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anxiousgaypanicking · 1 year ago

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Dirty Talk

!a series of me uploading the kinktober fics/drabbles i made years ago because i didnt back in 2020 for some fuckin reason. if these are bad/poor quality its because theyre old, and ive improved since then :)!

Roceit (Roman x Janus) Day 29: dirty talk Warnings: degradation, blowjobs, leg humping

"How long will the others be out?" Roman asks, eyes turned towards the front door. Outside, rain poured, and every once in a while lightning struck, momentarily illuminating the otherwise dark living room.

The television was on, playing a movie that Roman had seen many times before, but it hardly provided much light during the current scene - one more dark and gritty. Roman craved the return of the sweet scenes with colour and light, so he'd suffer through the dark with a pout until they came on again.

Janus was curled up on the other side of the couch, a blanket draped over his lap, and a book in hand. Roman recognized it as one of Logan's books, identified easily by the sticky notes peaking out from between pages, no doubt covered in small lettering identifying parts of the book that Logan deemed interesting or noteworthy. Leaning forward slightly, Roman attempted to catch a glimpse of the title, but he couldn't manage.

"All Patton said was that they'd be back tonight," Janus responds, voice smooth as he flips a page. "Judging by how bad the storm has gotten, they might not even decide to do that. Virgil probably started freaking out the moment lightning struck."

"Do you think they're going to get a hotel?"

Janus sighs, as he closes the book over his thumbs, preserving his spot. "I don't know, Roman."

"Do you think we should call them and-"

Before Roman has the opportunity to finish his question, Janus shifts his position on the couch and kicks Roman's leg, Roman dramatically curling up into a ball and saying "ow! Meanie!" He's pouting, as he rubs the spot on his leg Janus had kicked, but Janus just rolls his eyes and sets the book on the coffee table, turning back to Roman entirely.

"Can you hush?" Janus states, as he stretches. After sitting idle for a long period of time, his body ached. "The others are probably fine. Pay attention to your movie or something; quit worrying about them." Upon seeing Roman's pout, Janus specifies "or at least quit vocalizing your worry. It's frankly quite annoying."

Roman whines out a protest, before he dramatically slumps over onto Janus's legs entirely. "But the movie is boring right now," he says, bottom lip jutted out in a point. "And I'm bored!"

Usually one of the others is able to distract him or entertain him for quite a bit of time, and even when they aren't around Roman can usually get wrapped up in his work to the point where he leaves Janus alone.

But, it seems that his wish for peace and quiet wouldn't be granted, as Roman whines and complains about a lack of stimuli while lightly pounding on Janus's legs similarly to the way a child would throw a tantrum.

"Pity," Janus hisses, as he kicks Roman away from his legs, before curling back up into a ball. His blanket had been discarded due to the movement, but before he could reach for it and toss it back over his lap, Roman crawls over the couch and fully rests his upper half on Janus's lap.

Janus never understood why Roman was so affectionate, even while complaining and pouting, and he didn't exactly know how to react. Pushing him off again would only result in Roman crawling back, despite the fact Janus didn't care that he was bored, and could honestly do without all the touching.

"Janus!" Roman whines, before he rubs his head against Janus's stomach, nuzzling him close in an attempt to cuddle him. Janus can't deny that he's very much enjoying the pure heat radiating of of the other, but he still let out an annoyed scowl as Roman then pleads "please, entertain me?"

With a scoff, Janus combs his hands through his own hair, clearly annoyed. However, knowing that Roman wouldn't quit bothering until he did, Janus sits up fully, stretching in an attempt to soothe the ache in his body from sitting still for so long.

Roman, sensing he'd convinced him, sits up fully too, excited by whatever idea Janus had or will come up with.

"What's your colour?" Janus asks, as he brushes off his lap, making it seem like Roman had some sort of disease that made Janus want to wipe away any potential germs. Roman flushes at his words, though, and ends up shyly looking away.

"Oh- oh. I didn't realize you'd want to do something so... so..." Roman stammers over his thoughts, clearly unsure of how to process the fact Janus wanted to do something sexual. "Well, to be frank, I didn't realize you wanted to have sex." His voice turns into a whisper as he nears the end of his sentence, clearly flustered by Janus's implications, but it just makes Janus roll his eyes.

"I take it that's a 'no,' then?" Janus asks, as he reaches for his book, although Roman immediately exclaims "no! I mean, no, that's not a no. Let me start over!"

He draws in a deep breath, desperately trying to will away the blush on his face, while also trying to sort out his thoughts, before he says "my colour is green. I just was caught off guard. Having sex is not what I expected to do tonight."

"And it's not what we'll do tonight," Janus replies, rolling his eyes yet again. "I'm not really in the mood to fuck you senseless." Roman's face turns a darker shade of red at Janus's bluntness, and he's convinced Janus phrased it that way on purpose judging by the way his lips quirked up in a smirk.

Roman scoots ever closer, staying cautious in case Janus decides to fluster him further, but Janus finally lets himself grin.

"I was thinking, how about you suck me off and shut up for a bit, and maybe, if I'm feeling up for it, I'll even let you come." Janus speaks smoothly, with confidence and smugness dripping from his words, and he pushes himself forward so that he's on his knees, face to face with Roman fully. He drags a finger under Roman's chin, and Roman leans forward, as if following it, eyes staring intensely into Janus's, much to Janus's delight.

Before Roman can even process what's happening, he's is sliding onto the floor, seemingly pleased with Janus's idea. He's nodding, still flustered, as he rambles "yeah- okay. Okay, that seems fun." It did seem fun. It wasn't what Roman was expecting by any means, but he asked for something to entertain him, and Janus was sweet enough to deliver.

Janus guides Roman to kneel between his legs, as he gracefully unbuttons his pants and tugs his boxers down just enough to pull out his cock.

He gives it a few strokes in order to work it to full hardness, and when he notices Roman staring, the words "what, see something you like, slut?" slip out of his mouth, sounding just as casual as if Janus was asking any other normal question.

And Roman's face is burning, as he swallows the spit in his mouth. That doesn't seem to satisfy Janus though, as his smirk falls into a slight frown. "I asked you a question, whore. Answer me," he grits out, moments later, and Roman shakes his head slightly, as if snapping himself out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," he apologizes, eyes glancing up at Janus who's looking down at him with intense eyes. Roman looks away, gulping, before he ends up looking back at Janus's cock. "Yeah- yeah I do. I like your cock," he answers, voice quiet and shy; a stark contrast to how loud and boastful Roman normally is. Admittedly, Janus likes how shy and easily embarrassed Roman is when it came to sex. It was different, and honestly quite cute.

"Good boy," Janus purrs, and Roman can't help the shiver of pleasure that courses through his body at the words.

He leans closer, and the tip of Janus's cock traces over his lips, and Roman's quick to open his mouth for it. Janus's cock slides into his mouth, and Roman has to resist moaning as the weight settles on his tongue.

Janus's fingers comb gently through his hair, although his words are a rough contrast, as he groans out "fuck, Roman. I like you so much better with your lips around my cock, like the good little slut you are."

Roman moans around Janus's length, before he takes more of it in, tonguing and sucking around the tip. It really is a mindless task, and it occupies Roman's mouth and gives his tongue something to do. His constant chattering and chewing on pen caps could have easily been replaced by sucking Janus off this entire time.

Maybe he'd ask to do this more often.

Stealing a glance up at Janus's face, Roman can see that Janus is relaxed against the couch, eyes gently closed and quiet moans slipping past his lips as Roman continues to lick and suck at his cock.

Roman takes it as his own pace, swallowing around the length as he leans in closer to take in more. The tip of Janus's cock rubs against the back of his throat, and as he gags, he leans back slightly. With just the tip in his mouth again, Roman's tongue runs over the slit, and Janus's fingers tighten in his hair, before Roman's head is moving back down.

He's taken up a slow pace, but he's focused on pleasuring Janus, and really focusing on the way Janus's cock felt in his mouth.

It's all he could really think about; the taste of precum dripping down his throat makes him moan, and he's quick to swallow what he can and suck eagerly in hopes more will be produced. As he takes in more of Janus's cock, he hums, trying hard not to gag this time. He wants to take it all, and as his nose presses against Janus's pelvic region, Roman can't help but moaning again.

Admittedly, he's hard just from sucking Janus off. His quiet moans are like music to Roman's ears, and he tries to discretely roll his hips against the carpet in hopes of relieving some of uncomfortable ache in his pants. His hands itched to undo his pants and stroke himself, but instead they settled on Janus's thighs, squeezing gently at the skin as he slowly bobs his head on Janus's cock.

It's relaxed, and compared to how rough Roman knew Janus could get, it was a nice change of pace. He was given full control, and was tasked with pleasuring Janus, and he was trying his hardest to do a good job.

"Good boy- my good little whore," Janus breathes, voice smooth and sweet, and Roman's closes his own eyes at the words, taking in the feeling of Janus's cock dragging across his tongue, the hand petting his head like he's a beloved pet, and Janus's words filling his ears. All the senses please him more, and he speeds up his bobbing slightly.

His hands tighten on Janus's legs as Janus moans out "fuck, Roman, I'm close."

It makes Roman shiver with delight, as he focuses primarily on driving Janus to come. His tongue laps over the slit, as he hums every time he fully deepthroats Janus's shaft. One of his hands fall from Janus's thigh, and instead moves to his balls, lightly squeezing and fondling them in an attempt to give Janus added pleasure.

With a light tug to his hair, and a groan of Roman's name, Janus suddenly comes in Roman's mouth. Roman chokes as he pulls back slightly, swallowing what he can in hopes nothing spills out and stains the carpet.

He wipes the remainder off his chin, before looking up at Janus with needy eyes. "Janus- Janus please get me off. I need to come so bad," he pleads, still pathetically humping the ground. Janus stares down at him, as if internally debating whether or not he'll let Roman come today.

With a sigh, though, Janus shifts his position slightly. He takes the time to tuck his cock back into his pants, before he moves one of his legs to rest between Roman's thighs.

"You can hump against my leg," Janus says, as if that's a privilege. "If you don't want to, then you won't be getting off at all tonight."

It was either humiliate himself or be stuck painfully hard and desperate until his boner sadly went away. Weighing both options, Roman found he'd much rather come that have to hold back entirely, so he leans against Janus's leg, face bright red as he very shyly grinds against Janus's shin.

"Ah-ah," Janus tuts, raising an eyebrow as Roman looks up at him. "Be polite, Roman. What do you say?"

Roman doubts his face can get anymore red than it is currently, and he stammers over his word as he looks away from Janus's face, overly flustered. Despite his embarrassment, he still utters "thank you, Janus," which earns Janus combing through his hair and responding with "good boy, Roman."

He keeps his head down and tucked into Janus's leg, whining softly as he gets slightly more confident with his grinding. He's rolling his hips repeatedly against Janus's leg, humping against him like a mutt in heat, and Janus compares him to such too.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" he asks, although it's a rhetorical question. He doesn't expect Roman to answer, and he doesn't want him to either. "Grinding against me like a fucking dog. A stupid bitch. That's what you are; a fucking mutt."

Roman moans at his words, cock leaking in his pants, and he knows he won't last much longer. He's babbling out a mixture of Janus's name and incoherent noises, needing to do something with his mouth now that it's unoccupied again.

"Janus- Janus please," he begs, not exactly knowing what he's begging for. For a less humiliating way to get off, perhaps? Although it doesn't seem like Janus has changed his mind on that, as he starts moving his leg up in an attempt to match Roman's grinds down.

In doing so, Roman's head falls back in a pleased moan, as he grips tighter to Janus's leg. "Please!" he cries, face flushed and hair disheveled from Janus's hand constantly running through his locks, and as Janus admires his pathetic face, he notices that Roman's even drooling.

"Are you close, Roman?" Janus asks, and Roman can really only whine and nod as his forehead rests against Janus's legs. It makes Janus grin just seeing the way Roman's body trembled slightly. So overwhelmed from so little stimuli.

Smiling softly, Janus then purrs "come for me then, slut. Make a mess of your pants like the dirty whore you are."

And, well, Roman can't really disobey. Grinding a bit more against Janus's leg pushes him completely over the edge, and his head lolls back as he lets out a high whine and comes in his pants. He humps against Janus as he rides out his orgasm, before he slumps over completely, breathing heavily.

"Alright, Roman," Janus says, after a moment, causing Roman to look up at him, still breathing heavily. Janus holds his arms out as he moves his leg back, and Roman looks at him confused.

"Come cuddle," Janus then clarifies, rolling is eyes, although it sounds more like an order. It's a demand that Roman is happy to follow. Although somewhat uncomfortable feeling the dampness in his pants, he doesn't hesitate crawling onto the couch with Janus, and nuzzling up against his chest.

After all, they had all the time in the world to cuddle. The rest of the night, anyway, and they could probably manage to shower before the others got home. Hopefully, at least.

#agp kinktober 2020 #kinktober 2020

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carolinemillerbooks · 9 months ago

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/democracy-for-dummies/

Democracy For Dummies

I know him. When he was a teenager, I crawled around in his head as his English Teacher. Sadly, months ago, his wife of many years died unexpectedly. A man in his 70s, he fell into a well of grief so deep he considered joining her. I held my breath as he struggled to find his balance. Recovery came by inches, but it came. Eventually, I could stop worrying. Still, reading his comments on social media, I wondered if the residue of his grief had turned to hate. He’s not a bad man nor a foolish one, but he seemed to need a reservoir of anger to contain his misery. Like our 45th President, Donald Trump, he focused on immigrants. They were criminals and rapists, he said, echoing the words of the former president. I told him my mother was an immigrant. But he refused to connect the dots between his trust in me and my Costa Rican parent. She takes no offense. She’s dead. I could tell him that as the child of an immigrant, his prejudice offends me. But that’s not true, exactly. I’m not diminished by his bias. Instead, I feel pity for him, aware that his hatred burns inside him like hot tar and that he’s injuring himself more than those he wishes to harm. Self-torment is a condition common among most haters. Over time, their fury drives out other emotions. Compassion lost, they cling to their malice like voyagers tossed overboard at sea. Hatred becomes their ballast and their North Star. It distracts them from their disappointments. It explains why fame and fortune have eluded them. When they hear the word welfare, they are quick to retort, “Nobody ever gave me a handout.” The statement is false, of course. These malcontents received a free education. Their water is drinkable, and their roads and bridges are maintained. True, these benefits come from public taxes. But federal money isn’t shared equally. Some parts of the country receive a larger handout than others. Conservative states tend to be low-income states, and they pay less in federal income taxes, while people who live in those states are more likely to benefit from government support programs such as Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, or SNAP, a nutrition assistance program. My former student who is white and others of his ilk enjoy additional benefits as well. They can sit at a lunch counter or use a public bathroom without fear of attack. The employment they seek comes with the promise of advancement, while Immigrants take jobs so poorly paid, they must work more than one to put beans on the table. The source of white contempt isn’t the absence of privilege. It’s fear. Forced to live cheek-by-jowl with foreigners, working-class white Americans …are more worried that they or their families will become victims of violent crime…they are more likely to live in neighborhoods with higher levels of social disorder… are also much more likely to believe that their families will fall victim to terrorism. What’s lost to their understanding is that immigrants share these fears. Yet rather than join hands for the betterment of all, those who are native-born chose to pledge their allegiance to the superrich. Donald Trump never knew a door that wasn’t open to him, unlike them. Yet somehow, he’s convinced these followers that he feels their pain and that he stands as a bulwark against systems that oppress them both. One of his supporters recently smiled into a television camera to say he’d take Trump’s autocracy over the ballot box any day. “Sometimes people need to be spanked,” he avowed. Spankings aren’t meant for people who think like him, of course. They’re meant for people who believe in equality, diversity, and inclusion. He can’t envision a time when he might need a system of laws to protect him. His ignorance makes democracy fragile and joined with the ignorance of others, he encourages enough civil unrest to invite tyranny. In this world, democracy has few friends, already. Even Nature abhors it. With few exceptions, democracy scarcely exists in the wild. Even so, my eighty-seven years on the planet have convinced me that though imperfect, democracy is the best way to protect the individual from the tyranny of the powerful. E. Jean Carroll and her suit against billionaire Donald Trump is an example. Who doubts that absolute power corrupts absolutely? Those who seek it are the least to be trusted. As individuals, we accept the yoke of government as part of a social contract, relinquishing some rights in exchange for greater collective benefits. To this end, democracy best suits the individual’s purpose. Founded on the notion of equality, it entitles everyone to keep an eye on everyone else.

#absolute power corrupts #Donald Trump #E. Jean Carroll #immigrants #power of money #the social contract #tyranny #white power #why democracy is the best form of government

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omnidistance · 1 year ago

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Yellowjackets is such a weird show to watch secondhand through tumblr because there are storylines no one on here cares about, but which occasionally become very important. Through the entire break between seasons I didn’t know Javi had disappeared because it didn’t relate to what most people cared about. Now I have almost no idea what’s happening with the Coach.

I can’t handle horror & tragedy well enough to watch the show myself, but I am curious. I wish Television Without Pity was still around to write snarky episode synopsis that I could read.

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alwaysmarveling · 3 years ago

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To Be Seen

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader

Warnings: Hints at neglect

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: All superpowers seem to have a downside to them. Invisibility is no exception.

You got your first pair of glasses when you turned seven. The black frames were a birthday present of sorts. You had your eye set on a transparent blue pair, or honestly any of the many colorful options that lined the shelves, but your mother had grabbed the black ones without a word to you and placed them on the counter. Then the two of you went home, back to the always busy house, buzzing with the sounds of your siblings’ chatter and the television that entertained your constantly preoccupied father. There was no cake, no other presents, not even a “congratulations” or a “happy birthday,” but that was okay. That was okay because you had already gotten the gift of sight.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself that night, your younger sister already sound asleep beside you while you looked up at the glow-in-the-dark shapes taped to the ceiling. The glasses turned the green fuzzy blobs into actual stars, their points clear and easily counted as you drifted off to sleep with the lenses still on. “You can see now.”

---

You found out you could make yourself invisible on the day you hit ten years old. When you woke up, the first thing you did was look at yourself in the mirror, trying to see if you looked any different from the day before, when you were nine. Double digits should mean double the change, right? But there was no change from when you weren’t in the mirror to when you were.

At first, you thought it must’ve been a prank from your older brother, but one look in the bathroom mirror told you that this was something else. It took you about half an hour before you somehow managed to become visible again, but when you did, you walked into the kitchen to find everything the same as it was the night before. No one hung streamers around the house or left a card on the counter, but that was okay. That was okay because you had a gift.

---

On your twenty-seventh birthday, you were recruited to be an Avenger. Three years ago on that exact day, you had quit your office job and joined SHIELD, only as a trainee, but you made your way through the ranks. You had the advantage of a mastered superpower—turning invisible came useful on the countless days you wished the world would just swallow you whole—but you still had to learn to use it like an agent. You were never remarkable, never being praised as the top of your class nor critiqued as one of the worst. You were always in the middle. Always just… there.

But Fury had seen something in you, and now here you were, packing your things to move into the Avengers Tower. You honestly weren’t sure what he saw in you; no one did. There were other SHIELD agents with far more useful powers and much better combat skills, yet he had picked you and no one else, making you the third SHIELD agent to join the Avengers since Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.

You looked around the empty apartment, scanning for something you and your imperfect vision might have missed, but saw nothing. Was that what others saw when they looked at you, thinking they had packed the whole room while you were standing right in front of them, arms waving in their face and voice begging for them to acknowledge you? No matter. Fury had told you Natasha would be picking you up at 2, meaning you had just over thirty minutes before she got here. Life moved on, and so would you.

Just like in years prior, there were no claps on the back, shiny bows, or patterned gift wrapping, but that was okay. That was okay because you had gotten the gift to protect and serve others.

---

You laid into the punching bag, twenty-eight non-stop uppercuts for your new age as of today. You brushed one hand across your forehead to interrupt the sweat droplets that ran from your hair, Bruce doing his best to praise you in the meantime.

“Good work, Y/N, yeah. Um, stronger than the ones you’ve been doing in the past. Better form too. I think.” You were sure you weren’t meant to hear his last sentence, but a roll of Natasha’s eyes next to you was enough to make you laugh it off. It wasn’t like you could blame him. Training others wasn’t his forte. You weren’t even sure if he trained himself.

Fury’s interest in you had been short-lived, it seemed. To be fair, you were lucky he recruited you in the first place and even luckier that he let you stay on the team. Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed in how you turned out to just be a new puppy to him. With your novelty now wearing off, you became the responsibility of people like Bruce, who never quite wanted you in the first place.

You had nothing against the gentle and kindhearted scientist, but Steve, Nat, or even Clint would’ve been much more obvious choices. Yet somehow the scientist was who Fury appointed. Maybe he was just the only one who accepted the task, the only one not bold enough to deny Fury’s orders outright. Strangely enough, Nat always showed up, but you weren’t entirely sure why, seeing as she usually sat there silently for most of it. She’d occasionally lean in to whisper something to Bruce, but she rarely said anything to you.

Much to Bruce’s—and maybe Natasha’s—relief, Tony strutted into the gym, his charisma already filling in the awkward gaps between you guys that never seemed to disappear, no matter how much time passed.

“Bruce, Nat, just the people I was looking for! It was great to see you guys at the party last night.” You pushed your glasses back up the bridge of your nose before going back to the punching bag; obviously, he was not here to speak with you. As you beat into the bag, getting lost in the rattling of the chain and the rhythm of the combinations, you thought back to last night, when you heard the Avengers’ laughter as they prepared for the gala.

You sat in the living room watching a movie with the tiniest but fiercest hope that someone might see you and ask you to come along. This was a party for the Avengers, after all, to celebrate the success of a mission that you had been part of. It had been up to you to cut the power and incapacitate the leader. Somehow the credit had gone to Clint, all the news stations celebrating the archer and his amazing feat. It was fine, whatever, just another chip to brush off of your shoulder—a teeny, tiny chip, really, honestly probably more of a scratch—but you thought you would’ve at least been invited to the party. Yet there you were, your posture slowly drooping as you sank into the leather sofa while your teammates gathered in the elevator to head up to the party. You had taken your phone out and opened the camera app, checking to make sure you hadn’t somehow triggered your invisibility, but, nope, you were very much there. The tears that fell were very much there.

“Alright, Tony, I’ll be there for Movie Night tonight, but you gotta go. I need to get back to my training duties.” It was then that Tony finally seemed to realize your presence, turning around with a surprised look on his face.

“Oh, hey, Y/N. You, um, you should come tonight too.” All of his charm was gone, the relaxed smile only hanging on by the tiniest lift of the corner of his mouth. So you did your best to reassure him with a small nod. The smile came back immediately. All was well; Tony Stark does indeed have a heart.

Later that night, as you sat alone on the three-person couch, you drew the blankets closer to you. The same movie you had watched last night was playing on the TV. The original plan had been to watch Jaws, but Sam was delighted to find the DVD box to Space Jam on the coffee table, insisting that he’d been wanting to watch it again and how it was such a coincidence it was already out. He wasn’t saying that last night when you asked if anyone wanted to watch it with you, but at least you weren’t watching it alone this time. You looked around at the small groups the Avengers had formed on the other couches, some of them even sitting on the floor—there wasn’t enough space, you guessed—before letting out a sigh. There were no party hats or festive noisemakers, but that was okay. That was okay because… A tap on your knee brought you back to the present moment. You looked down to find the outstretched arm of a familiar redhead, a bowl of popcorn in her hand.

There was no time for wallowing in self-pity. That was okay. You were okay.

---

The harsh sunlight woke you up in time for your thirtieth birthday. Or maybe it was the stiff and lumpy mattress that did it. Either way, you were hoping you’d be able to sleep through it. The rational side of you knew that wasn’t possible—what with being on the run from the US government and all—but one can always hope, right?

You’d stuck with Natasha during the Avengers’ split, pushing for the team to stay together even though you’d never really been part of the team. It wasn’t about you though; you’d seen the amazing things the Avengers could do when they were together. The world needed them.

Well, that line of thinking got you here, in a small cabin in the woods with all the Avengers who had followed Steve, Natasha joining the group later. Happy birthday to you. Although to be fair, it wasn’t like any of your past birthdays had been much better. Once your childish naivety had faded away (which probably took much longer than it should have), the day became something you dreaded, something you hoped each year you would forget about but never quite could. This time, though, you had a small plan. It was going to be different this year.

Your knees cracked as you stood, announcing to no one in particular that you were heading off to bed. Rather than heading straight down the hall to your room, though, you cut through the kitchen and grabbed a few things.

Your shoulders dropped slightly as you closed the door, and you allowed yourself to study the contents of your hands: a lighter, candle, and one of the leftover store-bought cupcakes from Steve’s birthday. The cupcakes weren’t great, but no one had the time, energy, or ingredients to make a cake, and, let’s be honest, most of the people here couldn’t bake anyways. Plus, this one had frosting in your favorite color, so you couldn’t complain, especially since it was more than you’d had for your birthday since you could remember.

The wooden bed frame creaked as you shifted to place the candle in the frosting and light it. For the first time that day, you were grateful the windows had no curtains, as they allowed you to see the stars that dotted the sky.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured to yourself, your eyes never leaving the constellations, instead darting around to watch in awe as more and more of the twinkling lights showed up the longer you cared to look.

Just as you tore your eyes away to blow out the candle, a knock rang out against the door. Were you guys spotted? Did you have to leave? You immediately ran to open the door, running through a list of things you’d have to pack the second you heard the order. You weren’t exactly surprised to see Nat standing outside your door, but you were surprised to see her holding a small rectangular box and a bottle of champagne.

“Hey, um, sorry to interrupt.” Your cheeks immediately heated up when you noticed her eyes dart to the cupcake still in your hand. You must’ve forgotten to put it down in your rush to open the door. At least the candle’s flame had gone out. “I get it if you don’t want to celebrate with anyone, but I figured you still deserve a treat on your special day.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed as your head tilted slightly.

“What special day?”

“Um, well, isn’t it your birthday?” You nodded, still not quite understanding what she was asking. Not to mention, the spy’s continued use of filler words surprised you. Sure, the two of you hadn’t interacted with each other much, but a lack of familiarity didn’t usually make her this uneasy. Were you really that invisible that she felt uncomfortable around you despite having known you for three years? But you couldn’t dwell on it with Nat speaking again, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “And, um, I noticed the only alcohol you drink is champagne, so… this is for you.”

You stepped back slightly as she nudged the objects towards you, but the spy misunderstood you, taking your surprise as an invitation to enter the room. Before you knew it, you were asking her to sit next to you on the mattress. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, though; keeping her standing would be rude, and there were no chairs in your room. The two of you sat at least a foot apart, both of your spines straight and neither of you quite meeting the eyes of the other.

“So, um, do you want to open the present first or have your cupcake? Or we can open the champagne if you want.”

“This is a present?” You eyed the brown box she held in her hand. You weren’t sure what it could be. Based on its size, maybe a watch or a pocket knife? But Natasha laughed, simply pushing the box towards you.

“Of course it’s a present. Open it!” So you set the cupcake down on the unstable bedside table, making sure the dessert wouldn’t fall due to the furniture having one leg shorter than the rest. You cast one last glance at Natasha, who gave you a reassuring yet pointed nod, and with that, you lifted the cover.

It took everything in you to prevent the tears springing in your eyes from overflowing. You lifted the goggles with shaking hands. You had to touch them to make sure they were real, to make sure this wasn’t some sick and twisted dream your brain had forced on you to make you remember how disappointing your past birthdays had been.

“Do you like it?” The blonde asked you softly, her lower lip caught in between her teeth. Had you been thinking clearly, you would’ve been surprised at how apprehensive she sounded, how unsure she was. “I thought it could be something you might want to wear on missions. I noticed your other ones kept slipping down or breaking, and um…” Both of you became antsier as Natasha rambled on, you at how she was being more intimate with you than anyone ever had, and she at how she just couldn’t seem to stop talking despite the fact that, in her opinion, she was digging herself into an increasingly deeper hole. “It’s a lot more sturdy, and there are some other features that I think you’ll appreciate. I had Tony and Bruce make it for you… before, you know, this whole thing happened. And I brought it with me when I left.”

The frames reminded you much of the glasses you had first wanted as a kid, the ones your mother had looked past in favor of the plain black ones. They matched your combat suit, though, even having a small carving of your symbol on the side. You nodded as you choked down a sob, forcing yourself to meet the former assassin’s gaze to try to thank her properly.

“I love it, Natasha. Thank you so much. I- it’s… it’s amazing.” Nat dipped her head as if to nod, but you didn’t miss the way her cheeks flushed red or how a hint of her characteristic smirk appeared.

“Of course. It’s the least I could do.” Your eyes returned to the glasses in your hand. You’d try them out the second Natasha left. “So, cake now?”

“Yes, right, of course,” you nodded immediately, shaking your head at how you had managed to forget about the one thing you had planned to do for your birthday. Before you could reach for the frosted dessert, Natasha relit the candle and handed the cupcake to you as she began to sing “Happy Birthday.” When she reached the last note, you could hold it in no longer, and all the tears immediately began to flow.

“Oh my god, Y/N, I’m so sorry. Is my singing really that bad?” The redhead wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or move away as she ran a hand through her hair, but she felt slightly comforted when she noticed you shaking your head.

“No, no, it’s just…” Natasha hesitantly began to rub your back in an effort to calm your sobs, “No one’s ever sang that for me before.”

“Ever?” She winced slightly at how her voice cracked, betraying her emotions to you despite her attempts to remain composed.

“Well, there used to be a video of it from my third birthday, but… I was three. So I don’t really remember it.” Natasha thought back to the many birthday celebrations the team had held, none of them being for you. The door to your room was always closed on your birthday. She’d always thought you had just gone out with friends and family, people outside of the Avengers, and who was she to get in the way of you and those you loved? But it had been the opposite. You had been hiding away in your room, and she hadn’t helped matters at all by waiting for three years to do anything. If only she’d gained the courage earlier, she could’ve helped ease your pain much sooner.

But all you saw through your tears was the way her head was cocked to the side, her spy training paying off as you couldn’t even begin to predict what she might be thinking. Your confusion slowed your tears somewhat, but that didn’t last for long as your mind shifted gears. You were ever the fool for sharing something so vulnerable with someone you barely knew.

So it was much to your surprise when Natasha finally reached her hand toward you, using her thumb to brush off the last few tears that made their way down your cheeks.

“You’ve never been invisible to me, Y/N. I see you. Always.” And with that, without responding, you turned away from her with a sniff to blow out the candle. “What’d you wish for?” the spy asked lightly, hoping the joke would help lift your mood.

“Nothing. This was more than I could’ve ever asked for.” Nat nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on you as she reached to take out the candle. Your eyes remained on the cupcake as if it would be ripped away from you if you turned away for a second. With her hand returned to your back, you began to dig into the cupcake, your eyes closing as you savored the taste. A cupcake just for you, on your birthday. Sure, it was a leftover cupcake, the frosting a bit too sweet and the cake itself dry and somewhat stale, but that didn’t matter. It was still the first in thirty years.

That night, you lay in bed with the stars overhead, a smile on your face as you thought about the day’s events, your best birthday ever.

And maybe it was naive of you to believe what Natasha had told you earlier that day—it wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind several times in the few hours since she told you that—but then you thought about the champagne and the glasses she’d given you. You thought about the way she’d examined your apartment with you one last time before she brought you to the Avengers Tower, about the way she gave you an encouraging smile during training when you became exhausted with Bruce’s cluelessness, about the way she’d shared her popcorn on movie nights with you and only you.

And in the room next to you, Natasha thought about your confusion, your tears, and the way desperation, hope, and amazement filled your face when you looked at her right before you blew out the candle. It was then that she made a vow to herself, to show you that you’d never be invisible, especially not to her.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” she whispered, “You are seen.”

-----

🏷 : @vancityfire13 @007giu

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling

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reidingmelodies · 4 years ago

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His Greatest Mistake

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn! Reader Category: Angst with a dash of fluff Includes: Sad Spencer, brief mention of injury, implied emotional cheating Word Count: 1.4k (oops) A/N: This was requested by @ssa-m-187 based on the song Be My Mistake by The 1975! Thank you so much for the request, this one was a challenge in the best way and I loved every second of writing it ♡

Masterlist | Ash’s 500 Bash

It was never supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be him taking engagement photos with you, him sending save the dates with you, him sitting by your side and planning the wedding you had always imagined.

Instead, it was him clutching the picture he was so obviously absent from to his chest in the dim light of his apartment.

He knew something had happened the second he walked into the bullpen that morning. The room was quiet, any and all previous conversation halting the moment he locked eyes with Penelope across the way.

And he knew. When her eyes shifted towards the floor and her breath stuttered in her throat he knew in his soul that it had to do with you.

But he never imagined this.

She dropped the picture into his hands with murmured words of comfort, leaving him with the promise that she would be in her office alongside a cup of coffee with his name on it if he needed to talk.

And as she walked away, he turned the picture over and felt his heart break into a thousand fragments with no hopes of ever being repaired.

The phrase ‘save the date!’ glared at Spencer from the top of the cardstock, but nothing compared to the feeling of ice in his veins at the sight of your smile.

It was a smile he hadn’t seen in person in 3 years, 4 months, and 12 days, but it still danced through the forefront of his brain each night he went to sleep and each morning he awoke next to his greatest mistake.

And as he sat in his apartment after a day of comforting glances laced with pity thrown at him from each direction he couldn’t help but relish on the what ifs.

What if he had loved you better?

What if he had fought harder?

What if he called you instead of her that night?

Loving you was the easiest and yet the most courageous thing he’d ever done. With you, casual touches came quicker, tough conversations came easier, confessions of love flowed smoother.

Not like with her.

He had met you exactly 6 years, 5 months, and 18 days ago in the most cliche of ways- when he spilled his coffee on your shirt as you were reaching around him for your own drink.

Stuttered apologies somehow turned into telling stories over cups of freshly brewed coffee and before either of you knew it he was leaving the shop with your number in his phone and plans to see you again on Saturday at your favorite museum.

And then Saturday brought along the promise of more dates which turned into spending nights entangled under sheets and mornings filled with apartment hunting before finally signing the papers for a place of your own.

And for 3 years, 1 month, and 6 days it was bliss.

At least that’s what he liked to tell himself.

The bricks that had surrounded his heart were entirely non-existent when it came to you. You held the key to the inner workings of his heart, and you would safeguard it with your life if you were asked.

And he held the key to yours too, but it turns out that only meant so much.

The majority of your relationship was simplicity in the sweetest form. It was the feel of your favorite sweater, the smell of your favorite candle, the taste of your go to comfort beverage.

It was simple. And yet, it was everything.

He longed for the moments a case would end and he could fall into your arms with the promise of drifting to sleep with the feel of your fingers mindlessly spelling ‘I love you’ along his back. Time off of work was spent cuddled together on the couch, letting the sounds of whatever was playing on the television serve as the background noise for whatever silly debate the two of you had fallen into.

It was simple. But somewhere along the way the simplicity gave way to complications.

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days into your relationship he found himself enthralled by a guest speaker at your favorite library. You had to work late so you weren’t able to come, but at the moment he found himself grateful for that because it meant more time with her.

It meant more time to bounce theories off of her, more time to be absolutely captivated by her genius.

It also meant more time for them to trade phone numbers.

And later that night as he told you all about the speech and the amazing lecturer he had met you were ecstatic that the lecture turned out even better than he had hoped.

That ecstatic feeling probably would have dimmed if you knew about the phone number burning a hole in his pocket though.

As the weeks flew by he found himself calling her more and more. It was never of a romantic nature, always related to one theory or another, but it was enough to draw his attention away from you.

And as the distance between you and him grew, and grew, and grew, one of you was sitting at home desperately thinking of ways to fix it while the other was making up excuses about misplaced paperwork keeping him at work while the low battery tone of his phone chimed away in his pocket.

And on the 1,132nd day the greatest love Spencer ever knew crumbled to the ground.

The case was bad. So bad, in fact, that he found himself in a hospital bed for a few days after a close call with an unsub.

But as much as everyone told him to call you, you weren’t the one he longed to talk to.

As visiting hours ended and the team left his bedside to get some well-needed rest, he found himself glued to his phone talking to her.

And while her voice was what he so desperately wanted to hear, he couldn’t help the pang in his gut every time he ignored one of your calls as yours was the voice he so desperately needed to hear.

On the plane ride home, he thought of all the ways he could explain the delayed homecoming to you, all the ways he could hide the wounds gracing his chest from you for the next few weeks.

But, he should’ve known someone would have told you.

He came home to your suitcases packed while you sat in the sea of luggage against the sofa you had picked out together in the blissful beginning of your relationship.

Oh, how he longed to be back there now.

He wanted you to scream, to storm out, to do anything that would lessen the guilt that maliciously tore at his soul.

But instead, you were calm, albeit heartbroken. You explained you had a feeling something was going on, but the fact that he had gotten hurt and didn’t even tell you proved it. You told him it was okay, that you wished him all the best, and then you left. With a tear running down your face but your posture holding all the grace in the world.

And somehow, your calm nature in the midst of his internal storm made it even worse.

He needed to do something, anything, to get out of the apartment that was a living, breathing museum dedicated to your love.

He should’ve chased after you. But instead, he went to her.

And with that decision, his future was set in stone.

No matter how riveting his conversations were with her, they didn’t hold a candle to the debates he had with you. With you, cuddles before bed were an honored tradition; with her, it was custom to stare at the wall and keep his hands to himself until he fell asleep to the thought of your smile.

He saw you in everything. In the bouquet she placed on the table (they were your favorite flowers), in the body wash she used (it was your least favorite scent- and because of that it was his least favorite, too), in the book she kept next to her bed (it was the book he used to read to you on nights you couldn’t sleep).

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

And now, as she called him to bed and he stuffed your photo in between the pages of the first book he could reach he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had made a terrible mistake.

A mistake that he was destined to fall asleep next to that night, wishing that instead of her, it was you.

***

Link to join my taglist ♡

Permanent Taglist: @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @shadyladyperfection @homoose Spencer Taglist: @averyhotchner @muffin-cup

#Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid imagine #Spencer Reid self insert #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid angst #spencer reid x gn!reader #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds imagine #ash’s 500 bash 💕#ash writes #queue’d

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aitarose · 4 years ago

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AOT BOYS IN LOVE ISLAND

⤷ characters: eren jaeger, jean kirschtein, armin arlert, levi ackerman, erwin smith, connie springer, reiner braun, bertholdt hoover, marco bott, niccolo

eren would be the type of contestant that’d come off extremely strong at the start, knowing full well of what the show entails—and ready to make any type of connection that could conclude in success.

he’d be the third or fourth contestant to walk into the villa, on the very first day. there’d be about two to three women that’d step forward for him—so he’d definitely get his pick of the bunch.

however, throughout the season his confidence would start to waver—he’d get overwhelmed with the concept of being filmed 24/7 and wish to have his privacy back.

there’d definitely be a few breakdowns on his part, solely from the stress of making vulnerable confessions of feelings and emotions in front of the entire world on film.

that being said, he’d still manage to find someone that relates to him on a deep level that he can walk out of the villa with. the two of them would end up self eliminating—believing that it’d be more effective to build there connection within the privacy of their own homes.

jean wouldn’t be the immediate heartthrob on the show, but would end up stealing not only the contestant’s hearts—but the viewer’s as well.

he’d be the first to walk into the villa, and literally no one would step forward for him—not because he’s unattractive or anything, just because they wanted to keep their options open and not jump at the first person they see.

his first couple would be a friendship couple and he’d be best friends with that woman throughout the entirety of the season, they’d be connected at the hip in the best platonic way possible.

but about halfway through the season, he’d be called to go on a surprise date with a new contestant and they’d just hit it off right away. like this person would be his perfect match and the viewers would be ecstatic for him.

i full heartedly believe that he’d be the one to win the show, obviously choosing to share the $50k with his significant other—there’d be no doubt in his mind that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with them.

armin would be the contestant with a completely open and vulnerable heart. he’d be open to any connections and relationships, just solely focused on the bonding aspect of it all—wishing to have a great summer and find some real friendships.

he’d be the person that’d stick through their first coupling throughout the entire show, finding that connection extremely valuable and not wanting to let it go.

challenges would be a breeze for him, like this boy would win a majority of them due to his knowledge of strategy and complex thinking—he’d find loopholes to each riddle and physical struggle, just showing off his intelligence in every way.

however, casa amor would be a big blow to him. he’d feel so secure in his couple that he wouldn’t have that serious conversation of where they’re both at, and his partner would end up recoupling in the other villa.

he’d be completely blindsided and end up self-eliminating soon after—not having the energy or time to take on an entirely new connection, believing that that person was it for him and that the villa would have nothing else to offer him.

firstly, i don’t think levi would ever be a contestant on a reality television show, let alone a dating one—but in the off chance that he did so happen to be on love island, it’d be because hange signed him up for it without his knowledge.

he’d be the lone wolf type of character, just living his own life—not interacting with any of the other contestants unless they’d come and approach him for conversation.

there wouldn’t be very many connections for him—probably only one if i’m being honest—and it’d be with a sort of bubbly type of person, one with good morals that wouldn’t be afraid to break him out of his shell and show him how to enjoy his time in the villa.

while he’d be wary of a romantic relationship, he’d end up falling for his partner extremely hard and would find himself protective and somewhat possessive of them—just to make sure that he wouldn’t end up losing them to someone else.

considering all of his doubts, he wouldn’t make it to the final four—probably only to the casa amor point, before being eliminated by viewer vote. however, he’d be amazing at challenges.

sexy dilf erwin would be a bombshell entrance in the villa—the kind where he’d be waiting in the hot tub balcony for his chosen date partner, just sipping wine and relaxing in the bubbles with his one arm resting on the side.

he’s very charming and would manage to sway the attention of a majority of the villa, men and women alike—and there’s no telling the shenanigans he’d get up to with the friends he’d make in there.

this man would be the cause of inborn relationship drama, but wouldn’t be involved directly—rather the type of drama where he’d be discussed but not actually have any say in whatever the matter was.

his placement would be around the top six or seven, just because he’d be so sought after that there’d be a hard time finding someone who he really connects with—since he’s trying his best to give every suitor an opportunity to try it with his sexy self.

he’d also have the thickest cockney accent that you could dream of—or a really really posh south london accent, like pinky up tea drinker and everything.

connie would be the fan-favorite contestant. he’d be that guy that absolutely no one stepped forward for and be the pity party right off the start, but manage to sway the audience with his natural humor and amusement.

he’d be the king of friendship couples, like he’d be the villa’s safety net for contestants who wouldn’t have anyone else to couple up with, and would secure their places in the show—without ever harboring any real feelings for those people.

casa amor would be his time to shine, he’d be living his best life in the other villa and have all the girls on his arms—with a wide variety to choose from and connect with. this is where he’d meet his perfect match.

coming back to the main villa with this partner, all of his friends would be extremely happy for him and just excited that he was able to get the experience that he signed up for.

him and his partner would end up in third or second place—though they’d be a fan favorite pairing, they just wouldn’t have had enough screen time to win the show completely.

reiner would be the shock contestant that’d be revealed after the first five couples were matched. he’d run into the villa with full confidence that he’d be able to snag one of the beginning contestants with ease.

however, that confidence would soon fade by his own insecurities and emotions—the fear of being unwanted and alone catching up with him in the worst possible ways, causing him to have a small breakdown before the coupling ceremony.

but he’d still choose one of the contestants, not having any real connection with her other than the first conversation—and that couple would completely crumble beneath him.

he’d get eliminated soon after by the following recoupling ceremony, and sadly wish his friends goodbye with a tear running down his cheek—it’d be extremely emotional despite the minuscule amount of time viewers would get to know him .

that being said, he’d still leave an impact on the season as the contestant who just couldn’t catch a single break.

lil ole berty would be the contestant that everyone looks over, contestants and viewers alike. he’d be that nice background guy that everyone is fine with, but often forgets he exists—which really puts a stunt on his time in the villa.

he’d be in a safety couple, one where him and his partner are loyal to their connection, but not head-over-heels interested in one another. just two people who are attracted to one another with no real bond.

challenges would be a bit of a struggle for him, just the competitiveness of it all and the pointless wonder of the whole ordeal—the show in general wouldn’t really be something up his ally.

him and his partner would end up getting eliminated early on to halfway through the season by an islander vote. it’d be a this or that couple elimination and only about two couples would vote to save them, causing him to have to pack his bags and head out.

twitter would have a field day with memes though, his sleeping positions would be trending all over the love island hashtag every night.

marco would be the nice guy contestant. the one that’s the boy next door kind of character type that everyone would love and see as the voice of reason and peace.

he’d be somewhat of the villa’s therapist, if that’s the appropriate word, and would always be there to lend an ear to any islander who’s having issues in their couple or just problems in relation to the show’s process and journey.

his encouragement would make him a fan favorite with viewers and allow him to make it fairly far into the season—probably past the casa amor point and nearly to the family segments.

he wouldn’t ever be in a totally stable couple, always having to take on the stress of the other islanders and never having the opportunity to really focus on his own time and relationships.

but he’d gain a massive following and get a shit ton of brand deals after the whole show is over.

niccolo’s love island experience would be different from all the rest, as he’d be one of the casa amor contestants—there to sway the main villa’s relationships and connections with a mere four-five days of conversation.

he’d end up stealing the hearts of the women and finding a person that matched him on a deep level—with not only his good looks, but the way he manages a kitchen as well.

the main boys would love him and immediately see him as one of their own—enjoying his company and how he’d make everyone a full course meal every single morning right as they woke up to the automatic bedroom lights.

the viewers would also be a little obsessed with him as his pairing would just be lovable in all ways—the look in his eyes being one of pure adoration and love, nothing falsified or phony—just absolute infatuation.

i feel like he’d snag a fourth place win, happily in the final four, yet still not quite there. overall, secure and safe within his couple—and excited for the future of him and his match.

aitarose do not copy, claim, or mimick my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers and tags as your own. do not use my blog as a template for your own, or base your theme on mine.

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rosenallies · 3 years ago

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No one asked for this but I wanted to write something else for this au anyway<3 sorry <3

——

Jasmine stepped outside the restaurant and slumped against the cold brick wall, fingers shaking as she loosened her apron so she could breathe better. She willed herself not to cry, but even determination couldn’t break her streak of crying after every shift. It was the same thing every shift, shit tips and drunk men getting handsy with her as if she’d give them the time of day. Today was particularly bad, a customer repeatedly grabbing her wrist and whispering filthy comments to her before she could yank her arm away. Sometimes she wished she could just leave, get out of this small town she’d lived in her whole life. But she craved the stability this life gave her. It was the same thing every day. Wake up, go to work or class, come home and fall asleep to the sound of some trashy reality television show in the background. It was stable and she liked that, it was everything else that was the problem.

She had been so wrapped up in her pity party, she barely noticed a woman ride up on a cherry red Harley Davidson. But once she noticed her, she noticed her. Her curly blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail at the top of her head with pieces framing her face, she wore tight black jeans and plain white t-shirt with a well loved looking leather jacket dwarfing her small frame yet making her look tough at the same time. Jasmine didn’t recognize this woman, she knew just about every person in this town and none of them were as intriguing as this woman.

“Can’t help but notice you staring,” she spoke, a lit cigarette between her fingers and a gleam in her eye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry about it doll,” she said, stepping closer, leaning against the same wall Jasmine leaned against. “You work here?”

Jasmine looked down at her disheveled uniform and nodded. “Unfortunately.”

The woman hummed. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” Jasmine admitted.

“What happened? You get shit tips or something?”

Jasmine didn’t know what it was about this stranger, but she made her feel at ease. “That and the touchy customers. This one guy just wouldn’t leave me alone all night.”

“Is he still in there?

Jasmine nodded. “Yeah, just passed him off to my coworker when she clocked in. He’s a regular and he tips well sometimes if he likes you.”

The woman peeked her head in the window, noticing the lone man sat at the bar, his movements sloppy and drunk. She pointed to him and Jasmine nodded.

“Here, hold this,” she said and passed the cigarette to Jasmine, who stood there dumbfounded as she went inside and up to the man.

Jasmine watched through the window as they exchanged some words, whatever he said making the woman laugh before she reeled back her fist and punched him square in the jaw. Jasmine gasped and dropped the cigarette to her feet.

“Holy shit, why did you-?” Jasmine screeched as the woman ran out with a shit eating grin on her face, nearly jumping onto her bike and looking at Jasmine expectedly.

“Come on, you don’t wanna be here if the police come.”

Jasmine’s throat got dry. Never in her life had she gotten in any trouble and she planned to keep it that way, but here she was witnessing this strange woman just punch someone in the face and run out laughing while the other patrons of the restaurant jumped up to help him.

“You-you want me to get on the back of your bike? I don’t even know your name and- and I just watched you punch someone in the face!”

“He deserved it and my name’s Bosco, but you can call me anything you’d like, baby doll.”

Jasmine felt weak in the knees as she stumbled over to Bosco on her bike without another word and climbed behind her, arms tight around her waist. It felt like Jasmine had become someone else for a moment, not the shy straight-edge girl she usually was.

“My name’s Jasmine,” she whispered as Bosco started up the bike.

“Well, hold on tight, Jasmine,” she said before peeling out of the parking lot, listening to Jasmine’s directions in her ear.

Bosco parked her bike in front of Jasmine’s apartment and led the way like she owned the place, stopping at the door Jasmine pointed to. Jasmine unlocked the door and stood at the entrance awkwardly, swallowing hard.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Bosco asked, playful lilt in her voice.

“Oh, um, yeah. Of course, I’m sorry, I just assumed-“

Bosco smiled. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Jasmine blushed and showed Bosco inside.

“Sorry it’s not much, I don’t have guests very often.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have my eyes fixed on you anyway.”

Jasmine blushed as Bosco stepped closer, placing a hand on her cheek. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jasmine nodded dumbly, then Bosco backed her up against the counter and kissed her deeply. She tasted of cigarettes and lime and it made Jasmine’s head feel foggy. Bosco’s hands migrated to her waist and effortlessly lifted her to the counter. She stood between Jasmine’s legs and felt her up over her tight work uniform.

“Bedroom, down the hall,” Jasmine muttered against her lips in a sudden burst of confidence.

In an awkward backwards tango, Bosco led her to the bedroom and pulled her to the bed and into her lap where they continued to kiss. Bosco slipped her hands underneath Jasmine’s shirt and unhooked her bra, tugging at the shirt over it. Jasmine nodded, allowing her to take her shirt and bra off, tossing it across the room.

“Beautiful girl,” Bosco muttered, kissing Jasmine’s slender neck, leaving blossoming bruises in her wake.

Jasmine hummed after a moment, hands grasping at Bosco’s leather jacket. “As sexy as this is, I wanna see you too.”

Bosco smirked and shrugged it off, her own t-shirt and bra following. Jasmine’s hands immediately gravitated toward her breasts, smaller than her own but the perfect size to hold one in each hand. Bosco bit her lip, shuddered breaths leaving her kiss bitten lips.

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” she muttered into Jasmine’s ear, chuckling as she nodded a gasped when Bosco flipped their positions and laid Jasmine on her back.

———

The next morning Jasmine awoke hours later than usual, the sound of the woman from the night before clamoring to get dressed pulling her from slumber.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said with a wink, “I was starting to think you’d sleep all day.”

Jasmine blushed fiercely, her cheeks and neck growing hot as she stammered out a lame excuse about being tired.

Bosco chuckled, leaning over the bed and brushing a strand of hair from Jasmine’s face. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. You’re cute when you sleep, very peaceful.”

“I-um, will I see you again?” Jasmine blurted out trying to formulate a response to being called cute by just about the most enchanting person Jasmine had ever met. She mentally kicked herself, but she wanted to know the answer more than anything. From their long conversations the night before, Jasmine gathered that Bosco had a nomadic soul, never comfortable in one place for too long and hated feeling like she was stuck.

Bosco smiled. “I always come back to the places with the prettiest girls.”

With that hanging in the air, she shrugged her worn leather jacket over her shoulders and dipped from the room. Jasmine could hear her leave out the front door and start her motorcycle. She stood up and looked out the window, watching Bosco ride off, and for a moment Jasmine swore she could still feel the feeling of her fingertips lingering like a ghost against her skin.

#jasco #biker au

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hhjs · 4 years ago

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forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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sanzusbestie · 3 years ago

Text

♡ Dice of Life ♡

Pairing : Sanzu Haruchiyo x F!reader (3rd person)

Warnings : angst, blood, violence, sexual abuse, death, mention of alcohol, fluff

A/n : It's 4:50am and I'm officially done writing this, I know it's really long but it'd mean a lot if you read it.

I didn't specify the age of the characters but they're between 18 and 22.

Also, I wanted to remind you that this is an AU, so the characters will be way different. Like, don't worry I know that they wouldn't act this way.

Thank you for reading it and I hope you'll like it ♡

In his sleep, Sanzu Haruchiyo turned around and his skull struck the foot of the single armchair of the narrow and banal dining room, which preserved a faint smell of food. He awoke, sat on the worn out linoleum where he had slept and ran a hand in his blond hair. It would very often hang down his face, not letting his blue eyes properly see. He moved his left arm, which had become stiff under his weight, and struck the armchair again.

« Shh, » his mother said, showing up on the threshold. « Your dad’s napping. »

The boy stared at her, small, pathetic, frail and sad though still pretty in her dark green blouse. He once had known her cheerful, even mischievous, joyful of soul and clothes. Once. Before Mr. Akashi died in a work accident.

« Besides, you shouldn’t sleep on that old floor, » reproached the woman. « It’s unhealthy. If only you’d put a blanket and a pillow on it. »

Her son shrugged his shoulders and, without even leaning on the icy ground, leaped up.

« Where do you want me to sleep mom ? Your husband whines when i open my clic clac bed during the day. »

She rose a skinny hand that only wanted peace.

« He’s right, Haruchiyo. A clic clac bed takes a lot of place in a tiny room when its open. And don’t blame him if we’re confined. Be patient. He’s been promised a bigger place in a short while. And be kind, don’t say ‘husband’ while talking about your father ! »

He looked at her in silence. Why bother talking ? The man who had emptied the three cans of beer left on the oak table and snored in the next room was nothing to him, would never be anything to him. And wouldn’t it have been easier to acommodate the bed in the dining room instead of cluttering it up with a huge table ? But since the other was opposed to it, demanded the enjoyment of this room to rejoice his dishes and television…

« How I wish you’d get along with him, » the woman said, running on her blond pulled back hair a weary hand, caused by laundry and housekeeping.

Her son didn’t answer. Barefoot, he went to the window.

« Haruchiyo. »

He didn’t turn around.

« You’re making it difficult for me, Haruchiyo. I love your father. »

He still didn’t flinch. He seemed to be inspecting the street or maybe was he listening to the loud, indecent snoring that escaped the next room, the only bedroom of the apartment.

Watching him from behind, she thought she was seeing the father, the real one, her first husband, at the time of their young love. She had a movement as if to go caress this already powerful back but restrained herself before this icestuous desire.

« You have to understand me, Haruchiyo. And don’t judge me. One should not judge their mother. »

His eye wandered before him, scanning without conviction the pitiful landscape. In a livid blue sky, the sun kindled to a white heat and its rays bludgeoned the capital bled of its inhabitants by the summer holiday.

The boy’s eye moved and landed on the new projects, built on old fortifications. And at the window he was leaning on, he could see the patched laundry, incolor from being soaped too often ; and in pots of big red, flowers wilted as affected by tuberculosis.

« Are you listening to me, Haruchiyo ? »

The boy’s torso rotated and the sun played in his hair, giving his natural color the matte reflection of stubble.

« Yes mom, and I’m not judging you. »

She seemed to implore him with a look that had faded since they had come to Tokyo a few months earlier, to believe that the big city had deposited its greyish film.

« I would like you to make an effort, to become friends with him. Whereas, on the contrary, the more you grow... »

He opened his mouth and then closed it. His attention had just been drawn to his step-father’s uniform jacket, a blue-gray prison guard uniform, suspended from the back of a chair.

« I’m doing what I can, mom, » he finally answered.

Then, leaving the window, he put on a shirt and shoes et got out, not without having, with a gentle palm, hugging his mother’s fragile shoulder.

He slammed the door. The woman had remained there, her arm half raised as for a supplication.

Haruchiyo crossed the street to his right. As he progressed, he could better distinguish the desert stadium dependent on a makeshift high school composed of small barracks whose blue windows had burst under the stones of the neighborhood kids. A goalkeeper with his gear, volleyball and hand-ball goals occupied the stadium of pink and uneven ground. The rotten nets were hanging down, lamentable, like black cod, and in the goals were dragging empty cans and broken glass.

He turned left and walked a few more metters before finally joining his friends.

« Yo, » he greeted.

Mucho who, sitting cross-legged, was playing with some dice in his hand, lifted up his forehead that sweat made shine.

« Hey, Sanzu. So, who wants me to roll the dice for him ? Feelin’ lucky today ! Who wants to give it a try ? If you didn’t win, you’ll definitely with me ! »

« That’s enough, give the dice to someone else ! » Ran got angry, « Don’t fuck with us. »

He was tall, skinny, dressed with blue jeans, a pink shirt and a khaki green vest. He wore his hair braided and weirdly dyed. He had a band-aid on his cheek, where three days earlier someone hit him with a chain of bicycle. Seeing that Mucho did not obey, he got even more mad.

« I told you to drop the fucking dice, Mucho. »

« Why would I, » the young man fought back smilind « It’s my turn to roll the dice, isn’t it ? »

« But you’re broke ! You’ve lost all your money ! »

« I still can roll for someone else. »

« They donn’t want your fucking help ! »

« Then I’ll sell my turn ! Who wants my happiness ? »

Anger twisted Ran’s mouth. He stretched out a fast arm and caught Mucho’s wrist.

As they kept arguing, Ran started to threat everyone else.

« Well, Ran… I think that… »

Ran turned around in a flash.

« Something’s wrong, Shion ? You want me to tell Rindou you’re against his game ? ‘Cause he’s coming back tonight. »

Shion, the playboy of the sector, felt his courage brutally melt away. Like many of those who are too handsome, that many girls like, who take care of themselves too much, he was all about front. He lightly coughed.

« No, no, no. It’s just that I think that… »

« You think what ? »

He was no match for him.

« Nothing, dude. Nothing. »

« What about you Sanzu ? You’ve been here for like four months and yet you never played once. »

« Then ? Do I have to ? »

He spoke softly, calmly, as if the heat were dampening all excitement.

« Not quite, » the black and gold haired man declared, « But we prefer those who play. »

« You’re saying that you and your brother prefer those who give you money ? »

In a kind of smile, his teeth appeared giving Ran the appearance of a real predator.

« Put yourself in our position. »

Sanzu smiled back, but not with the eyes.

« Shion ! » a voice called from afar.

At the sound of this voice, Ran abruptly froze. His fingers tightened on the money and a glow animated his purple eyes.

« Oh, here is your sister, Shion, » he anounced, his voice changing.

« What does she wants from me now ? » he asked himself. « She just can’t leave me the fuck alone. »

All eyes were on the girl who was approaching under the sun. She was wearing a blue sundress adorned with flowers that left her arms bare.

« Shion ! » she called again, waving her hand. « You have to come home. »

« Huh ? What are you saying ? »

His sister kept on walking. The sun seemed to focus on her all its rays, to better emphasize her freshness and make forget the dusty terrain. Watching her appoach, Sanzu noticed her face reflected a passionate temper but it was serious, almost strict, like someone used to take adults responsabilities too early.

« Hey, Y/n, » started Ran, rising.

His right hand trembled and his bold eye stripped her.

« Hello, » she greeted, coming to a stop.

Blushing and embarassed under his eye, she stared at her brother.

« You have to go home Shion, so I can go to the grocery store. Do you think I like coming home from work and see the fridge empty ? You know well mom’s sick so she can’t take care of it for now. »

The playboy got up.

« When I left she was sleeping. So I thought… »

« You shouldn’t have left her alone. »

Her brother waved his hand that still held the dice.

« I told the neighbour, she promised that… »

She interrupted him.

« Don’t put your responsabilities on her. She has her life. And you, as you do nothing all day, I believe you could watch over mom and stay in the appartment for a few hours. At least until I come back from the store. »

« I’m not a fucking nurse ! »

« Bullshit. She’s your mom, isn’t she ? »

« Enough already, » he gave up, dropping the dice at his feet. « You send my money ? » he added, turning to Ran.

He had to repeat himself because Ran was all over Y/n that he undressed with his shining eyes.

« Come on Shion, » she insisted, more and more bothered by Ran’s stare. « I have to hurry before the store closes. »

Despite her, her gaze was attracted by a slight movement and landed on a brunette, seated on the ground. She was Shion’s current girlfriend. Yet it was not her that she was staring, but the foot that tickled her rump. Her eyes rose up along a washed jeans, a bare torso through a blue shirt unbuttoned and discovered the thoughtful, somewhat mocking features of Sanzu. Their eyes met each other. She quickly looked away and didn’t notice the boy sneaking his foot back.

« Hurry up, Shion, » she said.

« Ah ! » Ran sighed, hand on his heart. « If only you could tell me the same ! I would run to you. »

She ignored him.

« Shion, come on ! »

He came near her.

« If you want… You and I… Everything you’d like, you’d get ! » His hand grazed her bare arm. I already told you. I’d do anything for you. »

To escape the touching, the girl retreated.

« Please, leave me alone. You’re coming Shion ? »

She turned away and started walking while her brother proposed to walk his girlfriend home. The girl hesitated, looked at the others and suddenly refused.

« I’m staying. I think one of your friends will be able to take me home without needing his sister. »

« Present ! » Mochi yelled, jumping on his sneakers.

« Me first, pretty lady » Mucho proposed, bowing as a man of the world. « If you want my arm, my dear friend… »

« Or my tongue, » Kakucho added, coming to the rescue.

The brunette’s amber eyes shone with pleasure.

She seemed to hesiate at first but then she pointed with her index finger Sanzu’s nonchalant silhouette.

« He will walk me home. »

Haruchiyo accepted with a smile. But only his mouth was laughing. His gaze remained thoughtful, posing like a question on the flower dress that began to melt in the bluish heat.

« Okay, » he said. « Sorry man, » he continued towards Shion, « But she’s the one chosing, isn’t she ? »

He rounded his arm with a careless movement and the brunette came to nest there. Shion’s teeth cringed, but when he saw that his sister was turning, he joined her.

« Oi Y/n ! » Ran shouted. « Do you want to go watch a movie with me ? With my new car ! You’ll feel like a fucking queen inside ! »

Shion’s sister didn’t answer him.

He yelled even louder :

« I will have you Y/n ! I will. I swear one day I’ll have you ! »

In the sun, the young woman only shrugged her shoulders.

« That bitch. That sexy bitch. »

As the others went back to their game, Sanzu dragged the brunette, leading her by the waist, to the last barrack of the empty high school not far from where a large enough hole served as an intimate refuge for couples of delinquents.

The excavation by a scoop was about one metre deep by three metres, not covered. A weed had quickly grown there, partly hiding the ground on which one day other buildings would surely be built.

Lying on his back, his shirt rolled up as a pillow under his neck, Haruchiyo Sanzu let the sun bite his skin. He still felt against his ear the panting breath of the brunette and in his eardrum the cry that she had uttered while giving herself wildly.

« You should put your clothes back on, » he laughed. « I know we had a hard time taking them off but you have to put them back on. The cops could come. »

He followed her with his eyes while she contorted herself to cover her young flesh in her pants.

« I love you, Haruchiyo. »

He closed his eyes, put his hands under his neck and faced the sun again. She had told him « I love you » as she was saying « I love chocolate ». But he wasn’t mad at her. She wanted to thank him, even if she was the one that gave.

« You don’t believe me ? »

« I do, » he whispered.

Sanzu went up the stairs of the fifth building. While climbing the steps, he heard his stomach gurgling. He was hungry. He was always hungry. Before reaching the third floor he recognized the smell. Between thousand, he could recognize his mother’s cooking only by the smell of it. He wet his lips with his tongue and smiled. His business with the brunette certainly made him hungry. He knocked and her steps coming from this other side of the door.

« Here, here » his mother said, opening him.

« Hey, mom. I’m starving. »

She carried a fearful finger to her lips.

« Talk quietly. He’s watching T.V. And you’re late. »

She preceded him in the dining room where the man who followed the television news did not pay attention to him. Haruchiyo sat down in front of his mother who poured him two ladles of leek soup.

« You’re kidding, mom, » he teased. « Soup in that heat. »

The man who sat at the end of the table, taking the best place, looked at him, mad, before looking back at the screen.

« I’m the one who ordered her to make this soup. If you don’t want it, don’t eat it. »

Sanzu didn’t answered.

« And I’d like for you to be on time. I already told your mother that I didn’t want a double service. You’re not in a hotel here. »

The young man looked up.

« Are these the regulations ? »

« Silence ! » the man barked, hitting his hand on the table. « Don’t talk back. »

Sanzu swallowed back a reply and his blue eyes met his mother’s.

« The hour is the fucking hour. If in prison, we’d allow to… »

« I’m not in prison ! »

The remark had sprang spontaneously, raging.

« Haruchiyo ! »

The boy tightened his fingers on his spoon and stared at his mother, clenching his teeth.

« Just keep on coming back late to hang out with deliquents and you’ll end up there sooner than you think. »

« Don’t say that, honey, » the woman implred. « One would think that’s what you’re wishing for him. »

« That’s enough. Bring the dessert. »

« It’s good, mom. You really are the best at cooking, » he said at some point.

The step-father didn’t say anything. He would never congratulate her. Everything was due to him, he worked. Well installed on his seat, he chewed, drank, picked his teeth with his nail, pants unbuttoned in the top.

Happy to be complimented, she smiled at him.

Sanzu and his step-father fought as usual, but for his mother, Haruchiyo put an end to the fight. As usual.

« Good night, mom. I’ll be back later, » he said turning around to put on his shoes, leaving the man gasping with rage.

His mother joined him at the door.

« Good night, son. Here,» she replied, giving him two bills. « And don’t forget your keys. »

He gently pushed her hand away.

« No mom. I know that… »

But she forced him to take them as he was taking his keys.

« Good night. Be careful. »

The door closed on the voice of someone on the T.V. He hurried down the stairs, with his anger still very much alive in his heart and fists.

As Sanzu joined his friends, they were already playing and shouting. He settled in a slight hollow, hands under the neck and legs crossed. He admired the sky, carpets of blue velvet from which the diamonds of the stars winked at him.

He winked back at them. He was good. He didn’t like the game, he didn’t even risk the two bills his mother gave him while leaving. But since he didnt like the game, why was he there ? He thought he knew. What he was looking for was the presence of his friends, the human warmth of those of his age, the laughter, the gripping of life. They understood each other so well in spite of their outbursts of violence ! They all knew the promiscuity of social housing, of the houses of the city of Tokyo and the family environment, when it existed, unstable, left to perpetual fights, to shouts, to blows. Did they not have for example alcoholism, misery, illness and adding to all these tragedies of the poor, the childish oaths of revolt and the promises of the great evening ? How many of those who, a few meters from him, watched carefully the cubes of ivories whirling in the brightness of John’s flash, were like Sanzu obliged to go down to the street because, at home, they had no personal nook to breathe, to think, to collect pictures, to laugh about, to dream and to cry about ? How much ?

« Twelve ! » Ran anounced. « Here’s your money, Rindou. »

Haruchiyo, with a lazy hand, reached for the watter bottle. But right before he could lay a finger on it, came a call.

« Shion ! »

« For Christ’s sake ! » Ran gloated. « It’s your sister again Shion ! Why did you do this time ? Forgot to lull your mommy ? »

The playboy’s voice got louder, raging, upset, threathening.

« I’m going to fucking punch her, she won’t ever come back to get me. Just wait and see. »

Sanzu leaned into his hollow field. Well underlined by the clarety of the moon, Shion’s sister approached the players. She was wearing the same dress as in the afternoon.

« Shion ! »

Her tone was determined, authoritarian.

« Shion ! Give me the money you took in my bag ! » she trembled with anger. « It’s my money. The one with which I pay for my food at lunch because I don’t have time to come home to eat. Give it back. I just found out you took it. »

In the half-darkness, she had to try to locate her brother concealed by others because she added :

« Where are you ? »

Someone, Sanzu noticed, pushed Shion in her arms. It was probably Rindou because his voice rose :

« Don’t slow the game. Do your business with your sister. Cut her in pieces if you want but don’t fuck with us. Ran, come back to the game ! »

But his brother wasn’t listening to him. He was all to Y/n. He only saw her, and seemed hypnotized because the half-darkness made her look even more exciting.

« Good evening, pretty, » he finally said.

But she didn’t notice him and severly held into her brother’s arm.

« Aren’t you ashamed ? You know that we already have money issues but despite all that you rob me ? Just to play ? You’re disgusting. »

But he, in front of the others, pretended to be innocent to avoid an embarrassing discussion.

« What the fuck are you talking about ? What’s this story ? You know me, you know I… »

« Give it back. »

« But… »

She screamed :

« Give it back ! »

He slapped her. The slap made Sanzu rise, but it wasn’t his business and let himslef fall back down.

« Asshole ! I need that money for tomorrow ! »

« Now, now, » Ran intervened slowly coming to her. « Don’t cry, Y/n. Here’s your money. I give it to you. The double if you want. »

« Hey ! Don’t fuck around with my money ! » his little brother warned him.

« It’s not yours ! Come on, Y/n, take it. »

But he ignored him, went back to her brother.

« It won’t bring you luck. »

He chuckled.

« Don’t say that, you’re gonna jinx me. Now get the fuck away from here, go back home. »

« Asshole ! »

At the same time she insulted him, she slapped him back.

« Way to go ! » the girl that came with Rindou congratulated her.

Furious at what was happening to him in front of his friends, Shion rushed, determined to hurt her. He raised his fist and creaked.

« Fucking bitch. »

But he could not land his blow. Ran, as flexible as a cat, stopped him in his tracks, knife in hand.

« You want this, Shion ? »

They knew him. He liked the knife. He loved to drive it into the flesh that yielded like a ripe fruit. He loved, with a gesture of the wrist, to cut a cloth, to mark and to brush cheeks. And when the steel lacerated or penetrated, but never in vital places, he felt at the very bottom of himself ascending like a beginning of enjoyment that brought him to the edge of spasm.

« Mind your business… » he mumbled, frozen by fear, knowing what the other was capable of.

« I am, actually. I like Y/n and I’m defending her. Right, Y/n ? »

She didn’t answer. He continued :

« So, Shion, you want this ? »

« But… but… you’re insane… »

« Do you still wanna punch your sister, » he insisted.

« No, no, no Ran ! Come on, tell him Rindou ! »

« Then fucking move »

The playboy immediately obeyed.

« Oh after all, wait ! Emty your pockets and give everything to your sister. »

« But Ran… »

« I said give it to her ! »

Ran was happy. He could freely afford himself the good role, the hero. He didn’t have anything to loose either, even if some of them were on Shion’s side. Rindou was there.

Once again, he obeyed.

« There you go, pretty baby. No one’s better than me concerning families affairs ! Here, take it. »

She pushed his insisting hand away.

« I didn’t ask you to intervene. And it’s easy when you’re armed to threat the others. Give him back his money. »

« But, pretty… »

Surprise and spite were heard in his voice. But then he laughed.

« This one’s the best ! I defend her and she push me away. Did you hear that guys ? Did you, Rindou ? »

His laughter got sruck in his throat, giving way to his anger.

« Who the fuck do you think you are ? »

He was shaking her and at each of his gestures her smell escaped from her dress and her hair. It was a sweet smell, warm, remindind a bit of toast bread. Ran deeply breathed it and his rage, his need to hurt disappeared to give way to his need of taking her, having her, holding this body that smelled so good the girl that excited him since forever.

« I want you, Y/nn » he groaned suddenly. I’ve been wanting for years now. Since we were kids. And you know it. »

He kept on shaking her against him, while she tried to push him away.

« I want you, do you understand ? »

« Shion ! » she screamed, scared.

But her brother, terrified, wouldn’t move.

« I want you, I want you » he repeated.

He took her in his arms, smelling her belly and chest that only her dress protected. The sensual madness in him that the presence of third parties exacerbated, heated his brain and he began to pant, while babbling the same words.

« I want you. I want you. »

She managed an instant to free on of her arms to defend herself and scratched his face. Instead of calming him down, the wound only drove him crazier. He insulted her with a voice that the brutal desire made inaudible.

« Bitch. I’m gonna take you. Here. Right now. In front of everyone. »

« Shion ! »

But the playboy couldn’t move. The fear glued his feet to the ground. A toxic curiousity and fear also for all of them made them stand in place. Every one of them, except Sanzu, in his little whole, stared at the sky, fists clenched.

« Shion ! Shion ! »

Ran sent her to the ground.

« Rindou ! Please, don’t let him do that ! » the other girl begged.

But with one hand sign, he ordered her to shut up. He stared at Shion with contempt.

« Shion ! »

The girl’s voice was fading.

« Shit, I don’t want to see this. »

« Yeah, me neither. »

Two of them went away ; Mucho and Kakucho.

« I want you, » he repeated. « I fucking want you ! »

She might managed to bite him because he screamed.

« Ah ! Bitch ! »

And a dull shock echoed his insult. This time, Sanzu turned his head. He saw the girl’s head rolling sideways. Ran must have hit her in the head because she looked faint. His hand disappeared, and the sound of a frail cloth made Sanzu stumble, bringing him back to his senses.

« Y/n, » Ran moaned, now over her.

An urge to cry, an urge to scream, an urge to yell, an urge to kill, an urge to die, an urge to melt into the rotten ground made Sanzu trembled from head to toe. He shouldn’t move. He shouldn’t intervene. It was one of the rules of life. You had to stay strong in a hard moment.

« Shion ! » she yelled, suddenly coming back to herself. « Shion ! Please ! »

The fists of Akashi Haruchiyo pounded on the ground. With rage. With madness. And, unable to bear any more, he got up from the ground where he wanted to melt. A jump brought him to Ran. He grabbed him with both hands by the back of his jacket and removed him with a single movement, his forces multiplied by his thirst for destruction. Hurled violently, he fell upon himself and rolled at his brother’s feet. He rose to the second, knife in his hand, without even zipping his pants.

« Ah, that’s you Sanzu ? Good idea you had there man ! Now come foward a bit. »

But he was the one already approaching him.

That’s it, Sanzu thought, you wanted to meddle in what wasn’t your business.

He was afraid. Afraid of this sharp blade that was walking on him, inexorable and impressive and against which he had little chance, so much it paralyzed him.

Ran was about to strike when Rindou’s voice brutally stopped him.

« Nevermind, Ran, look around you. Too much witnesses. Don’t kill him. But we can beat the shit out of him.»

Rondou looked at his girlfriend who was observing Sanzu’s inert body.

« I like it when we fight, » he said. « He fought well, so Ran leave him alone for now. »

« But Rindou… »

« Later. Let’s play now. »

And they went back to the little group of friends who had witnessed the fight, remaining impassive.

« Does it hurt a lot ? » Y/n asked worried.

He rubbed his temples and grimaced because his left hand made him suffer.

« No, I’ll be fine, » he said spitting blood. « But he really is a God of fighting ! And I thought I was good at it ! »

« You did well, » Shion’s sister said. « Can you go home by yourself ? »

« Yeah, don’t worry, » he replied, wiping his bloddy face with his shirt. « I’ll be okay. »

Rejecting their help, he got up.

« You’re hurt man ? » Kakucho asked. « You wanna lean on me ? »

« No, » Sanzu refused. « I’ll be okay, I’m going home. By myself. »

« I’ll go with you, » Y/n suddenly decided. « I have to go home too anyway. »

He rose up, opened his painful mouth, but in the clear night he spotted her pleading and friendly gaze.

« As you want, » he finally gave up. « Let’s go. »

She proposed her arm. He bluntly dismissed it. Alawyas his damn pride.

« I said without help. »

He was going away when Rindou’s girl, pulled him back and leaned to his ear :

« Well done. Ran didn’t have her. He almost did, but no. Bravo for intervening. »

There was a sincere admiration in her voice. She brushed against the boy’s bare shoulder and joked :

« I’m with Rindou but if I wasn’t trust me I would’ve been with you. I like you buddy. »

Sanzu smiled and walked away, without worrying about Y/n who followed in his footsteps.

He was holding his bloodstained shirt and dragging a leg. Neither he nor the girl turned back when they heard the voice of Rindou who observed with a disgusting conviction :

« It’s okay, Shion. You’re just a fucking gross guy. Not enough guts to defend your sister. »

Shyly, Y/n put her hand, as sweet as the night, on the boy’s forearm.

« Thank you, » she whispered.

He felt all foolish and did not know what to say : he did not like thanks or effusions. He turned an embarrassed head and spit ; a trickle of red saliva clung to the tip of the dusty grass.

« That’s where I live, » Sanzu said.

They had stopped in front of his gate, behind which livid bulbs protected by iron grills signalled the stairs.

« I live over there, » she stated.

Her bare arm was directed beyond the brown lamppost rising on the small square and which traced, at its base, a circle of yellow clarity.

« I know, » he confessed. « I’ve seen you. Your mom’s a janitor, right ? »

« Yes. »

He offered his right hand, the one that wasn’t painful.

« Well, good night. »

He wanted to add something else, to stop speaking to her so formally, as those of their age did, but he did not bind himself easily. He didn’t trust anyone.

« Good night and thank you. »

She held back his hand.

« Do you have what you need to treat your wounds ? »

« Uh… yes, yes. Don’t worry. »

They parted ways. He was about to cross his gate when he turned around.

« Y/n ! »

The people in the darkness stopped their conversation for a moment and then resumed it as quickly. The girl retraced her steps.

« Yes ? »

She could see him standing, beyond the light zone of the lamp post, his shirt stained with blood in his hand, his head lowered.

« Yes ? » she repeated, approaching him.

He coughed a bit, felt some blood still in his throat. He managed to spit it out before clumsily saying :

« Well, I don’t know how to explain it… but I thought… I mean, I eat at home… Do you understand what i wanna say ? »

Actually, she did not. He continued, awfully embarrassed, insulting himself for calling her back.

« Uh, there… I mean for you to use it at lunch ! »

He took the bills he had in his pocket and shoved them in her hand, as if they were burning his fingers. She remained motionless for a moment, struck with stupor, and then cried out, realizing that he had crossed the gate and was rapidly moving away.

« Oh, no ! »

She ran to catch him.

« No, no I can’t accept this. Impossible. »

He stopped, but only contemplated her for a second. Then he looked down to the ground. She noted that his bruised face had frozen and understood that she had just offended him. She stealthily brought back her hand, which held out the bills.

« Don’t blame me, but it’s so unexpected… »

« Don’t worry, » he said. « If you don’t want it just go away. »

He had spoken brutally. She almost formalized herself, but remembered in time what he had just done for her by fighting. She brushed his arm.

« Don’t be mad, Haruchiyo. It’s Haruchiyo, right ? I think I heard someone call you when you were fighting. »

« Maybe, » he groaned.

She could not help a slight laugh at his bad mood and he decided to raise his forehead. Their eyes crossed and never left each other. They stood foolishly in front of each other, without saying anything. It was he who broke the silence.

« You keep the money ? »

« Yes. »

She answered in a clear voice, without hesitation. A laughter of contentment illuminated Sanzu’s face where blood had clotted into dark streaks. He opened his mouth, closed it after a hesitation. She inquired.

« Did you want to say something ? »

« Well… »

She waited. He finally made up his mind and suddenly proposed.

« Do you want to go for a walk ? »

She hesitated before answering him. He thought he understood.

« Yeah, it’s true that you’re workig tomorrow. »

« No, it’s not that, but… »

He saw her change color.

« But ? » he asked surprised.

All of a sudden, a sob shook her and she hid her face in her hands while confessing during her crisis of tears.

« … I have… I have to go home. I feel like I’m dirty. Like… »

He let her cry without intervening. Then he tried to appease her when the sobs faded.

« Don’t think too much of it. Rindou’s girlfriend told me that there was nothing to worry about. »

She offered him her pretty face, which the tears furrowed.

« I know. But I feel dirty. And I’m ashamed. »

He carefully took her wrist.

« It’s not you that should be ashamed, but that Ran trash. Come on, try to forget about it. »

« I’ll try. But it will be difficult. I think I’ll never… »

He placed his index finger on her full lips and felt the living heat.

« Shh. You will. Now, go home. I’ll wait for you here. »

She smiled at him through the tears that still flowed.

« I’ll be right back. What about you ? Are you going to wash up ?

« Well, » he confessed. « They’re all sleeping at home. And I don’t know where the medicine is. I don’t even know if we have some. »

She took his hand and brought him with her.

« Come. You’ll stay by my door and I’ll patch you up. »

He resisted. She insisted.

« Come on ! Don’t be stupid. »

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking through the neighborhood. On the facades of the social housing and old houses of the city of Tokyo, the last lights went out one after the other.

She had brought him a sweater from her brother and she had changed her dress and had covered herself with a vest of wool. They did not know how to break the silence that sometimes fell between them. Although he insulted himself all the names in his head, he didn’t know what to say to make her feel comfortable.

« Do you want to sit for a bit ? » he proposed. « Unless you’d rather go home ? »

She hesiatetd, contemplated the starry sky then landed her attention on him and smiled in front of his band-aids.

« You look like an Egyptian mummy. »

He laughed, with a warm laugh, happy.

« So, do you want to ? »

He pointed to the wasteland, whose heaps of forgotten rubble formed darker masses on the dark background of the night.

« Everything I have to offer you. But rest assured, not everyone has a green palace at hand. »

« That’s where you were with the brunette this afternoon, isn’t it ? »

« Ah ! You noticed ? »

She found his gaze, observed him for a while.

« I’m not the brunette »

He rose up.

« I know. I wasn’t… Well, you know… »

She sanned him again, then decided by taking his arm.

« Let’s go, I don’t want to go home right now. It’s too hot. And mom isn’t going to wake up before seven with her medicine. »

He guided her through the pitfalls of the field but by a sort of modesty he did not lead her to the excavation which served their exploits. He knew a quiet corner, a sort of small niche dug in the ground where he sometimes came alone when he could no longer face his father-in-law and needed to calm his violence. This hole was nearly a meter and a half long and wide and thirty centimeters deep. No one came because by day it was clearly visible from the social housing. He took off the sweater she had given him and laid it on the bottom over the crispy grass that had already grown.

« You can go there. »

« You’ll be cold. »

« The weather is good tonight. »

He sat beside her and sighed, eyes to the sky. Sometimes she moved, and he felt the soft abandonment of her thigh against his. After long minutes he could not hide his happiness any longer.

« I feel good, » he said.

She looked for his hand and held it.

« I’ve never felt this good, » he said again.

She squeezed his fingers and he grew quiet. It was true that he had never felt so relaxed. How simple life could be ! He felt new forces rising in him. Clean things. A song warmed his heart and kept his soul fresh. He couldn’t keep all that happiness to himself. He exclaimed after another silence :

« Look ! It’s Ophiuchus ! »

He had raised his hand and pointed it over them. She laughed and with a gesture without calculation, she gently put down her head which smelled good on his bare shoulder.

« You’re a scholar. »

He smiled back and confesses :

« It’s the only thing I know. And I’m not even sure. What I would like is to see a sky like that but by the sea. Must be the best. »

« You’ve never been to the sea ? »

« No. And you ? »

He had just untied their fingers and, raising his right arm, he embraced her with a timid precaution. She pressed against him immediately, already in love.

« Yes, once. Five years ago. I was in Joetsu with a summer camp. »

« Where’s Joetsu ?

« In the prefecture of Niigata. »

« Ah ! Was it raining ? »

« No, it was a beautiful day. »

He leaned over her face and she looked at him with wide open, deep and willing eyes. He placed his burning lips on her red mouth and she closed her eyelids. Then he pressed her tightly against his torso that Rann’s blows had marbled. Since they were together, he’d forgotten everything, felt different, less angry, less alone. That must have been that famous love everyone was talking about. He held her tightly for a long time, and when he let her go, she breathed a slight sigh of happiness. He remained to study her face which framed the scattered mass of living hair with on his lips, a taste of purity that he had found on hers.

« Aren’t you going on vacation this year ? » he asked.

« No. »

« What about the sea ? Don’t you want to go back there ? »

« Yes I do ! »

She exclaimed with passion and raised her eyelids to look at him and smile. She added, in a more measured tone :

« With you. »

« I’d like it, » he said.

She laughed.

« Unfortunatelly, we can’t afford it. »

« Unfortunatelly… But I really wanna see it ! And we look so dumb when we haven’t. I’m sure it’d be amaizing with you. They say it’s awesome, right ? »

He kissed her again and asked :

« Talk to me about it. How is it ? Tell me. »

He wanted to get away a bit but she threw his arms around him and began to kiss his face with small clumsy kisses. He felt the desire rise in him. He kept her tight against him, but managed to control himself by controlling his breathing. Finally, he strayed a little from her. He did not know well why, but he had to not sully that moment. He had to preserve it for himself later, when he’d remember. This moment had to remain like a flash of light in his life.

« Tell me, » he repeated.

« Well… »

She gently stroked his side and under her nails, he felt his skin bristle with pleasure.

« Well, it’s something very clean. Sometging that scares you but attracts you at the same time. Something that makes you want to be clean too. Do you see what I mean ? »

« I’m trying. »

« When you look at it, you feel washed from everywhere. Body and soul. If you contemplate it for a long time, comes a moment when you want to go in, go deep and never come back to the dirt of cities. See what I mean now ? »

« I think I do. »

« It was so beautiful ! Ah ! If only I could show it to you ! »

He plunged his nostrils into his hair that smelled like toast.

« We will go there one day, I promise. »

Happy with each other, they kept talking about the ocean.

« Then closer, at my feet, it was gray because it moved sand. »

« Yeah so it was ugly then. »

« No. It was still beautiful. It was the sea. »

He listened to her thoughtfully, caressing her back dreamily. Mechanically his palm lodged under one of her breasts and immediately felt it palpitating like a lukewarm and fearful thing. She hid her shameful head under his armpit, which gave off the smell of young fawns, and he became emboldened, pressing the hard breast. She moaned. With his slit lips, he whispered in her ear :

« Y/n. »

« Yes, » she sighed as he kneaded her chest with a greedy hand.

He repeated again, just to have the pleasure of pronouncing her name.

« Y/n. »

She kissed his chest, whispering :

« Yes ? »

Then with a stifled tone.

« You want to ? »

He moved, brought her face back to the light of the moon, looked for her gaze and plunged into it. To the bottom. He understood that she was embarrassed but that she was ready, that she was his.

« Have you done it before ? »

« No. »

« Would you let it happen ? »

He probed her with his blue yes. But her gaze did not hide anything. She gave herself completely. She whispered :

« Yes. I know maybe I shouldn’t, but I accept. »

The silence, which was only disturbed by a dull truck roll, fell upon them. They contemplated each other for a long time without saying anything. Without moving. Finally, she opened her mouth.

« Let’s, if you want to. I feel like it’ll wipe the dirt off… »

« Shh. Let me look at you. »

« But Haruchiyo… if you want… »

« Shh. »

And letting himself fall down beside her, he blocked her against his shoulder and, with a tender hand, with the sweetest gesture he could, he stroked her head, feeling under his fingers the hair quivering with the savory smell of burnt bread.

« Hey, Y/n-chan, I hope I’ll dream of the sea tonight. »

Haruchiyo went to bed thinking of her that night. He smiled but suddenly froze. A stifled whine was beginning to arise. A whine that Haruchiyo Akashi knew too well. He closed his eyes and bit his fists, those fists where he had wanted to enclose his happiness. Oh ! Not tonight! Not that. Not tonight. But the moan instead of stopping, increased. And, fuck, he had, as at other times, the sensation of being responsible for this, for this sensual moan which, on the other side of the wall, escaped from his mother’s throat. He lay still, full of shame for her and hatred for him. Then came the groan of the beast announcing pleasure. And he heard his mother whispering full of joy.

« Honey, oh honey… »

And as each time came the bold laughter of the step-father, that satisfied male laugh.

« Do you really call this shit coffee ? » he heard, waking up.

« But I swear, I made it as you like it. »

« Shut up. »

In his bed, the young man held his breath. Each time it was the same. Each time he had to remain powerless, listening to a man shouting at his mother. And she, born to be dominated, to obey, who loved the other, proved it at night by her cries of pleasure. There was nothing to complain about. She loved him and it was her husband. And he, Sanzu, had only to be silent.

« If you don’t do better when I ask you to do something, I’ll get mad, » he threatened. « And you know what’ll happen to you… »

« Oh non ! Don’t make me go through this again. You promised you wouldn’t… I’d die, you know. »

What was she talking about ? He already heard his step-father threat her like this last month. Was he hitting her ? He clenched his teeth. I he did…

He pretended to be asleep until he heard him goint to work and joined his mother in the kitchen.

« Oh ! You’re awake ! Go back to bed. I opened a strawberry jam, the one you like. I’ll make something to you. »

He approached her.

« Tell me, mom. What scares you ?

She froze a moment, knife in hand.

« What do you mean ? »

She had lowered her head, avoiding his eyes.

« I heard you tell your husband you’d die if he did something to you. What does he do to you mom ? »

She seemed really intrested in the bread she was cutting.

« I don’t understand what you’re saying. What’s inside your head ? »

He sighed :

« Nothing, mom. »

« Go back to bed, okay ? »

« No mom. »

« Please. Do me that favor. Let me take care of you. It’s not often that I can. »

She faced him and stared straight at him. And he found his mother, the one of before, the real one, the one of their happiness. A beginning of a smile bloomed on her face and against him, this maternal smile swept away his reserves, drove away the bad thoughts.

« Okay mom. But can I ask you something ? »

« Of course. »

« Make toast bread please. »

« But you don’t like toast ! »

« Now I do, mom. For the smell. »

« For the smell ? »

« Yes mom, for the smell. The smell of a girl. »

« Ah… »

A beautiful smile such as he had not known her for a long time illuminated the face of his mother, returning her youth. She asked :

« Is she pretty ? »

« There’s nothing more beautiful than her ! »

As he reached the landing of the third floor that evening, Haruchiyo thought he perceived a long muffled complaint which seemed to come from his home. As he approached the complaint, a sort of moaning, became a little clearer. No mistake, it came from his home. Quickly, he slipped his key into the lock and opened it. Was his mother sick ? He had no doubt now ; the alarming noise of his mother’s voice, which was sometimes dominated by the voice of television, was rising in the apartment. Flexible and quick, he went towards the noise. Had his mother heard him come home ? Certainly not because she knocked the wood of a door with a weak fist and begged :

« No, Takumi, No. Don’t leave me here. You know I’m suffocating. I’m gonna die suffocating… Takumi… No… i’m scared… Takumi… Taku…

A shroud of ice fell on the Sanzu’s shoulders who, not knowing where his mother was, had stopped at the threshold of the dining room.

« You busting my balls ! » his step-father barked. « It’ll teach you good ! Defending him when he’s late, bullshit ! »

He was sitting in his master’s seat, at the end of the table, facing the television. He was stripped, his bare feet at ease in slippers and his pants unbuttoned at the top.

« Ah ! There you are ! » he said, notcing Sanzu. « What about being on time huh ? We just don’t care ? »

« Where did you put her ? What are you doing to her ? »

The man pushed back his seat. Being disturbed at such a moment put him in a bad mood.

« Calm down, » he advised. « Or I’ll do the same to you. »

His mother’s voice could be heard once again.

« Please Takumi… please… I’m scared, Takumi… I’m gonna die… I can feel it… »

Sanzu felt his blood boil.

« Where is she ? What are you doing to her ? »

The man laughed. A loud laughter, proud of himself.

« I punished her, mind your business. And it’s your fault, you should’ve been here on time. »

Then, Sanzu suddenly understood where the noise came from. He rushed to the small door embedded in a corner of the dining room where his mother kept the brooms. The key was on the cupboard which he opened in haste.

« Mom, what is he doing to you ? »

The face drowned in tears, the hair untied, the air of a madwoman, the mouth open as if asphyxiated, stared at him without seeing him.

He helped her getting out.

« Air… Oh ! Fresh air… »

He held her until the window opened on the evening. Without letting go of her, he turned his neck towards the step-father who groaned while shrugging his shoulders.

« It’s no big deal. She always exaggerates. »

She must have not heard him.

« Don’t lock me inside again Takumi… You know well I’m claustrophobic… »

He waited for his mother to feel beter and went in front of Takumi.

« Get up, asshole. »

« What ? Are you talking to me ? »

Three strides brought Sanzu and punched him. Not yet up from his seat, the step-father tumbled backwards but managed to hold himself at the table.

« Haruchiyo ! Takumi ! »

Neither of them were listening to her. Why ? Because Sanzu managed to take Takumi’s gun work. He pointed it at the man’s belly.

« Move again… Touch my mother again and I’ll kill you. »

He waved his weapon to punctuate his threat.

« Whether with this, or my fists or anything else. Touch my mom and I’ll kill you. »

« Don’t play with this.. You know where it could lead you. Give it back. Besides, it’s at the safety switch. »

« I will give it back to you and don’t worry about the safety switch. I know what I’m doing. But my warning definitely stands. If you lock my mother inside once again, I’ll kil you. With this very gun or anything else. »

« You’re on time ! » she smiled.

« You blame me for that ?

« Oh ! No. »

Y/n did not dare to kiss him because some tenants were leaning over their windows. He smothered her with a greedy eye.

« You’re pretty ! »

« More than the brunette ? »

« Not quite. »

She pinched him.

« Where are we going ? The movie ? »

« That movie was absolutely horrible ! We could actually feel death ! »

It was past eleven when the movie ended. She looked at him.

« I thought I was going to die too » he said.

He hugged her waist without slowing down.

« Neither you nor I will die. We have a whole life ahead of us... and I hope it’ll be long. »

She hasn’t answered him anything. Her steps in sync to his, she smiled, to believe that she had seen unfolding before her the long road of their existence.

« You want to go back to where we were last night? To our little hideout on the field ? » she asked.

« Okay. »

Reaching their hole of the day before, he noticed after spotting in the distance the intermittent brightness of Ran’s flashlight.

« You don’t like to play ? »

He spread his jacket at the bottom of the hole.

« I only love you. »

She laughed, happy.

« Liar. But before ? »

« No, I never liked the game. »

« You prefered brunettes ? »

He let himself fall by her side and hugged her passionately.

« Oh my god, stop with that, » he chuckled.

They playfully fought on the earth heated by the sun of the day, mingling their young bodies eager to live. She weakened first. She tied his arms around his neck and whispered.

« Haru. »

He was bent over her and on his bruised face, burned his blue eyes.

« Haru, » she repeated with a loving tone.

« You want to ? » he asked.

His voice had just become hoarse, a man’s voice, the one they have when they implore before possession.

« I do. »

He looked at her with his eyes where desire shone.

« You won’t regret it ? »

« No. »

He let himself go gently, covered his tender and consenting body with his hard one. Falling from the sky, the stars came, swirling softly, to rest around them. Shortly afterwards, a slight cry, like a child’s cry, reached the band of starlings who had chosen the field for their domain. But the birds did not panic. They stayed there. It was just a child’s cry.

Humming to himslef, he set his foot on the landing of the second floor and his voice died on his lips. Above him had just sounded a dry slap, suffocated, vaguely resembling a cork that jumps. He continued to climb and arrived at his door, he frowned. Noise came from within. At this hour ? He opened, entered and closed quickly. Light flooded the dining room and his mother, in her nightgown, stood in the embrasure. From her right arm, along her body, rose a slight grey smoke. Sanzu paid his attention to it and trembled, recognizing where the smoke came from. His mother held the step-father’s work pistol. A leap brought him near his mother, who breathed with fright.

« What’s going on, mom. What… »

But he stopped. It was useless to question. Stretched on his back, the man no longer breathed. On his bare chest, towards the region of the heart, a hole indicated where the bullet had just killed.

Through the half-open window, a voice came from a nearby dwelling.

« Did you hear this ? Sounded like a gunshot. »

« Go to sleep. You read too much detective novels. »

Sanzu slowly went to close it. He, even slowler, went to disarm his mother who was still panting.

« Try to calm down, mom. Try. »

With a kind of tender fervor, he took her against him and began to massage her temples.

Below them, a door slammed. Did someone who had also heard the detonation decide to go and warn the cops ? Two, three minutes passed and Sanzu felt his mother’s heart palpitating against him.

« There, there, mom, » talking to her like you’d talk to a kid. « There, mom. Calm down. »

The gasping faded to give way to a crisis of tears.

« Oh ! What have I done ? What have I done ? Oh my God ! If only you knew, Haruchiyo ! He wanted to lock me up again ! »

She sniffed, blew her nose on his jacket but he let her. She continued, still shaken with sobs.

« But nothing had happened ! I was sleeping ! I don’t know why he did that. He woke up and started to insult you, saying you were a delinquent, that he was going to send you in prison and… »

« And ? »

« And then he started to run after me, saying I’d spend the night locked up and that he’d throw you out on the morning, when you’d come back. I had to ! But now I regret ! But I was so afraid when he talked about locking me up. Each time, I feel like I’m suffocating. It’s a martyr. »

« Did he do that often, mom ?

She looked at him. She didn’t seem to see him. Then she fell against him. He gently stroked her head, while listening for external noises. Suddenly, he stiffened, someone knocked at the door.

« Is everything okay, Takumi-san ? » a worried voice asked. « We heard a gunshot coming from here ! »

The young man hugged his mother tighter and whispered :

« Calm down, mom. Shh. They’ll go away. Everything will be okay. »

She tried to escape his hold.

« It can’t ! I’ll go in prison ! We should open the door. »

He put his hand on her mouth to blur the sound of her voice. He didn’t think about that. It all happened so fast. Prison ? She would not make it! As soon as the door of the cell would closed on her, she would scream to death, and choke. If they locked her up, she would end up crazy or dead. Suddenly, his decision was made. A brutal decision. The only one he could think of.

« You won’t go in prison, mom. It’d kill you. Just do as I say, okay ? »

He stared at her with insistence, while listening to the sound of footsteps going down the stairs. Reassured, he freed her mouth.

« Listen to what I’m gonna say and do it. I’m gonna take the gun and run away. You’ll go to the neighbours to tell them I killed your husband. »

« You’re crzay Haruchiyo ! I’d never… »

He covered her mouth again.

« Do as I say. If they lock you up, you’re done for and you know it. »

« But I can’t accept this ! That’d be horrible. »

« What would be horrible, mom, would be to hear you yell like a beast in a cell. Come on, mom. Let’s not watse any more time. Here, listen… »

In the distance, far away, a police siren tore the warm night.

« Hurry, mom, » he said pushing her away. « Don’t worry. Just do like I said and evrything will be alright. I’ll call from time to time. »

« But Haruchiyo, I can’t. »

He cursed.

« For fuck sake, don’t you understand ? Let me go, you’ll be fine ! Good bye. »

« Haruchiyo ! »

« Don’t hold me back, mom ! It’ll be okay. Now, good bye. »

He kissed her hastily on the forehead and rushed.

« Haruchiyo. Take some money. »

But he was already gone.

Five minutes later, he met his friends at their usual spot. He faced Rindou.

« I’d like to talk to you. »

« Urgent ? »

« Very. »

His face had to confirm his answer because Rindou stopped his game.

« What do you want ? » he asked once they were a bit far from the group.

« I just killed my step-father. »

Rindou’s purple eyes sparkled fiercely.

« Why did you came to me ? »

« Because you’re the only one that can help me. »

« You don’t know anyone else that could help you ? »

« No one. »

« And what if I can’t ? »

« I’ll end up in jail. »

Rindou’s hand cut the air.

« No way. I’ll help you. The cops know it was you ? »

« They arrived when I left. »

« Yeah so you’re already done for. What did you use to kill him ? His gun ? »

« Yeah. »

« Where do you wanna go ? »

« I don’t know, » he replied.

« You can’t hide in any of our houses. The cops are gonna watch us so they’ll know. Better luck in the countryside, if someone can welcome you there. »

« Yeah but where ? I don’t know anyone. »

Rindou looked at his watch.

« You shouldn’t stay in Tokyo. »

« Yeah but where ? And how ? »

« I have a cousin that can welcome you. He rented a villa there for three months. He’ll hide you. »

« Yeah but… »

« You don’t have a car, but I do.

Sanzu flinched.

« But you barely know me and we fought two days ago ! »

Rindou smiled again.

« And ? We fought fairly, didn’t we ? And if we didn’t stand up against the cops, what would remain ? But I’ll have it back once you arrive there. My cousin or someone else will bring it back. Do you have money ? »

« Well… »

« Okay, okay. I get it. »

Before he could give him anything, Sanzu said :

« Wait. I would’ve like to talk to a girl before. »

Rindou stared at him curiously.

« You mean, Shion’s sister ? »

« Yeah. I really have to see her. Do you think that’s possible ? »

« Why not. Hey ! Shion ! Go bring your sister ! »

« Now ? But she’s asleep ? »

Rindou’s stare didn’t give him any choice.

After telling his friends that he killed his step-father, they treated him as a hero and helped him by giving him all the money they had on them. Even Ran, and he gave him his lighter too.

Sanzu’s heart beat faster because Y/n was by his side. Without waiting for any explanation, she rushed on her lover.

« Haru. What’s going on ? Is it true that those cops are here for you ? »

He hugged her.

« What happened, Haru ? Did you really kill him ? »

So that’s what people thought. His mom did as he said. Relieved, he lowered his head.

« Yes. I mean… I’ll explain later. »

« But… »

« I will, but not here. »

« Where ? »

« Later, when we’ll be alone. »

« What are you going to do ? »

« Run away. »

« When ? »

« After talking to you. »

« I’m going with you. »

« Impossible. »

« Why ? »

« Your mom. Your life. Your work. »

« Shion will take care of mom. My life, since tonight, is you. My work is not even one. I’m following you. »

« But Y/n ! »

« I’m following you. I’m yours. And I’m with you. »

She turned around not to hear him refuse anymore, making him undestand that she wasn’t listening to him anymore.

« Shion. »

Her brother came to her.

« I’m leaving. Take care of mom and tell her I love her. Promise ? »

He hesitated but was met with Rindou’s eyes.

« Promise. »

Sanzu stared at the younger Haitani.

« She wants to come with me. »

« Yeah, I heard. And why not ? Now, you better leave soon. »

All of his friends gathered around him.

« Good luck. »

« Good bye, Sanzu. »

« Overtake these fucking cops ! »

« Be careful, man. »

The last one, Ran, waved at him.

« Sayonara, Sanzu. »

« Thanks, everyone. »

He helped Y/n get in the red car, he went to behind the wheel and after a last good bye, he started the engine in the direction of the outer boulevards.

It was already past 3 in the morning when Ran called the cops.

« Aren’t you cold, Haru ? »

« No. Are you ? Do you want me to close the window ? »

« No. The fresh air keeps me awake. »

He took her hand with his left one.

« You can sleep if you want. »

She gently scratched the back of his hand.

« I’d rather look at you. »

He laughed. A laughter pierced with despair.

« I’m not really good-looking. »

She stuck her nails in his flesh.

« You’re the most beautiful. »

« I wasn’t talking about my looks but about the shitty peron I am. »

« You are not a shitty person, Haru. »

« Look in what I dragged you, Y/n-chan. »

« La la la. You talk a lot more than when we met. Now, I’m gonna sleep. »

« Y/n-chan. Y/n-chan, wake up. »

« Mhm, what ? Are we here yet ? »

« No, but what do you say about making a side trip to Joetsu first ? »

« What ! But we can’t ! » she said fully awake.

« Why not ? It’s still early and not that far from there. So, what do you say ? »

« Let’s go. »

He smiled at her answer and kissed her.

« You can’t possibly know how happy I am to go to this sea with you. I’m already happy to discover it. But with you. I feel like it’s your sea and you’re going to offer it to me. »

Haruchiyo Akashi was not guilty anymore. His mother had confessed.

« Y/n-chan. »

« Yes ? » she said, half asleep.

« We’re here. »

She didn’t open her eyes. On the contrary, she seemed to fall asleep even more.

« We’re here, » he said louder.

« Already ? »

« Yeah. Come on, wake up ! » she gently shake her.

She laughed and passed her arms around his neck, while behind them, an ageless couple watched them, judgmental.

« He we are, in Joetsu ! »

He hurried to join her because, bare foot, without waiting for him she started to run towards the beach.

Not hearing him running after her anymore, Y/n turned around. She saw him, motionless, his gaze lost in the horizon. She retraced her steps to take his hand.

« Beautiful, isn’it ? »

He didn’t answer and she looked at him. His eyes were wide open, his torso bulged, and he was longing for the breeze from the far horizon. He didn’t move. He seemed hypnotized, as if struck with admiration.

« Haru. »

He still did not hear it. The breeze made his long blond hair curl, slightly inflated his jacket which he had opened on his t-shirt. His gaze never seemed to want to leave the dark blue line where beyond men put dream. Five minutes passed, which she didn’t disturb. Then she felt on her hand the tension of his hard fingers. He said without diverting his attention :

« I’m happy to be heare. »

He then turned to her.

« Come. Let’s go near it. »

Barefoot, shoes in hand, they ran on the wet sand, then insensibly, they sunk to the ankles and, under their heels, the water dripped in drops of light before wetting the bottom of their jeans. A hundred meters further, out of breath, he let himself fall on dry sand by dragging her with him. They rolled over, filled their hair with it, their neck, everywhere in the midst of laughter. At a moment of their cheerfulness, he found himself on her and his voice was transformed, becoming hoarse while he felt against his thigh the gun which he had forgotten.

« I want you, » he said.

She kissed his scar, at the corners of his mouth.

« You’re insane. There are people. »

« You think ? Yeah you’re right. Well, let’s go swimming ! »

« I dont have swimsuit. »

« Ah ! That’s true. »

« But you can, in underwears. »

He took off his shirt.

« Well, later, » he said taaking her in his arms.

And side by side, their hair mingled, and their cheeks touching, they beheld the sea. The silence barely enveloped them, disturbed by the soft lapping of the wave which licked their bare feet and from time to time by the cry of a seagull which hovered above them. He was the first to break it. He murmured, pensive, his eyes on the ocean.

« You know, Y/n-chan ? »

« Yes. »

« I’m thinking about what you told me the other night. It’s true that we feel washed when we look at the sea. But being here makes me feel like I’m brand new. It’s funny, isn’t it ? And it’s also true that we want to go in and never come back. »

He grew quiet for a moment, tenderly rubbed his cheek against hers, and whispered again.

« You know what I’m thinking about, Y/n-chan ? »

« No. »

« Well, we should bring here the social housing and open every doors and windows wide. And then we’d let the wind and water do the rest. »

« And it wouldn’t be dirty anymore. »

« No. Everything would be clean. »

« No more Ran. »

« Nor cops. »

« Nor dramas or misery. »

« Nor dead step-father. »

She kissed his shoulder.

« Try to only think of the future. »

He questionned the sea.

« The future ? »

And cheek against cheek, they dreamed of their houses, brought by force by the side of the water and purified for ever.

It was on hearing the sand screeching that Sanzu turned around. He did not let go of Y/n at first. Still immersed in his dream, his eyes filled with the vision of the waves, he had trouble realizing. Then the dull brilliance of the machine-gun barrel held by one of the men in khaki gave him the effect of an electric shock. He rose from a leap. The men were barely 50 meters away.

« Hey ! » the chief called him. « Don’t run away. Are you Akashi Haruchiyo ? »

His name suddenly thrown out told Sanzu that it really was for him. They had moved fast. They were strong. He dropped a desperate look on Y/n, seemed to hesitate, but the voice of the policeman who was getting closer set his mibd. He rushed to the right, along the sea as they called him :

« Stop ! Stop ! »

But Sanzu did not want to obey. He wanted to flee. Flee social housing. Flee the dead step-father. Flee everything. He rushed, and behind him he heard the hammering of the big shoes on the wet sand.

« Stop ! Stop ! »

« Haru ! »

Y/n’s scream almost stopped him. But the disturbing sound of boots announcing justice, the interrogations, the end of the light of freedom, the end of Y/n’s kisses and their dream made him throw himself forward. The sand squirted under his bare feet and he felt on his cheeks the strong and salty breath of the wind.

« Stop ! Stop ! It’s okay ! »

The screaming voice was panting. Sanzu accelerated and then fell. He straightened himself up immediately, while the boots that had slowed down were raging back to hammer the sand.

« Stop ! »

The young man, while giving the maximum, looked at the sea. It was there, with its indomitable beauty and strength and its horizon line behind which existed other worlds.

« Stop ! »

To say that he would never know the joy of sinking into it, of swimming in it, of letting himself be carried there, and of feeling it rid his skin of the foulings of the city. To think he was so close to her and would never...

« Stop ! Stop ! »

A shot of warning burst out in the sunny morning. Haruchiyo accelerated the pace. To say that ever... and to be so close... when he had dreamed so much...

« Stop ! »

A second shot lacerated the bluish air that smelled of holidays. Suddenly Sanzu, instead of continuing straight, entered the sea.

« Stop ! »

A third warning shot exploded in the air, deflecting a volley of curlew. Sanzu turned around, he had the step-father’s gun in his fist.

« No, Haru ! »

Y/n had followed him, had shouted her supplication. But the boy heard nothing, did not want to hear anything. He was afraid. He raised his arm above the water and pulled. The bullet grazed the bearer of the machine-gun who, as a target, reflexively lowered the barrel of his weapon close to the sea. It whined under the impact of the bullets and Sanzu, in the water now up to the waist, fell and dropped his pistol. Around him, the water was immediately dyed red.

« Haru ! »

Y/n, who had not yet realized very well, who was too young for it, fell on the sand and the police surrounded her. A wave stronger than the others brought Sanzu’s body to the knees of his young lover. His face remained partly submerged and the sea, indulgent and maternal, seemed to want his slight lapping to erase the wrinkles brought way to early by life.

♡

#took me so long omg #thanks if you're still here lmao #tokyo revengers #sanzu haruchiyo #ran haitani #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #haruchiyo sanzu #kakucho hitto #kanji mochizuki #yasuhiro muto #au #shion madarame

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noir0neko · 4 years ago

Text

satan on the strip | m

“But parties of two are my favorite.”

rating: very mature

paring: jungkook x reader

includes: lots of sexual tension, also sex, praise!kink, pet names, magic, drinking, other nefarious behavior, a lot of sexual thoughts, maybe some biting and maybe some air play and begging and cursing and just,,, it’s mature content folks, proceed with caution

word count: 3.5k

a/n: Hi!!! It has been a hOT minute since I was here. I was just toasting some bagels this morning when this idea popped into my head and I knew I had to write it. Shoutout to bagels for giving me inspo, even though bagels are not in this fic in any way. If you would like to read along to what I was listening to when I wrote, here is the little playlist: “Miracle” by CHVRCHES. “Love on the Brain” by Rihanna, “Hypnotic” by Zella Day and “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars. ENJOY! I am super happy to post something again!

“Come on!” Your friends try to flag you over to the dance floor from your very comfortable seat at the bar. You hold up your drink as an excuse and take a sip, letting the bitter liquid burn a path down your throat. They scoff and give you a dirty look, but continue dancing, throwing themselves around wildly to the music.

It’s the night of one of your best friend’s bachelorette parties, and of course, she wanted to have it in Las Vegas. And also of course, your ex boyfriend is the best man for her soon to be husband. And triple of course, they decided to crash the bachelorette party and you have now been watching another random girl grind on your ex for the past twenty minutes.

You take another drink, sighing heavily before turning back around to the bar.

“Long night already?” A voice says from behind you, deep and low.

You swing your head to the side, getting an eyeful of the very tall and very handsome man who has taken a seat at the bar. His hair is dark and straight, waving lightly over his forehead. His skin is pale, clear, and smooth, with eyes so bottomless and deep they almost look black. He is wearing a gray v-neck shirt with dark wash jeans that have rips in the knees, exposing more of his pale skin and you can’t help but notice he has bright red shoes on.

“I guess,” You shrug, taking another sip of your drink and moving it to the other side of your body. Just to be safe.

“I’ll take that it's going to be an even longer one, if your friends are all of the bachelorette girls.” He smiles with his straight teeth and full mouth. “Unless you just wanted to match with a bunch of random strangers for no reason.”

You sigh again, fingering the stupid sparkly sash around your dress with an absent finger. Your friends had insisted on wearing little black dresses and pairing them with ridiculously bright and glittering sashes that say different things. Luckily, yours is one of the more tame sayings, with “Wild Princess” printed on it in big cursive letters. You feel anything but wild. All you want to do is leave and crawl into bed with a book and sleep. Or maybe cry and try not to replay the image of your ex dancing with another girl and not giving a damn about you over and over again.

“I wish I was randomly matching,” You take another drink. “Sometimes a party of one is better than anything else.”

The mysterious stranger gives you a mischievous smile. “Parties of one are great. But parties of two are my favorite. Anything above that is just a crowd.”

You laugh despite myself, nodding along in agreement. Deciding to not sit and wallow all night, you place your hand in the space between you and introduce yourself. He takes your hand and electric currents run up your arms, pushing a shiver down your spine.

“I’m Jungkook.” He says, smiling again.

With his arm out, you can see the beginning of a tattoo curling around his bicep and under the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes follow it, trying to decipher its long, coiling shape before he pulls back. His eyes seem alive and glowing, their almond shape crinkling in the corners as he looks at you.

You clear your throat. “What brings you here?”

“Oh you know,” he says vaguely, gesturing for the bartender. “Work.”

“This hardly seems like work,” you quirk an eyebrow.

“Semantics,” Jungkook chuckles. “I am in the entertainment business.”

He orders his drink, a clean bourbon, and then turns back to you, a secretive smile on his face. It’s like he can sense what you are going to say before it comes out of your mouth. “Movies?” You can totally imagine him in an action film.

He shakes his head.

“Television?” You guess.

He shakes his head again, thanking the bartender as he slides a drink along the counter.

“Music?” You try again.

“You’re getting warmer,” he leans in closer and you can smell the alcohol and musky scent of him. It’s almost more intoxicating than your drink. “Magic.”

“Magic?” You repeat, stupefied.

“Yes,” he sits back and your head clears. “Magic.”

“Like rabbits out of hats and throwing knives at spinning people?”

He seems to think for a second, as if actually considering your joke as a statement. “A bit more sophisticated than that, but yes. That’s the idea.”

You narrow your eyes at him, turning to face your body towards his. “Show me.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for the kind of magic I have, Princess.” He says slyly, eyes dipping to your sash again. You scoff, taking the sash off and placing it on the bar. His grin grows and he leans back into you.

You swear you can feel electricity sizzling in the space between you two, desperate to follow the high he’s bringing. “Show me,” you say again, a challenge in your voice.

“Alright,” his voice is so low you don’t know how you can hear him over the deafening music and yelling, but it’s as if there is no one else but you and him. “All of your friends are now wishing that they were in your place, when they were making fun of you for sitting here before. You wish you didn’t have to be here, but you are a supportive friend and know how much it would hurt if you left early. Your boyfriend over there is thinking about punching me and wants to know who I am and why you stopped being jealous to pay attention to me.”

You blanch, trying to discreetly look to the side to see the dance floor. You can see all of your friends out there, stealing glances your way in between steps and body rolls. You can see two of them giggling and whispering, wagging their eyebrows at you as they catch your glance. Then you see your ex, no longer with the woman from before, but making his way over from across the floor, his jaw set and eyes blazing.

His angry face.

Your stomach flips, but there is some smug satisfaction in his reaction as you turn back to Jungkook. He seems completely unaffected by your oncoming ex, but is staring directly at you. You think his eyes could burn you from the inside out if you let them.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, his word ricocheting deep inside of you.

“I want to leave,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before your brain can catch up. “Can we go?”

“Of course we can, Princess.” Jungkook smiles, standing up and offering you his arm.

You gather your things and join him, careful to not meet any of your friend’s eyes as you let Jungkook walk you towards the door. Hadn’t they been pushing you to hook up all weekend? Hadn’t they been throwing you at guys and giving guys your number since the party started? And even more because of the presence of your ex?

The thought of him makes you grin and you look back to find him staring after you, clenching and unclenching his fists in agitation. Your smile widens and you can’t help but wave at him as you leave. Fuck him.

You see your friends waving and jumping up and down excitedly, practically bouncing with happiness at the new development in your boring life. Jungkook’s arm is warm and hard around yours, static and heat pooling in the best parts of you. Close up, you can see the black lines and dots of his tattoo, but still can’t make out what it is. Your brain begins to question what you’re doing. This man is a complete stranger. And you’re in Las Vegas walking out of a bar with him. Every single horror film and terrible thing to happen to a woman always starts out this way. You start to rethink your choice, opening your mouth to tell him you’re going back.

“Spend an hour with me,” Jungkook says, snagging your attention and the words from your lips. The night air is hot still, the street loud and bustling with people walking to and fro.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows.

“One hour,” he repeats. “Spend one hour with me. If you want to go back after that, I’ll bring you.”

“One hour?” You sound like a broken record.

One hour. What can happen in one hour in one of the most crowded places in the United States? You both can just walk around, maybe get some food. One hour only has sixty minutes, after all and on the strip, that time would go by impossibly fast. Not to mention, the last thing you realistically want to do is walk the strip alone or go back into the bar without Jungkook and with your tail between your legs. You know your ex would have a field day and your friends would be so pitiful. Maybe it is about time to get wild.

“One hour.” You say definitively. A statement this time.

Jungkook leans in and you smell him again, musky and hot. “Then, I am determined to make it the best hour of your life.”

His words bring fierce shivers down your spine. What have you gotten yourself into?

Before you know it, your predictions seem to come true. A half hour passes without notice as you and Jungkook walk in and out of hotels, restaurants and bars. Jungkook asks you about your life, your hobbies, and does little magic tricks for you along the way. Pulling pennies from behind your ears and predicting cards before the dealer draws them. You’re laughing and smiling and living and noticing how beautiful he is when he smiles. How dark his eyes are and how you want to stare into them forever. How perfectly his eyebrows frame his face and how his cheekbones and jaw make him seem carved out of marble.

“Have you ever thought about playing?” You ask him after you exit Caesar’s Palace. He had correctly guessed every single card before it was shown on the table and helped one of the players win big. Although it has to be well after 2 in the morning, the night is bustling and alive. Dancers are on the sidewalks in big feathers and bikini costumes, people dressed as Disney characters and superheroes are posing for pictures, and tourists are drinking and laughing and mingling with one another.

“No,” Jungkook laughs, secrets in the sound. “I don’t need money.”

“Doesn’t everyone need money?”

Jungkook looks at you, tilting his head to the side. “There are things money can’t buy.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Purity,” Jungkook responds. And the answer is so weird you stop walking.

“Purity?” You put your hands on your hips, half mocking him. “Like chastity?”

Jungkook moves close to you, looking down at you with those deep and confusing eyes. Your lips are part of their own volition. You want to kiss him. You want to do a lot more than kiss him.

“Not chastity,” Jungkook looks wistful. Almost sad. “Heaven. The purity of it. When you fall, you can’t buy your way back in.”

Heaven. You think to yourself, looking at this man who seems to be a fallen angel himself. Beautiful and dark and full of magic, real or not, that pulls something buried deep inside of you and brings it to the surface. You hate how sad he looks, how regretful and reproachful. You want to ease his pain, you want to give him a slice of Heaven, a slice of the world, to see him smile and his eyes crinkle again.

And hell, if you don’t want to give yourself a piece of Heaven, of him, as well.

Without thinking, you pull him into an alley between hotels. The night is hot and starless, the smell of sweat and alcohol and lowered inhibitions in the air. You don’t feel fully in control of your body, letting instinct guide you and Jungkook into the dark narrow street.

“Time is almost up,” Jungkook reminds you.

You growl in response, not even sure you know how to make such a sound. Not sure where this all consuming emotion has come from. “I don’t care.”

Reaching out for him, you slam your bodies together and crash your lips onto his. You fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a long lost puzzle you didn't even know you’d been trying to solve. You push Jungkook’s hair back, catching a glimpse of small stud earrings in his ear. The jewelry is extremely sexy and you feel even more eager than you did before to feel him.

Taking more control, Jungkook pushes you back until you hit one of the walls. You can hear the laughter and sounds of people around you on either side of the alley, walking up and down the strip and drinking. It would be so easy for someone to look in and see you both, obviously involved in much more than an innocent kiss.

He touches you and you feel like you might break a part into a million little pieces. His touch is shocking, little fires trailing behind his fingers as they roam down the bare skin of your arms. Your back arches into the stone behind your head, a moan ripping from your throat when his fingers graze the skin of your neck. Jungkook is watching you with a feral gaze, licking his lips before leaning in to run his lips and teeth over your throat. You grip the front of his shirt, desperate to feel more. To feel everything.

Jungkook crowds you closer to the wall, aligning his body to press against yours. You can feel the rises and plains of his muscle and frame through your thin dress. Your breasts peak with anticipation, a tingling sensation building low in your stomach. Jungkook hooks his hands around your thighs, the feeling of his bare skin on yours eliciting a string of curse words from your mouth. You’re ready to beg him to touch you where you need it.

Luckily you don’t have to.

Once he has you firmly against the wall, with your legs hooked around his midsection, he curves his arm around your leg and lets his fingers graze you. There is nothing blocking his touch and the contact and slickness of you seems to shock him.

“No underwear?” He nearly growls.

“It’s a matching thing,” you all but pant.

“It’s a naughty thing, Princess.” Jungkook responds, pressing his thumb directly into you. “How could I not tell before?”

You ignore his statement, aware that you’re unable to question anything he does right now. His thumb begins to move and you moan, burying your head in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. Jungkook’s other hand weaves through your hair, pulling you back against the wall so the sounds you emit echo against the narrow alley walls.

“I want to hear you,” he commands.

“But the people,” you begin to protest, knowing that even you don’t care.

“They can’t hear or see us,” he responds, a grin carving a wicked look to his features. “Like I told you: magic.”

Without warning, Jungkook slides two fingers into you, dragging the longest and deepest sound from your throat. Your hips are trying to move, begging for more friction, but he won’t give it to you. He has his body flush against yours on the wall. In complete control. You fucking love it.

His hair curls with sweat, the strands sticking to his forehead. The moisture seems to make him sparkle and glow. Like an angel on Earth. Maybe a fallen angel. He curls his fingers and strokes you, your walls clenching around his fingers with delicious pleasure.

“Shit,” he curses, sliding his fingers out. “I need to be in you. Now.”

You whine in agreement, the intensity in his words making your toes curl. Jungkook reaches in between your bodies to undo his belt, long and nimble fingers making quick work on the clasp. You want him to do wicked and horrible things with those fingers, and that belt. You want him to tie you down and make you beg for every lick of pleasure he could give you. Wild desperation begins to build in you. You could cum just from watching him. Just from seeing that pink tongue of his lick across his lips.

“Jungkook,” you groan, watching him pull his cock out.

The rational part of your brain is aware that you are both in public, with hundreds of people walking by the alley every minute. The rational part of you is aware that you can get arrested for this. That this is dangerous and irresponsible on so many levels. But the louder and reckless part of you never wants this to end. The irrational part of your brain believes him, trusts him, and trusts his magic. No one has noticed yet. Maybe luck. Maybe magic. You don’t care.

And then he is poised at your entrance and pushing into you in one, long, thrust. Your moans are incessant, no breath between the sounds. You can feel him at the back of you, you can feel him everywhere, filling you up and intoxicating you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he is groaning, deep and dark and raw.

He moves again, in and out, following an untraceable rhythm that is setting you on fire. You have never felt this alive before, this electrified, everything is you is singing with approval and building with pleasure. You didn’t know sex before this, you didn’t know how good it could feel before this. How can you ever be with anyone besides him now?

He’s going to fuck you and leave you fucked for the rest of your life.

Jungkook claims you in a kiss, his tongue roaming your mouth. He swallows your moans and sounds with shivers. Your hands reach under his shirt and travel along the rigid muscle of his stomach and shoulders. His body seems to come alive beneath the touch, skin rippling and muscle contracting.

You can feel his large intake of breath along your lips. You don’t think you’ve heard him sigh until now, or breathe at all for that matter. It’s like he has never taken air into his lungs before you touched him. And now you can’t stop. Your fingers are everywhere as he continues to fuck you. Wild. This is wild.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, breaking the contact of the kiss for breath.

Jungkook’s eyes are touching you as they roam around your face, down your neck and collarbones, over your breasts and stomach, until they settle on the point where your bodies are joined. His skin is slick with sweat. His eyes are burning with passion. The muscles of his back and taut, signaling he feels as close as you do to release.

He reaches between you and begins to rub your clit in small circles. That’s it. You’re gone. You’ve sunk so deep, you know there’s no coming back. You splinter and break a part around him, milking his cock with tight spasms until you feel him cum, as well. You cum for what feels like forever, moaning and writhing and shaking at his touch.

Jungkook’s teeth are grazing at your throat and he bites gently. You think you’re going to cum again, moaning and arching up to give him more access. He’s still in you, despite the cum you feel dripping around him and coating your thighs. Jungkook’s lips curve up and he pushes his teeth deeper into the base of your throat. You feel a sharp sting and then warm, hot blood is dripping down your collarbones and between your breasts. Jungkook lets out a gasp as your blood fills his mouth, swallowing the thick liquid like he’s a man dying of thirst. His eyes are glowing, his skin is glowing, and you swear the tattoo on his arm stretches itself out, like it's waking up after a long sleep.

“You,” he says, capturing you in a long searing kiss. You can taste your own blood. You can taste your own desire, still throbbing deep and low after he’s satisfied you. “You are my princess.”

And then, just as quickly as you were there, you’re gone. Swallowed up by a black so endless and so deep you’re not sure you’ll ever resurface. Like realizing you’ve sunk too far in the deep end of the pool and wondering if you’ll make it out. Like falling asleep and hoping you don’t wake up. And consciously, dangerously, eerily, like the color of his eyes.

You’ve met Satan on the strip.

And your hour is now eternity.

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

~Admin Eggplant

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 4 years ago

Note

Kara and Lena tried to make a movie night like a way to rekindle their friendship. It doesn’t go well.

Movie night doesn’t go so much as it… doesn’t.

Dinner is so quiet that Kara presses play on the movie just to have something to fill the silence. Usually, movie time is sacrosanct-- eating while watching is strictly verboten, as is talking. Dinner, therefore, was for gossip and idle chatter, both of which feels very far away now.

Even when they’ve finished eating and put their plates aside, the quiet isn’t like it should be. Where Lena once curled up next to her in comfortable silence, Lena now sits against the far armrest, her gaze focused on a screen of a different sort. She scrolls through her phone, tapping occasionally, her features pale in its light.

Kara endures it as long as she can. This is better, she tells herself. Better than nothing-- better than having Lena radio silent on the far side of the city, better than seeing her sneer, hearing the derision that coats her words now. But as the movie progresses, the silence and the distraction grows as dense and expansive as the coffin of her escape pod, all those years ago.

“Why does it feel like you don’t want to be here?”

The words materialize from deep in Kara’s chest. Banished, the echoes of the Phantom Zone pulls away, leaving her grounded in her living room.

Shadowed eyes lift from the offending phone, glancing at Kara briefly before returning to the screen. “Because I’m not sure I do.”

After so long not quite believing Lena’s easy forgiveness, the frank truth comes as a brutal relief. It knocks the breath from Kara’s chest, and when she returns her focus to the tv screen, Dorothy and the Tin Man wobble through the sudden tears that surge to her eyes.

This is the truth of them now. Lena, here but not here, and Kara desperately wishing things could just go back to the way they used to be.

“I used to wish for a pair of ruby slippers,” Kara says quietly. “Maybe, like Dorothy, they’d take me home to Krypton.”

She feels the moment Lena freezes, every muscle coiling tight at the sudden reminder that Kara isn’t just Super, but alien. Kara almost tells her not to worry-- that isn’t the conversation they need to have tonight.

“They wouldn’t work on me now, though,” she continues. “Krypton isn’t my home anymore. If I clicked my heels, they’d just take me right back here.”

“To National City,” Lena murmurs. “Your sister.”

But not to Lena, Kara hears beneath the words. Never to her.

“To my apartment, watching a movie. With you.”

Lena stares at her over her phone, article or email forgotten in the sudden tension. Kara can feel it too, stretching the air so thin the very fabric of reality might fracture in infinite pieces. She doesn’t dare invite such entropy while their world still sits so precariously. She focuses instead on Lena’s disbelief, comfortable in its familiarity.

“You always sell yourself so short, Lena. Is it really so hard to believe that I want to spend time with you?”

“Don’t.”

The word comes swift and sharp-- cold steel in the flickering dark. Lena uncurls stiffly. “Don’t say it like I’m something pitiful. Don’t say it like you didn’t think so little of me that you saw the need to lie to me for years.”

Kara unfolds as well, setting her feet on the carpet but refraining from standing as Lena lurches to her feet and begins to pace.

“It wasn’t like that. It was never that.”

“Then what was it?”

“I was desperate to keep you.” The words strangle in her throat, crowding them close as they spill out of her. “Not because I think you’ll hurt me if I don’t, but because my home isn’t complete without you.”

Lena slows, then stops. In the pause, she takes a deep breath and releases it silently. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I have a hard time believing that.”

Kara blinks, and her tears finally spill free. “I know.”

“Not because you’re a liar,” Lena says. “Not just that.”

“Then why?”

“Because it’s exactly what I want to hear. Because I know I don’t deserve it.” Lena folds her arms across her chest. “I hurt you.”

“And I hurt you. And betrayed you. And made you feel alone and worthless. I won’t blame you for making the choices you made when I’m the one who drove you to them.”

Lena says nothing. Her arms squeeze tighter around herself, as though they were the only things keeping her from coming apart at the seams.

“We both made mistakes,” Kara continues. “But I know we can work past them, if we both want to.”

And there’s the crux of it. Kara can see Lena’s doubt even in the glow of the television, the anxious purgatory as Lena wars with her misgivings.

“I don’t know if I can,” Lena whispers.

Kara screws her lips together, nodding. She looks down at her lap. If only things were different. If only they had had this conversation earlier. If only Lena’s honesty had come sooner. If only she hadn’t waited until the Fortress-- if only Kara hadn’t put her in that position in the first place.

But-- Kara grasps for the silver lining still clinging to the edges of their words. But at least they’re being honest now.

If they have any chance of coming back from this, it starts here.

“That’s your choice to make, at any time.” Kara swallows thickly. “But it doesn’t have to be tonight. All I’m asking for tonight is for you to sit and watch a movie with me. That’s all.”

The rest, she hopes-- she has to hope-- will come later.

Patting the cushion beside her, Kara lifted the blanket in invitation.

Gingerly, Lena sits. Kara gives her a moment to settle in before threading her arm through Lena’s and snuggled in. After a moment, Lena sighs. Her head rests against Kara’s.

“I miss you.”

Kara closes her eyes, fighting another press of tears. It’s barely spoken-- barely breathed. It isn’t enough to fix the hurt between them, or to stitch together the years of trust undone on both sides.

But it’s enough tonight.

#supercorp #quarantine prompt party 2.0 #sleepover #angst #mending the rift

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanon: Let’s break up on the 30th of February

This work, 我们 2月30日号分手吧, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

Every failed prank pulled on Victor has only served to embolden you. Once again, you’ve come up with an idea on how to challenge him.

“Victor. After giving it much thought, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February.” Exercising your acting skills, you bite your lower lip, standing before him with a pitiful expression. Your eyes are welling with tears as you pretend to be torn between reluctance and resoluteness.

“Mm,” Victor responds simply.

Without lifting his head, he circles some data on your proposal with a red pen, then draws a cross.

Hold on, why is this situation turning out different from what you imagined? Wasn’t he supposed to tug on your hand, begging you not to leave with reddened eyes? Turns out the television dramas lied!

You gripe, pinching his ear. “You actually responded with just a ‘mm’!”

“What else?” He creates some distance between himself and the desk, giving you more space to move. Resigned, he covers his hand over yours, rescuing his poor ear from your clutches.

“Do you not love me anymore? As expected, men don’t know how to treasure what they’ve obtained!” You lunge at him, and the chair swivels backwards along with this action. Fortunately, Victor holds you before you fall.

“Didn’t you say it yourself?” After keeping you steady, he brings you into his arms.

Enraged, you give him glare, climbing up from his body and giving him an angry stomp on the foot. “Who was the one who said he’d never leave me? Now that I want a break up, you aren’t even trying to make me stay.”

Victor’s brows scrunch up in pain. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know that the 30th of February doesn’t exist?”

Seeing that your plot has been unravelled, you chuckle in embarrassment. Trying to placate him, you nuzzle into his arms. “Heheh, Teacher Victor is really smart!”

He encircles his arm around your waist. As though he’s forgiving a playful child for the umpteenth time, he pinches your waist as a small punishment. “Since a certain someone doesn’t have sufficient IQ, I’ll have to make up for her absence of IQ.”

“Victor, there’s no need for personal attacks!

[ GAVIN ]

Having an off day from work, the two of you decide to stay at home instead of heading out.

He’s currently reading a book while you’re scrolling on your phone as usual. All of a sudden, you come across a pretty interesting prank, and decide to use it on Gavin. “Gavin, let’s break up on the 30th of February.

Gavin freezes, the arm around your shoulders loosening by quite a fair amount. He turns his head stiffly towards you, a dash of pain flashing in his dimming amber eyes. “Have you... thought it through?”

“I have. We’ll break up on the 30th of February.” You give him a nod of certainty.

Gavin retracts his right hand which was around you earlier. With his brows tightly knit, he speaks carefully, his tone filled with unease. “Then... before you find someone who can protect you, could I continue protecting you in the meantime?”

Oh my goodness, I forgot how honest this man could be.

“Gav, look at the calendar.” Knowing that you’ve gone too far, you hurriedly tap open the calendar app on your phone.

“I’m not looking! I know that it’s the 26th of February today, and there are four more days till the 30th.” Gavin cranes his neck away, pushing away the phone you’ve brought to him, tone slightly upset. If he had ears on the top of his head, they’d definitely be drooping.

“Why don’t you take another look?” Suppressing your laughter, you push the phone in front of him again.

“I don’t want to!” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re going to tell me that it’s a non-leap year, which means there’s a year and four days left. But a year passes by really quickly, and the 30th will arrive soon.”

Oh no, I’ve shocked this poor boy silly.

Not receiving a response from you even after a long time, Gavin opens his eyes to find that you’ve been rendered speechless. He lowers his head with a pout. “Am I wrong?”

With a sigh, you lift his head, giving him a gentle gaze as you explain. “Dear, it’s a non-leap year, but there are only 29 days in February even in a leap year. There will never be a 30th February, which is why I’ll never break up with you in this lifetime.”

“...”

Gavin blinks, reacting only after a long while. Reaching out to encase you back into his arms, his fluffy hair nuzzles the crook of your neck affectionately. “You gave me a scare. In compensation, go stargazing with me tonight.”

[ LUCIEN ]

The bathroom is always the easiest place for inspiration to strike.

“Lucien, I’ve made a decision. I’ll break up with you on the 30th of February.” Your expression is solemn as you step out of the bathroom, looking at Lucien as he reads a book.

The light in Lucien eyes dim, and he sets down the book. With a mellow tone, he asks, “Little Butterfly, are you serious?”

You nod, repeating yourself once more with the acting skills you’ve picked up from actors during filming. “I’m serious. We’ll break up on 30th February.”

Lucien pauses for a moment, then lowers his head in thought. The situation dawns on him, and he releases a sigh, casting you a resigned glance. Tugging on your hand so that you sit in front of the dressing table, he takes out the hair dryer and dries your hair slowly. “Sorry. Even though I know there won’t be a 30th February, I won’t agree to it.”

“Huh? Why not?” You turn your head, speaking loudly amid the whirring wind. “Since you’ve already figured it out, just play along with me!”

He pats your half-dried hair, then turns the hair dryer off. Then, he locates the styling brush and tidies your hair. “I don’t wish for us to be tainted by the term ‘break up’, even if the chances of that happening is zero.”

Lucien is indeed pretty sensitive when it comes to this matter. Realising this, you obediently sit still on the chair like an elementary school kid, leaving him to tidy your hair. “Okay okay, I was in the wrong. I won’t joke about such things next time. Also, I can promise that the butterfly will never leave her painter in this lifetime.”

“Good.” The corners of Lucien’s lips curl upwards, satisfied.

He picks up the hair dryer again. “Since you’ve admitted your mistake, your punishment will be to make me cream puffs, and accompany me to class tomorrow, in the capacity of a family member.”

[ KIRO ]

Once again catching Kiro red-handed as he steals your snacks, you grab a fistful of his hair angrily. “Kiro, since you’re always taking my snacks, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February!”

“Miss Chips, you saw that post too?” Kiro completely ignores the first half of your sentence. As though lacking even a shred of remorse, he places your favourite snack back in its original position, unable to hide it in time. He stands up obediently, the innocent expression on his face causing your anger to dissipate.

“Huh? You already know about it?”

“Of course. There’s nothing Kiro doesn’t know!” Being able to escape unscathed, Kiro’s imaginary tail wags in the air.

You roll your eyes, chasing him away from the snack cupboard. “Boring.”

“But Miss Chips, let’s not say such things in the future. I’ll admit that I was a little frightened earlier.” He lifts his hand, showing you a gap between his thumb and forefinger. “But just a little.”

“Really! Did I really scare you?” Pleasantly surprised, you turn around.

Kiro arches his brows in astonishment, then lowers his head as though upset. “Miss Chips, what’s with that excited expression?”

“Ever since we returned from the haunted house, I’ve always wanted to give you a fright, then snap photographs of your expression and make them into memes,” you laugh, taking out a small box from your pocket. Retrieving the lock from within, you clasp it onto the snack cupboard under Kiro’s shocked gaze.

“Miss Chips!!”

On that day, all the citizens within 10km distance had a discussion online about how they heard a man mimicking the voice of superstar Kiro, but his tone sounded so miserable that it was akin to a squealing pig awaiting its demise.

[ SHAW ]

After who knows how many times of facing Shaw’s mockery, you decide to give him a scare by employing a new prank you learnt on the web.

“Shaw, I’m ending our relationship as girlfriend and boyfriend on the 30th of February!”

Shaw’s eyes flit to you leisurely as he grabs the final chicken cutlet on the coffee table. Revealing a triumphant grin, he begs to be punched as he responds, “Pick another day. There won’t be a 30th February in your lifetime.”

???

Finding this incredulous, your eyes widen. “You little brat - you’re looking forward to the end of our relationship, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say that I’m ‘looking forward’ to it, but it’s inevitable.”

He doesn’t explain further, licking the corners of his lips. Then, he takes a sip of mixed cola from your coke. The longer you watch him, the more enraged you are. It’s often said that people tend to lose their rationality when angry. Without much thought, the words in your head leap out of your mouth.

“Fine! Since you’re so certain, I’ll end this relationship with your annoying eggplant head today!”

“Sure.” Shaw feels around in his pocket.

You turn around to leave, never wanting to see this eggplant head ever again.

“Hey, wait.” He suddenly calls you. “I haven’t gotten my household register.”

Puzzled, you turn around with a glare. “A break up is just a break up. Why do you need your household register?”

Shaw stares at you as though he’s looking at a blockhead. “We’re ending our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, so isn’t the next step to start our relationship as husband and wife?”

At this stage, it’s difficult to remain angry. Yet, in order to preserve some dignity, you stutter and stammer, face flushed. “W-who even wants to start a relationship as husband and wife with you!”

“Who else but you?” Shaw digs through the drawer, retrieving both of your household registers. Grabbing your hand, he pulls you out of the house. “Let’s go and get a marriage license.”

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc lucien #mlqc shaw #mlqc victor #aeiofjsdklneiowahfsdkl #S H A W

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hurting-fictional-people · 3 years ago

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Betrayal story - part 4

Look, the story has a name (hopefully I’ll come up with a better one later)! And the characters do too!

Anyways, if someone hasn’t seen the picrews (it’s here if you want to), Whumpee is now Liam Beaumont, Caretaker is Chase Raymond and Whumper is Jonah Sharpe. If you have trouble remembering: Caretaker still starts with a C no I totally didn’t give him a name that starts with a C on purpose what are you talking about and I think you’ll get very different vibes from Liam and Jonah haha

CW: electric torture, forced to watch, whumpee held hostage, hurt no comfort (for now), restraints

tagging @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot @sunflower1000 @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove @boxofsilence @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince

Part one here, continued from here

Twelve messages wait for Chase when he picks up his phone. All from Jonah, all demanding him to work quicker, to give in new information faster. He purses his lips and takes a deep breath, clutching the new drive he was given to fill.

After so many betrayals, he should be used to the sting that comes along with lying and deceiving. He’s done it before, felt that guilt, drowned in it – and yet he can’t help but hesitate. Liam’s pale lips, creased brows, shallow breaths, sparkle to life in his mind, a painful reminder of what is at stake if he annoys Jonah too much. Right beside Liam’s face, though, are the ones of Chase’s team, his friends, his family, all trusting smiles and loving gazes he cannot ignore. It’s enough for him to type a message and turn off the phone.

Working on it, Chase sends and hopes it is enough to keep the man quiet for at least another day as he turns his computer on and starts erasing from the drive the most meaningful information he’s stolen.

When Jonah bursts into his room, Liam is almost happy to see him. Five days have passed since he’s woken up in a room instead of the cell, and all he’s had since then is loneliness and echoing silence. With the only human interaction he was given being the occasional visit from a nurse who gave him a clinical once-over and refused to so much as look him in the eye, it was no real surprise when his thoughts spiraled out of control, swirling around and sinking down between Chase’s inevitable and yet somehow unexpected betrayal, and his new status as a hostage.

“Doing better?” Jonah asks, leaning against the doorframe. Liam’s heart pounds both in relief and terror at the sound of a voice that isn’t his own.

“Do you care?”

“Getting some rest got your tongue loose, I see.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” That’s the question that’s been eating him alive, disrupting his sleep, watering his fear into a blossoming flower of dread that grows and suffocates any hope that tries to bloom beside it. Each answer Liam’s imagined sounds worst than the last, but if there is truth in any of them, he has to know. To prepare.

“We talked about this already, didn’t we?”

Jonah’s eyes are as cold as he remembers from their few encounters, but this time something lurking there whispers stories of anger and pain to come, and that alone is enough to raise goosebumps along his entire body.

“What do you want to let me go?” What could he have to give a man who is already filthy rich, when Liam has nothing to offer but a cramped apartment and a lot of resentment?

“Nothing you can offer, lovely,” Jonah chuckles. “Fair try, though.”

But nothing about this is fair, in any possible way. “So you are just going to keep me here because you don’t like Chase? I have nothing to do with him, please just let me the fuck go and I won’t even tell anyone, you–“

“Liam, honey, let us clear something up. There is nothing you can do to convince me to let you go. All you can do is comply, and maybe I’ll be merciful if you do, but you are mine for the time being, and there is no one here to help you but me.”

Liam’s reply dies on his tongue, killed by the unrestricted horror the words wash him over with. It doesn’t sound real. Sounds like something he’d watch in a movie, read in a book, hear about on the news. To hear them directed at him and feel the pulsating response from the healing stab wound in his gut, makes him hold his breath and pray to just wake up from this nightmare. When did his life turn into this? Was it when he met Chase? Was it before?

“Now that that’s out of the way, come on, we have somewhere to go today.”

Liam’s stomach drops to the ground, farther, falling and falling to the center of the Earth as he clenches the sheets in his fists and hisses, “Last time you said that, you locked me up until I got an infection.”

“Ha, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Jonah says, raising a brow. Liam doesn’t even blink at the grin playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, love, I don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re having a different kind of fun today. Up now, or I’ll call my men to do it for you.”

Gritting his teeth, Liam pushes the sheets away and slowly stands up, holding his side and fighting a groan, but on his feet without help.

They walk in silence, and neither Jonah nor the guards say anything about how slow he is, or how terribly pitiful he looks stumbling through the hallways. A thousand words speed through his brain, pleading to be heard, but he doesn’t voice any of his questions. Doesn’t think he’d get an answer if he did, anyway.

He is led into a nearly barren room, with only a camera over a tripod standing in front of a wooden chair. A wooden chair surrounded by restraints.

He takes a step back before his brain catches up with the movement, straight against a guards’ chest. Jonah giggles and tuts softly.

Two men grab his arms and drag him to the chair, and the panic suddenly becomes so deep, so all-encompassing, it swallows down his fight. He is pushed down on the chair, the restraints are buckled around him until all Liam can move is his head, and all the while he just sits there, hyperventilating and near to tears, as still as a statue. Watching but never moving, terrified but frozen in place, petrified, and he hates himself for it, even if he knows the feeling should be directed at Jonah and Jonah alone.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be so pliable, sweetheart,” Jonah mocks, setting the camera up. “I would’ve played with you sooner had I known.”

He parts his lips, but the words refuse to form. Fear envelops each of them before Liam can push them through gritted teeth, and all he does is stare at the guards surrounding him, at the cold stickers being placed on his arms, his shoulders, his hands. Liam shivers, but there’s no air current here.

“Why, why, why are you doing this?” he chokes out. He knows what’s about to happen, has seen it on television enough times to recognize the electrodes, the box placed next to the chair.

“Because Chase pissed me off today,” he shrugs, and a red light blinks to life in front of the camera. Jonah walks toward him, stops in front of the chair, and smiles. Liam’s eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the man. “Has Chase ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

The weight on his stomach is so huge that Liam can’t even find energy enough to feel outraged.

Jonah pulls out a linen scarf from his pocket as the guards plug wires to each sticker and wiggles it in front of Liam’s face. “Here, I’d bite down on this if I were you.” When he fails to open his mouth, the man rolls his eyes and grabs his cheeks, squeezing so suddenly and cruelly his mouth opens without command and the scarf is shoved inside, making him gag. “Not that well behaved, huh. No problem, we have time to get you obeying.”

When the guards take a step away, Liam finds himself wishing they didn’t.

“Smile at the camera, love,” Jonah says, stepping to the side so Liam is the only one being recorded. He stares straight at the lens and tries to draw in a deep breath.

He knows it is coming. He prepares for it. And then Jonah flips a switch, and there’s no preparing for pain so big, for agony so deep.

The world shatters around him as electricity lights up his body, turns him inside out, upside down, and no breath could’ve ever made this any better. There’s no air to breathe, no room to writhe, no place to escape. There is only pain, boundless and searing, here and now, splitting him into thousands of shards he can never hope to piece back together.

And then it stops, and his throat is raw but he doesn’t remember screaming and his chest heaves as he fights for air and tears fall from his eyes to his chin to his chest but he doesn’t remember crying either.

“Beautiful,” Jonah sighs somewhere close. Liam coughs and chokes on his own tears, trying to beg or maybe cry out, but whatever his mouth forms gets caught on the gag before it reaches anyone’s ears.

Please please please stop, it hurts, hurts so much, so, so much, please, please–

“Let’s go again.”

Liam doesn’t have time to even be scared before his world dissolves into burning agony once more. All he can do is scream and silently plead for help he knows isn’t coming.

When Chase turns on the phone, his heart nearly stops at the video awaiting him.

Two hours have passed. After five days of trying to convince that despicable man to let him see Liam and failing miserably, barely sleeping, worry and guilt eating at his insides, he fell asleep. He forgot. For one hundred and twenty minutes he allowed himself to rest, and now he is paid with Liam’s frozen image staring at him, waiting on Jonah’s chat, along with one single line of text that chills him to the bone.

This is for turning off the phone.

He clicks and feels a chasm opening in his gut when Liam fills the screen, strapped to a chair, scared eyes darting around a room Chase can’t see through the video, searching for an escape that is nowhere to be found, stopping on each electrode that is stuck to his body. The fear is clear as crystal on his face. It makes Chase’s heart squeeze until his chest is so tight he places a hand there, afraid to find it as hollow as he feels. Liam doesn’t talk, doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg. He simply blinks at the men towering over him and doesn’t ask for help, and that might be what truly undoes Chase.

And then Jonah turns on the switch, and Liam’s head snaps back, body contorting against restraints so tight there’s no room for him the thrash. Even through the gag, he screams, and Chase would scream as well if he wasn’t too busy gripping the phone as if his life depended on it, trying to steady his trembling hands.

When the shock stops, Liam’s face is tear-stained and exhausted, sobs wracking his body and ripping apart Chase’s soul.

His fault.

It is his fault. After everything, after betraying Liam into not trusting anyone, after losing the boy who might’ve been the love of his life, after being responsible for his stabbing, his kidnapping, after everything–

The switch is turned on again, and this time when Liam screams, Chase’s eyes well up with tears he has no right to cry. A kind of rotten helplessness takes over his body, its clawed fingers wrapping around his arms, his legs, his heart and squeezing, whispering and shouting his failure, his guilt, his powerlessness. His eyes plead to close, but he needs to see this. It is his fault, his burden, and if Liam was forced through it, he has to at least watch it to the end. If anything, to know he’s still alive.

It lasts longer the second time. A life. His useless life. Liam convulses and cries and howls, and if Chase could only take the pain to himself, he would. He would switch places with Liam in the blink of an eye. He is the one who deserves that pain. He is the one who betrays and hurts and destroys anything he touches, and it should be him, not the boy who smiles at the sunrise and cries over books and dreams about changing the world.

He stares unblinking at the screen and watches in silence as electricity courses again and again through that body he had once held and thought about spending a life beside, fogging those eyes that used to engulf him in love, twisting that face he once kissed and touched and loved into one of raw despair. Each time it stops, neither of them has time to catch their breath before it starts again. After the third time, Liam doesn’t cry out anymore. His voice breaks in a ragged wail until it dies down and all that’s left are silent sobs.

When the video ends, Chase is nearly numb. The last image shows Liam’s head hanging forward as he struggles to breathe, Jonah’s fingers casually carding through his sweaty hair.

Chase is out of his house before his brain even processes what he’s doing, inside his car, driving to Jonah’s building in a blur of hatred and desperation. When he parks in front of the tower, the phone buzzes and he doesn’t hesitate to read it. Not anymore. Never again.

You lost visit privileges. Leave the drive with the guard at the door and keep in touch.

With Liam’s screams still ringing inside his mind, forever trapped there, he doesn’t dare do anything other than what he is told. He gives the guard the flash drive, and for the first time in years, he prays. Because if anyone notices the most important files missing… he can’t bear the thought of what could be done to Liam in retribution.

(next)

#spoiler alert: ofc jonah's gonna notice there are files missing >:)#whump #whump writing #creepy whumper #betrayal whump #held hostage #electrocution #electric torture #freeze response #angst #forced to watch #hurt no comfort #i'm not sure how much i like this one y'all but i needed an excuse for what's happening next part :')#and i spent way too long staring at this so i'm just gonna post it already #i'm also starting to regret stabbing liam in the gut cuz now it's hard to find tortures that won't kill him lol

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