#he’s just very easy to get riled up & i think it’s hysterical | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onecanonlife · 3 years ago

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,205

Chapter Warnings: swearing, referenced past suic.ide

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur tries very hard to hold a productive meeting, and does not quite succeed.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Seventeen: ‘til the work is done

In retrospect, it’s not his best idea. He seems to be full of those, lately. Not-great ideas. This one is foolish simply for the fact that he is already tired, and gifting energy to Schlatt is a strain on his already depleted reserves. It takes about twenty minutes for him to get dizzy, and another two after that before spots start drifting across his vision, and at that point, he has to admit defeat, cutting himself off mid-sentence and breaking their connection. Schlatt swears as he loses his tangibility.

“Fuck, that felt weird,” he says. “What the fuck was that, why’d you stop?”

He wets his lips. It takes longer than it should for the words to formulate.

“I told you, we’re essentially sharing a lifeforce, Schlatt,” he says. “There’s only so much I can give you.”

Schlatt starts hovering in the air again, regarding him with a dark stare. And then, his expression clears.

“Oh, I see, so you’re being a dumbass,” he says, and Wilbur wants to protest, but he can’t get a word in edgewise. “Why the fuck are you giving me shit you can’t afford to lose, then? Jesus Christ, Wilbur, would you sit down?”

“There isn’t time for that,” he replies. “I’ve spent too long up here already. I need to go and meet with the others.”

Schlatt stares at him for a long moment. He’s not sure why. And when he speaks, his voice is—strange.

“I was right about you,” he says. “You really don’t change. Not when it comes to yourself. You’re just as stupid and self-destructive as you always have been. And now that coating of paint you try to put on over it? That’s flaking off. The only question is how many people you’re going to bring down with you this time.” He shakes his head, and his eyes narrow, expression hovering somewhere between a dark satisfaction and something else, something difficult to interpret. “You’re wearing yourself thin. I see it, everyone else can probably see it. But you can’t. Or you do, but you can’t accept it.”

(you put on a smile for the masses an upbeat tone for your friends but you’re a sinking ship and you know it, and you think it might be easier to let yourself drown even though you know you won’t, because you cannot allow yourself to fail because you are leader you are president and this is everything you fought for so it is a fault in you if you cannot handle it so you push through you make yourself and you scream into your pillow and cry yourself to sleep because at the end of the day your self-loathing clings to you like cobwebs and secondhand smoke)

He inhales.

“I don’t see how me needing to have a meeting with everyone else has led you to that conclusion,” he says, tone frosty, “but you can think what you want. And besides, you can hardly talk. We’ve had a conversation like this already.”

He turns on his heel, letting his coat flare out behind him; though, it’s still damp, so the motion isn’t nearly as satisfying as it usually is. But Schlatt follows along with him, and he grits his teeth, letting each of his footfalls resound with purpose, with confidence that he is struggling to truly find.

This was definitely a bad idea. Engaging with Schlatt always is. He should know this by now, should know that a welcome distraction can turn unwelcome at the drop of a hat.

“I never said that I was any better,” Schlatt says, “but that’s the difference between you and me, Wilbur. I know exactly what I am. You don’t know who the fuck you are, so you hide behind labels because that makes it easier for you to think about.”

(general president exile villain and round and round it goes and there is truth to his words because he scrambles for stability scrambles to fit the old roles but the fact of the matter is that he is something new and he is floundering because for all that he wants to be better he has never known how so it’s casting a coin in a wishing well and hoping)

“I know exactly who I am for the moment,” he says, “and that’s someone who’s going to get rid of the fucking Egg and pummel Dream’s face into the ground. For now, that’s more than good enough.”

He gets to the stairs again, and takes them two at a time on his way down.

“Fine, then, just don’t come crying to me later,” Schlatt says. “So, what’s the deal with Dream anyway? How the fuck did he get out of prison?”

That actually gives him pause for a second.

“I’m not actually sure,” he says. “A question for the warden.” One that he does intend to ask, if only to know how, exactly, Dream made what was supposed to be a secure prison seem like child’s play to escape. Was he waiting for the right moment all along? He’s not sure he likes the implications of that,

(especially since he deemed the right moment to be after Wilbur’s return, during the implementation of a plan that he helped to form, and it sickens him that he might have played any role in Dream’s decision making, that he might have led everyone into these circumstances, eyes wide open but blind all the same)

but it would make sense, considering everything that he’s learned, considering what he now knows of the rot that’s woven itself into Dream’s very being. The corruption that lends him power.

“How much have you even been here for?” he continues, glancing at the ghost out of the corner of his eye. “Do you have any idea what’s been going on, or have you just been fucking around since the last time I saw you?” When you ran away from Tubbo, he does not say, and he wonders if Schlatt catches it anyway.

There is a beat, and then, “I—know that Dream’s out,” Schlatt says, the words reluctant, and he suppresses a bark of laughter.

“So, you know jack shit,” he says.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You know jack shit,” he repeats. “That’s fine. Stick around, I’m sure you’ll get caught up to speed.”

“Oh, great, yeah, that’s exactly what I want, hanging around you chumps some more,” Schlatt mutters. “What a good time. God, I need a drink. Or you know what, I’d settle for a fucking protein shake. You got any of those around?”

He doesn’t respond. It takes some effort, but anything he could say would only rile him up further, and any indication of actually, you do not need a drink, and I am going to make sure that you don’t get one literally ever is sure to set him off, which is exactly what he doesn’t need right now. So he lets Schlatt complain as he backtracks to the entrance hall, and then to the throne room where he assumes everyone else is.

His assumptions are proved correct the moment he draws close enough to hear everyone’s voices. Talking over each other, tones fluctuating. It sounds anything but peaceful.

Eret has moved their throne aside, he notes as he stops in the doorway. Most of the room is now taken up by a large wooden table, clearly meant to be a place for meeting. He appreciates the gesture, or would, if anyone seemed to be using it. His eyes find Techno and Phil first, next to a cluster of torches; Techno is still wringing water from his hair, looking very put out, but his posture is tense, on guard, and Phil looks about the same, even as he helps Ranboo get the last of his armor off without flicking himself with water.

(it is easy to forget that his family is among enemies there, that at least a few of these people would like to see them dead)

He finds Fundy next. He’s standing by himself, ears flat against his skull, and every now and then he twitches toward Eret. But the main spectacle in the room is the ongoing argument, and he narrows his eyes, trying to pick out the participants and their stances. There’s Quackity—and that’s an interesting scar on his face, though with what he knows of the man’s combat ability, or lack thereof, he was bound to gain an injury like that sooner or later, with the server being what it is—shouting at Sam, who looks like hell, frankly, and Puffy next to Sam trying to defend him, maybe, and Sapnap by Quackity’s side trying to calm him, and then there’s Eret, who appears to be trying to mediate with little success.

“—don’t fucking care,” Quackity is saying, and he sounds near-hysterical, words spat out at a record pace, even for him, “I do not fucking care what the rules were, I do not fucking care, just, fuck, Puffy, stop trying to defend him, if he’d kept Dream locked up like he was supposed to, like his job was, like we all trusted him to, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, just, I don’t fucking understand how you could’ve let that happen, Sam, I don’t—”

He keeps going, and at the same time, Eret’s voice overlaps—“We’ve been through this already, Quackity, and I don’t see how this is helping.”—with Puffy’s—“You’re the one who needs to fucking stop, it wasn’t his fault, so stop yelling at him!”—and Sapnap’s—“C’mon, Q, please, I know, but you think tearing into each other is gonna help right now?”—and Sam himself is just standing there, taking it, eyes dull.

On the other side of the room, Tommy and Tubbo appear in the opposing set of doors and draw up short, Tubbo placing his hand on Tommy’s shoulder to pull him back, face settling into what might be resignation. This isn’t the first time, then.

Schlatt whistles. “Damn,” he says. “Something about this is familiar.”

“I do not want to know that,” he replies, eyeing Quackity. “Don’t tell me anything about your relationship, I categorically do not want to know.”

“Wait, what the fuck do you think I’m talking about—”

He meets Techno’s gaze. Techno raises an eyebrow, pointedly squeezes his hair with a towel, and inclines his head, as if to say, You deal with this. He glares back, trying to convey, Fuck off, I am not in charge of corralling these fuckers, and Techno rolls his eyes, the arsehole, because of course, he knows that that’s a damn lie, and actually, he kind of has put himself in charge of corralling these fuckers.

(something about this is familiar indeed, and these could be earlier days if he takes a step back and squints, looks at them all through blurry vision, and this could be a nation risen up around a drug van if he tilts his head just right, and he could be in charge of leading them, because the original members are all here, him and Tommy and Tubbo and Fundy and Eret all here, except the arguments are sharper and lined with more desperation than any of their original squabbles, before the war became real, before everything, before it all fell apart for the first time, before it was never meant to be, and he can lead, can pretend that it is all like it was then, but it would be unwise, perhaps, to forget that it is not like then at all)

So he steps further inside, notes with some displeasure the way that no one has marked his presence yet, and says, as loud as he can, “What the fuck are you all shouting at each other for, then?”

Quackity cuts off abruptly, which solves eighty percent of the noise problem, and Puffy stops after he does, which solves another fifteen percent. Quackity wheels toward him, not quite shocked, but still surprised, perhaps.

“Holy shit,” he says. “They said you were back, but—wow, Wilbur, you’re looking good. For a dead guy, I mean.”

“Thank you, Quackity,” he says, nodding. He strides up to the table, though he doesn’t sit, and splays his hands against it. It would probably be more picturesque if he weren’t still dripping a bit, but he made his choice to forgo towels and that’s the hill he’s dying on, apparently. “You’re also looking good. It’s nice to see you.”

“Tell him he looks sexy,” Schlatt suggests, and with a great amount of fortitude, he ignores him.

“So,” he continues, “is any of this arguing actually something that needs to be happening right now? Or can we move on to arguing about different things?”

Quackity’s face twists. “I’d say we do need to be arguing about it, actually,” he says. “Look, Wilbur, I know you—you left a while ago, right, so you’ve missed a lot, so I’m not sure how much about this you know. But Sam was supposed to be in charge of the prison. He had one job, and that was to keep Dream in his cell. And now look at where we are. So, yeah, I’d say it’s something that needs to be happening.”

(people keep saying that, that he left, and that’s not quite right, because leaving is slinging a bag over one shoulder and waving goodbye and leaving implies going somewhere when he wanted to go nowhere at all, and leaving is a sanitary way to phrase the desperate exit he made and perhaps they don’t know better or perhaps they do but don’t want to confront it but either way something in him recoils whenever they say he left because that is not the word is not the word at all and if they’re going to bring it up he wishes that they would actually bring it up rather than dance all around it dance in quicksteps that serve nothing)

“I agree that it’s important,” he says. “I would like Sam to explain what happened. But I also don’t see that recriminations are where we need to be directing our energy at the moment. Considering that what’s done is done” —He meets Quackity’s gaze as steadily as he can, meets his gaze and brings all the weight of their history to bear, from the debate floor to the podium and the stage to the dark caverns of the rebellion— “and going through all of the ways that everyone in this room has fucked everyone else over hardly seems like the best use of our time.”

He knows the statement won’t land like it should. He knows that he of all people has no right to ask for this. But the longer he stands here, the more aware he is of all the bad blood in this room, the more aware he is that this particular group of people is like a powder keg set to explode, that they could all turn on each other and do Dream’s job for him at a poorly placed jab or threat. The air is thick with the complicated web that binds them all.

(betrayals and lives taken and homes destroyed and even the bedrock of a once stable foundation shaken and torn up)

“Well, that’s kind of a convenient stance to take,” Quackity shoots back, and it’s precisely the response he expected “considering what you did.”

“I’m aware,” he says, drowning out the way that Tommy audibly starts to protest. “I think my point still stands, though. Unless you really think now is the time to air out everyone’s dirty laundry. I’m sure Dream would find it entertaining, at least.”

(the words taste like ash and he feels like a hypocrite but he can’t let them see how off balance he is can’t let them know because a leader is needed and he could step aside and let someone else take the position but that has always been a weakness of his, his need for control, so even when the control is slipping he grasps it with both hands and hangs on to it with all his worth whether it’s wise or not because someone needs to lead and he does not trust himself but he trusts others even less and he has always been one to take on the responsibility even when he ought not to even when)

Quackity breathes in and out, eyes narrow.

“Alright,” he says. “No, you’re right.” He steps up to the table as well, pulling out a chair for himself, though he doesn’t yet sit. He also, Wilbur notes, does not apologize to Sam, but that’s not a requirement, even though the way Puffy is glaring suggests that she would like it to be.

“Wait,” someone says, and Wilbur starts, looking to—George, and how did he not realize George was here, too? Perhaps because he’s been quiet. Quieter than the norm, though he can’t say that he’s ever known George all that well. Or perhaps it’s just a surprise to see him around. “Is he in charge?” George continues. “Why is he in charge?” He sounds genuinely confused more than upset, but he still feels his hackles raise.

(he is placing himself in this position and it feels natural and right and feels wrong and unsteady like his footing is slipping like he’s on the edge of the cliff face and below the rockslide is starting but he can do this, he can, he can lead this, it’s just one meeting and he can do it because if not him then who else will and he can do it)

“I’m not ‘in charge,’” he

(lies? he doesn’t know doesn’t know)

says. “I’m just trying to get a meeting started. We’re all here, aren’t we?”

“Everyone we were able to find is in this room,” Eret says softly, and then, to everyone else. “And I agree with Wilbur. We need to plan out our next move. And seeing as a meeting table has been provided—” They gesture, rather pointedly, and Puffy is the first to nod, pulling out a seat and all but collapsing into it, running a hand through her hair. Sam is next, and then Tommy and Tubbo enter fully, situating themselves directly to his right. Phil is the next to approach, followed by Techno and Ranboo, and he does not miss the way Quackity’s eyes track Techno’s movements.

Before long, it’s just him and Quackity standing. A concession might be needed here, or at least, a show of one; he doesn’t actually want to cause too much conflict with the man, if it can be avoided, not right this second, so he tilts his head slightly and sits in a chair of his own, though carefully, so as not to slump into it. Sitting seems to make him realize just how tired he still is, and the urge to let himself sag is strong. But the ploy works; Quackity seats himself, Sapnap on one side and George on the other, and really, this has to be one of the strangest collections of allies to have ever existed.

It reminds him of the final days of the rebellion, a little bit. The way that so many flocked to their banner to depose Schlatt. It’s difficult to look back on, but that aspect of it, at least, is not entirely tainted. There was a sense of camaraderie among them that is not quite present here, but he doesn’t miss it for himself; in those days, too, he held himself apart, struggling to resolve himself to what he was going to do, knowing too well that the traitor they all feared existed was him.

But there’s people here who weren’t here then. And people here then who are missing now.

“Who couldn’t be found?” he asks, and it is Puffy who answers first.

“Niki,” she says, and his heart skips several beats, unprepared for that answer, though its truth is undeniable. “I tried, but we only had so much time, and I have no idea where she’s been staying these days. There also wasn’t time to get to Foolish, but he lives a long way out, so he’s probably fine.”

It is a struggle not to react outwardly. Niki. He hadn’t even thought to—

No. Now isn’t the time.

(even though he wronged her, too, wronged her as he wronged everyone else and she deserved so much better than what he could give her and she is a dear friend so dear that even Ghostbur always remembered her but it seems that in the midst of everything else he might have failed her again and she deserves a thousand apologies and all the atonement he can offer but now he may never get that chance, may never and now is not the time to focus on it but oh gods Niki)

“Jack Manifold, too,” Tubbo chimes in. “He was staying in Snowchester, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Karl’s gone,” Quackity says. “But he does that a lot, so that might not necessarily mean anything.” His voice is too strained to be causal, and Wilbur has to make an effort not to react to that, too, though for an entirely different reason. He’s not sure how much Quackity knows. Not sure how much he should say, if anything at all.

(but he has seen Karl bargain with a god has seen the universe cling to him has seen the way he sidesteps in and out of reality and through time to the places inbetween and he would not have thought it of Karl of all people but perhaps that is the point)

“Hannah,” Sam offers, and nothing else. It’s not a name he knows.

“That might be everybody, though,” Sapnap says. “Alyssa and Callahan are long gone, and people like Vikkstar and Lazar haven’t been around for a while, now. Or, wait, actually, I have no idea where Hbomb is.”

“And there’s Purpled, too,” George says around a yawn. “No clue what he’s been up to these days, but he was always pretty close to Punz.”

“Oh, yeah, and the vines were all over his UFO,” Puffy agrees. “Um, and we might want to add Skeppy onto that. I have no clue where he is, but I’d be surprised if he weren’t Team Egg, since Bad is.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Is that actually everybody, then?” George says. “That’s more people than I thought.”

“It could be worse,” Phil says. His head is tilted back, eyes tracing the ceiling, though Wilbur knows him better than to think he’s actually relaxed. “We know about Dream, and BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, Ponk, and Punz. It’s a maybe on Niki, Jack Manifold, Hbomb, Skeppy, Karl—”

“Not Karl,” Quackity insists, and Wilbur is inclined to agree with that much, at least, even while Phil presses on.

“—Purpled, and—Hannah, did you say? And possibly Foolish, since we don’t know, but I’m inclined to agree with Puffy that he’s probably alright. So absolute worst-case scenario, that’s twelve, maybe thirteen people we’re up against. Pretty even odds.”

Phil’s definition of even odds, he thinks, is slightly skewed.

“Yeah, except you’re forgetting that the Egg is a demon. Dreamon, whatever. And Dream is also a demon, kind of,” Sapnap says. “That doesn’t sound even to me.”

“He’s still homeless,” Techno murmurs.

“The fuck does it matter if he’s homeless?” Quackity snaps, and then visibly quails when Technoblade looks at him, even though it’s also obvious that he’s trying not to. History there that he’s not privy to, perhaps, and he’s hardly going to bring it up right now.

“Well, I mean, we’ve already—” Fundy tries to speak up, but he’s drowned out by about four other people trying to weigh in on whether Dream’s homelessness has any bearing on the conversation, and Wilbur takes a second to frown at Techno for the hornet’s nest he’s kicked up, and by that time, Puffy’s speaking again.

(it’s fine, it’s still under control, he has this under control, it’s fine, and so what if he’s running on too few hours of sleep and so what if he wants to set his head down on the table and stay there, because he’s not about to actually do that, and it’s fine, he’s fine, it’s all fine)

“What about you guys?” she says, and everyone else falls quieter. “You were looking for dreamon-related stuff, right? Did you find anything? Honestly, we weren’t sure that you guys would be back this soon.”

“Is that where you went?” Schlatt asks. “How the fuck did that lead to you antagonizing a god?”

He ignores him, still. It’s the only option, really. “We went through as many of the stronghold’s” —There are several exclamations at that, at the fact that they know where one of the server’s strongholds is, as well as a sigh from Phil, no doubt an objection to spreading that tidbit around, but he continues— “books as we could, but we didn’t find anything. I did attempt to provoke a god into helping us, so we’ll see if that pans out at all, but I wouldn’t call it a wasted trip. I also managed to confirm for sure that the Egg is a dreamon, but I think we pretty much knew that.”

There is another moment of complete silence.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” Quackity asks, and from where he’s drifting behind him, Schlatt starts cackling, loud and extremely irritating, a wheezy undertone to it that makes no sense considering that he does not need to breathe.

“I attempted to provoke a god into helping us,” he repeats. “I’m not sure whether I succeeded or not—in the helping area, at least. They were very provoked. But—” He pauses, considering. It’s always a tricky game, figuring out what to say and what to keep close to the chest, but this case is harder than most. “Actually, Sapnap and George, I’d like to ask, were you aware that Dream is a god? Or was a god?”

He is predicting the chaos that erupts after that, all exclamations and incoherent sounds, most of them some variation on either “What?” or “Fuck!” or some combination of both. But he keeps his gaze flickering between George and Sapnap, measuring their reactions. George’s face goes blank—shock, he thinks, rather than the expression of someone being caught out. And Sapnap’s jaw drops slightly.

“Dream’s not a god,” he says, and his voice overrides everyone else’s. “Dream’s not—there’s no way he could’ve kept that from us. Absolutely no way.”

“He’s not now,” he agrees. “He separated himself from the vast majority of his power, somehow, when he realized he’d be corrupted by the remnants of the dreamon. But he was one. I’m sure of that much. He may have hidden it from you, but I am certain of it.”

Sapnap’s face reddens.

“Aw, I think you hurt his feelings, Wilbur,” Schlatt says.

“Dream’s not a god,” Sapnap says again. “He’s not.”

“Even if he is, what does it matter?” Fundy says suddenly. “Especially if he’s not one now. It’s the dreamons that we have to deal with. The Egg, and whatever’s left in Dream. So if we don’t have anything that can take care of that, then what the fuck is all of this for? We have nothing.”

“Weird time for the kid to grow a spine,” Schlatt comments, and he’s ignoring him, he’s ignoring him, even though the vitriol in his son’s voice hits like a knife driven through stitches, back into a wound not yet healed. Fundy’s not looking at him, and the avoidance only makes it worse.

(it is directed at you it has to be it has to be that it is directed at you and it hurts hurts hurts and there is no one to blame but yourself and it hurts and you’re so tired and you have to stay in control but it hurts)

A hand touches his. He glances down to find that he’s clenched them, that his knuckles are white and his palms are stinging from the bite of his fingernails in his flesh, and Tommy has placed his hand on his, watching him. It is an effort to relax even a little bit, but for Tommy’s sake, he manages it.

Tubbo clears his throat. “What Fundy is getting at, I think, is that even with the stuff that me and Fundy have, it won’t be enough to kill them. Maybe we could banish the Egg, but apparently the exorcism we used on Dream wasn’t entirely effective, so we can’t be sure of that much. So maybe we’re not quite at square one, still, but we haven’t gotten that far. And if we can’t beat the dreamons, we can’t beat the Egg. Since the Egg is a dreamon.” He shrugs. “We’ve managed to keep it out. And as long as none of us break the enchantments from the inside, we should be fine to hold out here. But in the way of attacks, we don’t have much.”

“Great,” Quackity says. “So where the fuck does that leave us, then?”

He narrows his eyes at the table, attempting to collect his thoughts, and then looks back up. “I think we’re getting a bit off track,” he says. “Sam, is there anything that you can remember from the moment that Dream broke out that you think might be relevant?”

He tries to keep his voice, if not gentle, then at least free of blame, perhaps because he sees what Quackity apparently doesn’t; there is nothing he could say that would assign more fault than Sam has already assigned to himself. His eyes are dark, shadowed, and what skin is visible above the lines of his mask is pale and gaunt. It’s only been two days, little though that seems possible, but Sam appears as though he hasn’t eaten or slept for a week. Frankly, Wilbur hopes that he’s not planning to join in the fight that is sure to be on the horizon; he hardly looks as if he could effectively wield a sword. He is a far cry from the confident, stoic warden he met in the prison a few weeks ago.

“I don’t know,” Sam says, voice half a moan. “I think—I didn’t go in his cell. I know that for sure. I’d have no reason to. I didn’t go in, and the lava wasn’t lowered, so somehow, he escaped despite that. Which doesn’t make any sense, since the prison was designed to cut people off from any extraneous powers that they might otherwise have access to, and that includes admin abilities.” He stops for a second. The table has fallen silent again, though this time, there is a certain anticipation to it, a horror. Even Quackity looks considering rather than outraged. “I didn’t see him coming. He stabbed right through my armor. And I don’t—maybe it’s related to the demon thing. Or maybe—Wilbur, you said he was a god?”

His voice rises in pitch on the last sentence, cracks a bit on the last word, and Wilbur is suddenly reminded that Sam, like Sapnap and George, has known Dream for a very long time. Known Dream for a very long time and somehow, not known this.

“He was,” he says. “I don’t know how much of that power he still has. Not much, I’d imagine, but in combination with demonic corruption, perhaps that doesn’t matter. And in any case, it’s not something you would have known to plan for.”

“Wait,” Schlatt says, “is that why he could see me? Wilbur, what does it mean that he could see me? Does that mean something?”

He blinks. That—might actually be a good point. One that he hasn’t thought about in some time, though where he fits that into the mess of puzzle pieces spread out before him, he has no idea.

“So we’re back to square one there as well,” Phil says.

“Then I’ll reiterate, where the fuck does this leave us?” Quackity says. “We’ve been doing a whole lot of talking here, but not a whole lot of actual planning. Does anybody actually have an idea of what to do, or are we going around in circles?”

“I don’t see you offering much of anything either,” Eret points out.

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t know what the fuck is happening!” Quackity shoots back. “At least I can admit that instead of yanking everyone around pretending like I know what I’m doing!”

That is a barb, probably, but Quackity isn’t even looking at him, is glaring at Eret, and this is about to erupt into another argument, and he thinks he’s going to allow it to, because even laying out all the information available to them isn’t getting them anywhere, and even if he had the ability to impose control over the room, there is still a part of him that whispers, that cries out that he does not have the right, and any moment now they will decide that punishing him for his crimes should be higher on the list of priorities, especially if he tries to step back into his old role, and—he’s not nearly as over this as he hoped he was, is he?

(he forgot how to trust a long time ago and perhaps these fears are baseless but that makes them no less potent and he forgot how to trust a long time ago he cannot trust them he cannot and he holds none of his former power not even that which was rightfully his he holds none of it and he cannot trust)

(he can control this he can lead but)

(but he)

(he’s supposed to be)

(a question, one that you do not want to confront: were you ever in control?)

So he lets them. He lets them talk over each other. Even Tommy joins in after a moment, after a sideways glance and another squeeze of his hand, and he can’t even pay attention to what everyone is saying.

It is difficult to keep his shoulders erect. There is a weight trying to bring his head down to his chest. It’s just an argument, and he can hardly expect anything less from these people, so bitter have the tides of history turned between them all, but it feels like a failure on his part, and his thoughts are fracturing again, flying beyond his grasp.

“Wil,” Phil murmurs next to him, but he just shakes his head.

“Yeah, this is going great,” Schlatt says. “Good job with the meeting. Y’know, when I was in charge, I didn’t let any of this happen. I ruled with an iron first. People listened to me. They respected me.”

“And then you died in a drug van,” he says, “from a heart attack, surrounded by people who hated you.”

This gets him an extraordinarily strange glance from Phil, but no one else is paying attention. He can’t keep track of who is snapping at who, but they’re all snapping at each other. In a way, Schlatt is right; the peace lasted, what, ten minutes at most?

Schlatt is silent.

Fundy is looking at him, too. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to read the expression on his face. He doesn’t want—

“Wait,” Schlatt says suddenly, “wait, fuck, do you feel that?” He sounds genuinely alarmed, for once, and after a second, Wilbur feels it too, feels

(the air in the room alight and alive and their voices waver in and out of tune with the underlying melody and the regard lies heavily on them all and the universe is always there is always with you in the back of your mind but it is leaning in closer leaning in over your shoulder and you feel)

the way the atmosphere shifts. His ears fill with white noise. Everyone is still arguing, and they need to stop, but he can’t force the words out. Beside him, Phil jolts. Tommy grips his hand tighter. He doesn’t know if they’re saying anything, can’t hear anything past the ringing.

(a realization, dim and far too late: he really should have tried to get some more sleep)

Schlatt curses. He can hear that, for some reason, loud and clear. And then, he becomes aware of the tether again, aware that the tether is being pulled, is being yanked on, a burst of energy departing from him, energy that he’s fairly sure he might not actually have to give, and—

“Hey, could you all just shut up for two fucking seconds?” Schlatt says, voice almost causal, strong, no longer echoing, and the static clears from his mind and ears, and the room is once again quiet. His hands have begun to shake, and the tether is pulling on his heart, he thinks. He doesn’t have to turn to know that Schlatt stands behind his chair, solid as anything.

His heart is literally fluttering. That might not be good.

“What,” Quackity says, “the fuck.”

And he doesn’t say anything else. Because the god appears, then, hovering over the meeting table, cloak fluttering without wind, twin halos circling their head, and it’s interesting, that he can see those now without straining his mind. The space under their hood no longer appears full of shadows, but rather of the universe itself, a darkness that is not empty, starstuff swirling just out of view.

“Oh, shit, that actually is a god,” Schlatt mutters.

He hears the humming. It bolsters him, a bit, boosts his flagging strength. He takes in a deep breath, and his heart calms, steadies.

He focuses.

“Is hovering over tables the only way you know how to make an entrance?” he asks.

The god’s hood swings his way.

“I asked the universe,” they say. “The universe did not refuse.”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Quackity is muttering under his breath. Eret is staring, jaw slack. Puffy has grabbed onto Sam’s arm. The reactions on his side of the table are less pronounced; Phil and Ranboo have seen the god before, Techno is not one to be impressed without what he considers due reason, and Tommy refuses to be cowed on general principle, though he does hear him and Tubbo both let out a, “Holy shit,” under their breaths, almost in unison.

But Sapnap has risen to his feet, eyes wide.

And George says, “Dream?” His voice does not waver. He sounds curious, confused. Perhaps hopeful.

The god actually seems to still, the motion of their cloak dying down as they turn away from Wilbur and toward the other side of the table.

“Once,” they say, and Wilbur is surprised that they’re answering at all, to be honest. “No longer.” They pause. “He loved you. May yet still, under the corruption that has taken him. I am sorry.”

The god does not know human emotions. The god is not a person in their own right, not really; they are built of the power of a god and little else. But somehow, Wilbur almost believes that they mean it.

Sapnap makes a gasping sound, like air tried to escape his lungs but got caught in his throat. George has sat up straighter in his seat, his whole body leaning toward where the god is hovering. His hands rest on the table, palms facing upward, as if in invitation.

If it is one, the god does not take it.

(DreamXD, Karl called the god, DreamXD, Dream XD, Dream Xed, Dream crossed out, Dream but not, and perhaps this is the cruelest thing he could have done to these two, inviting a facsimile of their friend to hover in front of them, a reminder of what they lost and are not likely to ever have again, because this god could never hope to replace the man that Wilbur remembers from the beginning, the Dream that used to be and will likely never be again)

“I asked the universe,” the god says again, and turns back toward him. “The universe did not refuse. The universe sees you, and the universe would reply.” They pause, allowing that declaration to simmer in the air for a moment. Their voice echoes, and he can hear in that echo the overlay of the song, the tune, the notes that the stars hum reverberating in the world’s atoms. “If I alone were strong enough to exorcise this corruption, he would have done so when we were whole. But you have met with the universe, and the universe would aid me, so that I might aid you.”

His attention is fixed on them. But in his peripheral vision, he sees Sapnap slump back into his seat, face contorted.

(yes, this is the cruelest thing he could have done, bringing their dearest friend’s mirror reflection here)

“And what—” He stops. Wets his lips. His mouth is dry. “And what aid would that be?”

The folds of their cloak stir. A hand emerges, and the hand, too, is darkness-that-is-the-universe, and it is not connected to any arm that he can see. Their fingers splay wide, and then dropping from the air and onto the table, there are two swords. On first glance, they seem to have been forged from diamonds, sparkling blue in the throne room’s flickering firelight, but there are runes crawling up and down the blades and hilts, runes that seem to squirm and dance and shift.

And the runes are lit with starlight. He’s not sure that anyone else can see it. But he knows.

(the runes hum)

“The void is not so easily subsumed,” the god says, “and it is from the void that the corruption comes. But the void is part of the universe even as it exists outside of the universe. Corruption can be destroyed.” The hand gestures to the swords, now lying beneath them on the table. “With great effort, but the universe has joined me in it. These are the result.”

“I’ve never seen runes like those before,” Tubbo breathes, eyes wide. He leans forward, apparently overcoming his wariness. “These can—these can kill a dreamon? Like, actually?”

“The blow must be lethal,” the god says. “But the corruption can be destroyed. You asked me for help. This is all I can offer you.”

“It’s far better than nothing,” he says, and pauses, just to hear the hum, now coming from multiple sources, the swords and the god alike. “Thank you.”

“Do not fail,” the god says, and under any other circumstance, Wilbur might laugh at the words, so stereotypical, like something out of a television show. Do not fail. As if he plans to, as if he would without this prompting. “Do not allow this to be in vain.”

The world folds around them. The air compresses. Just as they appeared, they are vanish again, the only sign of their presence the swords that still glimmer before them all. The atmosphere lightens, the sensation of being watched easing away, like storm clouds dissipating. The god is truly gone, then, and staring at the blades, he’s not sure what to feel. He supposes that he hoped for more, somehow, hoped that the god would have the power to solve the issue for them, that if he could just persuade them to act then their troubles would go away. But it makes sense that they can’t; if the god’s power were enough to destroy a dreamon, then Dream wouldn’t have been possessed in the first place, and none of this would be happening at all.

This is the second best thing. The universe itself has interceded.

(and it’s such a strange thought is something that he never would have thought plausible because the universe does not interfere the universe watches and waits but he has been there in the cradle of the cosmos and felt them watching heard them whisper the stars and the space between and they watch but they watch with love and the universe has not fixed their problems has not made them magically disappear but it has given the means to do it themselves and upon further reflection that is like the universe that is very like the universe and perhaps what it has given them is hope)

“Well, that was enlightnin’,” Techno drawls. “So glad we got all of that cleared up. Can I have one of those fancy swords, or do we need to have a whole argument about this, too?”

“Why the fuck are you being so calm about this?” Quackity says. “Why the fuck—what the fuck even was—and you!” He stands, the motion quick and sharp, and he throws an accusing finger in his—no, in Schlatt’s direction, because the god is gone and he can feel his heart fluttering again, his energy tugged away from him at a rate that should perhaps be considered alarming, and he can sense Schlatt’s presence behind him, solid and breathing. “How are you here, you’re dead, you are so fucking dead, I ate your fucking heart that’s how dead you are, I literally own your, your leg bones, I have your femurs, how are you here, and can you just die again, right now?”

“Aw, did you miss me, honey bear?” Schlatt says.

“No, I hate your fucking guts, I hate you so fucking much, you are—” And he keeps going, and Sapnap has shaken himself out of his stupor enough to glare daggers at—shit, at his fiance’s ex-husband, and that’s a bit messy, isn’t it? And absolutely no one at the table appears pleased that Schlatt is here, even though several people seem to be too focused on absorbing what’s just happened with the literal god to be too concerned at the sudden reappearance of a former dictator, but Quackity continues and Schlatt eggs him on, and Tubbo is a few seats down, swiveled in his chair and staring at Schlatt with an expression that’s impossible to determine

(but that he doesn’t like, doesn’t like the mix of hope and fear and want and disgust, doesn’t like it at all)

and it’s all too much, and his chest hurts. Like it’s too tight. Like his lungs aren’t inflating.

(Schlatt died of a heart attack hated and alone even surrounded as he was he was alone and he died of a heart attack of a)

He glances around the table one last time, hoping for some indication that somebody, anybody, wants this conversation to get back on track. Instead, his gaze lands on Fundy, who is watching Schlatt with shock and open anticipation but very little anger, and somehow, that is what does it, what sends everything boiling over, the fact that his son is looking at Schlatt with a more welcoming expression than he greeted him with.

(and he deserves it he deserves it he knows but)

He never had control here. He has to face that.

He yanks at the tether, pulls with what little strength he has left, and the flow of energy halts, and Schlatt goes translucent mid-sentence.

“Just to be transparent, the bastard’s always around,” he says into the silence, rising from his seat, blinking black spots from his vision. His own voice sounds distant, but clear, at least. “But he literally has to draw from my lifeforce to do that, so that’s enough for now, I think. Please direct your complaints to the empty air rather than me, as I have very little say in where he decides to go poking around, and I probably agree with all of your objections to his general everything in any case.” He leans against the table, and tries not to make it obvious that that’s what’s keeping him upright. “I suggest we conclude our discussion for now, and come back in a few hours to actually formulate a plan based on our new resources.”

He gives it a second, but only waits for one person—Puffy, he thinks, though his vision is swimming—to nod, hesitantly, before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Going anywhere. Anywhere else.

(you lost control of them and you’re losing control of yourself and how long until you have to admit that you never had control in the first place that you claim to be better but don’t even know what that means that the paint really is scraping off and once it’s all gone there will be no more lying to yourself and then where will you be, Wilbur, where will you be)

No one stops him. A few people call out. Schlatt—sounding irritated, but that’s tough; he’s going to have to deal with it—and Tommy, and Phil.

He took a few minutes before the meeting began. To compose himself, to relax. That didn’t work, so he’ll take a few hours. And then get back to it. There’s no choice otherwise, after all. No real rest until this nightmare is over with, whenever that may be.

He ignores the voice that whispers that he’s not going to make it that far. He’s pushed through times like this before.

He can do it again.

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oveliagirlhaditright · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: I read on the Death Note wiki, that Light and L even use different or “opposite/rival” computers (I know for sure that they said L uses apple, and I think they said Light uses Dell? If not, I’ll edit it if someone tells me). So I decided to write a story about it.

Ace It

It had been a long day for everyone at task force headquarters, with once again no leads. L had started the day feeling depressed, and that emotion had only lingered after he and Light had gotten into their fist fight.

Now the two of them were finally retiring to bed for the night—well, Light would be, anyway—but the first thing L heard when he brought out his laptop onto the mattress, was Light laughing hysterically.

And though L certainly didn't want to show it… it made his hair stand on end, as he imagined that the younger man may have finally come up with the perfect way to kill him.

If he were to actually die now, L decided that he wouldn't give his only "friend" the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. No. He would meet his end as stoically as he had anything else in this long, hard life.

"Light-kun," L practically sang; and his own bravado shocked him. "Your eerie laughing right now... isn't doing you any favors in making me think you may not be Kira. So, I recommend you stop doing it. And if you've just simply cracked from the intense and stressful day that we have had, I suggest that you sleep."

That shut Light up. And the college student sent a glare L's way, before he rubbed at his eye in what seemed to be a tired manner. "As if you'll even let me sleep, as you continue to type away loudly on that keyboard of yours," Light said under his breath. But L pretended he hadn't heard him, like Light apparently had hoped he hadn’t.

"I am sorry that I lost it like that, Ryuzaki. I’m just exhausted… And I just noticed for the first time that you use a mac… which is hilarious to me."

L already knew he was going to regret asking Light to elaborate on that, and he was half-tempted to ignore Light’s comment. After all, he’d heard before why so many people put down Apple products. But knowing this was surely some other part of their game, L leveled a glowered in Light’s direction all the same, and asked very coldly, “And why is that, Light-kun?”

And it was at this point—after L had shockingly put his own laptop away—that Light pulled his own out from under the bed, to surely show L why his was the superior model or some such nonsense. L sighed, before running a hand down his face. Why, oh why, had he decided that having a pissing contest with this narcissistic teenager was a good idea?

“Well, they don’t get a good rep. As I’m sure you know. So, I’m surprised the greatest detective in the world would use them. They have that swirly ball of death or whatever. But I can also see why you’d go for them, since they have an easy reset, if you ever wanted to take adventure of that. I’m sure you’d love a soft reset with me, wouldn’t you? Where you could send me back to being Kira again, like you believe I was, and we could completely get back to our passive-aggressive encounters in your eyes. So, yeah: I say no to macs. It’s Dell for me.”

L thought very strongly of not responding to any of that. He was even tempted to pretend to be asleep—or maybe actually try and go to sleep for a change—because he didn’t want to have any bit of this silly conversation… partly because what Light had just said rubbed him the wrong way for some reason. He was certain that Light was insinuating that L would happily say and do things but then erase them, since he’d lied about being his friend.

But L didn’t understand why that should make him feel bad, when all detectives did anything they had to for a case, and since L imagined that Light was planning to do much worse things to him. Probably even now, though he was playing innocent like the best actor in a play… But even so, Light had him feel awful now. Surely because he’d made him doubt his own moral superiority.

L didn’t want to seem like he was angry again. No. That was more Light’s forte, when L finally pushed him far enough. Instead, he huffed and glanced over at Light “tiredly”, as if none of this was really even worth his time. And truly, it wasn’t. "I'll have you know, Light, that I didn't get an apple computer for the easy reset. And, no: I wouldn't want to reset your lousy attitude, even if I had the ability to. Since I, unlike Kira, am not a tyrant. I got it, because I've just had bad luck with Dells for some reason and couldn't be bothered to try them again, okay? It just wasn’t worth the time.

"But if anyone should be accused of anything, it should be your liking Dells because they're easy to operate. The God of the New World wants everything to be easy for his coming reign, doesn’t he? Which is why you'll kill me."

As soon as L had said that, Light was on top of the detective before he could even register it: slamming him into the headboard—which was such an act of violence, it only furthered L’s suspicions—while Light was contrite in another way, in looking away and blushing. "If you have to know everything, ‘Oh, Great Detective’… I like Dells because when I was learning English for the first time—when I was three—I did this ridiculous, 'If you want to get a computer that works well, get a Dell!' skit with a toddler classmate from pre-school. And it's somehow a positive memory for me, okay? So, the thought of Dells have just stayed with me all this time, which is why I buy them. But I do think the programming for them is better. I’m not gonna lie."

Suddenly, L found himself laughing uproariously, as Light stayed atop him. Because leave it to them, to have such a pointless conversation at three in the morning and to get so riled up about it. And it did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Not at all.

As soon as L had begun guffawing, the young man began giggling too. And then he was jostled by both of their movements so much, that Light fell back to his side of the bed with a hand over his face this time, and they both finally calmed down.

"We're morons, aren't we? Not unlike Matsuda-san, I suppose,” L finally asked the golden question, as he peered over at Light for just a second—imagining a different future for them if things could be different. “Despite everything, we don't like our chosen PC companies because we’re trying to spite each other, but because we simply must complement each other in every way, I guess. Who knows? Maybe in some life, it is complimenting and we don’t even hurt each other like we do here.”

“Maybe so,” Light agreed wistfully. And after saying so, Light swiftly fell asleep. And L couldn’t even find it within himself to be jealous of how the land of dreams came so easily to Light Yagami anymore.

Unbeknownst to the other… the next day, the both of them would decide to buy acer products from now on—for a certain reason that neither would ever tell the other one.

#lawlight #oneshot #canon #canon compliant #yotsuba arc #can be seen as platonic or romantic really #my writing #Shanna writes #mine #my work

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lilacivories · 4 years ago

Text

caught red-handed

characters: Diego, Klaus, Allison

pairing(s): none

summary: Diego and Allison catch Klaus going through Allison’s things again and decide that a suitable punishment is in order

word count: 1979

––––––––––––––––

When Diego passed by Allison’s room, what he didn’t expect to hear was thumping, shuffling, and swearing in a voice that definitely wasn’t his sister’s.

His curiosity successfully piqued, Diego backtracked.

Of course, the villain in question was Klaus, who was squirming around in Allison’s closet like a fish out of water. From the looks of it, he was struggling to detach one of the skirts from its hanger. Among the cursing, Diego was able to hear some mutterings, presumably towards Ben.

“You’re gonna tear it if you keep pulling like that, y’know.”

Klaus yelped and spun his head around, his hands remaining on the hanger. “Diego!” he said with a grin. “What a surprise! Oh, and what a prize I’ve found here. Won’t you give me a hand, oh dearest brother?”

Diego moved closer, wondering what could possibly be hindering him (besides the height of the clothing rack, which was honestly ridiculous). It was only then that he saw what looked like a pair of handcuffs attached to the clothing rack that had Klaus’s wrists in their grip, hidden between two of the skirts Klaus had been attempting to pilfer.

Diego couldn’t help but smirk. “What in the hell did you do to yourself?”

“It wasn’t me!” Klaus insisted. “Allison must’ve set up some damn booby trap and now I’m stuck!” He pulled again on the cuffs, but they held fast, and effectively kept his arms restrained above his head. “Diego, help me!”

“I dunno, man,” Diego shrugged, unable to wipe the smile from his face, “you kinda deserve it. Allison did tell you to stay away from her stuff.” He took another look at his brother. “Are you already wearing one of her skirts?”

Klaus shimmied his hips so that the knee-length skirt swung around invitingly. “Yeah, but she’s loaded! She can afford a million of these, and I’m out here having to steal to get by in the fashion world! It’s a capitalist scheme, is what it is!”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making claims like that.”

Klaus kicked a leg out at him. “Oh, shut up and let me out of here.”

Thanks to years of practice, Diego deftly caught the offending leg and held it by the ankle. “You’re also not in the position to be threatening the only person who can help you right now.” Klaus was only wearing socks, so it certainly wouldn’t have hurt Diego in any case, but the idea of tormenting his brother was always on the table.

“No no no!” Klaus struggled to break Diego’s grip in vain. “Let go! Ben, he-elp!” The last word broke off as a squeal when Diego squeezed the spot just above his knee over and over.

“This is almost too easy,” Diego gloated over the laughter pouring out of his brother. “I’m barely doing anything to you!”

“Shut up!” Klaus struggled for footing on the one leg he had at his disposal, and that combined with his high-pitched laugh and scrunched nose had Diego laughing, too.

“Looks like my idea was a success.”

Diego dropped Klaus’s leg at the voice from behind him. Allison was standing in the doorway, eyebrow cocked and arms crossed, looking very pleased with herself.

Feeling a bit abashed at having been caught, Diego cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I’m kind of impressed, they’re holding really well. Where did you get them?”

Allison walked in to stand beside Number 2, sparing Klaus an amused glance as she replied. “I told Pogo that a certain someone was sneaking into my room and going through my personal things. He seemed particularly interested in catching...” She looked pointedly at Klaus, “...whoever it is, so he and Mom made those for me to attach to the inside of my closet. Pretty hi-tech, huh?”

Klaus took the opportunity to try and weasel his way out of the prison of his own making. “Allison! Please, save me! All I wanted was to bond with you over our mutual love of fashion, and Diego’s been torturing me!”

Diego and Allison caught each other’s eye. “Is that so?” Allison asked.

“Yes, it’s been just awful! You’ve got to get me out of here!”

Allison feigned innocence. “What was he doing that was so awful?”

Diego almost laughed at the sight of Klaus, strung up and helpless, open and close his mouth like a gaping fish at the question. “What?” he finally squeaked.

“What was Diego doing to you?”

It was always a pleasure to see Klaus at a loss for words, and this time was no exception. All he could answer, after a short silence, was: “Nothing!”

“Nothing?” Allison asked. She took a step towards him; the click of her heels on the floor was intimidating all on its own. “So if Diego wasn’t doing anything, that means that...you lied to me.”

“I– I– I mean–”

“And it means,” she continued, “that you have not yet been properly punished for going through my things without permission.” Her smile was pure evil. “So I think that this calls for a double punishment. Don’t you, Diego?”

Diego’s grin matched hers. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“W-wait, we can talk about this– Nonono, not that!”

Diego looked over to find what had Klaus so riled up and panicky. He was thrilled to find that the source of his brother’s fears were Allison’s long, pristine yellow nails that she was hovering dangerously over his bare sides.

“Looks like your crop top backfired this time, bro,” Diego chuckled, giving him a warning prod at his ribs, which Klaus shrieked at.

Allison considered this. “Or maybe he’s exactly where he wants to be.” Then she grinned at Klaus. “Any last words?”

“Yes, I’d like to exact my right to filibuster–”

The moment Allison’s nails touched down on his sides, he was gone; he threw his head back and laughed his heart out. Her technique was gentle and slow– yet unrelenting, following Klaus’s desperate twisting with ease.

“I didn’t know you’d like my nails so much!” she taunted. Klaus responded with a loud snort when she dragged her nails over where his sides met his lower back and tickled there. “Oh my god– Diego, you gotta look at him.”

Diego left his position from behind their victim, where he had been pinching his upper ribs, to see what she was talking about.

“Oh my god. You’re blushing?”

Klaus, still laughing, shook his head. It was too late, however, as it was very clear to everyone that his ears and cheeks were a glaring pink that only grew darker with the attention.

“He definitely is.”

“Shuhut the hell uhup!” Klaus insisted. “You’re so meaheahean!”

“Ooo.” Diego clucked and shook his head. ��And we were even thinking of letting you off easy.” He considered it, and then decided to go for the kill. “Say, Allison, I think you could put those nails of yours to good use right...here.” He gave Klaus’s belly a poke.

The reaction from both was immediate. Allison’s eyes filled with a maniacal energy that neither of them had ever seen before; she flexed her fingers at Klaus in warning, letting that one action do all of the talking for her.

Klaus, on the other hand, was begging, as if for his life. He thrashed in his bonds, tried to back up as much as possible with his legs, but one push from Diego behind him brought him right back to square one.

“Nonononono, Allison, wait, don’t– wait! Ahallison, this isn’t fair! Do you want a new skirt, I can do that! I just need some time– AAH!”

He couldn’t have been more vulnerable to her every move. Her long nails touched down on the soft skin of his belly and dragged themselves up to his ribs, then all the way back down and around. Allison looked very proud of herself indeed when she discovered that spidering her nails into his belly had Klaus caught between hiccuping, snorting (which he seemed to get bashful about, because he turned a new shade of pink every time he did so), and cackling hysterically.

Diego, meanwhile, had found a home at that horrible, awful spot under his arms just above the tops of his ribs, and dug into it with vigor. Klaus’s writhing was sometimes so vehement that he had to duck out of the way, but he always came back to it because he knew how much it wrecked his poor brother.

After some time, they gave him a break.

“So,” Allison prompted, “are you sorry?”

Klaus, to his credit, recovered faster than expected, and after a minute was able to respond, “You know I can’t apologize for art.”

Allison quirked an eyebrow at him. “Would you like to apologize for breaking and entering?”

Klaus considered this. “Well, really, you never close your door, so in a way, it’s kind of your fault!”

Diego scoffed. “You’re really asking for it this time, huh?”

“I’m just saying, I think she should be okay with sharing if she’s not even gonna shut her door all the way!”

Allison was finished listening, however. She put an arm around Klaus’s waist; her oversensitive brother jumped, and was already biting back a smile as she effectively kept him from wriggling away.

“That was the wrong answer,” she said. Then, with just her pointer finger, she started drawing maddening little circles around his navel, occasionally moving to tickle inside of it before returning to the outer edge.

Klaus pretty much went ballistic at this, writhing so much in her grasp that Diego had to step in and attempt to keep him still while she continued.

“Oh my god,” Allison laughed. “You are actually the most ticklish person on the entire planet.”

“Nohohoho!” Klaus wailed. “Dohon’t! Stohohop it!”

“Don’t stop?” Diego teased, and gave his sides a few squeezes where he was holding him still.

“Pleaheahease!”

“Please don’t stop,” Allison corrected. “Good to see he’s finally learning some manners, at least.” With her free hand, she spidered her nails on the underside of his belly, at the oversensitive strip of skin between his hips; she and Diego both laughed at the full-body thrash Klaus did that looked like more like a weird dance move than anything else.

“Okay! Okay!” Klaus cried. “I’m– I’m sahaharry!”

His sister only continued, putting on a faux-confused look. “I don’t think I know that word. Do you, Diego?”

“Can’t say I do.”

Klaus shook his head wildly. “Nahahaa! I cahan’t! I can’t! I cahahan’t!”

At long last, the two relented.

“So, what was that you said before, Klaus?” Allison prompted.

Klaus panted, still giggling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I’m sorry!”

“Damn,” Diego chuckled. “I think you actually broke him. I’ve never heard him apologize before.”

Allison made a show of blowing on her nails. “These bad boys never fail.”

Diego checked on their victim, who seemed to be loopy with unending giggles. “You alright there, man?”

“That...was wild.”

“Oh!” Allison jumped up. “I just remembered one other thing that drove him wild when we were kids.”

Without so much as a warning, Allison blew a big, silly raspberry into Klaus’s ribs. Klaus snorted and shrieked and kicked his legs, and then it was over.

Allison pulled a remote control from her jacket pocket and pressed a button; the cuffs released Klaus, who would have collapsed on the floor if not for Diego standing by to catch him and help ease him to lie down on the bed.

“You had that the entire time?” Klaus demanded, though it wasn’t a very serious inquiry with his absurd smile.

She shrugged. “Of course I did. I just needed to remind you who’s in charge here.”

Klaus swore and fell back on the bed. He couldn’t wait to see if he could find anything else in Allison’s closet in a few days.

#tua #mine #klaus #ticklish!klaus #diego #allison #2 #3 #4

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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

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Boy in Luv (Midoriya x Reader)

Pairing: Midoriya x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff/crack

Summary: Midoriya has a crush on a girl in his class, but he has no idea how to confess to her, enlisting the help of his two good friends.

Inspo: Based on BTS “Boy in Luv” MV

Word count: 1,802

Tags: @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak @yuki-osaki

a/n: As promised, here’s the post! And with this, I’ve officially added Midoriya to the list of characters in the Touch Starved collection.

Enjoy the cuteness and, mostly, the crackhead friendship between the main 3 characters! And even though I’m really late, happy 6th anniversary to Skool Luv Affair!

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki sit on the front stoop of their dorm building, enjoying the good weather since it was raining the past few days. They've been practicing all day and decided to take a break and snack together.

Midoriya munches on his stick of string cheese. "Do you guys get the math stuff? I'm still having trouble with integrals and stuff."

"Tch, you're falling behind again, Deku," Bakugou scoffs, ripping open a bag of spicy chips.

Todoroki, the only one of them who decides to snack healthy with some fruit, chews for a moment before offering, "I can help you if you're stuck, Midoriya."

"Like you're any better, Icyhot. You went completely frozen trying to figure out that problem in class yesterday," Bakugou points out smugly.

"I was simply calculating the answer mentally before writing down my work," Todoroki answers, cool and collected as ever.

"Don't make me laugh! Just admit that you can be dumb sometimes too!"

Midoriya laughs awkwardly, stuck between his two friends as they argue - more like one of them screaming while the other brushes them off calmly. The boy raises his eyes out to the distance, widening his eyes at what, or who , he sees.

The girl jogs towards the dorm building with Yaoyorozu beside her. Her face lights up into a smile at whatever they're talking about. A black windbreaker jacket is thrown over her golden honey colored sports bra that shows off her lean abdomen, and black leggings with a matching yellow stripe tracing down the side hugs her toned legs. Midoriya doesn't want to admit it, but he can't stop staring.

The two girls slow to a stop in front of the group of still-bickering boys. "My, they're always fighting, aren't they?" Yaoyorozu shakes her head.

The girl lets out a few chuckles. "That's just how they are, I'd be more surprised if they stopped, honestly." She turns to the green-haired boy and offers him a beaming smile, her eyes crinkling up. "You still holding up, Midoriya?"

At first he's dazed, staring at the way her chest heaves as she breathes and the thin sheen of sweat on her face glistening in the fading afternoon light. At his name, he sobers up and his cheeks flush from what he was staring at. "Oh, uh, yeah, somehow," he sputters. "Did you guys just come back from training?"

"Yeah, we had a pretty good session." She stretches her arms over her head, letting a few hums of pain escape her. "I'd love a good shower and my bed right about now, but I still have homework to do. See you tomorrow!"

The boy watches as the girls retreat back into the building. I never thought yellow would look good on someone besides Kaminari, he finds himself thinking.

"Midoriya, are you okay?" Todoroki's concerned voice scatters his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Your cheeks are red and hot like you have a fever." The heterochromatic haired boy leans forward, about to touch his face. "Are you coming down with something?"

"No, you clueless idiot, he's in love," Bakugou barks, "He's got the hots for (Y/n)."

Midoriya jolts up. "Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe not to Icyhot, but yeah, you look at her like she's your entire world or something."

The boy's emerald eyes drop to the ground and he hugs his knees to his chest. "She's a really down to Earth person, and she's really easy to talk to. And...the way her smile lights up her entire face." His goofy smile and warm feelings fade as he sinks his head down to rest on his knees. "I don't really know how I should tell her though."

Todoroki takes a bite of his orange slice, pondering the situation. "Give her a lamp? Since you said she lights up easily?"

Both boys shoot him a confused glance. "I don't think that would impress her." Midoriya gives it a thought. "She likes coffee, maybe I can get her a thermos for the morning?"

"Give her a new set of pens, she has a bad habit of always losing her own."

"Maybe buy her a new pencil case to match?"

"Buy a plant for her dorm to brighten it up, like a cactus."

Bakugou finally throws his head back and groans at their stupidity. "You guys are such idiots! Neither of you know the first damn thing about romance?"

The two other boys slowly shake their heads dumbly

The ash blond groans again. "Okay, let me tell you what you should do, Deku, since you're obviously clueless." After explaining a somewhat elaborate plan to the two other boys, he leans back, a triumphant grin on his face.

Midoriya's eye widen, blush coating his cheeks again at the thought of the scenario unfolding. "Wow Kacchan, I never expected you to be a romantic."

"Yeah, it's because you idiots are totally clueless. You need me to educate you."

"If you're so good, why are you still single?" Todoroki asks simply.

Silence.

"SHUT UP ICYHOT! DON'T MAKE ME KILL YOU!"

Two days later, the three boys decide to go through with Bakugou's scheme. After class, Bakugou silently follows the girl, waiting for her to stop talking to the rest of the girls to get her alone. After spending an annoyingly long amount of time outside their classroom talking to Mina and Tzuyu, she finally bids them goodbye and makes her way to the library to study.

Unfortunately for her, she never makes it.

Just before she opens the door, she notices a shadow looming behind her. Turning around, she's startled to have Bakugou's piercing crimson eyes boring into her's. She backs into the door and he slams an arm by her head. She's shaking like a leaf. "W-What do you want, Bakugou? I didn't do anything to you." Despite trying to seem strong, her voice comes out feebly.

A sinister smirk crawls across Bakugou's face. "How'd you like to go on a little trip?"

Before she can scream bloody murder, he grabs her arm and pulls her away on a little "joyride."

Meanwhile, Todoroki and Midoriya move all the chairs and desks of an empty classroom towards the walls to make a clear space in the middle.

The nervous, freckle-faced boy nervously paces around the room, going over the lines in his head while his fears wreck his quivering body. "I can't do this, Todoroki! What if she says no? What if she laughs at me?! What if she tells everyone?! I'll be absolutely humiliated!"

"Midoriya, calm down," he stares at the jittery boy with a level gaze. "Bakugou said he's very confident this will work. He's sure she also harbors feelings for you too." He places a warm hand on Midoriya's shoulder to stop his anxious habit. "Besides, since she likes you, she would appreciate your nervous stuttering because she would find it endearing and think it's genuine of you. Sounding too practiced ruins the natural anxiety of the moment."

The boy stares back the Todoroki's stoic expression, letting his words sink in. "So I need to make sure I don't overpractice or else she'll still reject me?" he whines.

The half-hot-half-cold boy sighs, being cut off by his phone ringing. "It's Bakugou, he says they'll be here shortly. And he says, 'Don't mess this up, Deku.'"

The boy cries out, feeling his entire body suddenly lose all heat to hysterical cold. Todoroki turns off the lights and closes the window shades, plunging the room into darkness only to light the few candles scattered across the room, casting a dim golden ambiance.

For the final step, Todoroki produces a single rose out of the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. Walking over to Midoriya, who's mumbling strings of inaudible, neurotic fears to himself, he juts the rose out in front of him, cutting off his speech. "Relax, Midoriya. Just say what comes naturally."

Midoriya blinks, delicately holding the rose by the stem, Todoroki moving to stand behind the door to be out of the way. The smaller boy feels sweaty, shaky, sick. His uniform tie is suffocating around his throat, stomach heavy in anticipation and fear, heart hammering in his chest and ears.

Finally, the door swings open and his heart almost stops completely.

Bakugou walks in first, holding the girl by the arm. The first thing Midoriya notices about her is her insanely windblown hair and dazed eyes. Bakugou said he would take her out on a ride around school, hitching her on his back, jumping out a window, and using his quirk to rocket them around the school building once. He says it would get her blood pumping, adrenaline rushing, and cheeks blushing; the perfect primer for riling her up for the big finale.

"Take it away, nerd," Bakugou makes a dramatic sweep of his hands towards Midoriya, and he knows it's his turn to shine.

The girl blinks back into focus and surveys the layout of the room, scanning the messily pushed around desks, the candles, and finally resting on the boy with the rose in his hands. Her blush intensifies at the last thing. "M-Midoriya, what's all this for?"

The boy goes cold all over again, perfomance anxiety getting to him. "I... Uh, (Y/n)- You-" All the different ways he could possibly start his monologue jumbles together to produce a mishmash of word vomit. Pull yourself together, don't mess this up! He takes a deep breath in and clears his throat to start over. Whatever comes natural. "(Y/n), you are the most amazing, bright, fun, cute person I know. Just seeing you smile makes my day and manages to tongue-tie me. I'd really like to be...more than friends." He holds out the flower with both shaky hands and dares to look in her eyes. "W-Will you...go out with me?"

Her silence seems to last agonizingly forever. Her entire face seems to lift as she flickers back and forth between the boy and the flower he clutches to keep from coming undone. She finds it endearing. In a swift movement, she gently grips his hand, leans in close, and places a kiss on his freckled cheek. "Yes, I'd love to go out with you, Midoriya."

The boy lets out a strangled yelp of excitement, before slapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm just really happy!" Sheepish chuckles bubble out as he throws his arms around her, and she welcomes his embrace with her own delighted laughter.

The other boys look on at the scene before them. "The nerd did better than I thought he would've," Bakugou mumbles, shoving his hands in his slack pockets.

"At least his confession was accepted. Don't know what would happen if you tried this, though," Todoroki comments, his dig smoothly executed.

Bakugou grips the boy's shirt. "YOU WANNA DIE ICYHOT?!"

#midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #midoriya fluff #crack #mha #bnha #izuku midoriya #midoriya imagine #midoriya scenario #mha deku #bnha deku #female reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bts boy in luv

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live-laugh-lesbian80083 · 3 years ago

Text

Jazz Band Jazz

Summary: Evan heads over to his girlfriend, Zoe’s house to hang out. Zoe teaches him how to play guitar and things get a little spicy

Word count: 1,526

Warnings: gets a little smutty, swearing

Requested: nope

Please do NOT copy, rewrite, or translate onto another site. Permission will not be given if asked for it.

—

Zoe was peacefully strumming her guitar while playing one of her favorite songs, Unruly Heart from The Prom. It was one of the first songs she ever learned on her guitar. It may have taken her months of practice but once it was perfected, she sounded like an Angel. She was quietly humming the lyrics to herself when the doorbell rang. She carefully tossed her guitar onto her bed before jumping up and throwing open her bedroom door to see Connor already opening it.

"Zoe! Your boy to-" Connor started "Didn't know you were standing there. Evan's here"

"I can see that." Zoe commented as she sped down the stairs to greet Evan. Once she finally met with Evan, she greeted him with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek "hi babe."

"Hey babe." Evan replied, the couple earning a gagging noise from Connor.

"Let's go up to my room. Shall we?" Zoe asked, sticking her arm out for Evan to take.

"We shall." Evan said, linking arms with his girlfriend.

They made their way up the stairs, laughing at each other's clumsiness along the way. Zoe led Evan down a short hallway and into her bedroom. She then shut the door and noticed Evan eyeing her guitar. She smiled to herself and snuck up behind him, throwing her arms around his waist.

"Whatcha lookin at?" She questioned innocently.

"Your guitar." He replied, not taking his eyes off the wooden masterpiece before him.

"Want me to teach you how to play it? It's really not that hard." Zoe said, releasing Evan and jumping onto her bed and taking the guitar into her lap.

"I- I mean I'd love to but I've never even touched a guitar before." Evan commented, watching Zoe as she placed her fingers onto the strings

"Come on. It's so easy! Just try it." Zoe insisted.

"Alright fine. But if I make your ears bleed, that's on you." Evan commented, taking the guitar from Zoe.

"Only Jared could do that." She snickered

"True that." Evan replied, making a face which caused Zoe to burst out into a fit of laughter.

Zoe's laugh is what keeps Evan in check. It sounds like pure sunlight and sweet milk chocolate. It has the ability to make anyone in the room smile. It's contagious. But the person who catches the joy first is always Evan. Once he hears the start of her laugh, he immediately breaks out into a place of pure joy. His heart warms up to the perfect temperature, making him become overwhelmed with a warm fuzzy feeling. Then his smile breaks through. It's soft and welcoming, something anyone could get used to. Evan's smile is what keeps Zoe on her toes. It's bright and warm and something that takes effort to get out. But once you earn the right to see his true and genuine smile, it changes you. It makes you think about the good things in life. The things that matter. All of your worries melt away and you for once focus on right then and there.

Zoe proceeded to teach Evan the basics of guitar. He quickly got the hang of it, finding it was similar to typing on a keyboard. His fingers moved swiftly along the frets and strings. After thirty minutes of learning chords, Zoe showed him how to play one of his favorite songs, Birds by Thomas Sanders Feat. Terrence William Jr. He pushed through the pain coursing through his fingertips because of holding the strings. After forcing himself to finish the song for an hour or so, he finished the song. During his last run through of the song, Zoe snuck a quick video of him. She smirked to herself as she posted it onto her social media and sent it to him. He got the notification and looked up at his girlfriend, trying to pull his smile back.

"Why are you looking at me like that." Zoe commented, smirking but hiding it with her hands

"What do you mean?" Evan asked

"You looking at me funny." She chuckled

"Am not!" He exclaimed, taking the guitar off his lap and putting it to the side

"Are too!" Zoe giggled

Evan scowled playfully and stood up, turning his back on Zoe. That was a mistake. She pounced onto his back, attacking him with tickles. He fell onto the floor in a fit of laughter, begging Zoe to stop. She didn't. That was also a mistake. Once he got a hold of himself. He flipped the two of them over so he sat over her (Oh god this sounds sexual. I swear it's not lol.) and watched her facial expression go from beaming with joy to perplexed with his actions. He pinned her arms down so she can't attack him any further and smirked. Evan then leaned down and passionately kissed Zoe. She melted into the kiss. Evan's never kissed her like that before. Where did all this dominance come from?

All of the sudden, they hear Zoe's door swing open. The couple snaps their gazes to the door to lay their eyes on Connor. Both their faces were overcome with a deep red as they quickly scampered away from each other. Connor found himself smirking at the sight. His little sister was making out with his best friend. And he walked in on them. Both of them are embarrassed beyond belief, trying to think of a way to cover the situation.

"Connor, it's not what it looks like." Zoe called out.

"Oh it's exactly what it looks like." Connor smirked.

"I swear it's not." Zoe defended.

"It totally is. I'm gonna go tell Cynthia and Larry!" Connor yelled "Cynthiaaaaaa!"

Zoe ran over to Connor and slapped her hands onto his mouth while Evan just sat on the floor trying not to freak out. What the hell just happened? He just went full dom on Zoe. Because of a goddamn tickle fight! But why is he getting riled up over a dom moment you ask? No idea. He's just never done it before and it's something he never saw himself doing.

"You keep your mouth shut Connor." Zoe snared.

"And if I don't?" Connor questioned through Zoe's hand.

"I'll tell mom and dad about your Newsies obsession." Zoe threatened.

"Alright! Fine! Now let me out of this sex hole!" Connor agreed.

"It's not a sex hole!" Zoe exclaimed.

"Wait, since when have you liked Newsies?" Evan asked curiously.

"For fucks sake-" Connor swore, running his fingers through his dark hair.

"I caught him dancing to seize the day once." Zoe snickered, enjoying making her older brother embarrassed for it rarely ever happens.

"You dance?" Evan questioned

~Flashback brought to you by The Most Amazing Trees~

As Zoe came home from school one day, she heard a soft beat flowing through the house. Curiously, she followed the sound throughout the whole house. It led her to the basement door. She carefully opened it, trying to not stop whatever she was about to interrupt. Zoe silently made her way down the steep set of stairs, trying to figure out the source of the music. Connor's supposed to be home by now. So is Cynthia. Maybe it's one of them. No, this seems way too theatrical for it to be either of them. Who could it be?

As she reached the edge of the stairs, she recognized the music. It's Newsies The Musical. Okay. Now this is really weird. Zoe's the only one who listens to Newsies in the Murphy household. Did she accidentally leave her speaker on when she left the house this morning? Well, we're about to find out. She continued to follow the sound till she heard a large thud. She whipped back around the corner and hid behind a wall. The music continued. No more thudding. After waiting for a moment, she continued the journey to find the culprit of the music.

Once it felt safe, she fully turned the corner once again, to find Connor jumping around the hardwood floors. She immediately broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. Seeing her older brother in all of his angsty teenager glory prancing around the basement while listening to Newsies is something she never expected to see in her lifetime. Connor froze after hearing Zoe's laugh as his face turned beat red. His fists clenched into tight balls as he turned to face his very amused younger sibling.

"What the fuck are you doing here." Connor yelled.

"I-I heard music coming from the basement so I investigated." Zoe stuttered.

"You did your stupid little investigation. Now he the hell out!" Connor exclaimed, sending Zoe scrambling back up the stairs.

~Flashback Over~

"Do you still remember the choreography?" Evan questioned.

"Oh my god-" Connor exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air while storming out of Zoe's room.

There was a moment of silence before the couple bursted out into a hysterical fit of laughter. God, isn't Connor just the best?

#dear evan hansen #zoe murphy #evan hansen #zoevan #deh fanfic #dear Evan Hansen fanfic #jazz band jazz #dear evan hansen x reader

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kairi-chan · 5 years ago

Note

"Did that person just take a picture of us?" is GOLD for including in Hold you down

Title: Sip and Click

Genre: Romance / Fluff / Humor

Rating: T

Co-written with @ss-tyytyy

Written for @borusaraweek2020 D7: Coffee, Princess

A/N: Warning!! This has some spoilers for the canon fics! But I guess you guys have already seen this coming. Lol.

...

With the news of Sarada and Hōki’s breakup out, Boruto felt like he could finally breathe easy. It had been two weeks of Sarada barely leaving her condo when she wasn’t shooting, and spending a week going home to her parents’ house, making it look like she was trying to get a hold of herself again after their split.

What a load of bullshit. As if Sarada needed “time and space to heal” when it was supposed to be a mutual decision on their part to “split up.”

Hōki made it look like he was hurt—for about a day—until he started posting photos with his new female lead, shaping up to look like a new love interest.

Boruto missed Sarada and when she was finally set to come back home to her condo, he was happy to have her back in his arms and to sleep with her again. As much as he wanted to spend the day indoors, Sarada was getting antsy, wanting to go out for a cup of coffee and cake. She had been stuck at home for two weeks, it was understandable but still risky.

“You’re supposed to be heartbroken, princess,” Boruto reasoned, careful not to rile her up about it.

“Well… I’m not.” Sarada stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to move on with my life already.”

Boruto couldn’t argue with those two points. Sarada certainly wasn’t the type to sit around and mope over a guy who wasn’t even great. “Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed and got up from the couch. “Fine, cake and coffee?”

“Yes.” She brightened instantly, dropping her arms before closing the distance between them and hugging him around his waist. “Thank you.”

He chuckled lightly and hugged her back, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Anything for you, princess.”

Boruto drove them to a coffee shop halfway across town. Not only because it’s what Sarada wanted, but also because it was the most private. Despite being located in the business district, it had a homey and dainty feel to the place, decorated with white wood and comfy couches. They also served one of the best strawberry cakes in the city.

Sarada was nearly bouncing on her feet in excitement and he couldn’t blame her at all. It had been a while since they both came to visit. He had already called in advance, reserving a particular nook in the cafe wherein the couch faced a wall, back turned against everyone else inside. The backrest wasn’t high enough to hide their faces but if Sarada wanted to cuddle—and no doubt she would want to—her head would be hidden and only his shirt’s collar until the top of his blond head would be seen. Sarada slipped into the couch first and Boruto followed suit.

As soon as they were both seated, Sarada scooted closer to Boruto and wrapped both her arms around his left which was closest to her. “Is this… a date?”

His eyes widened by the smallest bit but a light blush and a large bright grin cracked on his face. “Y-yeah it is.” If Boruto knew earlier she wanted this to be a date, he would have had flowers sent here in advance. Perhaps he could have it sent to her house to surprise her when they were back.

“Ooh. I was worried we wouldn’t get another date.” She sighed, but a soft smile was gracing her lips. “The first one was beautiful. I want more dates.”

What? “My princess wants dates? She will get all the dates she wants,” Boruto declared.

“Next time, I want to go to the beach and have a picnic… at night.” Sarada told him, already excited about the idea of more dates to come.

“Night picnics on the beach. Got it,” Boruto nodded, interlacing their fingers together and rubbing his nose on hers. “How about ghost hunting, too?” He smirked, a devilish smile on his face.

Sarada shuddered and pulled away from him as if he’d wounded her. “I hate you!” She pouted, turning her face away from him. He knew well how much she hated scary things.

He laughed and tickled her side, making her lighten up a little bit. “Aw, come on, I’ll protect you! And you can cling on to me as much as you like, ya know?”

“No.” She huffed but laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m not,” that grin on his face was starting to look permanent. God, he missed her so much. Having her leaning on him and teasing her again made him feel so happy.

The waiter came around and handed them a menu. Boruto didn’t even need to take a look, he already knew what they wanted. After the waiter took their order, he scurried away to have it placed and finally, they were alone again.

He pressed his lips to her temple and took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” She whispered back, moving her hand to cling onto his shirt. “I don’t like dating other people.”

“I’m the only one you’ve ever dated,” he grinned cheekily. Although Boruto knew what Sarada meant, he couldn’t help but tease her.

“Yeah… but nobody knows that. Everybody thinks it’s Hōki and not you.” Sarada sighed sadly. She didn’t like lying, even if it was necessary. She would have liked nothing more than being able to tell the world that Boruto owned her heart.

“I know,” his smile fell by the smallest bit and he rubbed her back soothingly. “As long as we know how we feel about each other, the rest of the world doesn’t matter.”

Sarada tilted her head back, gazing at him with a look of pure adoration in her eyes. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” Boruto leaned down to capture her lips in a light and chaste kiss. It lasted way too short for her liking, and he barely pulled away when he heard a familiar sound.

Click.

His eyes widened, gaze shifting to the other side of the cafe. There weren't any big professional cameras, but there was a phone and it was pointed right at them.

“Oh fuck,” Boruto cursed, gaze pointedly staring at the girl. She hastily put her phone away and sipped her drink, wanting to look innocent.

“What?” Sarada asked softly, knowing that look on his face. “Did they take a photo?”

“They did.” Although his voice was low, it was lethal. “Shit. Mitsuki is going to kill me.” Boruto sat back down on the couch and slumped down on it, arms crossing against his chest. He knew this was going to happen but getting caught like that has got to be a new idiotic record. Even for him.

“Let me out.”

“What?” Boruto quirked a brow up. “Why?”

“I’ll take care of it.” She said simply, patting his leg under the table.

“Wh-what?” His arms fell to his side, jaw slack. “What do you mean you’ll take care of it?” He sat up, blocking her way out of the couch. There was no way he was going to let Sarada out of the couch.

Sarada narrowed her dark eyes on him. “Boruto, let me up. I can handle this easily. Look at this face, nobody can refuse me.” She said, giving him a bout of puppy dog eyes.

Boruto bit his lower lip, eyes growing wide. He wouldn’t budge to those big beautiful black eyes and her adorable pouty lips. No. He would absolutely not—he slid out of the couch and stood up, holding her hand to help her out. Once Sarada was on her feet, he slapped a hand to his forehead. “Fuck me,” He muttered. Boruto was too weak against her and he really should’ve known better.

“Later,” Sarada whispered, patting him on his chest before brushing past him and heading for the girl who was still sipping her drink and giving Sarada a side-eye, looking stunned to be approached by her.

Sarada smiles warmly at the girl and they exchanged a few words that he couldn’t hear. The two of them smiled and giggled as the girl showed Sarada her phone and even let Sarada hold it. After a couple moments, Sarada accepted a pen and notebook from the girl, giving her autograph before waving Boruto over.

The blond felt a wave of anxiety rush over him, but he put on a charming smile and confidently walked over to the two, beaming at the young girl. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The girl replied meekly and Sarada giggled, moving to stand by his side.

“We’re going to take a proper picture for her,” Sarada explained.

“Oh,” Boruto blinked. That wasn’t… what he expected. At all. “Sure, why not.” He grinned, despite not knowing what the hell Sarada was up to.

The girl was beside herself with glee, Boruto could practically see the stars in her eyes.

Sarada smiled brightly, leaning close against him as she would any time while the girl took the photo.

“Thank you so much.” She cooed, showing them both the picture she’d taken.

“You’re welcome. Much better.” Sarada approved. “Thank you for your support.”

The girl was nearing hysterics as Sarada took Boruto’s hand and pulled him back to their table. She settled in and smiled at finding her coffee hot and waiting. She hummed in delight after a much-needed sip.

“What just…” Boruto stared at her in disbelief. “What just happened?” He still couldn’t believe Sarada had approached a fan and offered to have their photo taken.

“Oh, she was really sweet. Big fan, said we were her OTP. She let me delete the other photo and since she was so nice about it, I agreed to take one that was safer.”

He blinked once. Twice. “We’re her OTP?” The following and number of comments Boruto got whenever he posted a photo of Sarada on his social media should have been enough to convince him. But seeing it live was a completely different experience. “You mean… she’s a BoruSara fan?”

“Yes. Very much. She promised not to even post the picture—and I believe her.” Sarada giggled and rubbed his thigh affectionately. “It’s nice to know that, even if we’re not publicly official, there are lots of people supporting us.”

The corner of his lips curled up and he looked back to see the girl giggling away on her phone. Boruto chuckled and kissed Sarada’s cheek. “I’m happy to know that, too, princess.”

“Boruto,” Sarada cooed, leaning closer to nuzzle her nose against his neck and then whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Boruto wound an arm around her shoulders and picked up his coffee, taking a long and satisfying sip.

Nothing in this world was better than having a good cup of coffee, the love of his life wrapped up in his arms, and a public relations crisis averted.

#borusara #borusaraweek2020 #borusaraweek2020D7 #boruto #sarada #boruto uzumaki #sarada uchiha #hold you down #HYD #actress AU #manager AU #boruto fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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sheerfreesia007 · 4 years ago

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Sparring headcanon

Mitch - Mitch loves sparring with you. He loves watching as you try to beat him but know you can’t. Sometimes he’ll play with you taunting you to try and beat him. He’ll give you the false hope of actually getting close to beating him before he flips you onto your back and leans over you smirking saying “Better luck next time gorgeous.” before walking out to take a shower.

Marcus - Marcus was surprised when you expressed interest in sparring with him. He’s delighted though and sets it all up so that the two of you can go use the office workout room since it’s much nicer than the ones at your local gym. He at first goes easy on you but you prove to him that you can take it and he quickly finds out that you’re a fast learner. You’re both pretty evenly matched until he backs you up against a wall and his eyes heat up once they connect with yours. You both forget about the sparring as you start making out like hormonal teenagers.

Francisco - Frankie is all for teaching you some self defense moves. He’s worried something might happen to you while he’s away. While he teaches you all that he can think of to teach you it quickly becomes apparent that you defending yourself is a turn on for him, he loves a strong woman who’s able to fight back if she needs to. So when he’s got you in a hold and you’re able to break it he doubles his effort. The sparring stops when he’s got one arm slung tightly around your lower stomach and the over across your chest over your breasts and his hand is gripping your shoulder. It’s when he grinds himself against your ass is when you gasp and figure out what’s been going on.

Stiles - Stiles is an awkward klutz and not much of a hand to hand combat type of person. It’s why he relies on his bat so much for protection. So when you try to teach him how to spar Scott comes by to referee and keep watch, also he wants to see how horribly funny this will be(the little shit). So strangely enough Stiles can get the moves down easily on their own; it's when he has to combine them with other movements is when he has trouble. He tries to move while throwing punches but he trips and tackles you to the ground hard making you groan underneath him. Scott’s laughing hysterically at the side lines and you’re trying to catch your breath that was knocked out of you from the fall to the ground. Stiles lifts up off of you and braces his hands against the floor next to your head. “You can’t ever say I didn’t take your breath away.” Stiles jokes and you wheeze as you laugh and shove him off.

Tequila - Tequila loves sparring with you because it gets you riled up when you can’t beat him. He knows when you get riled up you get a little sloppy and it makes it easy for him to best you. It's when you lunge at him and he dodges your move making you stumble past him that he slaps your ass and turns with a wicked grin. You whirl around angry but then see his eyes dilated and he's staring at you like you're his next meal. You tackle him to the floor and the two of you go at it.

Whiskey - Whiskey loves sparring with you. He loves watching you get out of any of his holds and dodging his swings. He loves tapping any part of your body that he can get to with his hands. It stings like when you roll up a towel and snap it at someone so it gets you very frustrated. You manage to best him only once and that was because you tackled him but wrapped your legs low around his waist and he brought to his knees when he felt your hot center through your yoga pants. Let's just say Tequila got quite an eye full of Whiskey's full moon that he never wanted to see.

Raymond Smith - Raymond doesn't spar, he considers it barbaric. Now don't get it twisted he knows how to throw a punch but he prefers guns. But he won't hesitate to stop what he's doing and watch you spar with one of the Toddlers in Coach's ring. There's something about watching you spar that just takes his breath away. You make it look like a dance what with your quick movements and your ability to connect a hit just right to knock the Toddler flat on his ass. When he watches you return to your corner to grab your towel and a water bottle that's when he strikes. He's at the outside of your corner holding his hand up to help you down and when your feet touch the flat ground he leans down towards your ear to whisper into it. "Back office in fifteen minutes. Coach left on an errand."

#headcannons #steamy thursday

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mostlycompetentwriter · 5 years ago

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When You Least Expect It

Pairing: OC x Seo Changbin

Genre: enemies to lovers one-shot

Word Count: around 10,000 (yeah, I’m sorry)

Warnings: Smut (near the end) and Language

Summary: Changbin and Hanna had never gotten along, but they tolerated each other’s presence for the sake of their friends. However, when Hanna begs Changbin to teach her how to play the guitar, their relationship promises much more than hostile insults.

On Sundays, I liked to watch ridiculous Australian television shows with Chan and Felix. The two boys never seemed to mind, especially since the real reason I came over was to eat my way through their monthly supply of groceries. Plus, Chan and I used to fuck when we were still in high school and that boy owed me for all the free orgasms. “You watched Gumby in Australia?” I questioned, watching the disturbing animated character as it danced across the screen.

Felix shrugged. “It was fun as a kid.”

I unconsciously shivered, leaning in closer to Chan. “That’s seriously creepy.”

“You take what you can find,” Chan remarked, shoving another forkful of ramen into his mouth.

“I remember watching Teen Titans.”

“What was that?”

“Just some teenagers who had crazy superpowers,” I explained, reaching over to take another stick of beef jerky from Felix.

He hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still glued to the TV. Meanwhile, I could faintly hear the sound of the front door opening, but it wasn’t until he was standing in my line of vision that I actually bothered to look up. “Why are you always here?” Changbin growled, reaching down to swipe away the piece of jerky I had every intention of consuming.

“How inconsiderate,” I remarked, shifting closer to Chan with the hope that the older boy would take pity on me.

“You know what’s inconsiderate?” Changbin continued to complain. “Having you over here every morning to eat the food that I paid for!”

“I helped,” Chan grumbled, poking almost ruthlessly at his ramen breakfast.

“Changbin is just being rude,” I consoled him, pressing a tender kiss to his bare shoulder as Chan seemed to recently take a preference for wearing muscle tanks around the apartment.

“Look here, sweetheart,” Changbin growled, tone dripping with his barely concealed outrage. “You’re lucky I even let you come around here.”

I snorted because I definitely didn’t care about Changbin’s comfort. “You don’t bitch to Felix and he’s here more than me!”

“Felix actually contributes to the band,” Changbin tittered. “You don’t really do anything!”

“I keep the boys entertained,” I joked, digging my fingers into Chan’s side to wrench free one of his trademarked giggles.

“I like having Hanna around,” Felix protested, reaching over to cling onto my arm like an oversized koala.

I gave Changbin a smug grin, delighting in the way his eyes darkened further. He was far too easy to rile up and his quick-temper was fun to ignite when I was feeling in the mood. “Changbin,” I cooed. “Why don’t you like me?”

The younger boy was obviously not in the mood to play along, but it was still funny to watch him storm away with his fists clenched at his sides. “He’s too short to be intimidating,” I declared, settling back down with Chan and Felix to watch another one of Gumby’s whimsical adventures.

You see, I met Chan and Felix back in high school because of Hyunjin, my younger brother. And although Hyunjin would never admit it, he did his best to keep me away from his friends. “You’ll fall for Chan,” he explained when I asked why he continued to sneak the two Australians out the back door.

Of course, Hyunjin was right, and I eventually slept with Chan at a ridiculously cliche high school party. After that, we started dating for a while until we figured out being friends was a much better situation. Hyunjin was definitely grateful because he could finally have his older friend all to himself, but I still hung around whenever I could.

Chan and I also started university first, and it was nice to know someone because I was terrible at making friends. Thankfully, Chan introduced me to some guys he knew and Woojin and Minho became close confidants. They were mature and quirky, deciding we could have just as much fun with a few beers and a game of twister as opposed to those crowded fraternity parties. However, that didn’t necessarily mean I didn’t partake in the occasional late-night gathering, especially if campus icon Hyungwon had anything to say about it.

Nevertheless, when Hyunjin and Felix started school with Chan and me, things took on a new and interesting dynamic when they discovered an audition sheet for a new band. Apparently, the group was relatively new and were looking for singers and performers to join. Thereafter, we were all invited into the chaotic world of music with a strange introduction from Jisung, Jeongin, Seungmin, and, of course, Changbin.

Now, I wasn’t musically talented in any sense so I chose to merely accompany the boys to their frequent practices in the garage of Jisung’s house. Despite his parent’s constant bombardment, it was cool to have a place far away from campus to hang out and I enjoyed interacting with the others. I found myself growing closer to the other boys, even though we hadn’t known each other for very long.

However, despite our new acquaintanceship, I still had not managed to charm Seo Changbin the same way I had with the others. I was convinced the younger boy hated me, so I tried to stay out of his way. I mean, who would want to deal with his constant mood changes or annoying laugh anyway?

“I’ve got something brilliant!” Chan interrupted my darkening thoughts as he barged into Jisung’s basement waving about several loose sheets of papers. “This one will give us a hit for sure!”

I was the first to take a look, snatching them right out of Changbin’s hands who merely glowered at me in response. “Matroshyka?”

“Exactly!” Chan exclaimed, jabbing the sheets of paper aggressively before he sat down on the edge of the couch. “What do you think?”

I nodded my agreement. “It’s really good.”

Chan beamed under my praise while I relented the sheet music to a fuming Changbin. I walked over to Woojin, inviting myself into his comfortable lap, encouraging him to wrap his hands around my waist. “How long did you stay up last night, Chan?”

I studied the dark circles under Chan’s eyes as the older boy shook his head. “It wasn’t that late!”

“It’s fantastic,” Changbin gasped, immediately racing over to their elaborate set-up of sound equipment.

“Really?” Jisung perked up, tossing aside his notebook as he joined Changbin.

Meanwhile, Chan reclined back against the couch, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m a genius.”

“That isn’t exactly your style, Chan,” I laughed, feeling Woojin chuckling from beneath me.

“This is genius though!” Jisung insisted, running his hands through his crazy dark blue hair.

“We should record it tonight,” Changbin added. “Who did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Chan started sheepishly, suddenly shy despite his earlier confidence. “I thought it could be me, you, and Jisung.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready!” Jisung fretted, and I fought the urge to walk over and invite him into my arms. Jisung lacked in self-confidence, but I always tried to brighten his mood.

“We’ll do a practice run,” Changbin nodded as if he could already hear the finished product given the ridiculous way he bopped his head.

“This is exciting!” Jeongin added the youngest rushing over to Seungmin to yank out his earphones. “We’re recording tonight!”

I yawned, tuning out their adorable gushing as I considered the amount of homework I had to finish. I couldn’t stay tonight, but I wasn’t really needed anyway. And it would probably make Changbin happy.

Woojin immediately protested when I left his lap, reaching down for my bag. “You guys have fun tonight. I have a Chemistry paper due this Friday.”

“But Hanna,” Jisung pouted. “This is our first real recording.”

“And you’ll do great,” I said, adding a cheesy thumbs-up.

“Less room for her to get in the way,” Changbin grunted and I glared in his direction.

What an asshole.

Of course, it turns out that taking my English essay to the library instantly became the best decision of my life! And it was in large part due to the incredibly handsome library assistant who casually flirted with me as he helped me find all the books I needed from the list I jotted down before leaving my dorm. I was practically salivating when he asked if I could use any help writing the annoying assignment. I immediately acquiesced and spent the next several hours in literal heaven next to an actual angel. Not only did I finish my essay, but I also managed to score myself a coffee date the next morning.

Subsequently, I returned to the dorm late that evening which meant I allowed myself to sleep-in the following day. Usually, I never ignored texts from the boys, but I also didn’t want them to ruin my morning. After all, I was meeting with a man with whom I was 95% sure I would marry very soon, even if that meant a shotgun wedding at a chapel in Las Vegas.

At least, until I opened my big mouth.

Here’s some advice: just because a literal angel tells you that he knows how to play the guitar doesn’t mean you should also admit the same skillset. As it turns out, you don’t have to share everything in common with a potential partner. But I was enamored, and I spent several minutes talking about the really cool band I was apart of even though I knew Changbin would rather drink chlorine than admit I was a member of their silly boy group.

“You should come over and we can play together,” my angel said, and that’s when I knew I was doomed.

After we parted ways, I sought after Chan because I knew the older boy had been practicing guitar and maybe he would be kind enough to teach me a few chords. However, when I finished explaining the situation to him, Chan started laughing hysterically, pointing a finger at me as he incoherently tried to form a sentence. “What’s so funny?” Woojin asked as he entered Chan’s bedroom.

“Apparently my love life?” I grumbled, glaring at Chan as if that could possibly intimidate the older boy in the slightest.

After filling in Woojin, and a mischievous Jisung, I had to listen to the three of them cackle like old men who insisted on making a “joke” far funnier than it actually was. “Will you help me!” I pouted when Chan started to settle back down.

“I haven’t played in years,” Chan admitted, glancing back at Jisung. “What about you?”

“I’m really not that good,” Jisung shrugged. “But I know Changbin can play.”

“I’d rather deal with your mediocre skills than ask him. Actually, you could literally rip my fingernails off and I still wouldn’t ask Changbin.”

Jisung wrinkled his nose. “That’s gross.”

“The point is,” I reiterated, flailing my arms to regain their attention. “I can’t ask Changbin.”

“Why not?” Chan shrugged. “He’s really good and I don’t think he’d mind teaching you.”

I looked at Chan like the older boy had suddenly gained an additional head. “Are you serious? Changbin hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Woojin added. “He just sort of tolerates you.”

As if that was any better, but I was desperate, which is why I found myself lingering outside Changbin’s bedroom. I cleared my throat as I rehearsed my practiced speech: “Listen, Changbin, I’m really proud of everything that you’ve done with the group. In fact, I think it might be nice to be more supportive! Maybe if I could learn an instrument, I might be able to relate more to the music? How about teaching me to play the guitar?”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I dismissed my planned verbiage, choosing instead to knock hesitantly on the door. “What?” an annoyed voice called out, slightly muffled by the walls.

“I need a favor,” I said, fidgeting with my hands and fully expecting Changbin to ignore me completely.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the sight of an obviously exhausted Seo Changbin opening the door only wearing a dark pair of low-hanging sweatpants. “Why are you here?” he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his dark eyes.

I immediately shielded my gaze, trying to ignore the flare of interest after scanning down the broad expanse of his chest. “Put some clothes on!”

“This is my apartment,” Changbin retorted, very much unimpressed with me as he stepped out of the doorway. “I was sleeping.”

“Sorry,” I huffed, stepping inside his messy room. A complete disaster, if you ask me, with weird grunge rock band posters decorating the walls and a carpet made of clothes since he obviously doesn’t own a laundry basket. “I have a proposal.”

“What?” he grunted.

“I want to learn how to play the guitar and Chan said you were pretty good.”

Changbin was quiet for a moment. “Why the hell do you want to play the guitar?”

I felt my cheeks heat up, but thankfully my hands were still hiding my face. “Is that really your business?”

“Careful sweetheart, you need me, remember?”

I cursed his arrogance. “Fine, I want to learn because the guy I like can play.”

“You’re trying to learn guitar to impress another dude?” Changbin chuckled. “Isn’t that too much?”

“You wanted to know why!”

“What will you do for me in return, sweetheart? I remember hearing something about a proposal?”

“Of course, because it would be too much for you to help out a friend,” I muttered, finally removing my hands so that I could look him in the eye. Thankfully, Changbin was hunched over, somewhat hiding his naked chest from my sight. “I’ll stop coming here in the mornings to eat your damn groceries, okay?”

Changbin brightened. “Deal.”

It was likely the first time we ever agreed on something so easily.

“I booked the music room in the library for the week,” I told him. “We can practice there.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he sighed, falling back on his bed. “Now leave me alone. I still have an hour left before our second recording.”

Ignoring his dismissive attitude, I still held tight to the small victory I had attained in our agreement. I was a decently fast learner, so I planned for a few lessons with Changbin before I was ready to play with Hyungsik, A.K.A, the beautiful librarian who had left a memorable impression. That evening, I went to the music store and rented an acoustic guitar for my impromptu lessons. I also purchased one of those Dummy books because, despite the obvious condescension, they were pretty helpful guides.

I stayed up late that night reading through the book, nodding my head as I realized that it wouldn’t be too difficult at all. In fact, with some practice, I could have probably taught myself this stuff without Changbin’s assistance. “This is too easy,” I remarked, setting aside the book before allowing tender dreams of Hyungsik to soothe me into sleep.

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

“This is the first fret,” Changbin droned monotonously while I resisted the urge to reach over and shake him because he was going way too slow. After all, I told him beforehand that I had been reading some very extensive literature on the guitar. He must have ignored me because he started from the beginning with the basic foundational stuff that even a first grader could have learned.

“Come on, Changbin,” I urged him. “I already know all this stuff.”

“It’s important to memorize the chords-”

“Yeah, but when are we going to play a song?”

His accompanying smirk was positively evil. “I thought you wanted me to teach you, sweetheart?”

“How to play songs!” I emphasized, because how deaf was this boy? I needed to remind Chan to keep Changbin out of the recording booth for a few days.

“You have to learn the basics before you can play a song,” Changbin went on, ignoring the way I rolled my eyes at his deliberate reprimand.

“I read the book already,” I sighed, deliberating whether or not it was too late to beg Chan or Jisung instead.

“Alright,” Changbin said, abruptly shoving the instrument in my direction. “Play me a C Major chord.”

Rolling my eyes, I pictured the image of the chord in my head, slowly working my fingers onto the strings. “This is what the book said.”

“It told you to crowd your fingers onto the same fret?”

“To play the B string, the D string, and the A string.”

“Okay, but your fingers aren’t positioned correctly.”

“This is what the book said!”

“I’m sure it did,” Changbin managed, openly laughing at me as if I had started speaking a foreign language. “But your fingers aren’t on the correct frets, and they aren’t holding down the strings enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Changbin smirked, jerking the guitar away from my eager hands. “This is why you should watch me first, sweetheart. You might actually learn something useful.”

I resisted the urge to snap back at him because I was still 90% certain that I had been correct, but instead, I chose to fume quietly while Changbin resumed his lecture. Honestly, I endured enough of those on a daily basis with my college courses. The last thing I needed was Changbin’s nasally voice instructing me on the difference between E Minor and E Major, whatever the hell that means.

“Look Changbin,” I finally interrupted him. “Can’t you at least teach me a song?”

“What kind of song?” he asked, eyeing me curiously.

“Something romantic,” I briefly gushed, reaching over to shake his arm excitedly. “I really want to impress this guy.”

Changbin’s look of curiosity was replaced with one of revulsion. “Who is this guy, anyway? I don’t understand why you already like him so much.”

“We’re getting to know one another,” I insisted petulantly. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never even had a girlfriend before.”

Changbin quietly looked down, and I was slightly taken aback by the dark look that had briefly obscured his gaze. “Whatever song you want.”

I cleared my throat, a little unnerved by his unexpected behavior. “Just play something you know best.”

A familiar riff filled the tense silence between us. I snapped my fingers in recognition. “Stairway to Heaven?”

“It’s really easy,” Changbin shrugged, focused on his playing. “It was the first thing I ever learned how to play on the guitar.”

“It’s nice,” I admitted sheepishly.

I strangely found Changbin endearing at that moment, watching him play as if there was nowhere else in the entire world he would rather be…

—————————————————-

Two Weeks Later

“My fingers hurt,” I pouted, presenting Chan with the sight of my blistered hands.

“Poor baby,” he teased, sprinkling tiny kisses across the delicate skin of my fingertips.

“That’s just gross,” Seungmin complained from where he was lying across Jeongin’s lap, eyes rapidly scanning over the pages of his most recent novel obsession.

It had something to do with a stalker.

“They used to fuck,” Jisung stated bluntly, ripping into his package of skittles, cursing when a few wayward candies fell into the floor.

“Don’t remind me,” Hyunjin whined as he covered his eyes with his hands as if burdened with a mental image of Chan and me together.

“Who fucked up your hands?” Woojin asked protectively, ignoring the previous topic of my coital actions with Chan.

“It’s from fretting the guitar,” I said a bit smugly, proud of my newfound knowledge. “Changbin is teaching me how to play.”

“Why the hell are you learning guitar?” Seungmin asked.

“Forget that!” Jeongin interjected. “How did you convince Changbin to teach you?”

“Tell me you didn’t agree to have sex with him!” Hyunjin gasped, bolting upright from his previous position on the couch to confront me, hands grasping my face tightly.

“What’s wrong with you?” I muttered, pushing aside Hyunjin’s wayward touch. “Why would I have sex with Changbin?”

“I thought he-”

“Hey!” Jisung suddenly interrupted, clapping his hands together rather obnoxiously. He gave Hyunjin a meaningful look, one that I could not begin to decipher. But I also didn’t really care because the two of them made for a strange duo. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Yes!” Minho finally spoke up, rolling onto the floor to glance up at me through long lashes. “Let’s talk about Hanna’s new boyfriend.”

I brightened at the suggestion. “Hyungsik?”

“Hyungsik,” Minho repeated with a poor impression of my accent. “Tell me, have the two of you fucked yet?”

“Why are ya’ll so interested in sex?” Seungmin asked, slamming his book closed before knocking it against Jeongin’s chest.

“Why? Do you like Hyungsik too?”

Seungmin didn’t hesitate to fling the innocent chapter book in Minho’s direction. The older boy dodged easily, returning his attention to our previous subject. “Well?”

“Not yet,” I admitted with a shrug. “But there’s a party tonight.”

“Hyungwon’s party?” Chan asked, suddenly remembering that he was also apart of the conversation.

“That’s the one!” I agreed, patting the side of his face. “Aren’t you going?”

“Maybe,” Chan shrugged. “Actually, Changbin invited me earlier.”

“Changbin at a party?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Did he produce the music?”

I laughed at my brother’s witty remark. “I always pictured Changbin as the type to fall asleep drooling on his sheet music. Since when has he ever been interested in frat parties?”

“Since when have you?” Hyunjin randomly questioned, as if remembering that he was my younger brother and should probably discourage such illicit activities.

“You could come too,” I joked. “You’ll give all the pretty boys a run for their money.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

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

Nonetheless, my younger brother could never resist the promise of free alcohol.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Hyunjin whined as I drove the two of us to Hyungwon’s fraternity.

“You need to get laid,” I reminded him, locating a parking spot further down the busy street, congested with student vehicles. “This place is fucking insane.”

“Yet another reminder of why I should have stayed at the studio,” Hyunjin continued.

“Relax,” I said. “Changbin is supposed to be here with Chan. Find your friends and show them how an amateur dances to 90s EDM music.”

I squealed when Hyunjin reached across the center console to slap my arm. “You’re not funny.”

“And you’re slow,” I shot back.

The party had started nearly half-an-hour ago, which meant we were fashionably late and way too sober. I carefully pulled into the parking spot I located earlier, grumbling because I was forced to parallel park. But I was also impatient to find Hyungsik.

“Hold on!”

“It’s your fault if you don’t keep up,” I said, reaching down to unzip my jacket to reveal the rather inappropriate blouse that I had chosen for the evening’s affairs.

Hyunjin finally caught up to me as I carefully took the steps leading up to the front door of Hyungwon’s fraternity, teetering precariously on my 4-inch high heels. Despite the fact that the sun had only started to set, I could already spot familiar red cups decorating the banister rails. Kihyun’s going to lose his shit when he discovers this mess in the morning.

“Changbin and Chan are somewhere in the kitchen finding drinks,” Hyunjin informed me. “Can you spare a few more moments away from your sweetheart?”

“For Channie, yes,” I agreed, allowing Hyunjin to act the part of a gentleman and hold the door for me, allowing the blaring music to spill outside into the slowly darkening evening.

Hyunjin and I did our best to avoid the main floor where the drunk Freshmen were already losing their inhibitions. We slowly skimmed the outer edge of the wall, spotting the open kitchen where a much calmer atmosphere prevailed. Chan was the first to spot us, pointing over Changbin’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Trying to avoid a literal mess,” I grinned, wrapping my arms tightly around Chan’s neck. “Did you find something good to drink?”

“Not really,” Chan grimaced. “There’s a punch bowl, but that shit smells like gasoline.”

“Live a little,” I joked, peeking at Changbin out of the corner of my peripheral vision. “I’m surprised you came, Changbin.”

The younger shrugged, picking at a loose string on his black t-shirt. “I like Hyungwon.”

“Really?” I snorted because I was almost positive Changbin didn’t even really like his own bandmates.

“Hyunjin!” a shrill voice punctured our small oasis. I saw my brother grimace as a petite blonde came into his line of his vision. “I can’t believe you came.”

Changbin chuckled from my brother’s side. “He knew you were going to be here, Mina.”

“Hyunjin,” the girl giggled, as if ignorant to my brother’s obvious disgust like he was looking at the personification of Evil.

“You two should dance,” I suggested, deciding to tease my brother. After all, he was the one who often bragged about his superior choreography.

“Hanna,” Hyunjin addressed me, slugging me rather harshly across my shoulder. “I thought you wanted to dance with me?”

“I’ll dance with Channie,” I countered, feeling nothing short of victorious when my brother scowled, reluctantly allowing Mina to drag him away from our small gathering.

“How do they know each other?” I asked.

“She leaves cute notes on Hyunjin’s desk in our economics lecture,” Changbin said, leaning in closer. “I think she might like your brother.”

Changbin’s close proximity was unexpected, especially given my body’s peculiar reaction, practically drawn to the mischievous glimmer to his dilated irises. “Is that so?”

“Her older sister is a total bitch,” Chan remarked, ignorant to the strange tension between Changbin and me.

I tore myself from Changbin’s hypnotic stare. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

Chan shrugged. “Where’s your precious new boyfriend?”

I let out a gasp as I suddenly remembered Hyungsik. “I should find him and introduce you.”

“Thrilling,” Changbin grumbled, pulling back to offer the cheaply tiled kitchen floor a dirty glare.

“I’ll try and find him. You two wait here.”

———————————————————————–

My endeavors at impressive sleuthing were cut short, however, when I found Hyungsik talking in animated conversation with two of his friends. I couldn’t resist a smile as I pushed my way through the unwavering sea of students to reach him. Unfortunately, as I grew closer, I realized that he was swaying slightly, eyes unfocused as he took a long drink from his bright red cup. “Hyungsik!”

“Hanna!” the older boy exclaimed, meeting me halfway at the edge of the growing crowd. “You made it!”

His breath fanned across my face and I wrinkled my nose upon smelling the unpleasant waft of alcohol. “You’re already drunk?” I lamented, feeling a tad bit disappointed. There was no way I could introduce Hyungsik to Changbin and Chan in this condition. They would mock me for such a first impression.

Hyungsik offered me a flirtatious grin. “I think the punch was spiked.”

Nevertheless, I refused to have my evening spoiled so prematurely by my potential boyfriend’s immaturity. “Let’s dance,” I offered instead, taking Hyungsik’s eager hand and leading him to the middle of the dance floor.

I guided his sweaty palms to either side of my waist, expertly rocking my hips to the beat of the music. Hyungsik let out an uncharacteristic yell as he pulled me closer to his body, allowing more of the alcohol smell to completely blind my senses. “Are you having fun?” he shouted into my ear.

I was too young to lose my hearing.

And I gave up on Hyungsik the moment his hands started to trail messily across my backside, tossing his head from side to side like an incompetent rock musician who was well past his prime. “Come on,” I sighed, jerking away from his touch.

I decided it was time to help Hyungsik sober up from his premature alcohol consumption. I knew that Hyungwon allowed guests to stay in some of the empty rooms upstairs. My best option would be to lead Hyungsik to one of those rooms and let him sleep off his drunken stupor.

“Weee!” Hyungsik giggled as he fell on top of the bed, letting out a grunt as he collapsed on his front.

“Yeah, what a great fucking time,” I muttered sarcastically as I yanked his shoes from his feet, allowing them to messily fall into the floor.

I made sure to leave Hyungsik a glass of water and two Ibuprofen before turning out the light. I was a good Samaritan, even when the recipient of my good graces happened to be a potential love interest who totally ruined my Saturday night and left me feeling completely deflated. Of course, I guess it wasn’t exactly Hyungsik’s fault since he was apparently unaccustomed to the ridiculous tradition of avoiding the provided alcohol at frat parties. Still, I was far more likely to kick Hyungwon’s ass tomorrow morning in our Chemistry lecture, if he could manage to drag himself to class with a nasty hangover.

Satisfied with Hyungsik’s condition, I slowly closed the bedroom door behind me, letting out an exasperated sigh. I should’ve known better than to expect a decent lay from a fraternity party. What the actual hell was I even thinking? However, my self-loathing was temporarily forgotten when I spotted a shadow lingering around the corner of the hallway. I perked up instantly, eliminating the short distance to confront whoever had decided to stalk me when I was obviously upset.

“Changbin?” I questioned and he paused in his obvious attempt to sneak away. “Did you follow me up here?”

Changbin cleared his throat as he pivoted around to face me. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked, taking another step closer. I was surprised to see an unfamiliar brush coloring the narrow aspect of Changbin’s cheeks. “Did you think I was going to sleep with him?”

“He was drunk,” Changbin offered as a retort. “I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

“Trust me,” I scoffed, “he was too far gone to do anything to me.”

“But you wanted him too,” Changbin said, an unfamiliar rasp in his tone.

“Not really,” I shrugged. “I was mad that he was already drunk.”

Changbin let out an uncharacteristic giggle that I found alarmingly adorable. “You should know that your brother is currently dancing on top of the kitchen counter.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hope someone takes a good video. He deserves the embarrassment.”

Changbin nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Are you going to leave?”

“Probably,” I said. “I need to get Hyunjin home.”

“I can help if you want?” Changbin offered, and I was quick to accept his assistance.

“Is Chan still here?” I asked him as I guided our way through the maze of intoxicated students.

“Chan left a while ago,” Changbin said, one hand reaching out to hold onto my shoulder as I led us into the kitchen where an obvious crowd had started to circle around my idiot brother.

I forced my way to the front. “Hyunjin, get your ass down here right now!”

Hyunjin glanced down at me from the pedestal he had made of Hyungwon’s marble countertop. He squinted his eyes as if he couldn’t quite discern who I was. “Hanna?”

“Yes, you asshole,” I growled, yanking at his ridiculously tight skinny jeans. “If you want a ride home, then I suggest you stop acting like a complete fuckboy.”

Hyunjin seemed to sober up at my reprimand. “Sorry,” he slurred, falling into my arms.

“Hyunjin, you weigh twice as much as me,” I grunted, whispering a quick ‘thank you’ to Changbin when he offered to burden most of Hyunjin’s dead weight.

“You guys are the best,” Hyunjin said, rubbing his sweaty hair against the side of my face as we were abruptly hit with a cold rush of air from the outside.

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered, shifting Hyunjin’s arm around my shoulder as Changbin and I proceeded to drag my brother’s drunk ass two blocks to my abandoned car.

———————————————————————-

“Thanks for helping,” I said, tucking the blankets up higher on Hyunjin’s chest. “You can spend the night if you want. I don’t mind sleeping in my roommate’s bed if you want the futon?”

Changbin nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. Nonetheless, I found a spare blanket and pillow in the shared closet, giving them to Changbin as a makeshift bed. I knew the futon was rather uncomfortable, but it was only for one night. Plus, I felt better knowing that Changbin wouldn’t have to walk across campus in the middle of the night by himself. Despite our frequent disagreements, he was one of my brother’s best friends, and I had started to grow closer to him thanks to our unorthodox guitar lessons.

However, the last thing I expected after settling into my roommate’s twin-sized bed was to have an entertaining exchange with Changbin:

“Do you still want a lesson tomorrow?” he asked me.

“Yeah, I managed to avoid the alcohol.”

“Will you ever let Hyunjin forget the party?”

“There’s no way in hell,” I replied, grinning at the dark ceiling.

“You want the video I took of him on my phone?”

“I would literally like nothing more.”

Fuck, were we actually getting along?

————————————————————————

“Wake up, asshole,” I grinned, curtaining my brother’s t-shirt across his face. Hyunjin let out a groan. “What happened?”

“You drank too much and decided to show off for everybody,” I said, sitting down next to him on my bed. “Would you like to watch the video?”

“Fuck you.”

“Perhaps later then?”

Changbin stepped closer, looking unusually good in his dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. “Should we let him sleep?”

“Please,” Hyunjin groaned.

“My roommate won’t be back until tomorrow, so Hyunjin should be fine here for a while.”

Changbin pursed his lips, rocking back on his feet. “Well…”

“Do you feel like getting a cup of coffee?”

Changbin and I were both taken aback by my request.

“That sounds nice,” he said quietly, appearing unusually shy as he refused to meet my gaze.

Changbin and I ensured that Hyunjin would wake up to powerful painkillers before walking together to the quaint coffee shop nestled at the end of the block. “Should I treat you?” I asked. ��I feel bad that you had to drag my brother’s sorry ass from the party.”

Changbin chuckled. “Hyunjin’s my friend, and I did get some decent video footage for my troubles.”

I laughed as I recalled the short clip of my brother rather unattractively swiveling his hips to a poor remix of a popular K-Pop idol song. Perhaps in another life, Hyunjin could have made a decent performer. However, given the intoxicated component to his impromptu show, I supposed he might have been laughed out of his audition.

“Vanilla latte please,” I smiled pleasantly at the cashier whose blood-shot eyes clearly exposed her late-night activities.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Are you copying me?”

“You have good taste,” Changbin said, and I paused as I processed his words.

Was he flirting with me?

Pushing that ridiculous notion aside, I found us a small table amidst the busy college students furiously working on the essays they had spent the weekend neglecting. It reminded me that I had also put off my Chemistry lab report for far too long. Yet, the idea of balancing equations of which I had the faintest understanding was incredibly unappealing.

The sweet scent of vanilla was preferable, and I sipped at the warm beverage greedily. “Why did Chan leave so early?”

“I sort of ditched him,” Changbin admitted.

“Why?” I asked. “I mean, I know Chan can be dull, but he’s better than the majority of those people.”

Changbin shrugged. “I was trying to find Hyunjin.”

“My brother is clueless sometimes,” I said, mindlessly watching the steam rise from my cup. “I didn’t expect him to go that far.”

“He’s never been that drunk before,” Changbin added.

“No more parties for Hyunjin.”

“What about you?” Changbin inquired, a not-so-innocent look drawn across his features.

“Me?”

“Hyungwon’s parties are always like that,” Changbin scoffed. “Your precious boyfriend should have taken you on a proper date.”

“Changbin!” I laughed, reaching over to take his hand. “You’re actually being considerate for once.”

“Call it a hangover.”

“Or,” I started with a teasing lilt. “Maybe you like me just a little?”

Changbin glanced down at our hands. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

I pulled my hand away, surprised by his strange confession. “Changbin, I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

“It’s not you,” he insisted, struggling for the right words. “Look, Hanna, I want you to know that I don’t really care if you’re at our apartment.”

“But you always say-”

“-I know,” Changbin growled, clearly frustrated with himself. “Hanna, I need to tell you something.”

I nodded as a silent encouragement for him to continue. However, before Changbin could utter another syllable, his concentrated gaze had shifted, pointedly narrowing at something behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and let out a curse when I saw Hyungsik approaching.

“You have to forgive me!” Hyungsik immediately apologized, inserting himself between Changbin and I. Shaking my head, I had every intention of ordering him to leave after the melodrama that had happened last night.

But Hyungsik was persuasive, gently nudging a chocolate muffin in front of my coffee before flashing a dazzling smile in my direction. I swear my heart actually stopped beating for several seconds. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave your apartment,” he admitted, ignoring Changbin’s glare as he pulled out a chair from the adjoining table.

I glanced back and forth between Hyungsik and Changbin. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled about last night.”

“It’s my fault,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have trusted the liquor.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Maybe two cups?”

Fuck you, Hyungwon.

“It was spiked,” I said quietly, even though it was probably now obvious in hindsight.

“I know,” Hyungsik murmured, fingers slowly gliding across the tabletop to brush against mine. “Let me make it up to you?”

“Maybe,” I grinned, already knowing I would give in because I loved the way my heart played to a different beat around him.

“How about this Friday night? We could see a movie?”

“I’d like that.”

Hyungsik nodded, bashfully allowing his long bangs to frame his eyes. “You won’t regret this.”

——————————————————————

The following Friday, I tried to distract myself from my impending movie date with Hyungsik by requesting another guitar lesson from Changbin. “It’s early,” the younger snapped into the phone.

“I’m already in the library,” I said, running my hand along the smooth edges of my guitar.

Changbin let out a noise of frustration. “Give me twenty minutes.”

The wait was well worth it when Changbin showed up wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, hair betraying the fact that he had obviously just rolled out of bed. “What a concept,” I remarked.

Changbin dropped his guitar case on top of our table. “Shut up.”

Thereafter, our lesson progressed smoothly, Changbin introducing me to a new series of complicated chords that only brought an immense feeling of satisfaction when I eventually mastered them. “I’m a quick learner,” I bragged in response to the impressed look on his face.

“Maybe when you can play an entire song,” Changbin grumbled, plucking at the strings of his own Savannah model guitar.

“What songs have you been working on?” I asked conversationally as I started to re-case my guitar.

“Nothing much,” Changbin said, fingers hovering around the fretboard.

“You could always play me something,” I suggested. “I’m a good listener.”

Changbin seemed to hesitate as if experiencing internal conflict, before nodding once. “I don’t want to hear any bullshit when I’m done,” he reproached snappishly, temper flaring once again.

I resisted the urge to offer a witty retort. Instead, I patiently waited as he re-adjusted the guitar in his lap, propping the curve onto his thigh. Changbin’s elegant playing soon filled the empty study room, gentle triad chords forming an unfamiliar melody. It was pleasant all the same, but I was still surprised to hear Changbin start to sing.

Several lines of elegantly arranged lyrics that felt strangely familiar.

“That’s beautiful, Changbin,” I complimented the younger when he finished playing, enjoying his accompanying blush. “The lyrics are really personal. Did you write them about somebody?”

Changbin froze, fingers halting their movements against the strings as a wave of frightening anger settled into his features. He stood at once, rushing to pack up his guitar, shoulders tense as he worked. “I think we’ve done enough today,” he finally said, ignoring my protests.

And I could do nothing to change his mind.

——————————————————————————–

I was still shaken from my encounter with Changbin when I met Hyungsik that evening. The air between us was strangely awkward as we stood in tense silence for our tickets. It was probably my fault because I had been in a really bad mood ever since I left the study room earlier, clueless as to why I had upset Changbin. Nevertheless, I was grateful when we finally entered the theatre because it gave our unusual quietness justification when the title credits started to roll down the screen.

What was going on? Why did I feel so guilty?

It was only once we were halfway through the film that I realized I had no idea what was actually happening. The entirety of my attention had been focused on Changbin, unable to think about anything else other than the curious puzzle he had made of our last encounter together. Why had he acted that way?

After the film ended, Hyungsik and I walked outside together. “Are you alright, Hanna?” he asked sweetly, eyes full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him, even as the lie sat heavy in the pit of my stomach.

We went for coffee afterward, and I refused Hyungsik’s generosity, offering to buy our coffees in return for the movie tickets. “I don’t mind,” he had said, but I brushed him aside without really meaning to.

Hyungsik went to find us a table as I waited for our order, glancing nervously at the clock when I realized it was still pretty early. Was I about to ruin my chances with him? I wondered as I brought our coffees to the small booth by the window. Hyungsik took his order gratefully while I wordlessly sat down across from him. Did I even really care that this might be our first and last date?

“Open mic,” he said, snapping me to attention.

I followed his gaze to the stage. “Do you want to play?”

He smirked. “Only if you play with me.”

Of course, the whole reason why I started my lessons with Changbin was for this exact moment. So, I allowed Hyungsik to drag me to the stage, handing me an unfamiliar guitar as we occupied two of the stools lining the edge of the wooden platform. “What should we play?”

“Something easy,” he said, riffing a familiar tune that I was able to easily follow, despite the strange sensation that something was clearly amiss.

It wasn’t the same without Changbin.

“You play really well,” Hyungsik complimented me, sighing when I didn’t respond. “Let’s go outside for some air.”

I readily agreed to his suggestion, abandoning our instruments as we greeted the cool night air. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I had a really bad day.”

Hyungsik shrugged while letting out a sigh. “It’s alright, Hanna, I can tell when a girl isn’t into me.”

I perked up at his insinuation. “That’s not true-”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to force something between us.”

I sighed in defeat. “I don’t know what happened.”

“People change,” Hyungsik said. “Feelings change too, sometimes we don’t even realize how we really feel until it’s too late.”

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

Hyungsik’s advice haunted me for the rest of the evening, to the point where I could excuse my mindlessness as overthinking our earlier encounter. I was also acting completely out of character, something that Han Jisung was more than willing to take advantage of to benefit himself.

You see, I wasn’t a big fan of offering my extensive knowledge to the younger guys, but Jisung was always astute when it came to taking advantage of our dynamic. I knew he, of all people, would understand what was going on between me and Changbin. Which is why I found myself reacting to the plea for help he sent out several minutes ago via a long, convoluted text message.

“Changbin was weird today,” I later told Jisung, having agreed to proofread the younger’s English assignment.

“Hmm?” he asked distractedly, fingers tracing along with the words in his textbook.

“He played me a song,” I said. “I guess it’s supposed to be for your next album? It was really beautiful, but he was mad when I asked him if he wrote the lyrics for someone.”

Jisung glanced up at that, quirking an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I didn’t mean to offend him,” I shrugged, carding my fingers through my hair worriedly.

“Do you remember the lyrics?”

I recalled them easily and Jisung let out an unnecessarily exaggerated sigh, looking at me like I was the one having trouble with homework. “You’re completely deaf, you know.”

I frowned at the insult. “Excuse me?”

“He wrote that song about you, idiot,” Jisung scoffed. “Changbin likes you.”

I blinked twice. “What?”

“Changbin likes you,” Jisung repeated, slamming his book closed. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I’m really fed up with the way he looks at you like you broke his favorite toy. Which is his probably his electric guitar, thanks for asking.”

“Changbin doesn’t like me,” I frowned, soaking in the absurdity of Jisung’s claim. “I mean, if I suddenly went missing tomorrow, I doubt he would even notice.”

“Oh, he would definitely notice,” Jisung said. “Then again, if you did disappear for a while, then I wouldn’t have to deal with him brooding in the middle of the studio floor while I’m trying to work.”

“That’s impossible,” I insisted, even as I wavered in consideration of his claim. Because Jisung didn’t lie about these kinds of things. Seungmin? Perhaps, especially if it was for some practical joke. But Jisung? “Why tell me now?”

“I’m telling you because you’re flirting with this Hyungsik guy and Changbin hates it. You think he wrote that song because he just felt like it? Music has always been Changbin’s way of dealing with his emotions.”

“He should have told me,” I said, suddenly feeling a barrage of guilt because I really had no idea that the younger actually reserved feelings for me. Did that mean his hateful comments were actually a way to shield his true feelings? Because they had certainly gotten worse after I introduced Hyungsik.

“When would he have told you?” Jisung asked. “While you were still constantly talking about how much you liked another guy?”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” I frowned.

“I’m trying to tell you the truth,” Jisung tsked. “It’s up to you to decide what you do with it.”

——————————————————————————-

I didn’t bother knocking on the basement door. Instead, I knew it was better to approach Changbin unexpectedly. Because then he wouldn’t have some sort of rehearsed speech ready to counter my interruption.

“Hanna?” Changbin immediately questioned as I slowly walked up to his desk. “What are you doing here?”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, Binnie,” I grinned, enjoying the way his mouth fell open upon hearing the nickname.

I leaned back against the desk, studying the way Changbin’s expression had morphed into one of complete disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“You should know,” I teased him, carefully easing his chair back away from the desk, the small wheels on the bottom rolling across the linoleum floor.

I decided to act before either of us had time to think.

I straddled Changbin’s lap, encouraging his hands to fit around my waist as I slowly started pressing a trail of kisses down the side of his jawline. “Hanna?” Changbin faintly called, fingers squeezing into the skin above my hips as if trying to gain my attention.

I willingly obeyed. “Hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “What’s going on?”

I offered him a teasing smirk, leaning in close. “I know you like me, Changbin. If you wanted to keep it a secret, then you shouldn’t have told Jisung.”

Changbin cursed as I smoothed my hands across his chest. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“I know,” I pouted. “But how would I have known to do this, then?”

Changbin was completely unprepared for the faint brush of my lips across the seam of his mouth. But I was only trying to soften him, parting my lips sensually against his own as I allowed my tongue to trace the chapped ridges. Changbin opened wider against an instinctive gasp and I took advantage of the opportunity to lave my tongue against his own, pulling back to study his reaction.

“Can you handle more?”

“More?”

I reached down for the hem of my t-shirt, removing the cheap fabric and carelessly tossing it into the floor. “I want to show you that I care.”

I ran my thumb across the swollen purse of his lips. Changbin’s tongue greeted the rough pad of the wandering digit. “Why?”

“Because I like you too,” I said, reaching out to cradle my hand against the side of his head, holding him in a place for another long kiss, savoring the novel sensation of his touch.

I rocked my hips forward, delighting in the way his breathing hitched, moan vibrating against my mouth. I started a pattern, pulling back and forth along the firm foundation of his thighs to distract him as my hands wandered down to the waistband of his jeans. I quickly noticed that he was already aroused, straining against the tight material, responding to my advances with willing compliance. It was all I needed to take the next step because the last thing I wanted was to move too fast. Changbin was far more sensitive than he allowed others to perceive, and I knew he had a kind heart that was far more vulnerable to the whims of those he desperately wanted to trust.

Changbin inhaled sharply, eyes wide and unblinking as he watched my fingers slowly undo his belt. “I think I’d like to feel your cock,” I admitted, making sure to whisper the words soothingly into his eager ears.

“R-really?” he stuttered, losing focus when my hand wrapped around his pulsing dick, warm beneath my calloused fingers.

“Would you like that?” I asked him, running my vacant hand under his tight t-shirt, surprised to feel the muscle shaping his abdomen.

“Please,” he whined, fingers digging harder into my sides.

“You should have told me before,” I said, leaning back to allow myself enough space to pull up my skirt, leaving it in a thin bundle above my hips. Changbin’s hands finally smoothed down my waist, fingering the edges of my red satin panties while massaging across the waistband with rapt attention.

“I’ve wanted you since Freshman year,” Changbin admitted, and I enjoyed this new dimension to his self-proclaimed “dark” character. A raw honesty that only continued to feed my growing attraction for him.

I gripped his cock harder, squeezing at his sensitive tip, colored with a burning red that betrayed his desire. I shifted my panties to the side, feeling the muscles in my thighs scream in protest as I lifted myself above Changbin’s lap, lowering slowly, easy and wet.

Changbin released a faint moan, eyes threatening to shut despite his attempts to keep them open. I brushed my fingers across the flesh of their lids, feeling his lashes flutter against the pads. I brought our foreheads together intimately, allowing him to maintain the eye contact he desperately sought. “Changbin,” I softly gasped, feeling him deep inside, cock stretching my walls to accommodate our coupling.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in return, looking down at where he disappeared inside, lips falling apart around a gorgeous moan that not even his music compositions could compete.

My thumbs circled leisurely at the sharp juncture of his chin, grounding me as I slowly started to move on his lap, rolling back before pushing down hard again to stimulate a rhythm. The steady hitches in Changbin’s breathing alerted me to his pleasure, and that’s everything I wanted to give him. I moved faster, hoping to earn more of those seductive deep-throated moans from the base of his throat, watching him swallow hard as sweat started to gather on his smooth skin.

“Come inside,” I told him, noticing the way his earnest thrusts were starting to stutter, falling out of beat with the melody of our fucking.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and I was pleased that he had the wherewithal to question what might have been a careless decision.

“I’m on the pill,” I reassured him, kissing along the inviting skin of his collarbone.

“Feels good,” he panted, bangs sticking to his forehead the longer we moved together, harmonious chorus reaching its final crescendo.

His moans filled the studio when he finally came, hot and sticky inside, lips pressing grateful kisses against whatever flesh he could find. His arms held me close, as if afraid to let go, and I allowed the delicate chord to snap, chanting his name softly as my forehead fell onto his shoulder, gasping for more oxygen to recover my screaming lungs.

Silence descended between us like a necessary embrace.

But it wasn’t awkward because neither of us held onto any insecurities. Instead, we decided it was better to open ourselves to this possibility, hands exploring skin decorated with rivulets of salty wetness. Because it was easier to trust when you held mutual affection, holding their gaze to see past the depths of the surface.

“Do you still want me out of the apartment?” I teased him eventually, just to break the quiet, clenching tightly around his flaccid cock.

Changbin’s head fell against the center of my chest, his panting breaths fanning out across my skin. “I want you in my bed.”

“Next time,” I promised him, threading my fingers through the sweat-caked strands of his thick black hair.

————————————————————————–

“What the hell is this!”

The last thing I needed to hear upon waking up the next morning was Jisung’s shrill voice infiltrating my post-orgasm induced haze. Changbin grunted from next to me, pulling me even closer to his overheated body. “Tell him to go away.”

“Get the fuck out, Jisung,” I croaked, my voice hoarse from sleep.

“Are you two naked?”

“Chan?” I questioned wearily, lifting my head just enough to catch a faint glimpse of his blonde hair.

“What time is it?” Changbin asked, raspy tone close to my ear.

“10?”

“Shit!” he cursed. “I have class soon.”

“Will the two of you explain what’s going on?” Jisung demanded, shrieking when Changbin left the couch, fully nude as he rummaged for his clothes.

I simply enjoyed the view.

“What the hell, Changbin?” Chan growled at his younger friend.

Changbin promptly ignored both of his group members, pressing a hasty kiss to my forehead before rushing up the staircase, footsteps heavy as he frantically tried to make his lecture on time. Which, unfortunately, left me alone to deal with the aftermath of our passionate night.

“You and Changbin had sex?” Chan gasped. “In our studio!”

“On top of my lyrics?” Jisung screeched, pushing the aforementioned stack of papers into a messy pile on the floor.

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. “He came inside.”

“That’s way too much information,” Chan sighed, grimacing as he picked up my clothes to toss in my direction.

I took them gratefully, working to dress beneath the thin coverage of the blanket Changbin had found last night before we passed out on the couch in the studio. “What’s the big deal?”

“Since when are you and Changbin a thing?” Chan asked, glaring down at me.

“I shouldn’t have said anything!” Jisung lamented, falling to his knees to shuffle through his papers.

“I guess since last night?” I grinned.

“Damn you move fast,” Chan tsked, joining Jisung in his attempts to re-organize his messy stacks.

“He’s a good fuck,” I remarked, laughing when Jisung started to splutter out dozens of curses as he frantically tried to finish his work.

——————————————————————————

“Why does it always have to be my friends?” Hyunjin questioned later on during lunch.

I sipped at my orange juice. “I guess you have really attractive friends?”

“It was definitely the guitar lessons,” Minho insisted. “They had all that time alone together.”

“But it’s still Changbin,” Seungmin frowned. “Is he blackmailing you?”

Jeongin gasped. “I knew it!”

“Stop it you two,” I said. “He’s not blackmailing me.”

“And did you really have to fuck in front of Jisung and Chan?” Woojin asked. “Jisung hasn’t stopped crying about it all morning.”

“We didn’t fuck in front of them,” I rolled my eyes. “You guys aren’t very supportive.”

“We’re in denial, Hanna,” Felix explained. “You and Changbin have never really gotten along.”

“It is strange,” Hyunjin agreed. “What happened?”

“He played me a song,” I shrugged, enjoying the matching looks of confusion adorning their expressions.

“Speaking of which,” Minho giggled, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially. “Changbin’s coming.”

I straightened up immediately, holding my breath as the dark-haired man stood at the edge of the table next to me. He glanced around at the others, running his fingers through his messy hair, uncombed from his hasty departure that morning. “Can I talk to you alone, Hanna?”

I anxiously followed him outside, unsure of what to expect. Changbin sat down on one of the benches lining the main sidewalk, allowing his bag to fall from his shoulder. I joined him quietly, trying to figure out the mask he had chosen to wear. “I want to talk about last night.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you regret it?”

He looked up immediately. “Of course not!”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I think I almost had a small heart attack.”

Changbin grinned, and it did wonders for the narrow aspect of his eyes. “What were you thinking?”

I bit my lower lip worriedly. “I don’t really know. It was kind of sudden, but I think I really like you Changbin.”

“What about Hyungsik?”

“He really wasn’t my type.”

“And I’m your type?” he asked.

“You must be,” I said. “I really like the way you fuck.”

Changbin scoffed. “Is that all?”

“You’re great at the guitar.”

“I’m trying to be serious.”

“I know,” I said, reaching over to poke gently at his chest. “You have a good heart. Otherwise, I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school,” Changbin admitted. “It got worse Freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way,” Changbin admitted. “You have no idea how turned on I was when you came in last night.”

“That was the goal,” I joked. “But seriously, I can’t believe I thought you didn’t care about me.”

“That was my fault,” Changbin said. “I didn’t make it easy on you.”

“It’s my fault too,” I sighed wistfully. “I always go after the wrong guy.”

“Don’t tell Chan that.”

“He already knows.”

Changbin laughed before easing in closer. “Does this mean I’m the right guy?”

I placed a quick kiss on his perfect lips. “I think so.”

“I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

“And I can’t wait,” I whispered into the seam of his lips, losing myself in our passionate embrace.

————————————————————————————–

I didn’t mind the crowds as they were becoming increasingly commonplace at their concerts. I learned how to tune out the screaming women, rolling my eyes whenever they tried to touch one of the boys onstage. I really had no room to talk since I could barely keep my hands off the dark-eyed lead guitarist who always managed to leave me increasingly desperate.

“Who’s your favorite member?” I asked one of the girls sitting next to me. She had been steadily growing drunker as the night progressed, squealing loudly whenever a new song started.

“Changbin,” the girl nodded, giggling when the man in question smirked in our direction.

But I knew he wasn’t looking at her.

“I think I like him too.”

And this time, I knew I had made the right decision.

#seo changbin #changbin fanfic #changbin smut #seo changbin fanfic #seo changbin smut #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #enemies to lovers

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giurochedadomani · 4 years ago

Text

It’s bound to ruin ya, honey

He shakes Leonardo off when he passes his fingers lightly over the blooming bruise on his cheekbone. His mood comes crashing down. He suddenly feels small, so very ridiculous, like when he used to take refuge in Leonardo and Regina’s house after a row with his father. Leave it to Leonardo not to leave him licking his wounds in solitude and peace.

“I fail to see how is it any of your fucking business”.

The point is, Vittorio also has broad shoulders, and a disarming laugh, and a curly mane of hair not much different from Leonardo’s, but he’s not married, and he actually wants Primo. It’s so exhilarating, being wanted. Primo has let him introduce him to many new experiences, starting by cocaine highs.

Or, Primo kisses Leonardo for the first time while being as high as a kite.

Continue reading on AO3 or under the cut.

TW: Drug use, Implied / Referenced Abuse (not by Leonardo or to Leonardo’s family)

“Leave him”.

Primo giggles.

“You don’t even have to actually kill the guy. Didn’t he want to go back to Sicily, or something? Tell him to fuck off”.

Leonardo’s cardigan is snug on the other’s broad shoulders. There’s a stain on his chest, and it’s dark, so it looks like blood, but it’s probably tomato sauce. When was the last time Regina prepared lasagna? He’d lick the sauce of the plate if he didn’t risk her kicking him out the table. Fuck, he’s starving.

“Let’s go to Alfredo’s!”

“It’s three in the morning”.

Primo doesn’t see any problem. He grabs Leonardo’s arm and tries to push him forward, but the other doesn’t bulge. Does he need some convincing? He can do some convincing. “I can tell him to get us a table, even if the place is full. The bastard owes me a favour big time! He ought to break the good wine”.

“Will you, fuck”, Leonardo pulls him back to him. “Will you listen to me, for the love of God?”

What Primo would really, really like to do with Leonardo right in this moment is to dance. He’s very clumsy, and laughs a lot, which makes Primo tingle all over when he’s the cause of it. He could probably tease him enough to get him to grab him. Leonardo is so very easy to rile up. “And the music— you know he’s got the best music. Le Orme, and Premiata Forneria Marconi, and the others, the ones who use bases of, of classical stuff—”

Fuck, what they were called? It’s going to bother him until he remembers. It’s something in English, that’s for sure. Leonardo probably knows, he’s good when it comes to remembering things. He wonders whether or not he could get him to teach him some phrases in English. He’d be a quick student. If Leonardo asked, he’d behave very well.

“You cannot continue like this”.

Leonardo’s glaring at him, and while it’s adorable, why is he glaring at him? He’s not exactly glaring at him, though. He’s focusing his eyes on the left side of Primo’s face, and Primo’s been ignoring that, and Vittorio, and specially and specifically Vittorio slapping him hard enough to leave a bruise for the better part of the last hour, so he doesn’t see why he should stop now.

“Like what?”

“I fail to see how is it any of your fucking business”.

Vittorio can be gentle, when he puts his mind to it, though it’s his mean streak, the one that has won Salvatore over in a matter of months. While it has been liberating seeing his uncle fester in hypocrisy as he actually gives praise to a guy the old man knows he fucks on the regular, the fact that Primo is still fighting for a place at his uncle’s table has driven a little bit of a wedge between them. There have been— fights. Physical fights. But no, no. Whatever Leonardo’s implying— Primo gives as much as he receives.

Leonardo’s tone is serious enough to make him actually listen to whatever he’s rambling about. Primo knows Leonardo’s very intelligent, and that his advice is to be taken into account. He wouldn’t have survived this long next to his uncle if he wasn’t. So Primo tries to picture himself telling Salvatore that he has been forced to drive Vittorio off Calabria and instantly he can almost hear his uncle’s voice going on and on about the untrustworthiness of fags while Primo is in the same fucking room.

“And then, what? I tell him to fuck off, do I gain anything, besides— having to deal with Salvatore gloating about it for months?”

He’d rather keep taking the beat— He’d rather keep on the fights.

“You’re doing all of this to piss your uncle off? To get him to chase you off the village?”

The first time Salvatore kicked him off his house, he was sixteen, and he had just taken a beating after being caught making out with another boy by the river. He had spent the whole night on Leonardo and Regina’s sofa, Leonardo’s fussiness helping him ignore how his bruised chest burned every time he tried to breathe.

He has fought so very hard to have this flimsy say in his uncle’s business that the idea of being kicked off, again, and having to start anew, fucking again, makes his blood boil. He wonders if Leonardo’s as tired as him. It must be exhausting, the amount of time he wastes covering Primo’s ass. Maybe that’s why he’s going on and on about this: he’s probably just trying to get the problem that Primo constitutes out of his plate.

“Do you want to chase me off? Back to Rome?”

“How’s that related to anything?”

In any other circumstance, he would find Leonardo’s confused look hysterical, now it just makes him itch for a fight. His tolerance for Leonardo’s advice is plummeting by the moment, especially now that he cannot think about anything, but in how Leonardo wants him so very little that he wants him out of the village. Primo’s chest’s constricting very painfully.

He tries to step out, but now it’s Leonardo the one who grabs him.

“I don’t want you to fucking die, you see? I don’t want to wonder whether I’m going to find your body in a ditch every night I hear you both shouting at each other. I don’t— ”, Leonardo stops himself.

Primo can feel the ice in his veins. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

“I don’t want you to end up like your mother!”

Primo’s mother died when he was fifteen. Salvatore took a long look at Primo’s father, his brother, and sentenced that it had been an accident.

Primo’s father didn’t survive his wife for long. Primo said it had been an accident, too.

Primo wants to shout. He wants to punch Leonardo, and also grab him by the lapels and— he pushes him. Leonardo’s back hits the wall with a loud thud.

Primo cups his face and kisses him.

He releases his grip as if it burns after a moment. He wills his breaths to even out, and he straightens his jacket, and waits for a reaction, any kind of reaction. He can feel his heart on his throat. His head, pounding, makes him dizzy.

Leonardo won’t even look at him.

Primo leaves the room pretending he’s not fleeing and blaming his unsteady stomach on the end of the high.

#trust fx #primo nizzuto #Leonardo x Primo Nizzuto

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trashyswitch · 5 years ago

Text

A Manly Sleepover

Jacksepticeye is staying at Mark’s place for a Nerd Expo Convention. Though Mark’s a little late, it’s really nice to be able to see him again.

Thanks to Chica, some pure silliness ensues.

Jacksepticeye placed his suitcases into the spare room. He was staying over at Mark’s house for the weekend, so he could be a celebrity guest at the Nerd Expo convention that weekend. Mark had went to pick up Chica from the dog groomer, and left a pair of keys for Jack, in the mailbox.

While he waited for Mark to come back with Chica, he decided to unload his electronics. He pulled out a power strip, his computer screen and stand, his keyboard, his mouse, his power cord, his cameras, and his mic and cord. He had just set up his computer screen, when he heard the front door open. They’re here! Jack walked out of his new room to greet them.

“Hi Mark!” Jack said, swinging an open hand towards him. Mark swung his hand as well, and high fived the Irish guest.

Chica jumped up onto Jack, to get his attention. “Hi Chica! You look so nice! Did you just get pampered? I think you did!” Jack cooed, petting his head and back. Mark smiled as he watched Jack rile up his dog.

“Would you like a drink or something? I have water, milk, Coke Zero, beer if you’re up for it...” Mark offered.

Jack looked up. “I’ll have a coke, please.” He replied, still petting Chica’s head.

“Alright.” Mark said, before walking to the fridge. He grabbed 2 cokes, closed the fridge, and walked towards the couch. Jack joined him, sitting beside Mark and taking the pop. Clicking it open, he took a sip before placing onto the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Hey Chica! Come on up!” Mark called, patting his lap. Jack bursted out laughing at the idea.

“Hahaha! Are you serious? How’s he gonna fit on you?” Jack asked.

“Just watch.” Mark replied with a smug look. Jack watched as Chica climbed up onto Mark’s lap, spun in a single circle, before laying his whole body onto his owner.

“Ohoho my gohohod. You look like you’re being squished!” Jack reacted, laughing at the golden fur covering Mark’s entire lap, stomach and some of the surrounding couch.

“It actually feels really nice. You should try it sometime!” Mark reassured, sighing in contentment as he enjoyed the feeling of pure dog weight on his lap.

“Where’s the remote?” Jack asked, looking back and forth.

Mark opened his eyes. “I think it’s...oh...” Mark muttered, looking around himself. He soon tried feeling the couch cushions, but they were empty. “I think Chica’s sitting on it.” Mark confessed.

“Chica! Off please.” Mark ordered. Chica did what his owner did...sort of...he moved off of Mark, but he flopped himself onto Jack instead.

“Chica! Really?” Jack asked, as 60 pounds of pure, fluffy dog climbed onto his lap.

“I found the remote!” Mark said, holding up the remote. Mark looked at Jack’s lap. “...aaaand now I’ve been replaced.” Mark said, jokingly disappointed. Chica turned his body to face Jack, and started begging for pets. Jack took one look at her eyes, and gave in.

“Haha! You’re such a suck up!” Mark said, pointing to Chica. “And you’re encouraging it!” Mark finished, pointing at Jack.

“Aw, come on Mark! Just look at her! How can you say no to those adorable eyes?!” Jack argued, pointing at Chica. Knowing that Mark’s friend was talking about her, Chica’s tail wagged.

See? She’s so cute! Are you an adorable dog? Yes you are! Oh YES YOU ARE!” Jack cooed, scratching and petting Chica’s head. Chica lifted himself slightly, and gave Jack a kiss on the cheek.

“See? She loves me.” Jack said, smirking.

Mark felt defeated for a moment, before an evil little idea came to mind. “Okay, sure. She CLEARLY loves you! But does she know to obey your commands?” Mark asked.

Well, ya! Chica! Off!” Jack ordered. Chica just stared at him, and didn’t move. “Chica, move!” Jack ordered once again, snapping his finger and pointing to Mark. As Mark predicted, Chica didn’t move.

“See? Alright. Chica! Come to Markipoo!” Mark ordered childishly. Jack’s eyes widened as he watched Chica move from Jack’s lap, to Mark’s lap.

“Ha! That settles it then! I’m the true master!” Mark proclaimed, triumphantly.

“Okay, fine. You’re the boss of Chica. Can I, at least, have Chica on me for a little longer?” Jack asked, pouting with his hands crossed.

Mark smirked, as his plan went into motion. “Sure. Chica! Go! Go to Jack!” Mark ordered. Chica got up, walked over to Jack, and climbed onto his lap. Jack smiled again, petting the dog happily. As a reaction, Chica gave a little bark and licked his chin.

“Ahahaha! Chica!” Jack giggled, using his hands to stop the ticklish tongue. Instead of licking the hands that were in front of Chica, she decided to dodge the hands, and lick Jack’s neck.

“Chihihihica! Nohohoho!” Jack giggled, attempting to cover the area.

“Aww, how cute! Chica’s tasting your face!” Mark teased. A couple seconds later, Chica stopped, turned his head to the side, and stared at the giggly Irishman.

Mark was trying his damn hardest, to not squeal out loud! “That’s so cute! She likes your face, Jack!” Mark cooed. “Though, I think she missed a spot.” Mark added as he got up off the couch. Quietly, he snuck behind the couch, and poked Jack’s neck.

“Mahahark!” Jack yelled, jolting at the sudden touch.

“Chica! Try over here! You missed a spot!” Mark ordered happily, still poking at the right side of Jack’s neck. Chica followed his owner’s orders, and started licking the other side of Jack’s neck.

“Yahahaha! Thahahat tihihihickles!” Jack said through his laughter.

“A little ticklish, Jack?” Mark asked.

“Whahahat do yohohohou fuhuhuckin’ thihihihink?!” Jack yelled, attempting to stop the dog with his hands.

Mark gasped. “How RUDE! That language will NOT be tolerated here! For those who dare swear in this house, get punished!” Mark warned, as he walked around the couch.

“Mahahark! Where ahahare yohohou gohohohoing?” Jack asked through his laughter.

“To the front of the couch, to punish you!” Mark answered. “Wanna guess what your punishment is?” Mark asked, putting a finger over his own mouth. Jack shook his head no. “Very well then! The punishment is...THIS!” Mark yelled, before diving his right hand under Chica. Within a couple seconds, Mark managed to find Jack’s right side, and started squeezing it.

“AAAAHH! NAHAHAHAHAHA! MAHAHAHAHARK! NAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!” Jack screamed. Mark smiled, before adding his left hand into the mix.

“Giiiiitchy, gitchy-gitchy-gitchy goooo!” Mark cooed, changing his squeezing to digging and wiggling.

“MAAAAAAHAHAHARK! DOHOHOHOHON’T!” Jack begged, curling into his ticklish side.

“Aww! Wook at dis wittle giggwy Iwish boy!” Mark teased in baby voice. “Alright. Chica! Off!” Mark ordered, snapping his fingers. Chica listened, and got off the boy. Then, Mark sat into the couch, and moved Jack against the armrest. Once that was there, he continued tickling Jack, with one hand on each squishy side.

“GAH! MAHAHAHAHARK! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Jack cackled.

“Wow! What a glorious sound!” Mark teased, genuinely happy with the laughter Jack was making.

“PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAP! IHIHIT’S TOHOHOHOHO MUHUHUCH!” Jack begged. Realizing he may have gone too far, Mark stopped as soon as those words left Jack’s mouth. Jack body curled up as he laid on the couch, as a mixture of pants and leftover giggles left Jack’s mouth.

“Yohohou fuhuhuhucking suhuhuck, man...” Jack muttered, before using his hands to try and push himself up.

Mark gasped at Jack. Such language! “Oh Jack...don’t you ever learn?” Mark asked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. Suddenly, Jack felt a pair of hands dive into his armpits, and started wiggling.

“WAhahahahait!” Jack reacted, trapping Mark’s hands under his armpits as his squirming started up again.

“Oh my! It looks like my hands are stuck in someone’s armpits! I guess I’m gonna have to keep on tickling the poor Irish boy until he lets my hands go!” Mark teased as he dug his fingers into Jack’s sensitive pits.

“Nohohohoho!” Jack replied, kicking his feet out of frustration.

“All you have to do, is let go of my hands! It’s that easy!” Mark softly explained, with a big smirk on his face.

“Ihihif I let yohohohour hahahands go, yohohou’ll dig deeper ihihihinto my ahaharmpits!” Jack argued through his laughter.

“Hmm...yes. I suppose this is a tough predicament. Welp, it looks like I’ll have to keep tickling Jack’s ticklish pits for ever, and ever, and ever, and ever!” Mark teased, continuing to exploit the Irish lad’s armpits.

Jack could feel his face heating up from the teases. “Ohohoho my gahahahad! Fihihine!” Jack decided, before attempting to open his arms. Mark smiled as he removed his hands. His smile grew wider as he initiated his original plan.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Jack.” Mark said with a deep voice. Mark placed both hands on Jack’s right side, and squeezed them.

Jack’s eyes widened. “OOOOOOHH NOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Jack screamed, as his laughter intensified. He continued to scream and laugh as his body frantically squirmed back and forth. Somehow, Jack had managed to trap Mark’s hands between his side and the couch cushion.

“Oh no! My hands are stuck! Again! Looks like I’m gonna have to tickle you until you let my hands go!” Mark teased, as he tried to tickle Jack in the new position.

“IHIHI’ll GEHEHEHET YOU BAHAHAHACK FOR THIHIHIHIS!” Jack yelled through his hysterical laughter. Mark rolled his eyes at Jack’s remark, and only continued to squeeze his side.

After a minute of tickling, Jack has started to bash his fist into the couch cushion. “I CAHAHAHAHAN’T BREHEHEHEHEHEATHE!” Jack shouted through his laughter. He could feel his face getting more and more red as he ran out of breath. Mark noticed this, and decided to stop completely. He stopped squeezing, and let his hands lay there for a sec.

“Th-...thank you. I’m-Mahahark! Nohoho mohohore!” Jack said, before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Mark ignored Jack as he tried to wiggle his trapped hands out from under Jack. Though the wiggling was working, his knuckles happened to be tickling Jack’s side even further.

“Just a few more seconds...” Mark reassured as he continued wiggling his arms.

Jack was able to see the kind of position Mark was in, and almost immediately came up with an idea that would benefit both of them. So, Jack grabbed Nark’s left arm, that had managed to just get free.

“Hey!” Mark yelled, as he pulled on his right arm. Jack took advantage of the position, and started wiggling his fingers against his best friend’s armpits.

“PFFFT-NAHAHAHAHA!” Mark bursted out, attempting to cover the spot with his right hand. Jack stopped his tickling hand, grabbed Mark’s right hand, secured it in his own left hand, and resumed tickling Mark’s pit. “HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Mark laughed, attempting to pull his arms free. Instead, Jack moved his hand to Mark’s stomach and started scratching.

“JAHAHAHAHACK! STAHAHAHAP THAHAHAHAT!” Mark begged as his knees buckled. Now, Mark’s body was lower than before. Jack took advantage of this, and tried tickling his neck.

“EEEEEHEHEHEHE!” Mark squealed, scrunching his shoulders.

Jack’s smile widened. “Oh my god! Your voice is able to reach unimaginable levels!” Jack exclaimed as his hand tickled different sides of Mark’s neck.

“STAAAAAAPP IT! PLEEEEEHEHEHEHEASE!” Mark whined through the big toothy smile on his face.

Mark’s eyes were completely scrunched together, and his face was getting a little more red by the minute. As a finale, Jack decided to try one more spot. He lifted up Mark’s shirt, and wiggled his index finger over Mark’s belly button. Almost immediately, Mark erupted into high, hysterical laughter as his whole body jumped. He completely lost his balance, and started to fall sideways. Jack let go of his hands, so that Mark could complete his fall.

“Oh my god! Your voice is able to go higher than mine has ever gone!” Jack exclaimed.

Mark stayed on the ground, lying away from the couch. “Fuhuhuck you.” Mark replied, through some leftover giggles.

Jack smiled. “Love you too, Mark.” Jack replied.

#Ticklefic #switch!jack #switch!mark

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oops-prow-did-it-again · 5 years ago

Text

Pokémon Sword & Shield: The Novel (Chapter 1 - Pomp & Circumstance)

Part of Pokemon Retold. Find it on A03.

Prologue

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

“Exhibition or not, Leon, your pristine record is about to end—when I beat you here today!”

“You know I don’t lose battles, Raihan! Charizard—DYNAMAX!”

Gloria couldn’t stay still in her seat. It was always a treat whenever Raihan and Leon battled—which, to be fair, was quite often even outside of the gym challenge seasons—due to just how intense both were. Raihan had an almost feral air about him once he got into battle, and Leon had such unbidden confidence. Though she was miles and miles away from where they were really battling in Wyndon, as she clutched the little Rotom Phone in her hands, she swore she could feel the crackling of the tension from the two in the air.

A harsh slam! pulled her nose from the device. Throwing a look over her shoulder and the back of the couch, she saw Hop rubbing his head and slowly closing the door behind him. She supposed he had ran into the doorframe. Giggling, she raised a brow at him. “Everythin’ okay over there, you Rapidash?”

“Haha, very funny! But hey, you better hurry up and come with me!” Hop exclaimed. He deftly rounded the corner of the couch and gestured for her to get up. “Oh, you’re watchin’ Lee and Raihan’s exhibition,” he said, “well, just record it! That’s what I do with all of Lee’s matches. But come on, come on!”

Gloria’s mother had now entered the room. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Now Hop, what on Earth’s got you so riled up?”

“Oh!” Hop whirled around to face her. “My bad, miss. You see, uh, well… My brother Lee said he’s goin’ to give us both a Pokémon today! If that’s alright…?”

Gloria practically fell over the back of the sofa trying to climb over it to reach him and her mother. She grabbed Hop’s hands and made him face her. “Really? We’re—we’re getting a Pokémon today?”

Gloria’s mother let out a hardy laugh. “Yes, that’s fine, children. Just be careful, don’t hurt yourselves. Gloria, don’t forget your bag and phone.”

Hop grinned from ear to ear and pulled his hands free from Gloria’s grasp. “Yes! Come on, Gloria, get that bag of yours and let’s go! No time for dallyin’!”

Gloria nodded and scurried upstairs to find her backpack. She was already dressed for the day, and just needed to get that to carry some things in. Her mind was swimming. A Pokémon! She had avoided getting one up to this point since she felt she would have nothing for it to do and would waste its potential, but, well, if Leon was going to hand one out, she certainly wasn’t about to say no. No idiot would say no to a handout from the champion himself!

Once back downstairs, Hop began to laugh hysterically. “What?” she demanded. “What you laughin’ at me for?”

“That bag!” Hop rasped. “That thing looks like it’ll pull you to the floor!”

Gloria rolled her eyes. The bag had belonged to her mother during the gym challenge she had embarked upon during her teen years. It was massive, but at least it had room for everything she could ever want to fit inside it. “So, we goin’ or what?”

“We got to go get Lee from the Wedgehurst Station, he’s rubbish with directions and says his Charizard’s tired,” Hop said as he wiped amused tears from his eyes. “C’mon, the sooner we get him, the sooner we get a Pokémon!”

“Good luck, you too!” Gloria’s mother called. Gloria waved goodbye and ducked out the door in a heartbeat.

As soon as their feet hit the dirt and they no longer had to worry about her mother overhearing them, Gloria and Hop started chattering to one another. They were more excited and louder than a whole flock of Rookidee on an early Sunday morning.

“So, how’d this come about?” Gloria asked.

“Well, he apparently visited yesterday while I was away at Wedgehurst,” Hop said. “And as I was comin’ back from helpin’ at the station, he just started talkin’ to me and was like, ‘Hey, I’m goin’ to come back tomorrow. Want a Pokémon?’ Of course, I said yes!”

“Did he happen to say what they were? Maybe a Yamper, or a Skwovet? Rookidee would be awesome!” Gloria beamed. “Corviknight is just the most majestic Pokémon!”

“Corviknight?” Hop questioned. “Thought you said Rookidee?”

“Don’t be silly, come off it!” Gloria laughed. “Corviknight evolves from Corvisquire, which evolves from Rookidee.”

“Right, right! Sorry, blond moment there I think,” Hop apologized and rubbed the back of his head nervously.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at Wedgehurst. The two towns might as well have been one town, seeing as they were separated by just a short walk down an uninhabited route. You could practically throw a stone from one to the other, but Wedgehurst stubbornly remained outside of Postwick’s jurisdiction, and was home to its very own train station, a Pokémon center, a clothing shop—anything one could need, just about. Gloria and Hop found that today, its typically plain streets were brimming with movement, and it didn’t take long to see why.

A brilliant glow emanated from the center of town. It threw orange and red lights across the gathered crowd. The fire being blown sky-high was of course from Leon’s Charizard. Leon himself was standing ahead of the formidable Fire Pokémon, striking his unmistakable pose. Everyone nearby, including Hop and Gloria, mimicked him, throwing two fingers into the air. Hop took it just a step farther, however, showing how he had perfected the pose over the years.

“Galar has got the strongest trainers in all of the world!” Leon was bellowing across the crowd. “And I want to keep it that way! So, as always, I want all of you to train as hard as you can! Come after me in the Major League if you can! We can keep showing the rest of the world how to have a champion time!”

Raucous cheering followed. Gloria flinched a little from the sheer noise. She had seen Leon and his fans that seemed to converge from the woodwork whenever he was around before, but that didn’t mean she ever started enjoying the crowds he drew. They were noisy and people acted so strangely around him. She loved him too, but she was nowhere near confident enough to stride up to him and demand his attention like others did.

“Oh, and if it isn’t my biggest fan!” Leon locked eyes on Hop and casually strode over to his little brother. He ruffled Hop’s hair and winked at him. “You’ve grown taller, little boy.”

“Lee! You just saw me yesterday!” Hop remarked, moving Leon’s hand off his head. Leon’s Charizard landed behind Leon and appeared to be watching the gathered crowd carefully. His tail swayed irritably. Gloria acutely became aware of how the Charizard never seemed relaxed. It always seemed so tense and anxious…

Leon turned his attention back to the gathered Wedgehurst mob. “Thank you, thank you, everyone! Now, I’ve got some family business to attend to, so I’ll be seein’ you later!” He waved the people goodbye, then whispered something to his Charizard. And with that, Leon, Hop, and Gloria began to walk back to Postwick. Leon’s Charizard brought up the rear, following much more slowly.

“Oh, Champion Leon, please don’t go just yet! Please let me have an autograph!” A feminine voice practically screeched behind them. Gloria heard Leon’s Charizard growl and turned just in time to see it flare its wings wide and stand tall over the woman that had decided to try to follow them. Gloria couldn’t see the woman or Charizard’s face from where she was standing, but she was quite certain the woman’s eyes were bulging from intimidation, and that Charizard had embers curling from the edge of its muzzle.

“Charizard, easy,” Leon said sternly. “No autographs today, I’m afraid. Really, I’ve got to be home for a while.”

Charizard’s throat rumbled to emphasize his trainer’s point.

“Understood!” the woman choked. She pattered away back into Wedgehurst’s borders.

“Man, Charizard is so cool,” Hop said breathlessly. “And so protective!”

Leon didn’t seem to have much of a response for that. Gloria looked up at him with a bit of a frown, wondering why he had nothing to say about such a comment. Leon’s expression was suddenly very unreadable and stoic. She shook her head and silently followed, listening in as Hop and Leon talked a bit here and there. But even Hop didn’t seem to be able to carry a conversation with him. Leon always had lots to say in public, but Gloria always found it extremely hard to actually talk to him in the few times she had met him in private with Hop. He was so… unyielding…

Back at Hop’s front yard, however, Leon’s bright and sunny persona resumed. He joked a little with them both before chucking three Pokéballs from his belt to the grassy terrain. Hop and Gloria both gazed in wonder at the three creatures that emerged. They had only ever seen these kinds of Pokemon on TV!

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

Hop had never seen Pokémon like these in the flesh before! He had heard of them, of course, and seen their evolved forms in matches on TV. They were incredibly exclusive to Galar itself. Sobble, Grookey, and Scorbunny; the deceptively adorable pre-evolutions to the monstrous Inteleon, Rillaboom, and Cinderace respectively. The Sobble in front of him quickly found its way to a small pond that had formed in their yard, where it settled in and began to lazily paddle about. The Grookey scampered over to the tree overlooking the pond and clambered high up its branches. It grabbed hold of a stick with a few leaves clinging to it, and waved it about happily, spinning in circles. The Scorbunny rapidly tapped its powerful feet against the dirt of the battlefield in their yard, and then started to jog in place. Jogging quickly turned to a full-blown run and small embers kicked up behind the Pokémon’s paws. Nobody was all that concerned, as the flames quickly died out.

Hop copped a smirk and crossed his arms. He looked at Gloria. “Why don’t you go ahead and choose? I’ve got my Wooloo already, after all.”

“Sobble,” Gloria practically spat before he had finished telling her that. “Sobble. It’s so cute. Please.”

Leon laughed and gestured for her to head over to the Pokémon. “Sobble’s all yours, Gloria.”

Gloria gleefully bounced over to the pond, where Sobble gave a start from her sudden movements. Gloria extended an arm slowly toward it, and the Sobble warily moved closer to inspect her hand.

“You goin’ to choose now, Hop?” Leon asked.

“Of course! I’m goin’ to go with Grookey!”

“Oh, you little git, you tricked me!” Gloria gave Hop a disbelieving smile. “You wanted me to pick first so you could get the starter that’s super-effective on mine!”

“You got it!” Hop snickered as he got closer, urging the Grookey to come down from the tree. It earnestly bounced down the trunk and landed on his shoulder, where it accidentally jabbed him with its favorite stick a few times. “Hey, ow—”

Scorbunny looked about the yard with a bit of confusion, and then its gaze settled on Leon himself and the massive Charizard standing at his side. It seemed to cower a little bit as Charizard leaned down to sniff its ears. “Haha, come now Charizard, you’re scarin’ it,” Leon said, walking over to the little Scorbunny. He scooped it up in his arms and scratched between its two ears. Its left foot began to kick rhythmically against his chest. “Charizard’s strict, but kind. It’ll be alright,” he reassured it.

Hop couldn’t help but smile wide at his brother. He was just so perfect with all Pokémon he came across. He seemed to know everything one would ever need to know about them and always made fast friends with new ones. He looked over at the Grookey currently chilling on his right shoulder. “I hope you and I will be good friends too, y’know,” Hop said. “You and me, buddy. Just like Wooloo. I’ll let you meet her soon!”

Grookey gave a happy squeak and bashed the stick against Hop’s shoulder a couple more times.

“Well, that kind of hurts… maybe I’ll get used to it,” Hop muttered to himself.

“So!” Leon clapped his hands and brought everyone’s attention back to him. “Everyone satisfied with their choices?”

Hop glanced at Gloria and saw she was cuddling her new Sobble tight against her chest, much to the creature’s apparent dismay. “Definitely!” she replied without ever looking up at them.

Hop nodded vigorously. “I like Grookey!” Grookey seemed to emphasize the point by jabbing Hop in the ear with its stick. Hop cringed and gently pushed the stick away from his head.

“Good! I’m starved. I’ll get the barbecue goin’, what you think?” Leon asked, slapping a hand to his stomach. He had handed his Scorbunny off to Charizard, who was doing its best to keep his tail flame away from the curious little Pokémon.

“Yes, please!” Hop begged. “I’ll go tell Mum and Dad!”

“Sounds good, I’ll get the grill goin’,” Leon said.

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

Another jab to the neck and Hop finally lost his patience. He gently removed the Grookey from his shoulders and set it to the ground. He blocked its advances to get back on him. “Look you,” he said, “you’re cute, but that stick bloody hurts. Stay off my shoulders or stop jabbin’ me, would you?”

It huffed at him and prodded his Wooloo laying next to them. They were outside still and had gathered beneath the shade of the big tree next to the shallow pond. Away from everyone else, Hop enjoyed talking to Wooloo, so he decided the best way to start off his relationship with his new partner would be to talk to it as well. Wooloo was less than affected by Grookey’s jabs. Her thick layer of wool meant the stick barely fazed her. She looked as unaware as ever.

“You know, it’s so weird havin’ Leon over,” Hop said, petting Wooloo’s head gently. He glanced past the two Pokémon over at his brother. He was leaned over the grill. He had begrudgingly removed his cape to prevent it from getting caught in the grill’s stray flames and had even pulled his hair back. A few people were gathered around him and Charizard was laying nearby, lazily flicking its tail to keep Leon’s Scorbunny busy. It appeared to be dozing off on occasion, but every time it did that, its tail would fall flat against the ground, and Scorbunny would seize the chance to land directly on it. In turn, Charizard would jolt awake, causing its tail to lash and throwing Scorbunny from on top of it. Scorbunny must have seen it as a game since it kept coming back.

Hop kind of wished he could have been over there talking to Leon, but some reservation kept him planted in place with his two Pokémon. He always found it hard to talk to Leon whenever it wasn’t private or with just immediate family. Leon had a slightly different persona when others were around and sometimes he could say things that didn’t quite make sense. Hop also couldn’t shake the feeling that he came off as annoying to his brother. Leon had to be dealing with people constantly, all day, every day; having your irritating little brother at your side constantly begging for attention probably wasn’t very fun.

He jumped as Gloria sat down next to him. “Oh, h-hey, Gloria!” he stammered.

“So, why you think Lee gave us Pokémon, anyway?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Do you think Lee’s goin’ to… endorse us?”

“Shut up!” Hop gasped. “You think he’s goin’ to endorse us?”

“I dunno, really,” Gloria giggled, “but why randomly give us three super rare Galarian-exclusive Pokémon if not to give us a head start on the gym challenge, hmm?”

“You’ve got a good point…” Hop said, rubbing his chin. “Man, I hope he does!”

Gloria fell silent for a moment as she looked over at the grill. “Who even are those people?” she asked about the small throng of people gathered around him.

Hop shrugged. “I’m not sure to be honest. But I’m sure they’re just good friends to him or somethin’.”

Gloria sighed. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #swsh #pokemon swsh #hop #gloria #leon #grookey #sobble #scorbunny #charizard #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #sword #shield #fanfiction #fanfic #novelization #pokemon retold

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softyoongiionly · 6 years ago

Text

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Three

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: College Au, Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, some moderate angst (later), smut (later later), slow-ish? burn

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Hello friends! I hope you like the new chapter 😊

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of fear, suggestive language and, swearing cause let’s be honest, that’s going to be a warning in every chapter.

Warnings for the Fic: mentions characters confronting their fears, characters in uncomfortable situations, emotional moments between characters, mentions of bad parenting, explicit language throughout the fic, moderate angst, and very explicit smut later in the story.

Chapter 3: Self Preservation and Spooky Ghost Powers

“Jimin move your arm, your elbow is digging into my ribs.” Jungkook whined, his brow furrowed in discomfort.

“I just wanna be close to you Jungkookie, just let me hold you.” Jimin’s laughter was that of a pixie’s: light and full of mischief.

The four of you were currently molded together in a mass of limbs on Jimin’s red pull out couch. It was Friday night and, you could think of nothing better than spending it with your three best friends, and all the shitty horror films you could find. Taehyung smirks, his arm placed casually around your shoulders as he chuckles.

“Fine, just move your stupid elbow.” Jungkook mumbles, his features turned down in discomfort but, his cheeks were painted pink at Jimin’s comment; always so easily flustered.

Jimin snickers in delight at his victory, moving his arm from off of Jungkook’s ribs to rest it on his shoulders instead. He nuzzled his pink hair head into Jungkook’s chest causing the younger man to roll his eyes.

“Be nice.” You giggled to the two boys next you, your head resting on Taehyungs shoulder. Taehyung was an easy cuddle partner, he didn’t move much and emitted so much body heat, that you swore he was part radiator.

“Ok so, is the mirror like a monster with magical powers? How does a mirror just magically have time-altering, spooky ghost powers?” Jungkook demands, his forehead wrinkled in confusion, his one free hand coming up with his inquiry.

“I have no idea but, this movie sucks.” Taehyung states bluntly, his expression that of pure disappointment.

“Hyung,” Jungkook nudges him, as Jimin intertwines his leg with his. “You said this movie was good.”

“Noooo, I said I heard it was good.” Jimin protests as he holds hand up in defense.

“Well it sucks.” Taehyung reiterates smirking, no doubt trying to cause Jimin to ignite one of his mini tantrums.

“You guys wouldn’t pick! We scrolled through Netflix for almost 45 minutes before, I said, let’s just do this one. And now I’m getting blamed? I didn’t direct the movie ok? I didn’t write it, I don’t know why the mirror has ghost powers Kookie! It just does! We like shitty horror for a reason no? Well, this is shitty so, be grateful!” Jimin is storming through his words as his puffy cheeks become more and more pink and, his chest becomes inflated with fury. By the time he finishes, the three sets of pursed lips amongst you burst open with hysterical laughter.

“Why do you always have to rile him up?” You say through the giggling, shoving into Taehyung who’s trembling with laughter.

Jungkook and Taehyung look at each other for a moment in silence before, erupting in another fit of laughter. Jimin is fighting back a smile as he shoots dagger back and forth between the two men.

“I’m sorry Jiminie.” Taehyung exhales through his laughter as he rubs a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Jungkook presses a kiss to the pink hair on Jimin’s head, his nose nuzzling into it as he tries to contain his giggling.

“You’re both mean.” Jimin mumbles, a prominent pout taking over his features.

The four of you end up sitting through the rest of the movie and, admittedly, it was pretty terrible but, the three of you kept your mouth shut about it; choosing only to praise Jimin’s choice instead. After the conclusion of the film, you all rifle through Jimin’s extensive collection of takeout menus before choosing to order pasta from That’s Amore: a place below Jimin’s building.

“Do you think they will just bring it up here or are they expecting that we walk down there and get it ourselves?” Jungkook agonizes, his raven hair pressing into the cushion behind him.

“I’m paying the $8.95 room-delivery fee to prevent any of us from having to move.” Jimin assures him as he looks through the menu, his finger tracing over the many delicious options.

“Jimin, I’ll just run down there and get it, don’t waste your money.” You offer as you push your toes into the side of his thigh. Jimin’s face turns up in disgust as he looks over at you.

“You’re offering to leave my warm, cozy, vanilla-scented apartment to walk downstairs, into a cold, loud, parmesan encrusted building, just so I don’t have to pay $9?” Jimin’s expression is incredulous, his finger stalling on the takeout menu.

You laugh while nodding, nudging your toes against his thigh again in affirmation.

“Dude, you live on the second floor, it’s not that far, just call in for carry-out, I got it.” You insist as your fingers search blindly behind you for the black hoodie you discarded earlier.

“Yes mam.” Jimin concedes smirking, his finger dialing the number on his phone.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, Jimin receives a text, informing him that the food was ready. You pull yourself up from the warmth of the couch, cringing at the thought of following through with your plans to leave. Damn Jimin and, his cozy apartment. Swinging the door closed, you make your way out of the apartment and down the hallway towards the elevator. Literally, every single time you get into Jimin’s elevator, it’s playing the same cringey elevator song. Elevator music is fine and all but, like, at least get some sort of playlist going. The elevator approaches the lobby, the sound of the city pouring in as the main door swings open and closed. That’s Amore was straight across the lobby from the elevator and, you silently thanked your group for deciding to order in because, the line was unbelievably long.

Jimin was right, as delicious as Amore’s food was, the place did smell a little too much like cheese and, a little too much cheese, smells like feet. You wrinkle your nose as you take your place in the carry out line, pitying all of the patrons who didn’t call ahead. As your eyes scanned around the bustling business, you let your gaze fall upon the person in front of you. Messy black hair, silver dangling earrings was that…Yoongi? You feel your heart flutter slightly as you cock your head, debating on whether or not to say anything. Maybe it’s not even him? Your body leans slightly to the left to try and catch a glimpse at the possible stranger’s face. Button nose, pouty doll lips, cat-like eyes, yep, definitely Yoongi.

“Yoongi?” Your voice is a little smaller than you want it to be but, he heard you anyway. He turns around to meet the sound of his name being called before, you notice a barely visible shrink in his posture.

“Oh, hi, Y/N right?” His tone is definitely one of surprise, but the sound of his voice is so annoyingly smooth that it masks any obvious reaction.

“Yeah, I thought you lived downtown? Did you come all this way for pasta?”

He smirks, a short breathless chuckle passing his lips, nodding.

“Unfortunately, I did, my roommates are wasted and, the only thing that’s going to prevent their nasty hangovers is a shit ton of carbs.” He explains, his hand reaching up to rub behind his neck.

“You must really love your roommates if you’re willing to drive through downtown traffic for them.” The drive back through the city during this time of night was notoriously riddled with traffic. In theory, it should only take someone 15 minutes to make it across town but, with the traffic, it could take over an hour.

“It’s not out of love, it’s out of self-preservation. They are so annoying when they’re hungover and, I really don’t feel like listening to them whine for the 4th weekend in a row.” Yoongi scoffs as you mention loving his roommates, his posture shrinking again slightly as his hand continues to fiddle with the back of his neck. Cute, he was really cute.

“Besides,” He continues, “Traffic wasn’t too bad tonight anyway.”

You nod, a slight smirk curving your lips, not fully convinced. Traffic was always a nightmare.

“Well no matter what happens, at least you got some pasta out of it.” You offer, your eyes attempting to catch his murky gaze but, it’s shifting around too fast for you to do so.

“That’s true.” He concedes as the older woman at the checkout counter raises a manicured hand.

“Next in line please!” She requests, signaling Yoongi forward.

“I’ll see you in class yeah? Enjoy your night.” Yoongi’s soft voice barely peaks out over his lips as he turns around to retrieve his order.

“Yeah, you too. Good luck with those drunk roommates of yours.”

He turns back as the woman packs up his order, a smirk and a scoff making another appearance.

“Thanks.”

—————————————————————————————————-

You saunter into Jimin’s apartment, a playful smile on your face as you lean against the door. The bags, that were currently digging into your wrists, emitted a tantalizing smell of garlic, oregano and, cheese, causing the animals that were your friends to rush over to “help” you carry the food to the table.

“I ran into the hot guy from psych.” You announce casually, giggling as you watch your friends tear into their pasta. At your announcement, Jimin’s eyes go wide before he smirks, his brow wiggling up and down.

“Did you talk to him?” Jimin inquires, tilting his head, the smirk never faltering.

“Did you say you were sorry?” Jungkook asks around a gargantuan bite of noodles.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, nudging Kookie, traces of a fond smile playing on his lips. Jungkook’s brows furrow in confusion, his head shaking as he continues to chew.

“Yeah, we talked for a second,” You move towards the table, taking the seat between Jimin and Jungkook. “he isn’t much of a conversationalist.”

“Do you at least know his name or? Are you just going to address him directly as the ‘hot guy from psych’?” Taehyung’s brow raises, his clever mouth curved in, what you have lovingly named, his ‘know it all’ smile.

Feeling your eyes roll, you take a sip of your wine before answering.

“His name is Yoongi.” At the casual drop of his name, two of your three friends, stop eating and stare at you, many emotions playing on their faces. Jungkook is continuing the deep dive into his pasta, his teeth bearing in pity.

“Kind of a weird name but, ok.” He comments but, your focus is on the other two men who stare you in curiosity.

“Wait, Min Yoongi?” Taehyung presses, his fork stalling on his plate.

“What does he look like?” Jimin adds, exchanging a look with Taehyung that signifies they are both thinking the same thing. You shrug, your eyes narrow in confusion as you gesture to them.

“I don’t know his last name and, he’s probably like Jimin’s height, black hair, pierced ears, kind of looks like a cat?” You offer, causing Jimin to snicker and lean into Taehyung as he laughs.

“What?” There is uneasiness bubbling in your stomach as your two best friends share some kind of unspoken knowledge.

“Do you remember that group of guys who were caught smoking weed in the south province?” Taehyung responds, his prominent brow rose, challenging you.

You do remember something like that happening whilst in your second year at your university but, you didn’t really see the connection. A bunch of guys and, apparently a few girls, were apprehended at an old abandoned house when passing drivers reported that they smelled something foul coming from the property. They were arrested on misdemeanor possession and trespassing charges and, instead of paying a lofty fine, all of them opted to have flyers of their faces posted downtown, depicting their crimes. You frantically wrack your brain for the images of the perpetrators to see if you were able to connect the dots before, your jaw drops in realization.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, your mouth turning up in a grin before a fit of giggles escapes your lips. “Oh my god was he one of those kids?” Your wide eyes search Taehyung and Jimin’s expressions as they laugh along with you, nodding. There were quite a few mugshots you remember seeing downtown and Yoongi wasn’t one you remember seeing but, you had to guess that if they were bringing him up in connection with that story, that he was obviously involved somehow.

“Oh god, maybe that’s why he always acts so nervous, he’s probably waiting for me to recognize him.” Your giggling falters a bit; another realization comes over you that causes your expression to fall slightly. “Wait that’s kind of shitty though, like I get that what they did was wrong but, that’s pretty humiliating.”

Taehyung splutters on his grape juice as he scoffs.

“Are you kidding me? They loved it! They went viral on twitter; they made t shirts with their mugshots on it!” Taehyung and Jimin are still chuckling as, Jungkook finally looks up from his food, realization finally reaching his features.

“Oh yeah,” Jungkook’s tone draws out the word, as a cheeky smile appears. “I got some good memes out of that. I’ll never let Jay live that down.”

“Wait, how do you guys know so much about it? That was more of a local story than national news.” The question passes your lips as you reach for another breadstick. Taehyung lets out another laugh as he looks over at Jungkook.

“We had a fraternity brother, Jay,” He nods to Jungkook, connecting the dots between Jungkook’s previous statement and his own. “, who transferred to your campus sophomore year. I think he was only here for 3 months before, he was caught up. He called us the day they were released, laughing his ass off.” Taehyung shakes his head, chuckling as he takes another sip of juice. “He’s an idiot but, he sent us free t shirts so, I wasn’t mad. Honestly, it sounds a lot worse than it actually was. Jay told me that they had less than a gram on them and, not everyone was smoking. Jay was but, most of them weren’t so, maybe your darling Yoongi was just guilty by association.” He offers, wiping his hands on the napkin.

Jimin giggles again, smacking Taehyung’s arm, his demeanor absolutely delighted. You roll your eyes, scrapping the last bit of pasta into your mouth.

“I’m sure he was lighting up with the rest of them.” You admit, smirking. The thought of Yoongi smoking wasn’t exactly appealing to you but, you weren’t going to judge him based on some stupid decision he made his sophomore year.

“Jay’s was in my 2nd tier modern dance class when it happened and, the day he came back, the girls were all over him.” Jimin chimes in, throwing back more wine. “Honestly, Y/N how did you not know it was him? It was all over campus.”

The answer was simple: your University was huge. There were over 45,000 students attending your school and, considering the fact that Yoongi was a music major, the two of you weren’t likely to cross paths.

“I’ve honestly never seen him before; we’re in completely different programs. Have you ever talked to him?” You inquired, looking at Jimin. You couldn’t understand why you were so curious. Yoongi was hot yes but, there were a lot of hot guys in the world. His appearance didn’t really offer any insight as to why you wished you knew more about him. He was just, interesting.

“He’s been in a few of my classes over the years but, as you said, he’s kind of quiet. I’m surprised you managed to have a conversation with him.” Jimin adds, his expression still holding a bit of humor.

“Well he’s my partner for our final project so, we kind of have to talk to each other.” You explain causing Taehyung and Jimin to ignite with mischief. Again.

“At least, the two of you will have plenty of time to get to know each other then.” Taehyung’s tone is suggestive, his tongue clicking in his mouth at his innuendo.

“Here’s hoping it’s a lengthy and difficult project.” Jimin raises his wine glass before chugging the last of the sweet liquid.

“Why would you hope for something like that?” Jungkook finally chimes in again, the confusion returning to his face before he lifts his juice box up. “I hope the project goes well Y/N, finish strong so, we can all finally YEET out of school together.” At that, you giggle, tapping your wine glass against Jungkook’s juice box.

“Thanks Kookie.”

————————————————————————————————————-

“Alright guys, so, last class we got to know our partners and hopefully, you all exchanged some form of contact information now,” Professor James moves through the room with ease as he speaks, his brown eyes scanning the room for confirmation.

The rest of your weekend had flown by, as you had spent the entirety of it at Jimin’s apartment; wanting to spend as much time as possible with Jungkook and Taehyung before, you had to say goodbye to them until graduation. Monday was a drag, so you were thankful that your Tuesday’s were much more interesting. Yoongi was sat in the seat beside you claiming, that, ‘I might as well sit next to you so, neither of us will have to get up.’ Eyes glancing in his direction, you tried to mask the smile forming on your mouth as you recall the new information you had learned over the weekend. It was hard to believe that someone who literally looked like a kitten, could have been involved in scandalous activity. Min Yoongi: the troublemaker, you had to admit, it suited him.

“So, today I want to get into how the project actually works. You and your partner will begin by reviewing each others fear hierarchies, which I will be handing back today,” He holds up the stack of papers up in his hand “Well done by the way, no one submitted plans for crocodile wrestling.” He jests, adjusting the glasses on his face before, continuing. “After you review each others hierarchies, you will need to assemble some sort of outline for how this project should play out. Now remember, although I am not condoning any dangerous activity, I am encouraging that you do your best to study your fear as close as possible. My goal isn’t to change you or even to diminish your fear response. My goal and, the objective of this project is to show that there are ways you can become more comfortable with certain,” Professor James emphasize the word. “unpleasant situations, like looking at a spider or, taking an elevator to the top floor of a tall building.”

He moves to the front of the room, adjusting his argyle printed blazer as he leans against his desk. “My suggestion is that you and your partner each approach one fear at a time. As I mentioned previously, I am expecting the exposures to be light. I’m not expecting you to go bungee jumping or deep-sea diving but, with that being said, if you choose to confront a fear directly, please do so safely and with the assistance of a professional. If any of you are seeing a therapist or a counselor, I encourage you to speak with them before and after the experience. Overall, I would prefer that you focus on documenting how you feel during this process whilst supporting your partner along the way.”

Yoongi shifts in his seat, his long fingers coming up to rub behind his neck as his eyes stay locked onto Professor James. His gaze was almost innocent as he stared at your professor: eyes wide and glossy.

“I’m going to start handing these back to you and, I want you and your partner to share your list and, then decide when you will conduct your first planned exposure. I will need you to submit the date to me by the end of the class so, I can award participation points.”

The shuffling of paper is heard throughout the room as Professor James hands off the stack of papers to those seated in the front row. Your paper comes back to you a moment later with a red check mark at the top, signifying that the list was approved. Shifting slightly in your seat, your fingers pull down on the bottom of your sweatshirt before, nodding to Yoongi.

“Did he write any notes on yours?” You inquire. Yoongi shakes his head, his eyes trained on his list before, he looks up at you.

“No, what about you?” His features are in their usual place: uninterested, sleepy, ethereal, etc. Though, this time, he at least made an effort to continue the conversation, no matter how small that effort might be.

“No, I think I’m good. Did you want to trade papers really quick?” You offer, your hand extending out to hand him your list. Yoongi eyes it suspiciously, your paper reaching his desk before, presumably deciding to hand over his list. You can’t contain your curiosity as your eyes frantically scan the piece of notebook paper, the curiosity burning inside of you.

1. Dyeing My Hair

2. Roller Coasters

3. The Ocean

4. Horror Movies

5. Night Clubs

You were relieved that Yoongi also opted to list five fears because, not only did it work out for the project’s sake but, it also made you feel like less of a baby. Yoongi’s features curve up in amusement as he reads your list and, you can already sense the question that is about to pass his lips.

“Opera, really?” Yoongi snickers as you roll your eyes, your expression one of incredulity.

“Look, I have my reasons ok? Once I tell you the story, it will make perfect sense.” You insist as Yoongi cackles lightly. He has the strangest laugh. It was sort of maniacal, like a child who got away with stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar. However, it was fucking endearing just, like everything else he does so, you can’t help but, giggle along with him as your finger zooms down to point at his list.

“What about you huh? Dyeing your hair? What’s so scary about that?” You pester, playing him at his own game.

“Look, I have my reasons ok? Once I tell you the story, it will make perfect sense.” Yoongi repeats as he attempts to imitate your tone, and, in return, he gets an eraser thrown his direction causing his rickety laughter to make another appearance.

The two of you decide to meet at your apartment on Thursday night as, Yoongi wasn’t free tonight and you weren’t free Wednesday night; Jimin had asked you to come over to help him decide what costume to wear for his dance showcase later that month so, Wednesday was a no-go. Yoongi writes Thursday’s date on the paper and, drops it onto Professor James’s as the class finishes up. He seems like he was rushed so, you didn’t bother trying to say goodbye as he wove his way in and out of the crowd. You had to admit that these morsels of conversation weren’t really cutting it. Silence was much appreciated in your world however, conversing with Yoongi was interesting. He was witty and surprising and, as cliché as it sounded, he was different than most of the guys you had encountered lately. Adjusting the backpack on your shoulder, you begin to make your way back to your apartment, secretly relishing in the knowledge that Yoongi, and his pretty stupid mouth, would at least be in your world for the remainder of the semester.

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sally-mun · 6 years ago

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So "The Acorns" is chock full of wonderful examples of how close and caring Elias is with Knuckles and the Brotherhood; any interesting instances of them NOT getting along very well?

I guess you could argue that the scene in The Acorns where Knuckles refused to leave Elias’s house until he was willing to go home would count, but yeah, there’ve been other times when Elias and Knuckles got into it. It doesn’t happen very often because Elias is a lot more easy-going than Knux, but they’ve had a couple of scuffles. (Instances with the Brotherhood are a little harder to define because that’s asking about a lot of people with very different personalities and temperaments at the same time, so I’m just going to focus on Knuckles.)

So I figure I can tell one quick story of when each of them was the aggressor.

For this first one, Elias had shown up at Knux and Finitevus’ place unannounced because he wanted to use their oven. Given that they live in an old GUN base, most things are oversized because they’re meant to accommodate overlanders. Elias was trying to make a shitton of jerky, so he wanted the extra oven space.

However, due to the time differences between Feral Forest and Knux and Fini’s island, he showed up pretty early in the morning their time, so he didn’t exactly announce his arrival. Elias figured, hey, best case scenario, maybe he could just make his jerky and leave before they even woke up so he’d be completely out of their hair. Unfortunately Finitevus gets up very early and was extremely startled to find someone in his house uninvited. Honestly in retrospect Elias should probably be happy Fini didn’t snap his neck or something.

Anyway, they chat a little in between Fini repeatedly snipping at him for showing up uninvited, and for reasons I don’t remember they needed Knuckles to get up. Elias offers to go get him, but also states that he’ll only do so as long as he’s allowed to pretend to be Fini as a prank. Finitevus isn’t really interested in his childish behavior (I mean he pretty much never is), but figures what the hell, if it gets him up it gets him up. Then about 10 seconds later he decides to see how this plays out and follows. Elias heads into their bedroom and climbs into bed beside Knuckles, lays in a pose that may as well have been ripped from the cover of a cheesy romance novel, and says (in the worst Albion accent in the world) that he wants Knuckles to wake up so he can make mad, passionate love to that sweet sweet ass of his.

However, Knuckles is still so asleep that he’s not really receptive of who is talking, just the words he hears. He very sleepily mumbles “fine” and, much to Elias and Fini’s surprise, rolls over to hike his butt in the air. Elias and Fini pretty much lose their minds and end up laughing so hard they’re crying (Fini was desperately hanging on to the door frame to not fall on the floor). Needless to say, all the laughing fully woke him up, aaaand Knuckles doesn’t respond to embarrassment well. He more or less had a tantrum at both of them for setting him up like that and just got even angrier that they both found it so hysterical.

Later on, Elias drags Knuckles out of the house for a hike to cheer him back up. Knux is still pretty irritated and grumbly, but does voluntarily go out. Things are mostly going well, but no matter what he tries Elias just can’t get that image out of his head and repeatedly bursts out laughing out of nowhere. Knuckles shouts for him to shut up, and not only does Elias NOT stop laughing, but he also starts cracking a few jokes about it too. Thiiiis eventually culminates in Knuckles whipping around and sucker-punching Elias in the right temple -- which connects with so much force that Elias’s prosthetic eye literally pops out of his head. He then very sheepishly has to ask Fini to put it back in for him once they get back.

Another time, there was a subplot going on where Knuckles was facing some serious depression. It wasn’t caused by some sort of event or problem going on in his life, it was a straight-up chemical imbalance in his brain (as I do write Knuckles inheriting some of Locke’s problems). As tends to happen with depression, Knux had become withdrawn and stopped finding happiness in stuff he normally liked, which included things like hanging out with Elias. It didn’t turn any heads at first, because everyone has to cancel plans sometimes, right? When it kept happening over and over, however, Elias began to suspect something was up and started probing.

Still trying to hide the fact that anything was wrong with him, Knuckles started coming up with lies for why he couldn’t hang out with Elias, rather than just simply cancelling. This carried on for several weeks, and as the lies got more elaborate, it became more and more obvious that Knux was lying to avoid seeing him – and, well, Elias was getting offended by it. He began to feel like Knuckles was pissing on their friendship by refusing to be honest even when he’d CLEARLY been caught in a blatant lie.

Eventually this culminated in Elias coming over anyway to demand an explanation of why Knux was ducking him. It was actually pretty shocking at the time because I think it was the first time in the game that Elias had lost his temper (as most of the time he just rolls with whatever mishap comes his way). Elias was so riled up that Finitevus stepped in and stopped him from actually seeing Knuckles at all that day, because Elias was so mad and Knux was so depressed that it was just a recipe for disaster. Fini did explain that Knux had been struggling with his mental health, and Elias did hear him out, but he was still upset even then because he didn’t understand why Knux wouldn’t just TELL him that instead of lying to him over and over again. I wouldn’t say Fini necessarily calmed him down, but he did manage to stop him from running his mouth at Knuckles and undoubtedly making things worse.

Their friendship was a little wonky for a while following that day, but Fini eventually got Knuckles on a medication that was helping him and Knux made up with Elias for all the lies.

#Sallymun RPs #gojira007

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asrasleftnipple · 6 years ago

Text

Backstory

Muriel x Lyria (oc)

*i don’t use my oc’s name in this but i wrote it w her in mind but! feel free to change the pronouns in your mind and imagine your apprentice in her place!

This is my first time posting a fic lol, shred me if you want, english is my first language so if it’s trash, i so sory

She has rich parents who don’t pay much attention to her but are also disappointed in her lascivious ways

Ended up getting kicked out of school but instead of going home, she began training under a talented herbalist

Learned magic accidentally

Eventually left town with money, herbs, and a small makeshift medicine kit

Ended up in Vesuvia

Got famous on the way, she became really gifted

Got invited to the palace when she arrived

Befriended Nadia (who really doesn’t care who fucks who)

Jucio took an interest to her immediately

He pestered her but she wasn’t taking his shit

Still ended up sleeping with him a few nights later (it was terrible)

Meets Asra the day after at a luncheon (at breakfast-time) in the garden

He warns her that Lucenzo isn’t who she thinks he is and tells her about his “Scourge of the South”

She was hella convinced

Asra tells her to get out as soon as possible

Arranges for her to meet a friend at the Rowdy Rave

She goes to the coliseum later that day with Nadia and Lucio

Horrified at the bloodlust

Horrified at Lucio

Horrified at the violence and gore

Slips through the crowd as soon as it’s over

She basically sprints to the Rowdy Raven and shouts breathlessly “Is anyone here a doctor?!”

Everyone just looks at her

Jules pops up all concerned and shit

“I’m a doctor, what’s wrong?! Who’s hurt??”

She’s like oh, do you know Asra?

Chaos ensues

Has to smuggle her ass through to the edge of the forest bc Ucio has guards scouring the city for his wayward “court magician” (she declined the job offer)

She dazzles him with her suave flirting and finesse until she ends up taking a fucking plunge into one of the canals

Ilya only has time to drag her out of the water, pry off a vampire eel and throw her over his shoulder because the guards spotted them and were coming in hot

When they reach the edge of the forest Muriel is waiting for them

She claims she’s fine and that she can stand and promptly eats shit

Falls towards Muriel instead of Julian

Muriel just lets her hit the ground bc he wasn’t expecting that at all

Julian has to stop the bleeding before they can even think about moving on

Muriel parts with Julian and carries her to his hut

She needs to recover for a few days, in that time Muriel discovers that she’s a mega flirt… just not with him. She can’t really talk properly around him…

Asra, and Julian (much to Muriel’s dismay), come through a few times to check on her

She immediately turns it on:

Asra is only a bit flustered at the beginning but starts to take it playfully

Ilya’s life is ruined

He can hardly form a proper sentence, she’s laying it on so thick

Might pass out from high blood pressure

One night, while Muriel’s with the chickens and Inanna, she asks Asra about Muriel’s scars (bc she can hardly look at him without actually making a whole fool of herself, nevermind ask him a personal question)

He pauses, “before I tell you, be patient and gentle with him?”, when she nods he pauses for a long time

Then all he says is “remember when I told you about the Scourge of the South...?”

She goes buckwild (Faust says Rowdy!)

Starts getting hysterical

“H-he did that to him!?!??!?!? That- that fucking monster!!!”

Tries to get up even though she’s still injured, Asra is like “oh shit chill”

“He’s killed so many people!! He’s like a fucking plague!”

Muriel overhears and just assumes she talking about him

Meanwhile, she’s still flipping tables inside calling The Count a variety of Bad Things

All of a sudden goes very still and very calm

“I’m going to kill him”

“N O”

Muriel’s heard enough (or so he thinks) and goes deeper into the forest with Inanna. He’s gone for hours

Meanwhile, she starts sobbing

Asra eventually calms her all the way down with some magic help, tea, and squeezes from Faust

She explains her whole predicament from sex with Lucio to her feelings for Muriel and how she feels like she owes it to Muriel to end The Count

Asra lets her cry on him until she falls asleep and he has to go back to the shop

It’s almost noon the next day and Muriel still isn’t back

She starts to panic “fuck, what if he heard me crying last night and thinks I’m fucking hysterical?”

Is restless as fuck

Finally over it, she puts on some clothes and leaves the hut (like a damned fool)

She calls out to Muriel for what feels like hours

She’s starting to feel dizzy… she hadn’t eaten that day and her wound? That shit hurted (but not as much as her heart!)

Decides to take a nap under a random tree, actually going into shock bc she fucked around and reopened the bite

Inanna smells the blood and leads an unknowing Muriel to her, sniffling at the unconscious magician (stupid head)

“What are you doing out here?!”

She jolts up and squints at him

“Puppy?”

He carries her back to the hut (bc he’s totally soft for her)

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe”

“... what?”

He takes care of her bloodied clothes and redresses her wound

“... why … would you do something like that?”

“... I- I can’t tell you yet”

Muriel thinks it’s some assassination plot and gets hella closed off and also mad at himself because it was so fucking easy for her to get him right back where she wants him

He closes off immediately and she’s reminded of what Asra told her last night, why he’s a hermit who doesn’t trust anyone but him

Starts sniffling

“... what are you doing?”

Then she just flat out cries with them ghibli tears

“What’s wrong…??!” ol boy Muriel is starting to panic

She can only choke out “I am so sorry” over and over until she can’t speak properly

Muriel is still lost as hell “what do you have to be sorry for?”

She finally looks him in the eye “for sleeping with him! … for what he did to you”

Muriel is shook as fuck

“What he-? You.... you don’t think I’m a monster? That I’m a plague?”

She finally understands his meaning even though her mind is a fog of pain, dizziness, and tears

“Of course I don’t think that! I was talking about- … about Lucio. You’re not disgusted at me…?” she croaks

He shakes head and strokes her head softly as a fresh wave of tears hit her

Muriel sits on his bed with her silently until she falls asleep, curled up in pelts with Inanna

He thinks back to when she said that she would “kill him” and breathes out a short huff of a laugh

She’s so small and so fierce… like… a little bear

He knows she can’t go back to the city because of The Capricorn™️ and he’s already gotten used to having her around and so has Inanna

“Alright, Little Bear, don’t worry anymore”

He lets her feed the chickens all the time and cooks her favorite dish whenever she gets cramps

Eventually lets her braid his hair with flowers

Asra brings them their bread when he visits

Julian stops by a lot less frequently than Asra, but one night has them both try a salty bitters and is #banned

She dances in the rain too much and just grins at an exasperated Muriel when she drips water all over the goddamn floor

She makes Muriel sleep on his bed with her, she won’t take no for an answer

Learns to cook his favorite meal and has Julian smuggle her some black mead as a birthday surprise for Muriel

He actually smiles at her to her face!

One morning she’s trying to wake him up because his arm is heavy and she needs to get up to feed the chickens and he just mumbles “what is it, Little Bear?” and she just drops dead right there

The boys are devastated (kidding)

She just can’t speak properly for hours but Muriel falls back asleep, oblivious

She goes swimming with Inanna on a hot summer afternoon but stays out late so he goes to find her for dinner

She neked

He wasn’t fucking ready

He’s red for the rest of the night and she’s like Muriel: 264; me: 1

Sometimes she sneaks kisses on his shoulders and arms but they’re so light he doesn’t notice

Gets caught once

“That was you??”

Can’t look him in the eye for a week

She was having a one-sided conversation with Inanna and hears a strange sound behind her

It was Muriel. He laughed. Out loud. Surprised everyone including himself

One night she and Muriel get caught in the rain

Strippinggggg

They’re both a mess in the duration of peeling off their soaked clothing

She sits wrapped in a pelt in front of the fire

There’s hella firewood so Muriel has no fucking excuse to leave

Just wraps a pelt around his waist and goes about making tea

Once that’s done, he’s forced to awkwardly sit by her in front of the fire

She’s getting bold now, letting the pelt slip down her shoulders and leaning against him

Poor man almost fucking combusts

Now or never, bitch

She stutters out some dumb confession and Muriel just looks away and smiles softly “I know, Little Bear”

After that, she can’t keep her hands off him

She always at least lightly lacing their fingers when they’re near

And she kisses his face A Lot

It always flusters him without fail

Likes to hug him all the time. She’s like a koala but cuter

Eventually convinces him to take off his collar

Asra comes over for a picnic and immediately senses the difference (cue The Smirk)

She tells him about Muriel’s nickname for her and he just eats it up lmao

Teases Muriel the most

“Can I help plan the wedding? We can invite Nadi!”

Before she feeds the chickens one morning, she goes to peck Muriel on the cheek

She m is s ed

Muriel was so red haha she just giggled and flitted away

Makes it a mission to see how riled up she can get him

He caved after 2 days when she tugged on his earlobe with her teeth

NSFW later---

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but the discord said it was cute or whatever so here it is

#oc x character #Chrys writes #the arcana #muriel #muriel x apprentice #muriel x oc #asra the magician #julian devorak #count lucio #the arcana lucio #nadia satrinava #fic #sfw

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years ago

Text

OUAT 2X16 - The Miller’s Daughter

I actually don’t have a pun this time, but if you want to read some semi-interesting thoughts on this episode, comedy bits that may or may not be funny, and for me to try to analyze costumes despite having fork all knowledge about them, then come with me and you’ll be in a world of fairytale serialization!

Press Release Cora’s desire to rid herself of Rumplestiltskin in order to take his place as The Dark One takes one step closer to becoming reality as she and Regina try to overpower a dying Mr. Gold, and Mary Margaret is once again tempted by dark magic. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was, Rumplestiltskin agrees to offer his services to a younger Cora - for a price - when the king calls her bluff and orders her to actually follow through on her boast of being able to spin straw into gold. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past Cora’s psyche was FABULOUSLY written in this segment. She’s not completely unsympathetic, but seeing the things that tick her off and her suggestion of “bloodlust” as her fuel for her magic show that she’s a psychopath. She wants to torture people for looking down on her and it’s appropriately petty. Her ambitions are so strong and appealing to her that they eclipse even her sense of love. We get such a complex picture of this woman here and it frames her perfectly for the tragic fate that comes upon her in the present.

Cora, you are an evil woman but I’d be lying through my teeth if I said you didn’t rock that dress! Actually, despite knowing fork all about fashion, I want to continue. Let’s talk about the use of color in this scene. Cora’s wearing a red and black dress, though it’s predominantly red. I feel like this can be read (Or rather, RED XD ) as Cora being a person who wants bloodlust and who is finally deciding to let the blackness in her heart take over in order to get what she wants. Also lets not the silver on he dress as well in the form of the jewel or brooch (Note my lack of fashion know how), a small but noticeable reflection of the values Henry Sr. wants in a wife. And speaking of, Henry Sr. is dressed, not only in white, but white and silver. The white, of course, is his sense of goodness which does win out in the end, but the silver to me stands in for the speckle of darkness that his future endeavors with an evil Cora and an eventually evil Regina will be involved in. Finally, let’s look at the king. His clothes are roughly half black and half white. I read that as him ultimately having good intentions for his son and kingdom but being wicked for all that he puts Cora through, knowing her rank, status, and likely abilities.

While I understand that this borders of shipping stuff, and I usually separate that, I like how while Cora and Henry Sr. have a relationship that’s not at all antagonistic at the very start, they don’t spend enough time together to discover whether or not it’s love, making their dysfunction later on make so much sense. Present I have a lot to say about Snow wanting to kill Cora...just not here, if that makes sense. While I remember it going overboard in upcoming episodes (Prepare for the longest eye roll in the world when Snow goes on about how it was easy to kill Cora), it’s really well executed here. Snow riles herself up to kill Cora and when it finally happens, she realizes how she wasn’t ready for the internal consequences in regards to her heart and sense of goodness (Not to mention her safety from Regina!). Snow’s rage from the last episode’s ending is still so present, and it’s appropriately framed as a risky path she might not want to take, but just might have to.

Snow utterly GETS Regina as she’s giving her the heart. It’s horribly twisted just how much she’s able to pick on Regina’s need for a mother’s love and use that to get Regina to kill Cora. That moment really struck as the one where she realized (And me) that for as tactical as the move was, it may have been too cruel. All Encompassing I love seeing Cora as she started out because it says so much about the presentation she’s built around herself over the course of her rise to power. Cora has a fiery and snippy temper that she can just hardly control, even among the royals who she so desperately wants to be one of. The Cora of the present composes herself so well and it’s such an interesting contrast, especially in the moments when that anger does comes out.

It’s such an interesting contrast as the scene where Emma learns how to use magic cuts to the one where Cora learns to use magic. In the Emma scene, Rumple has her conjuring a mental idea of those she loves and wants to protect and why so that she can help others. Meanwhile, in the Cora scene, the ideas Rumple has Cora conjure have to deal with those she wants to harm and kill so that she can better her own status. It’s a great point of contrast not only for the two characters, BUT also for how light magic and dark magic are uniquely created. Also, given how Rumple is a Dark One who was at one point a Savior (Though I acknowledge that that might not have been created at the time), it’s great to see Rumple at the cornerstone of both lessons, showing a sympathy and understanding for both women.

“I realized no matter how good I was or how hard I worked, I was never gonna be more than I am now.” Cora and SNow are conflicting characters in this episode, and it’s so cool to see that at one point (Obviously longer for Snow by a huge margin), both women held the idea that goodness being the cause of good fortune as true. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -I love the design of Cora’s home in the past. With the placement of her father in the wheelbarrow and the dirty colors all around, it really highlights the squalor that Cora’s lived in all her life. Additionally, the castle in the still quite visible distance is the perfect thing to show her ambition to be more than she is and ascend to royalty. The melancholic music in the background just brings it all home. -Going off of my last review, I love how Eva is characterized in her small moment. The trip is pre-mediated (But in a smart way) and the Season 3 episode where they first meet even gives more of a reason as to why she was so horrible here. -Those bunks are actually roomier than I thought they’d be for a pirate ship. -I like Rumple’s subversion of expectations with Emma as he asks if she wants him to die before they return to Storybrooke. He always expects the worst out of people (As semi-justly as that mentality is) and when they show that that’s he’s wrong (whether he understands that or not) is just so nice! -”I-I’m not wicked.” You are about to kill at least four people! Yes, you are wicked! Or evil, since ‘wicked’ is more of Zelena’s schtick. -Also, Cora’s reaction to the phone call is hysterically petty. She’s like a cat. -Yes, Regina! Doubt her! (fork me with a rusty fork, the dialogue is just AMAZING here!) -*wistfully sighs* The stylized design of this ball is so beautiful. The masks, the dancing, the layout! It’s so distinct! -I have to ask: Does Cora know that that’s Henry Sr. when she originally gossips about him right to his face? On one hand, I’m not sure we’re supposed to interpret that that way, but on the other hand, it’s a very Cora thing to do. -It’s really weird to see someone on this show say ‘whore’ (“Whoring” in context, but still!). -”Cora. Sounds like something breaking.” I can’t say that I agree with you, Rumple. Cora’s a lovely name! We just need someone less evil to have it! -”Can ya read”” I think this is the first time Rumple’s actually checked to see if someone could read! He really should do that more! Like, so many of the people he deals with are defenseless peasants! So what the hell?! -Love that pen, Rumple! THAT is a deal-making pen! -”For a rainy day.” You say that a lot, Rumple. What, did a rainy day eat your dog or something? -”And there’s no coming back from death, either.” Give it a season, Rumple. And then another. And Then Another. And. Then. Another. AND THEN ANOTHER! I don’t hate this plot device, but it really happens a lot! XD -”...When he learns that you killed his grandpa.” Rumple, the other solution is her killing his adoptive grandma/great-grandma. This isn’t as much of a point in your favor as you think it is! XD -I love how they showed Emma using magic here. You really feel the step-by-step process in how it’s done. I wish they’d use that filming style more often in the future, but I guess I get that the creators acknowledge that we get the deal in the later seasons. -”I rip out his throat and I crunch his veins with my teeth.” That is amazingly disturbing imagery! Like, the writing of those lines are so impactful and frankly scary! -”To a child.” So, I don’t know if this was the fault of casting, but Eva and Cora are too close in age for the difference to be all that remarkable. -”I want their kneecaps to crack and freeze upon the stones. I want their necks to break from bending.” Another instance of disturbing as all here writing, but done so eloquently that it’s beautiful. -I like how Regina and Cora are able to pretty easily take down Emma’s protection spell together while Cora takes longer to do it on her own, showing that even though Emma’s the Savior and indeed powerful, she still has a lot to learn. -Also, good on you, Emma for giving Regina a last chance! -”WHEN YOU SEE THE FUTURE, THERE’S IRONY EVERYWHERE!” Finally! I not only now know for life where that forking quote comes from, but after referencing it time after time, it’s so good to hear it again! -Another note on the costume colors: The only time Cora rejects her ambitions are when she’s wearing her opposite color: White. The goodness in her is so overpowering! -I love the distorted version of the classic Once tune that plays as Snow is getting Cora’s heart. -”At least this cursed power will pass from this world.” I’m not sure how I feel about this line when it comes to Rumple, given how just two episodes ago, he was so on team magic, but given that the dagger both threatens his family now and caused the initial separation from Bae, I can understand the sentiment. -I’d like to think that when Cora sent Emma and Neal away, she essentially just did it via subconscious randomizer! XD -”Did you ever love me?” Given everything that happened with Milah, it makes sense that Rumple would ask this going forward with his romantic endeavors. -”I did nothing.” Yes, you did! Rumple, who the here told Snow about the freakin’ candle the second time? I love you, man, but don’t weasel completely out of this! -Something I noticed: So, I know that the point of contention with Regina blaming Snow for Daniel’s death is a hot topic (Hell, I even saw a debate about it this morning), and I can’t help but feel like this was written partially so that Regina would have a more...legitimate reason to hate Snow. Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Rumple Finding Baelfire/Neal - I actually discuss there two in just a moment! Regina’s Redemption - This episode definitely shows Regina’s sense of good and evil being pit against each other and Cora is right in the middle of it. In the shop, she’s directly by Regina’s side and there, she won’t even entertain the idea of Emma’s offer to change sides. But when Cora and Regina are separated, and the idea of Cora’s real love is brought up, that’s when we see her goodness win. Cora in Storybrooke - Here concludes this arc, and I honestly loved it. Like all of the best villains and their arcs, Cora leaves so much on the floor (Apart from her corpse, that is) in terms of emotional issues for our main cast, especially Snow and Regina. The arc itself was also well written and well paced. Not to mention, it mixed very well with Regina’s Redemption by forcing it to be turned back a bit, showing that Regina’s redemption won’t be so easy. Favorite Dynamic Rumple and Neal - These guys have a scene that’s maybe half a forking minute and they steal the god damned episode with it. Rumple finally gets to say what we all know he really wanted to say. And what I especially love here is how Neal hears him out but does not forgive him! Like, Rumple is dying and he doesn’t fully absolve him, and I think that was such a bold and brilliant thing for Espenson to do. It shows that Neal’s pain, even in this moment, still matters, and while there can be softness, that pain hasn’t gone away. It’s such a small, but insightful understanding of their relationship. Writer Jane Espenson hit the writing out of the forking park! At least a few times during the episode had such intricate language. Honestly, it almost freaks me out a bit with the imagery she painted during the ‘bloodlust’ scene with the way she has Rumple and Cora speak about the harm they wish to inflict on those who scorned them! While there are errant lines here and there that I don’t like (I jotted a few down in “Insights”, they’re so few and far between that they hardly matter. The storytelling and character work here is great, too. She took advantage of all of the little nuances from the other episodes and shows just how much attention she was paying here. Rating Golden Apple. This was a great end to Cora’s story. Intersped with two fantastic stories that connect pretty well are great character moments between our main cast. It’s incredibly solid for an episode that serves as such a big moment of culmination, but it is. It’s entertaining, heartwarming, heartbreaking, disturbing at some points, and everything else in between. The feeling of tension as the Mills/Charming-Stiltskin war comes to a head is present through the entire flashback and Cora’s backstory only shows how much of a threat she truly is. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - I like how David knows Snow well enough to know exactly what killing Cora will do to her psychologically. A subtle moment like that really shows how well these two click. Golden Heart (Cora/Rumple) - I’d be lying if I didn’t say there weren’t sparks that could light the Enchanted Forest up like a menorah between Rumple and Cora. I love the way they bond over bloodlust and their kiss in front of the mirror while Cora’s in her wedding dress is a little hot! Look, I LOVE mopey dopey puppy love ships like Snowing, Rumbelle, or Captain Swan, but I LOVE villain ships! I love when a couple loves evil and each other, the exact order notwithstanding and this episode gives me exactly what I want. In another world, I would totally have had Rumple and Cora be together and have episodes and be recurring villains, but that (partially) doesn’t happen. Still, I’m grateful for what we get here. Also, I love when while Cora places her heart on Rumple’s chest, he says “I will show you EVERYTHING,” meaning his heart and love as well. I’ve also got to point out that Rumple and Cora can do that thing that the True Loves do when their kisses can be indicative of when something is wrong. Finally, Cora’s pentultimate dying words are “this would’ve been enough,” and Rumple and Regina are the only two in the scene, meaning that she would’ve wanted to be with them as a family. Rumbelle - I could honestly just put the entire phone call here and it would cover everything I want to say. It’s such a beautiful goodbye. However, I’m going to reference just a single line that comes in early on. “You are a hero.” Rumple knows how much being a hero means to Belle and that’s the first thing he tells her. It’s her ambition for herself and he places that ahead of her ambitions for him. That’s just heartbreaking. And it’s here that Rumple first says a sentiment that carries him to the series finale: “You make me wanna go back to the best version of me.” And that forking almost silent “Thank you, Belle” legitimately choked me up. ()()()()()()()()() Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales!

Wow. After all the pain that Cora caused, Storybrooke’s more or less a new town! I guess we should welcome ourselves there. ;) See you next time. Season 2 Tally (142/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (39/60) Jane Espenson (35/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x16 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

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