. “It’s not that I don’t want you to visit, but even when you were still in active duty, you didn’t usually come to see us spar.”

“No reason. I just realized that if I don’t come see you now, the entire month will pass us by and we won’t have spoken at all,” you said.

“Sorry for not spending more time with you,” Yuta said, kissing your temple in apology.

“I’m not mad! I understand. If I was still fighting, I’d be doing the same,” you said. “But don’t you get the sense that things are going to change soon? I just want to be with you two for as long as I can.”

“It’s just because we have a deadline. We’re so used to dealing with missions as they come that having such a massive advance warning is screwing with everyone. There’s nothing to do but train, to that point that in all honesty, I’d almost prefer if all of this could just be over and done with tomorrow,” Yuta said.

“I’d prefer if all of this wasn’t happening in the first place,” Maki said dryly. “But you’re right. Knowing ahead of time is making the waiting worse than if we were just attacked by surprise and had to react in the moment.”

You leaned against Yuta and reached out to intertwine your fingers with Maki’s. The girl who taught you to fight and the boy who you loved so much you learned to heal. You would be nothing without either of them. Maybe Gojo had been the one to rescue you, but they were the two who had genuinely saved you, who had shown you that you were more than a L/N, that you were Y/N, a sorcerer and a healer and a person that they loved and who loved them in return.

“You two will be careful against Sukuna?” you said.

“Of course we will be,” Maki said. “You think we’ll let an even uglier version of Megumi beat us?”

“He’s your cousin, you know,” Yuta said disapprovingly. You snorted.

“Are you saying that makes her ugly, too?” you said. Maki’s jaw dropped, and she reached over to smack Yuta on the shoulder. He yelped and massaged the sore spot, giving the two of you betrayed looks.

“No! I meant that she should be nice to him because he’s her family member!” he said. You and Maki exchanged guilty glances at the explanation, which did make sense, as Yuta was overall far too mild-mannered and afraid of Maki to ever insult her in that way. When Yuta noticed, he exhaled, cuffing Maki on the ear and poking you in the side. “You two think so poorly of me.”

“Sorry, Yuta,” you said. “I should’ve known better.”

“I’m not sorry!” Maki said, clutching her ear and glaring at Yuta. “What was that for?”

“You smacked me first!” he said.

“You insulted me first!” she said.

“I just said I didn’t!”

Once their argument reached the point of blows — as in, they redrew their wooden swords and went back to sparring — you slipped away from the arena, leaving them to it, finding amusement in the playful disagreement but having no desire to get caught in the crossfire. In the meantime, you sought out the two people you had been needing to talk to the most in recent times.

“You’re really certain that you’re leaving the country before the twenty fourth?” you said. Noritoshi was patiently explaining something to Itadori, so you posed the question to Elakshi, who at the moment was just braiding new pieces of rope while sitting on the sidelines.

“Noritoshi is set on it,” she said. “He wants to take me and his family and get out of here before things get messy.”

“Do you want to?” you said. She shrugged, threading pieces of gold wire into the rope as she worked, the pads of her fingers toughened from the task, her palms callused from many days spent in the same pursuit. While her whistles could control any ropes she cursed, she had apparently discovered while in the Culling Games that she could add wire into the ropes so that they could be used to cut as well as choke and restrain.

“I don’t have any opinions for or against it,” she said, and though she was talking to you and weaving rope at the same time, her eyes remained on Noritoshi as always. “It’s fine. It’s what Noritoshi wants, so I’ll go along with it. He’s always doing things for me, so it’s just about time for me to return the favor. Besides, what kind of a girl would complain about her own life being saved?”

“That makes sense,” you said.

“I’m sorry if you were relying on me for something,” she said. “But his mind can’t be changed.”

“I wouldn’t have tried to. He’s right; running away is the better choice in this scenario. If I wasn’t so involved, I would want to do that, too,” you said.

For you, Noritoshi was like a security blanket. He was a person who had been there for you and protected you all throughout your youth, who had allowed you to become a jujutsu sorcerer, who had always defended your rights and never spoken down to you. There had been a time when he had been your closest ally against the likes of Naoya and the L/Ns, but Maki had slain Naoya and you were the head of the L/Ns and so you did not need Noritoshi to fill that role for you anymore. You did not need to cling to him any longer, but there was still something you needed from him.

“Were we born in normal times, both he and I would most likely be considered as strong and respectable sorcerers,” Elakshi said, setting aside the completed rope, whistling a short song so that it wound itself up into a small coil that she tucked into her bag. “So I don’t feel inadequate or anything. In this era, though, where the legends of the world run rampant, we are insignificant at best and hindrances at worst.”

You snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“You are one such legend, Y/N,” she said. “You’re the girl who brought someone back to life. What kind of everyday sorcerer could compare to that? Anyways, even if you hadn’t done that, you saved me. Maybe to everyone else, that was something inconsequential, but it changed the entire trajectory of my existence. You told me it was okay for me to exist. You introduced me to this world of people that helped me be strong, this world of people that love me for who I am, and so, even if it’s just to me, you will always be a hero.”

As soon as Noritoshi was done with Itadori, he jogged over to where you and Elakshi were sitting. Crouching in front of you two due to the lack of chairs, he smiled when Elakshi bent over to wipe the sand from his face.

“Y/N!” he said, catching Elakshi’s hand when she tried to withdraw it, holding it in his own while talking to you, earning an affectionate yet exasperated scoff from her. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you as well,” you said. “Though that’s not why I’m here. Actually, I have to ask you a favor.”

“A favor?” he said, instantly guarded. “If it’s about me leaving Japan, then don’t bother. I’ve already made my mind up about leaving, so you’ll only be wasting your breath if you try to convince me otherwise.”

“It is about that, but I’m not going to try and convince you to not go,” you said. “I support you fully.”

“Then what?” he said.

“My mother,” you said. “Please take her with you.”

“Did she ask for that?” he said. You shook your head.

“No, I’m making the decision on my own. She has nothing in the way of cursed energy or techniques, and it’s not like she can use Composition. There’s zero justification for her to stay, except that she has nowhere else to go,” you said. “This is the last favor I’ll ever ask of you, so won’t you oblige? If it’s money you need, then I can provide that. Just please take care of her until things have settled down and she can come back.”

“Don’t worry about the money,” he said. “It’s not a problem at all. We were partners once, weren’t we? I’ll take care of her, just as I’m sure you would’ve taken care of mine if I had asked.”

“Thank you,” you said, and then for some reason you suddenly felt so very weepy, leaning over and hugging him tightly before doing the same to Elakshi. “Have a safe trip, both of you. We’ll see each other soon, won’t we?”

“It’s just like if we were going on vacation or back to Kyoto to study,” Noritoshi said, though of course it wasn’t, not really. But it felt better to pretend that it was, so you swallowed and then nodded.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Elakshi added. “Though probably a fair bit heavier. Your mother is a really good cook, you know…”

Gojo was sitting alone in an office as per usual, eating some of the cookies your mother had made for him and going through a photo album. At first, you thought that it was one from his childhood, but when you peered over the desk, you saw that it was from your own first year at the school — a collection of pictures of you and your classmates doing things throughout the term.

“I didn’t take most of these,” he said, snapping it shut and pushing it across the desk to you. “Besides the selfies of us, of course. A lot were Panda’s doing; Tullia took a fair few, too, and most of the ones of just you are from Yuta. I even bribed Utahime and Mei Mei to give me a couple from your first exchange event. It was meant to be your next Christmas present.”

You touched the album gingerly, for it was therefore the culmination of the precious memories you had made in your first year at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. Tracing your fingers over the title, which was messily scrawled in his handwriting, you bit your lip.

“How’d you know I’d like something like this?” you said.

“First of all, I’ve known you since you were a baby, so of course I did,” he said. “But also…I’ve always wished I had something like this of my own years at school, so I figured you would be much the same. It’s a way for you to always have a piece of the people you love, regardless of how far away they go or how long it’s been since you last saw them.”

In the pages of this album, everyone was still alive. Everyone was still happy. Nothing bad had happened to any of you yet. Nothing bad would ever happen to you, at least not the versions frozen in the collection of pictures.

“Thank you,” you said, putting aside the album, clasping his hands in your own and resting your forehead on them, your tears dripping onto his knuckles. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m sorry that this is the only thing I could give you,” he said.

“No,” you said. “No, don’t apologize. This is the best present you could’ve ever come up with. I appreciate it more than I would’ve anything fancy.”

“Do you mind if I give it to you early?” he said. “Just in case.”

“Okay,” you said, your tears coming down quicker and quicker with every passing moment. “Okay, you can do that. But you’ll win, right? I’ll just hold onto it until you’ve defeated him and come back, and then you can properly give it to me.”

He used the end of his sleeve to dab at your cheeks, holding your face in one hand and wrinkling his nose at your reddened eyes.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re crying so much and nothing’s even happened yet. How am I supposed to go and fight Sukuna when I know my dear student is bawling at home?”

“I don’t know,” you said.

“You’re throwing me off my game,” he said, knocking your chin up and then folding his arms across his chest. “Y/N, you little saboteur! Are you secretly working with the curses?”

You giggled despite yourself. “No.”

“If you keep it up with the waterworks, I’ll be forced to assume you are,” he said seriously. “So that means you have to quit it.”

“Alright,” you sniffed, somehow finding the strength to smile at him instead. “Is this better?”

“Eh, a little bit. I don’t know what Yuta sees in you, but it’s definitely a tad more motivating to see you being the way you usually are,” he said.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you said.

“Nothing,” he said innocently.

“I thought that breaking free from the L/Ns and the higher ups would mean that I could just happily be in a relationship with him for once, but now you’re telling me I have to deal with you and Hakari naysaying us?” you said. “Of course, it’s not a surprise that the two biggest idiots on this side of Tokyo are the ones against us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo said. “Whatever. C’mon, enough with the crying. Go show your present to your friends.”

“Okay,” you said. “Thank you again. I know I said it already, but I hope you know just how much I mean it.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry. I do.”

It was late at night by the time that you, Yuta, Maki, Panda, and Toge could all look through the album together. Piling together on the ground in front of your desk, all of them watched as you opened the album, your head on Yuta’s shoulder when you did so.

All of the pictures were of a similar nature. One was of Yuta, his brow scrunched endearingly as he held two bouquets of flowers in his hands, evidently trying to decide which one to buy. Another was of Maki polishing the first sword she had been given by Gojo, her round glasses reflecting the care she was taking to not damage the precious weapon. Beside that one was a photo of Toge and Panda in the middle of baking a cake, flour covering Panda’s wet nose and a dripping spatula clenched in Toge’s fist as he shouted something at his counterpart. Then there was one of you and Tullia as she organized her poisons and told some joke that you laughed at from your perch on the counter beside her. The entire album was like that, the many snapshots of you and your loved ones proving to be an exercise in nostalgia.

“This must’ve taken him forever to get together,” Maki said, though her voice lacked any of its usual bravado.

“I was wondering why he had asked me to email him every picture I had ever taken of her,” Yuta said quietly. “This must have been the reason.”

“Salmon,” Toge said.

“What’s the cover say?” Panda said. You shut the album to show them the front, which featured a picture that Ieri had taken of you and Gojo right after you had become an official Grade 1 sorcerer. Both of you were grinning at the camera and throwing up peace signs, his arm tossed casually around your shoulders, his blindfold endearingly crooked, covering his eyes but never his pride in you.

Y/N’s First Year as a Sorcerer!

Put together with help from her best friends:

Maki Zenin, Yuta Okkotsu, Toge Inumaki, Panda, and Tullia Ferraro

Given to her with lots of love from Satoru Gojo :)

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #reader insert #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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