#it always throws me whenever someone reminds me that i exist outside of my own perception | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost.

but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.

warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?

a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo

It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.

He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up.

Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.

Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend.

Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.

But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.

Because Park Jimin fucks.

A lot.

He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.

But then he’d started to have people over.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.

It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.

Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?

So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.

And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside.

You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.

Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.

The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.

And then he’d started to bend.

Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.

Staring at you.

You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.

Jimin is relentless.

He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.

(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.

You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)

It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.

You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.

You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.

It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.

Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.

But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.

You can do it.

The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)

Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone.

“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.

“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.

Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.

But then.

There’s that fucking peach.

You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.

He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.

(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, based off the little gasps and moans he lets out whenever he pleasures himself in lieu of fucking someone else. You’ll take this secret to the grave but those noises that Jimin lets out have been the melody you use to reach your own peaks, although you’re a lot quieter than he is whenever you touch yourself, biting your lip and muffling the wet sounds of your fingers thrusting into your cunt under layers of blankets. You’d never give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that the mental image of him fucking into his fist and cumming over his stomach and chest is what throws you over your own edge, toe-curling orgasms that shake through your body in time with Jimin’s own.)

Anyway. He looks loose limbed and relaxed when he saunters into view, utterly unsurprised by your presence behind your window box of hydrangeas, giving you his usual, sultry smile.

He’s started to ramp up his flirtations again. This smirk is one which you’ve learned not to respond to. You just stare levelly back at him, unimpressed as you start to water your flowers, which does nothing to dissuade him. It never does. He clearly revels in the challenge.

Jimin keeps his eyes locked with yours as he lifts his hand to his lips. You catch a glimpse of what he was throwing and catching—a ripe, flush peach, tiny droplets of water shimmering on its fuzz, freshly washed.

And then he starts to eat it.

The peach yields immediately to the press of his teeth. Juice bursts out of its softness, running down his lips, his chin; he makes no moves to wipe it away, the lewd sound of his slurps as he curls his tongue into the fruit, messy and sweet.

It’s shameless. He’s shameless. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at you, his mouth glistening with the peach’s juices, the only sound the wet smack of his lips and tongue as he licks up the honeyed liquid that drips from his skin, curving around the fruit as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Water’s been trickling from your small can onto the hydrangeas, cascading over the plants; the soil is waterlogged now, but you haven’t noticed, fixated on the way Jimin is looking at you as he wantonly eats out this peach.

Drip drip, goes the watering can.

Drip drip, goes the peach.

By the time there’s nothing more than the pit in his hand, Jimin is a mess. His fingers and mouth and chin shine with peach juice, eyes dark and heavy as he watches the way you drink the sight of him in, the way his tongue slowly drags over his full lips, catching the sweetness that lingers.

The second he puts his tongue to his fingers to get the stickiness on them, that’s it. You watch the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth and promptly put the watering can down and turn on your heel to walk inside, slamming the balcony door shut behind you.

You’re done. You’re only human. You’ve spent months with Jimin parading himself in front of you, seen the way he contorts his body every morning in an unnecessarily complex sun salutation, listened to the way his voice rises when he cums; the peach is the metaphorical cherry on top, and you’re just. Over. It.

You hammer your palms against your neighbour's door, rap-rap-rapping on the wood, your blood rising and your heart thudding in your chest, every part of you tense, wound up, pent up. The door swings open to reveal Jimin, his chin still slick with sweet peach, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile when he sees you.

“Park Jimin.” Your voice shakes and you hate yourself for it, hate the way Jimin’s eyes glitter at the sound, the little hitch in your breath. “You are a fucking menace, you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He leans against the doorframe, effortlessly gorgeous, hip cocked, head tilted. He lifts his hand, and there’s a heavy moment of tension as you watch him slowly swipe a thumb over the last remnant of juice on his chin, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth and he licks the final taste of peach from his fingers.

When you grab hold of his collar his expression shifts from something coy into something far more self satisfied, months of his brazen come-ons finally culminating in this—you, shoving him backwards into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I swear,” you say. “I swear to God—”

“You swear? I can think of better things you could be doing with your mouth,” Jimin says, and then laughs when you scowl at him. “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

“You are infuriating,” you bite out, and Jimin just laughs again, his whole body shaking, every part of him still loose and relaxed even as you continue to tighten your grip on his clothing, feeling every motion of his body under your hands. You hate how pretty he is, even now, utterly unafraid of your frustration—the brightness of his eyes and his smile, that undercurrent to it all, the way his hands slide so smoothly around your waist, your hips, sliding down to grope at your ass.

“I know,” he agrees, still giggling, and then he kisses you.

Jimin dives straight in, no holds barred, and you immediately melt into putty under his touch. He lets out a hum of satisfaction into your mouth as your hands go lax and slide down his chest. You can still taste the peach on his lips, his tongue, licking into his mouth.

You’ve thought about this mouth more times than you’d like to admit: the full swell of his lips, the little curve of his cupid’s bow, how it’d feel pressed against your own, and honestly? It’s so much better than you’d let yourself imagine it to be.

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you bite off a gasp when he pulls you forward, grinding against you. You shudder. Jimin’s mouth is a pleased curve against your own before he pulls away, murmuring in your ear in a voice that’s equal parts sultry and sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin of your jaw just under your earlobe, making you shiver. “Just relax. You’re always so tense.”

“Maybe that’s because my neighbour keeps me up all night,” you say, but your voice is weak, no strength behind your words, breath stolen out of you at the way Jimin starts to trail his lips down your neck, across your throat. “I find that constantly getting my sleep interrupted—oh, oh—”

Jimin sucks at the hollow of your neck, the delicate skin there so sensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips magnified, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your hands have slid into his hair and you unintentionally tighten your grasp, fingers tugging at his dark locks, and Jimin bares his teeth against your skin.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing how wet you are just from a little making out. But after months of Jimin teasing you and putting you on edge, coupled with how long it’s been since you've had sex? You’re allowed to be a little desperate. All the small frustrations you were about to voice die on your tongue, slipping away from you as Jimin starts to walk you backwards with a confidence that shows just how often he’s done this—leading people to his bed, never taking his hands off you.

By the time Jimin eases you to lie down, you feel breathless. He hovers above you with that satisfied smile flickering at the edge of his lips, taking in the sight of you, finally underneath him—lips kiss swollen, exquisite, all the sharp words on your tongue softened and gone, goosebumps trailing down your skin. You tug at his collar, which catches him off guard; he sways forward and almost hits his face against yours, but before he can spend too long looking smug at your desperation you capture his lips again. You melt into the mattress, hooking a foot over his calf and revelling in the weight of him between your legs, your hips flush, and how hard he’s getting through those stupidly tight leggings of his.

When he grinds against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against your cunt, an embarrassing whine leaves your lips and trembles against Jimin’s own. Jimin goes still before pulling away from the open-mouthed kiss and when you see the expression on his face you slap a hand over your mouth, burning with shame.

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “You’re noisy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say, though your words are muffled against your palm. He grinds down again, a slow and deep roll of his hips that lets you feel how hard he is, and a noise shudders out the back of your throat, audible around your hand.

“It’s hot.” There’s that little smirk on Jimin’s lovely lips, every inch of him dripping self confidence. He knows how you’re entirely at his mercy, in spite of your words; your voice is weak. “You’re normally so quiet.”

“Some of us try to be considerate and think about our neighbours.”

Jimin just smiles, pulling your hand away from your mouth before gently kissing your palm, a motion that’s surprisingly tender and makes you pause.

“Trust me.” His voice is low. “I do think about my neighbour.”

Your breath hitches when he slides his free hand under your shirt, trailing his fingers over the softness of your stomach. He pulls the fabric up, letting his gaze rove over the bared skin. The way Jimin looks at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, like he’s never seen anyone prettier.

You wonder if he looks at his other fuckbuddies like this.

The thought slides away from you as Jimin dips his head and starts to kiss your throat again. You tilt your head back as his lips trail across the soft skin, his hands coming to rest under your breasts, contained as they are by your bra; once he coaxes you to sit up, it only takes him a few moments to strip your upper body, kneeling between your spread legs as he starts to trail his hands over the parts of you that are now bared to him.

“Pretty,” he says. You’d roll your eyes if he didn’t sound so reverent, and also if you weren’t distracted by the way he flicks his thumbs over your hardening nipples, your core clenching as he does, biting your lip to stop yourself from making a sound. A frown flits across Jimin’s face and he lifts one of those thumbs away from your breast, dragging your lip away from your teeth, letting his grasp linger so your lips are parted. “Don’t do that. I've been waiting for months to hear you properly.”

Before you can reply, he kisses you again, licking into your mouth and swallowing down the noise you make when he drags his hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and settling between your legs, running his fingers over your cunt, the feeling dulled by layers of fabric even though he presses with intent. Your hips jolt at the sensation, and Jimin repeats the motion, dragging the fabric across your flushed lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a gasp against his mouth, and you can’t keep the pleading out of your tone, desperation bleeding into every letter of your words. “Please.”

He just hums, sounding pleased, and a breath of surprise escapes you as he pushes you back against the pillows. He wastes no time in getting to his prize, drawing a scattered constellation of kisses that trail across your chest, your nipples, your stomach, the line of your hip bones as you lift up so he can pull your shorts and underwear off. You’re entirely naked underneath him, bare and wet, cunt flushed and shining, and Jimin groans at the sight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls your legs wider. Your cheeks burn as Jimin stares at your pussy, but you can’t help but feel a pulse of self-satisfaction at the visible twitch of his cock in his stupid yoga leggings. “You’re so wet.”

You should probably feel embarrassed, but by now you’ve thrown all your previous inhibition to the winds. You’ve ended up somewhere you’d privately sworn you were never going to—in Park Jimin’s bed, leaned up against his pillows, laid out for him to touch and take and have, every inch of you desperate for it. There’s nothing in your brain or body but arousal and need. So instead of letting out a snip of a remark you just cant your hips towards him, another pleading sound slipping from your lips.

He gives you what you want. He dips his head and trails his lips and tongue down, down, down, wet and hot, until they press against your cunt. He looks at you with the same hooded eyes as earlier, motions of his mouth an echo of his peach eating, sloppy and messy; he’s unabashed in the way he slides his mouth over you, lips slick and tongue hot, sliding over every sensitive inch—sucking your clit, licking your folds, burying his face between your legs and drinking up every sweet drip of your juices.

You can’t help but make noise. Small gasps that slide into moans of pleasure, hitches in your breath that make your chest jump and your breasts shake; Jimin lets out noises too, muffled against your cunt, sounds that let you know he’s enjoying himself almost as much as you. It’s honestly pretty fucking hot, the way your own pleasure seems to turn him on, how he chases that feeling, eyes blown as he takes in every one of your reactions, repeating the motions that are affecting you the most.

The sight of him between your legs has you tensing. He continues to stare up at you, the curve of your stomach when you bow towards him, the fall of your breasts, which he slides his hands over, cupping them in his palms, pinching your hardened buds, layering sensation on sensation, never taking his mouth off you.

When he presses one finger inside, and then another, both thrusting firm and deep as he mouths at your clit, you tangle a hand into his hair. He watches the way your hips jump from the sensation of his tongue directly on your clit, and does it again, and again, your voice crescendoing from the explosion of sensation, how it’s too much, before he circles his lips around it and sucks messily. Your brain registering nothing but his lips and tongue against you, the hands that are trailing up and down your sides and still skimming across your breasts.

You’re not even aware of the words that are falling from your lips, oh fuck, yes, Jimin, there, oh, the way your grasp tightens in his dark hair, your hips bucking against his mouth as you can feel your orgasm approaching. The pleasure keeps building, flames fanning brighter and brighter as Jimin buries his mouth even further in between your legs, fingers speeding up as you gasp.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, voice getting higher. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, oh—”

Your words slide into a moan as your back arches and your thighs tighten around Jimin’s head and you cum. Jimin continues to finger fuck you through it, your cunt pulsating around him as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open and every line of your body sings of the pleasure that Jimin has given to you. Even when your legs and hips start to jolt from oversensitivity and you cry out at each ripple of his tongue against you, he’s relentless, almost cruel in how he watches you writhe from a mixture of pain and overextended pleasure.

You're sobbing by the time Jimin pulls his mouth away from your cunt, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, body shaking as you try to suck in air. He thrusts his fingers into you one more time, slow and deep, watching the way you turn your head into the pillow and muffle a gasp against it.

“I knew you'd look and sound gorgeous when you cum,” he says, and though you feel boneless from your post-orgasm high, you can’t help a little huff escaping your lips. Jimin clearly catches the sound, quiet as it is against the linen of his pillowcase, and takes your chin in his hand to turn his face towards you. His fingers are slick with your arousal, wet against your skin.

“You sound like you’re reading off the script to a porno,” you murmur.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Oh? You don’t think I’m just speaking my mind?” Those fingers move away from your chin and trace over the swell of your bottom lip; you let your mouth fall open and swallow them down, licking the taste of yourself off Jimin’s skin. “You don’t think that I’ve been thinking about how pretty you’d look as I fucked into you, begging for me to let you cum again and again?”

Your tongue stutters against his fingers and your core clenches at his words, the dark undercurrent underneath them, and Jimin’s expression shifts as he notices.

“You really have no idea, do you?” He runs his fingertips over your tastebuds, saliva starting to pool in your mouth, the slide so wet and messy. “Who do you think I picture whenever I touch myself? Who do you think I was wishing was in my bed every time I took someone else home?”

You nip at his fingers, running the edge of your teeth along his knuckles from equal parts surprise and disbelief at his words. You find it impossible to believe that he really means that, but then you realise—recently, on the few occasions you’d bumped into Jimin in the hall when he’d had one of his lays trailing behind him, for as different and unique each of them was, each one of them had shared some sort of trait with you. Hair colour, eyes, the set of their lips, the shape of their face; once, you’d heard a girl giggling through the wall before it had trailed off into a moan, and you’d done a literal double take at how much she’d sounded like you. Similar, but not exactly the same, a slightly off-tone echo of the sound that spills from your own lips whenever you laugh.

And the emptiness in his bed had only started after the night that he’d seen the way you’d trailed into your apartment with discontent heavy around your shoulders, disappointed at that awful Tinder date.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re shameless,” you say, words a little garbled around Jimin’s fingers, but you know he understands.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, a small smirk curling up the corner of his lips. It should be illegal: the way he has such soft features that can turn so quickly into something sharper and entirely sensual, eyes hooded, lips flushed, the column of his throat so lovely and graceful as he tilts his head to one side. “I just know what I want and don’t try to hide it. What’s shameless about that? I know you want me too, but you always deny yourself the things you want. Don’t you?”

You hate that you’ve been so transparent in your attraction to him. Because the truth of the matter is that for as much as Jimin frustrates you with his entire existence, you do want him. After all—you wouldn’t be naked underneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of a deep orgasm, if you didn’t.

“You’re not always as quiet as you think, you know,” he adds, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and enjoying the way your eyes widen at his words. You thought he couldn’t hear you through the wall, but it seems like you were wrong.

Before you can say anything in reply, though, he grinds down. Without your clothes in the way you can feel the drag of his yoga pants against your cunt, how the wetness of your cum and Jimin’s spit soaks into the fabric, his hard cock hot, and you let out a whine. He still has yet to remove any of his clothes and you want to see them off so he’s finally naked. You’ve seen enough of his bare skin over the months to have a pretty good idea of what that looks like, but you want to see the real thing.

Jimin seems just as eager to shed his clothes, yielding to your grasping hands and carelessly throwing his top aside; you end up straddling his waist and kissing down his chest in an imitation of his motions earlier, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle from his yoga and dance. When you tongue at one of his nipples and he gasps, you feel euphoric. He’s unfairly beautiful, from the lovely collarbones to the flex of his shoulders and arms and the line of his chest and stomach, delicate and somehow entirely masculine. You still sort of want to slap him, but settle with kissing the hollow of his neck instead, digging your fingers into his ribs as you roll your hips down against him.

His own hips buck up. You can tell that he’s desperate to be inside you, but you want to taste him first.

When you slide down his body and settle between his legs, you hook your fingers into the tight waistband of those stupid leggings and tug them down. Jimin hisses through his teeth as you let the material settle just under his hips, baring the top of his briefs to you, how his cock strains against them, the patch of wetness at the head, darkening the fabric.

You don’t strip him. Not completely. You just hook your fingers into those dark blue briefs and pull them down just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, wet with precum. You let your tongue flick out to catch that salty bitterness, and Jimin bites off a curse at the almost shy licks you start to lave across his slit, circling around the weeping head.

Hearing Jimin’s gasps without the wall in the way is honestly an experience. Before, whenever he had people over, they usually drowned him out, theatrical wails and groans overpowering his far more natural noises, but now there’s nothing to prevent you from hearing the way his breath hitches in his throat or the way he moans. Even the smallest things have him letting slip sounds, a noise escaping him as you coax him to lift his hips so you can finally, finally peel those leggings and briefs off, dragging over the hardness of his cock as you do. You want to take in the sight of him fully naked, give it the proper attention it deserves, but then you feel his cock throb in your hand and you can’t stop yourself from immediately lowering your mouth to it again.

His whole body shudders. You let your jaw fall open as you take him in, tongue curling around him, hands touching every part of him that isn’t in your mouth, making sure there’s no part of him that isn’t receiving attention. His eyes are wide under the mess of his fringe, hair falling over his forehead as he watches the way you run your lips down the side of his cock before sucking one of his balls into your mouth, circling his length with your hands, a twisting rise and fall in the motion as you drink down the noise of surprised pleasure that drops from his lips.

Jimin’s fingers have been tangled in your hair but he lets you control the flow. The sounds of you swallowing him down into your mouth as you bob your head are obscene, wet and messy, but you can still hear how his voice starts to rise, how his fingers tighten against your scalp, and you know he’s close when he tugs you upwards and drags your lips away from his cock.

Jimin pulls you towards him and you settle against his chest as you start to kiss again, shivering at the way he rolls his tongue in your mouth. This time when Jimin rolls his hips, there’s nothing between your skin and his, dragging the underside of his cock across your flushed lower lips, the slide between your folds and against your clit making you shiver.

“Condoms?”

You’re breathless, and Jimin quirks a smile at you.

“Top drawer,” he answers. Of course they would be, in easy reach whenever he needs them.

You lean forwards to reach for the bedside table and Jimin takes the opportunity to circle a hand around your breast and capture a nipple in his mouth, ignoring the way you bite back a surprised noise, staring up at you with almost innocent eyes as he sucks at your skin in the way he’s worked out that you like best. Your hands are a fumble as you pull a condom out of the pack, ripping the sachet away from the others, a bottle of lube rolling into your grasp. You try to focus on your task and not the sensation of Jimin switching attention to your other breast, cupping the swell of flesh in his hand and drawing his teeth gently across your skin.

“You’re insatiable,” you mutter, and Jimin laughs before he kisses between your breasts.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “I don't want to take my mouth off you.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, but you’re flustered. Even if you know he’s not lying, and you’re naked and straddling his hips, the taste of his lips and cock now familiar on your tongue, it’s… kind of incredible to think that the gorgeous Park Jimin has been lusting after you for that long.

Or lusting after you at all, really.

But as you tear the foil of the condom, the look he levels at you is burning with desire, roaming over you, every inch of your nakedness, every movement of your body. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs rubbing over your skin as you hold his cock in one hand and roll the condom down with the other, letting your fingers circle his length, dragging your touch over the heat of him and revelling in the way he twitches. As much as you’ve thought of Jimin as a fuckboy, you know that he wouldn’t lie just to get someone in his bed, so as unbelievable as his words are, every single one of his actions backs up what he’s said: he wants you.

You don't notice how soft his gaze is as you take time to warm the lube in your hands, even though you’re desperate to feel him finally slide home. You've always been so considerate, even when he knows you've been frustrated at him, and that's evident now, in this small thing.

You spread the warmed lube over his covered cock, pumping it in your hand to get him slick and ready, loving the way he hisses though his teeth. He has to stop his hips from bucking up as you line his cockhead up with your entrance, his fingers digging into your sides as you hover in place.

“Come on,” Jimin urges. “Give it to me.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, one last time, then you bend your knees.

You finally ease yourself down and onto his cock. You both let out moans; Jimin, finally feeling the wet heat of you around him, and you, falling into the sensation of him stretching you open, snug inside you, slowly splitting you open as you take him in, inch by inch, until you’re sitting on his hips and he’s fully buried in your cunt.

It’s been a while since you’ve had someone inside you. You grind downwards, rolling your hips, biting your lip at the sensation. Jimin’s chest expands as he sucks in a sharp breath, and you roll your hips again, a hand bracing on one of his lovely, thick thighs, the other resting just under his stomach as you lean back and arch your spine. You lift your hips, easy and slow, and then fall, Jimin’s cock dragging and pressing against your inner walls, a gasp shuddering out of your lips at the electric feeling.

Again and again, noises of pleasure drip from your mouth as you ride him, head tilting back at the sensations rippling through your body and across your skin, the apartment full of the sounds of your sex—the moans, the wet thrust of Jimin’s cock into your cunt, the praise that falls from his lips, months of feeling pouring from his lips. How pretty you are, how gorgeous, how well you’re taking his cock, how wet and tight you are around him; all the things he’s been thinking about, come to life, his hips snapping into yours as a sharp cry cuts through your lips at the sudden change of pace.

The pleasure’s been steadily building between your legs again, warm and unrushed, but then Jimin flips you without warning, fluid and graceful. Your eyes are wide as you end up on your back, Jimin’s hands braced either side of your head as he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes of his. He thrusts forwards and your hands fly up to grab at him, your entire body shifting up the mattress at the force of his movements. His eyebrows are drawn together as he starts to drive himself into you, unapologetic in how aggressive he’s being, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs in harried little gasps that shake the air between you.

The sound of his headboard slamming into the wall, a noise that’s been haunting you each time you’ve been trying to sleep or relax, is one you don’t even register. All you can think about is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, caught up in the way there’s sweat beading across his forehead, strands of his dark hair sticking to it, the intense look in his eyes, the way his full lips are parted, small ah-ah-ahs falling from his lips in time with his thrusts, your body tightening around him each time he slides home.

You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Jimin reads the language of your body with ease, knowing exactly when to lean back and trail a hand over your hips, circling his thumb over your swollen clit, the slide over that bundle of nerves messy from the mix of cum and lube and spit that’s laid slick across you. Each fluid roll of his hips is perfectly timed with the press of his thumb, your thighs going tense and your pussy clenching around Jimin’s hot cock as you start to reach another peak of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby.” Jimin sounds breathless. “Let me see how pretty you are when you cum around my cock.”

Normally dirty talk seems so ham-handed and stuttering, but the words fall out of Jimin’s lips as natural as breathing, thoughtless. Stirring your arousal even further. He’s gripping your hips, pulling you down each time he presses up, and you circle your fingers around his wrist as his other hand is occupied with rubbing at your most sensitive part, tightening your hold as you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a keen. “I'm so close, please, there, right there, theretherethere—”

You can't blame Jimin's other partners for being so noisy. The sound you let out is just as loud, maybe even louder, Jimin continuing to snap his hip forwards as you cum hard, a drawn out moan that crescendos as you pulsate around Jimin's cock, still hard inside you. He watches the way you writhe beneath him, tangling his fingers with yours when you reach for him and swallowing the end of your moan in a surprisingly sweet kiss, his lips gentle against yours as he slows to a stop before you become too sensitive.

Your voice is a quiet murmur against his lips. “How have you not cum yet?”

His eyes squeeze into a smile as he laughs, light and bright, the sound so sweet. “I've got stamina for days, darling,” he says, oozing that trademark arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

You clench as hard as you can around him and feel smug when he bites off a shocked curse, his smug facade broken. You can’t help but laugh at his expression, scandalised at it is, though your giggle cuts into a gasp when he pinches one of your nipples and then soothes it with his thumb. He seems amused by the look on your face and then laughs in turn, the two of you dissolving into laughter that’s edged with pleasure, your motions shifting his length inside you.

When the laughter trails off, Jimin stays smiling down at you. You draw your hands over his body, tracing all that smooth skin, and he touches the back of your hands with gentle fingers. There's a beat of silence but it's not an uncomfortable one, the air light after your shared giggles. It's… really nice. It's nice and soft and sweet, just like the expression on Jimin's face, tender, even if he's still buried inside you.

You feel so empty when he slips out, already missing the thickness of his cock when it seems as though he’s about to coax you to roll onto your front. Your hands are still linked with his and you tighten your fingers, making him pause.

“I want to see your face,” you confess quietly. It’s probably too much to ask of him but you feel like if you’re turned away from each other then you’ll feel like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just another warm body in Jimin’s bed. You don’t want that.

Jimin stares at you, surprise written across his features before his expression softens.

"Okay, baby," he murmurs indulgently. The small pet name sounds so sweet in his mouth. "We can stay like this."

He lets your hands go so that he can reach for a pillow that ends settled under your ass, tilting your hips up towards him. You’re not as flexible as he is—maybe you should start doing yoga too—but Jimin doesn’t push you far, hitching your legs up and draping your calves over his shoulders, leaning towards you so that the back of your thighs are warm against his chest. He's bent forward, face hovering above yours, so much skin-on-skin contact that your entire body feels warmed by him.

When he slides back in, you can feel the change in angle immediately. The head of his cock brushes over your g-spot and you suck in a sharp breath; Jimin notices, of course, aiming to hit it again, and again.

It feels good, of course. Amazing. But as much as you’d be happy for Jimin to make you cum again, you’d rather see him fall apart.

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, turning your head so you can press kisses along the line of his jaw, murmuring into his ear.

“Are you going to let me see you cum?”

Jimin’s hips stutter as your words curl out of your mouth, warm against his skin. You’ve been picturing Park Jimin’s o-face for an endless amount of weeks and you’re ready to finally see the real thing.

“Cum on me,” you say, and then choke in a sob of air as Jimin responds with a sharp snap of his hips. “I want you to cum on me, Jimin, please.”

Your begging is shameless and you know it. Jimin’s face is so close to yours in this position and you can see how blown his pupils are, how his mouth is flushed from your kisses and how he’s been biting at them, his teeth digging into his lip as he starts to get faster, sloppier in his thrusts. It feels so good to know that you’re making him feel like this, that he’s reaching the peak of his pleasure with his body against yours, inside you, above you; he might have had other people in this position in the past, but right now it’s you who’s making Park Jimin come apart.

You urge him onwards with large, pleading eyes, rocking down on his cock each time he thrusts forward, begging the whole time. Pleading for him to cum, to give it to you, to cover you. Jimin obviously likes you loud and desperate, and you're more than willing to give him what he wants.

He slips out of you, fumbling with the condom and carelessly tossing it aside before he starts to pump his cock, hungry to reach his peak as he fucks into his fist. You let your legs fall open as you watch the way his body tenses, his brows drawn together and little breaths falling out of his mouth, barely audible over the wet slide of his cock in his hand. You run your hands over your body, across the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, dipping between your legs, trying to look as arousing as possible, anything to throw Jimin over the edge.

"I've imagined you cumming for months," you confess, words thoughtlessly falling from your lips. "On me, inside me, in my mouth—"

Park Jimin’s o-face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

You love how noisy he is. He paints your stomach with his cum, ropes of white spattering across the soft skin of your stomach and hips as he rides out his orgasm, moaning as he continues to milk his twitching cock. It’s so fucking hot, honestly, as is the expression on his face when you swipe your fingers through his cum and lift it to your lips, mouth filled with salt and warm.

“Fuck.” He’s breathless, panting. “You’re unbelievable.”

You let out a small scoff, but it’s edged with affection. “Says the man who was ready to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” you say. “If anyone’s the unbelievable one here, it’s you.”

“I can last longer, but you’re just so hot,” Jimin says. You respond by curling your fingers at him, beckoning him towards you, and you end up sharing a series of messy kisses.

You were, honestly, genuinely angry when you'd stepped into his apartment earlier, even if that irritation had been rounded out with arousal and desire. Now, though, you feel thoroughly boneless and content, loose limbed on Jimin's mattress, his lips and tongue moving against your own.

He leans too far forwards and smears his own cooling cum against his stomach. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. You’re the one who has to coax him to clean up, though with the way he looks at your still naked body, you know he would happily launch straight into a second round of fucking so he can add more cum to the canvas of your skin.

He really is insatiable, apparently, when it comes to you.

Even so, you wonder if Jimin’s going to kick you out now that he’s finally had a taste of you. He doesn't. He keeps you close, your body pressed against his side in a way that feels far more intimate than you would have expected.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin breaks the soft silence.

You’ve been trailing nonsensical patterns over his chest but pause when he says this. “Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Jimin repeats, and there’s a cheeky smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “I have some more peaches in the fridge, if you’d like one.”

“That peach.” Your voice is an embarrassed hiss and your cheeks burn, but Jimin just laughs, boyish and bright as you slap halfheartedly at him. “That was just unfair. Who eats fruit like that?”

“Someone who’s trying to make it obvious that he’s imagining the peach is his neighbour’s pussy instead.” He’s so brazen. “And it clearly worked, didn’t it?”

It had worked. It's annoyingly effective, actually; thinking about the way Jimin had been staring at you as he tongue fucked that peach has arousal shooting through you, even after being so thoroughly fucked by him.

“Yeah, now you’ve had me,” you say. “What do you plan to do next?”

Jimin goes quiet. You wonder if you’ve misstepped, but then he sweeps his hand down the curve of your spine, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his touch.

“I was planning on asking if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he says, his voice so sweet, miles away from the fuckboy persona he usually puts on. This is the softer Park Jimin that you’ve caught glimpses of when he’s unaware, the side of him you wished he’d show more often—revealed to you, now. “Then, if you said yes, I was going to take you out on a date. If that date went well, then I was going to ask if you’d like to go on another one with me. And then another.”

One thing you know about Park Jimin is this: he doesn’t do dates. Each of his lays are one time affairs, no attachments made, no real connection beyond the physical act of sex. Your heart rate picks up.

“Obviously we’d fuck between dates,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at you in a way that’s so exaggerated that it makes you laugh. Of course. Jimin likes to fuck. “Unless you didn’t want to, but there are only so many peaches I can eat, you know?”

“So if I said I didn't want to fuck, and you ran out of peaches, what would you do?”

Your question seems casual and light but Jimin isn't stupid. He knows what you're really asking. Is he genuinely interested in something more exclusive, or would you just become another notch in his bedpost if he grew tired of waiting for you to spread your legs again?

"I can always buy more peaches."

You stare at him. He's looking at you levelly, a small smile on his face that's a little cocky but mostly warm. And, well, you know he's already gone without other partners for you, even before he'd gotten you in his bed. Park Jimin is serious about you, it seems. He'll wait.

You mouth at his collarbones, tasting the salt of sweat as you kiss and lick at his skin.

"After lunch, we can go back to my apartment, if you want," you whisper against his throat.

Just because Jimin's willing to wait doesn't mean you're going to force him to, especially as you're still as hungry for him as he is for you.

His hands squeeze your sides as you end up kissing again. You feel soft and ripe and sweet, easing under the touch of Jimin's hands and mouth.

"I still think you're a fucking menace, though," you add, and Jimin laughs so hard the bed shakes, still utterly unrepentant and entirely yours.

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #jimin smut #jimin oneshot #jimin x reader #bts #bts au #bts smut #jimin fanfic #jimin #jimin x oc #bts oneshot #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin scenario #bts fic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist

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spice-chan · 4 years ago

Text

Cure Me

King!singledad! Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

Prince Matsuki makes an interesting friend. he could have never foretold who she is to his father...

TW: curses, sickness

Thank you so much to @stargazingaloneatnight for sending this lovely request ! I totally got carried away though, so it’s going to have a second part.

Thanks a lot to @patt-writes-stuff and @reddriot for being amazing beta readers !!

Wordcount: 4.4 K

..........................................

At the ripe age of 18, you were married off to the woodcutter in your village.

You weren’t enthusiastic about it, but you didn’t dissent. After all, in a small village, all the people of close age were expected to marry eventually. It was either him, the farmer or the butcher. A prince isn’t going to come and sweep you off your feet.

You moved to the isolated cabin near the woods where your husband resided, and you lived there with him for a year. You wouldn’t exactly describe it as harmony, but it was peaceful enough for you to be content. He respected you and you respected him, but you yearned for something more.You yearned for love, for the overwhelming feeling that would envelope you whole, that would elicit shivers from your spine, and down to your very toes.

But you had to get those foolish fantasies out of your head; after all, your husband was now all you had. Until you didn’t have him anymore.

His body was found, squashed underneath a large tree that fell the wrong way.

Guilt and loss reigned in your mind and heart. You wondered, should you have appreciated him more ? Should you have cherished the little moments instead of wishing for something better?

It was a lonely existence for a while after that, until a red eyed, spikey haired little boy ventured to your isolated abode.

………

Loneliness was a disease that feasted on your open wounds until they were gaping holes, bleeding and gushing, but you were unable to stitch them back together. Who wants to be lonely, truly? So all Bakugo did was cover the open wounds with his hand, growling protectively as he shielded himself. And he couldn’t stitch together the hole in his chest, even when his hand was stained red as evidence of his pain.

He thought he loved her. He convinced himself he loved her. The only woman and person who seemingly managed to stand him and understand him. He tried so hard to be good to her. Tried to act better when he saw the gleam of judgement in her eyes. Only to wake up one day with a letter telling him “don’t look for me” and “I’ll be somewhere better. Away from you and that spawn. Good luck with him, though you’ll probably have enough soon and throw him somewhere far, the sound of his cries is annoying.”

Him.

She couldn’t bring herself to say her son’s name.

It’s like he was a disposable piece of trash to her. Katsuki’s teeth gnashed whenever he remembered the way she spoke of her own son, his son.

“DAD!” screamed a little boy, the carbon copy of his dad, running to his father's lap where he ducked down and hid between them.

Bakugo growled playfully, bending his back to look at the excitable little boy, who held his finger to his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing, squirt?”

“I’m hiding from Shitty Maid.”

Katsuki quirked his eyebrows at the foul language that came out of his son’s mouth, but his response never made the light of day as a flustered and heaving maid entered the dining chamber, her eyes frantically searching.

“My king, I’m so sorry ! Have you seen Prince Matsuki come here ?” she questioned breathlessly, the prince having evidently tired her out.

Bakugo clicked his teeth rather impertinently. “No, you shitty maid, I didn’t see him come here,” he replied and resumed eating, seemingly unperturbed by his son being ‘missing’.

“Sorry, Your Majesty, I’ll resume my search for him. Sorry to have disturbed you!” she exclaimed before picking her gown and scrambling out.

Bakugo stared beneath his chair pointedly, his carbon copy only giving doe eyes as a reply.

“Why are you hiding anyway?!”

Matsuki crawled out from underneath the chair and stood up, dusting his knees.

“She wants to teach me eti-etiquette or whatever,” Matsuki grumbled. “I’m going out to play with my friends.”

Etiquette? How useless. Is that what they are teaching his son?

Bakugo clapped his back, glad to see his son not be a pushover. “Don’t be late, squirt.”

“Ok, dad!” Matsuki jumped and enveloped Katsuki’s muscular frame in a hug with his tiny arms, warming Katsuki’s heart as he ruffled his son’s spiky hair.

……..

Matsuki couldn’t find his friends.

He ventured into the woods in search of them, sporting a scowl everyone should be familiar with. His tiny, handsome face scrunched slightly as he looked around the place curiously. His feet padded on, scrunching on crispy fallen leaves in their wake.

He walked for a while, marking trees as he went along to ensure he didn’t get lost, but eventually, a sugary sweet scent had his tiny legs move faster on their own accord in search of it. The closer he seemingly got, the more powerfully the mouth watering scent assaulted his nose. It smelled cozy on this chilly day, like a warm cup of milk by a warm fire as snow fell outside.

He reached a clearing. The thick, intimidating trees that loomed over him shrunk away until there was none left.

No trees, but he found a small cabin with a window cracked open.

He boldly marched up to it, his mouth set in a straight, determined line. A fisted palm knocked once, twice, and thrice on the worn out wood, to ensure that it was heard.

His nervousness set in when the handle turned and a lady emerged at the threshold. He steeled himself. His daddy told him that if he wanted something, he should work to get it.

You smiled at him warmly when you spotted him: a young, unfamiliar boy. He looked out of his element, but his strange red eyes stared at you despite how he seemed to be unused to such situations. His eyes reflected the embers of a brave soul.

“There was a nice smell coming from here,” he admitted, his tiny face scrunching into a scowl that seemed more adorable than anything.

“Well, yes, I baked cookies,” you responded mildly, your voice never too high but quite clear. The boy’s eyes widened, his red hues glistening in child-like excitement.

“Cookies?!” He jumped, and clutched your gown.

“Can I have some ?” Puppy dog eyes stared up at you, pleading and cute. You haven’t encountered a child in a long time. You stopped going to the village as often, and eventually, they stopped visiting too. Your mother died after she contracted something, her old body unable to fight it off, and your dad ran off somewhere to ‘adventure’.

“Sure.” You moved from the threshold. “Come in.” You gestured with your head to your small cottage, a humble place, but a reminder of your lonesome existence.

He brightened up considerably, his mouth twisting into a sweet smile. He would become such a handsome young man once he grew up. It made you wonder how beautiful his parents must be.

You pulled a chair for him at the table, and went to put some cookies on a plate for him.

“YUM. That’s so delicious!” He spoke between mouthfuls, some tiny crumbs flying out of his mouth in his excitement.

“Thank you, but be careful. You might choke if you speak while chewing sweetie,” you chided him lightly. Matsuki didn’t recognize this tone, it sounded equal parts stern and caring. He nodded and continued munching down.

“Would you like to drink something? I have some orange juice, and uh, water. I could make tea, but I don’t think kids your age fancy that you rambled, suddenly excited about having someone keep you company for the first time in a while.

He opened his mouth to answer, but upon remembering your words, he opted to chew for a few more seconds then swallowing his cookies before bellowing out,“Yes! Orange juice.”

How adorable.

You poured two glasses of orange juice and joined your little companion, munching on some cookies of your own. Before long, he finished all of them and leaned back on the chair, mouth letting out a sigh and hand patting his stomach as a show of overindulgence.

“Good?”

“Yup! You’re a very nice lady. Way nicer than my dummy maid,” he grumbled, you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or concerned, but one thing did grab your attention.

“Maid ?”

He nodded, slightly confused at your question.

“Don’t you have one ?” You quirked an eyebrow and looked around your tiny cottage. Did it look like you have one?

Oh God, you hoped this boy wasn’t mistaking his mother for a maid. With that in mind, you asked him, however, his face fell in sadness and the fire in his eyes dulled a little.

“I don’t have a mother. The maids always talk about how sorry they are for me. I hate it. None of them even care about me,” he spoke in a quiet voice, tearing at your heart with his down turned face.

“But at least I have my daddy,” he spoke up, brightening a little. You smiled at that, reaching towards him and ruffling his fluffy yet spikey blond hair.

“That’s good. Keep cherishing your father, at least the two of you have each other.” You wiped some crumbs from around his mouth with a napkin, speaking to the boy in a lonesome voice; unintentionally mothering him.

He smiled and nodded;unintentionally accepting.

The boy was either mistaking some people in his household for maids, or he was some rich merchant’s son. On that note—

“Did you tell anyone you’re coming here? They might be worried about you,” you asked cautiously, but then your eyes widened as a new wave of worry hit you.

“Oh my God, what if you got lost? Do you know your way back?”

You sighed in relief when he nodded, flashing you a smile with his teeth on display, one of them missing from the front, making it all the more endearing. You narrowed your eyes at him, prompting him to elaborate.

“I always come to play around here with my friends. It’s really close to home!” You oo’d. However, it was now his turn to panic. “Oh no, I forgot all about them !” He looked outside, seeing the sun shining proudly in the centre of the sky.

“I think I can still catch them,” he declared determinedly, and hopped off his seat. His tiny legs carried him to the door, his pale hand grasping the worn down doorknob, but before twisting it, he turned to you, his smile of youth gracing his face again.

“See you later, nice lad !”

.……..……

“No way! You wanted to be a pirate? But they’re so nasty!” he exclaimed, scrunching his nose at you in disgust. You shrugged, shoulders slumped.

“I thought it’d be a fun time. I found it in a book and dreamed that one day, I too can embark on an adventure and find hidden treasures,”you explained with a dreamy, yet nostalgic look in your eyes, akin to one looking back fondly at a long gone memory. It’s been nearly a year since you met the mystery child. You’ve been...noticeably happier.

His cherry red orbs made your day, along with an innocence that was very hard to maintain in these tough times, although that's probably because his toughness differs from yours.

He pouted, running a hand through his tamed locks. “Well, why can’t you?”

He stared up at you expectantly, oblivious to what he was expecting. His red orbs burwith ith the flame of innocenand and didnuldn’t dare blow it out.

“I don’t know.”

Even for his young age, he was perceptive. Bbut before he could question your downtrodden face, you stood up, coughing loudly. It went on for a few seconds, and Matsuki watched worriedly as you cupped your hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking from the force.

After you stopped, you breathed for a few seconds, face flushed and stamina depleted. But again, before he could question anything, you stood up, stretching. The sun hit your face, which looked noticeably paler, but you forced a smile anyway, and held your hand out for Matsuki to grab and follow suit.

“Let’s go inside, you wanted me to redo your hair, right ?” He grabbed your hand with renewed vigor, hopping off the wood and trekking with you back inside the cottage.

He said his maid had to slick his hair back because they had guests over and he ‘had to look more presentable’, which you internally scoffed at. His hair was amazing as it was.

You’d never seen a texture so amazing. It was soft as silk, but it appeared spikey. Like a porcupine or something, looked thorny but had a soft side?

You brought some water and wet his hair, before drying it with a towel. You could already see some results. You brought a hairbrush and began to hum softly while brushing his semi dry blond locks.

You towelled it once again, before patting him across the back. Your head felt light, and a light pain began to creep in. You probably need some water.

“THANK YOU! It was so ugly before.” He pranced about, happy that his hair no longer looked like some ‘sappy extra’. You wonder where the child got those interesting phrases. You stood up to get a glass of water, but the moment you stood up, the world swirled, spinned, and blurred. And then it all faded to black.

You hit the floor with a loud thump, and Matsuki sprung to his feet and frantically ran to your side.

His small hands grabbed your arm and shook you, his face growing warm and throat getting clogged up, before tears burst forth. They dampened your sleeves, continuously flowing like a waterfall, but you still remained almost lifeless on the floor. Matsuki was young, helpless, and alone.

And he did what any young, helpless and crying child would do.

He ran to the person he loves —his father.

……………

Bakugou heard the sound of Matsuki running before h, felt the wind, tornado like, as the doors of his room were pushed open in a manner so excitable he’d consider it rather insolent had it not been his own son.

His reprimands were stuck in his throat when he saw the flushed face and bloodshot eyes of his shis heart aching at the sight.

“What’s wongh” he asked softly, the tone rather unusual coming from him. Then again, his son coming to him crying was something very rare.oo., Matsuki took after his and and he was a very brave and strong boy. Something that Bakugou lamented about, at times. Being his carbon copy wasn’t that much of a blessing when it came to the matters of the heart.

Matsuki found his dad sitting at his desk, he ran to him and clung to his legs, crying uncontrollably.

It took Bakugou a second to overcome his awkwardness and emotional constipation. He scooped his son up and sat him on his lap, wiping his tears away.

“Hey squirt, calm down and tell me what’s wrong. If it’s someone that upset you, God help them-”

Matsuki tried to halt his hiccups, failing for a few seconds while he hugged his dad, he patted his back comfortingly.

“Dad, my friend…” he began, but his eyes watered as a fresh batch of tears threatened to burst.

“What happened to your friend, Matsuki?”

Matsuki sniffled, wiping his eyes before continuing.

“So, she’d been sick for a few weeks, but today when I visited her, she fell and wouldn’t wake up,” Matsuk explainedd, clutching into Bakugou tightly.

Bakugou hummed, nodding solemnly.

“Can you take me where your friend is?”

Matsuki nodded, but Katsuki was dubious about the nature of this pursuit. His distrustful nature was shining through.If this ‘friend’ was outside the protective barrier, then Katsuki didn’t know what to really expect. So before leaving his room, he donned his protective amber around his neck, a magical jewel chosen by his dragon when he was younger. All shifters choose an enchanted jewel to guard their existence and warn them of dangers. He made sure to pick up his son’s, looping the necklace around his neck, the jewel dangling and shining.

He needed to give his son a talk about this.

…………

They walked in the forest for a while before reaching a small, worn out looking cottage. Bakugou arched a blond eyebrow, more curious than ever. He’d think it was a ploy with more sinister intentions, luring both prince and king but… he’d never seen his son more shook up over someone, they must mean a lot to him. He couldn’t bear to delay this.

They reached the door, the wood creaking as Bakugo opened it. His ruby eyes started searching for you, and when they caught your figure on the floor, they began gleaming.

He felt the breath knocked out of him when he saw you, asleep (he hoped) like an angel with your hair looking wild but still adding to your charm like a halo. You looked so soft, so precious, and it felt like his life only began this moment when he caught sight of you.

His heartbeat was so strong, he could feel it in his very eyes, who were overwhelmed with the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He had seen plenty of beautiful women, ones he didn’t spare a second glance at, extras, unworthy of his time. But for some reason, the beauty of you rooted him in his spot and halted all rational thoughts. He was only broken out of his reverie when Matsuki shook him. He felt a rush of love, devotion, and ease like he’d never felt before. It all made sense, the sense of loneliness, of being lost when his path is clear in front of him. Of finding every potential romantic partner lukewarm at best.

“Dad. Can you help her ? I don’t want her to be sick anymore.”

And in that moment, it dawned on him.

Katsuki found his soulmate, but there’s a chance he might have already lost her.

He ran to you checking your vitals, and thankfully, everything seemed fine. He put his forehead against yours, cursing when he felt a scalding fever.

“What happened ?” He picked one of the numerous questions buzzing in his head.

“Well, she did my hair like I’d asked her, but the moment she stood up, she fell down! I tried waking her up, but she wouldn’t. She’d been coughing a lot the past few weeks too and looking tired,�� Matsuki explained clearly, now comforted by having his father share the weight with him.

Katsuki looked around at the rather shabby place. Fit for a commoner. Not you.

He was baffled at having a mate. Only the most legendary, wise and favoured dragons did, the dragons that made it to history scriptures. Things no one considered him to be. Things he was succumbing to not being. Things she convinced him he wasn’t. Sure, he could fight deadly wars, bring nations down to their knees, but violence did not warrant a soulmate.

He scoop you up, closer to his chest. Heyouyou tightly, heart physically hurting at the thought of you being in pain. He just met you, what’s with him ?

He stood up, nudging his son to leave.

What a coincidence. An insane, crazy coincidence.

His son, his only blessing in this shrouded world, was what led him to the one thing nobody thought he’d have.

“Tell me more on the way.

Matsuki nodded.

……………

Bakugou laid you on his bed, surrounding you with the softest materials one could ever touch. He pulled a chair besides you, lounging on it as he waited for a healer to arrive.

You remained unconscious, but it seems like your temperature increased even more. He was so lost in his own thoughts, that he didn’t register that Matsuki walked inside the room until he was addressing him.

“Is she going to be alright ?” Bakugou didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, then again, he didn’t have the heart to lie to him either.

“I don’t know.” Somehow saying it out loud hurts even more.

A knock on the door broke the gloominess.

“Come in.”

Hope walked in, in the shape of a short, old lady with medical equipment.

Recovery Girl inspected you, from temperature to heartbeat. And when done, she sighed.

“Everything boils down to it being a simple fever, but in that case, she wouldn’t be unconscious,” she explained ambiguously. She took one of your hands, and andr fingertips were icy cold.

She hummed contemplatively. She brought out a healing crystal, squeezing it in one fist, while she held your hand in the other. The idea was to transfer the healing energy from the crystal to you, only possible through a healing mage.

However, when nothing seemed to happen, Recovery Girl opened her fist. She found a shattered crystal.

“Oh my…”

Bakugou growled, frustration willing up and tipping over. “The fuck!”

Recovery Girl glared at him. Such language shouldn’t be used in front of a child.

“Typical healing methods aren’t going to work.”

Silence reigned over this time, willing the old lady to continue on, both his and his son’s hearts on the edge.

“I believe she’d been cursed.”

Bakugou scrunched up his eyebrows at the absurd explanation. Who’d curse you of all people ? He only just discovered your existence!

Yet for some reason, he felt like he’d rather die than let you, the one who could love him for all his flaws, the one who always brought a smile on his son’s face, suffer.

“How?” The deity up there must be very cruel, to take you away when he just met you.

“I don’t know, son. There’s a very strong, malevolent energy, enough to break a healing crystal. It’s going to make her body reject anything that could heal it,” she explained solemnly.

“If you want this young lady healthy and well, we need to take different measures to heal her. Also, do you know who cursed, or where she could have incurred it? That will be very helpful.”

Bakugou looked at Matsuki, knowing that he himself is clueless.

“This is the first time I met her. Matsuki seems to have met her a while ago in her tiny ass cottage outside the protective barrier.” She looked like she had some questions, but instead directed her attention to the little Bakugou and asked him what matters most right now.

“Do you know anyone that might’ve done this? Have you seen her interact with anyone that could possibly be capable of it?” She knew asking a child would likely be more fruitless then not, but she still wished to help you in any way she could.

Matsuki shook his head.

“I’ve never even seen her talk with anyone.” This only served to increase Bakugou’s suspensions. Could it be something to do with your affiliation with Matsuki ? And if that was the case, then there’s so many other things he must take into account too, because that would mean that there’s a traitor in their midst, or at least someone that had been tracking Matsuki for… what fucking ever reason.

He sighed, feeling an ache beginning to form in his head. He touched your arm, wanting to reassure himself that you are alive.

A gasp rang out from the occupants of the room when you opened your eyes, making them seem glowy when the sunlight reflected off them, giving you an ethereal, angelic radiance.

The air left his lungs, while blood rushed to his cheeks, making them seem ripe as apples.

“How is this possible?”

This shocked him awake, out of his reverie and into reality.

Recovery Girl glanced at the arm Bakugo was touching, humming to herself with a knowing glint in her old, wise eyes.

“Well, my king, did you forget? The oldest, most powerful magic that dragons have been gifted::soulmates.”

Bakugo blushed again, kissing his teeth and glaring at Recovery Girl.

“What are you babbling on about, old hag?”

“I believe you know.”

He glared at the ground, childishly not answering.

“Um...what’s going on?” A small, feminine voice asked. Bakugou turned to you, melting at the majestic sound of your voice.

“That’s a good question.” That brat.

Bakugou tried to stay in contact with you, afraid of making the burst of magic triggered by your bond slipping away.

“Uh, you lost unconsciousness and Matsuki asked me to help you. Oh, and apparently you were cursed.” Bakugou bluntly spits the facts at you, not thinking ahead for your reaction.

“A CURSE?” you shouted, coughing after due to hoarseness. The old hag shot Bakugou another glare, before sweetening up and looking at you.

“We’ll explain after you rest a bit and freshen up, you’d been through quite a bit.” she said, deliberately not divulging any information yet. She didn’t need to be there for the grand explanation. She’d rather not be, actually.

She stood on her weary legs, leaving the room unnoticed as you admired your surroundings, and as Bakugou admired you. Matsuki’s stare lacked the burn of fascination as he stared at his father grumpily.

“The fuck you looking at her so weird for?” Matsuki seethed. You gasped and turned to him.

“Matsuki!” He bristled in frustration, having forgotten how much you hated it when he cursed.

“Sorry. He was though!”

Bakugou, throughout the whole thing, glared at his son with blushing cheeks. He wanted to spank some respect into him so bad right now.

You turned to Bakugo, gaze weighty in the seriousness it’s burdened with.

“Thanks for helping me, I appreciate it. You’re Matsuki’s father, right? The resemblance is hard to miss. Well, I have a lot of questions, but firstly, what do you mean by cursed?”

You felt as if a rock was pressed against your chest, gloom overtaking your features as you awaited his answer. Still hopeful that it was a joke, but the ancient dark magic was not to be joked with.

“Someone cursed you. It’s the cause for your sickness, and it’s slowly sapping the life out of you. You’re only awake because uh...the magic of our bond is more powerful.” Bakugou rushed the last part, his heart beating, squeezing painfully when silence hung in the air after his not so confession.

You purse your lips, the movement catching Bakugo’s attention, drawing him to your lips. Supple, kissable lips.

“Our bond?”

Bakugo nodded.

“You’re my soulmate, it’s why—probably why Matsuki was so drawn to you.” Bakugo was looking forward to explaining more, before his door was busted open (a common occurrence these days it seems) by a panting soldier, who summoned the strength to salute stiffly.

“Your majesty, we have received a letter from Celeane Siloh.”

Well, what a great introduction to the family.

...............

Kofi

Don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed this !

#bakugou x reader #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki fanfics #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou fanfiction #mha bakugou #fantasy bnha #fantasy!bnha #dragon king bakugou #dragon!bakugou #single dad bakugou #katsuki bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo

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hotlineslasher · 4 years ago

Text

Interview With A Slasher

Rating: Explicit (I think?? I mean it’s smut)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Content (Vaginal Fingering), Danny is a confusing bastard

A/N: I don’t want plot with my porn just feelings! This is my first fic I’ve ever posted pls be gentle with me I promise I’ll be better in the future and write less niche scorpio porn

AO3 link

***

When you first set foot into the entity’s perverted playworld, it was a hellscape made worse by how straight-up confusing everything was. Sure, the entity keeps on coming up with new insanities to throw at you, but over time you’ve learned there are rules that make things bearable. That make things make sense. If x, then y. If you break the don’t-drop-god-pallet rule, you get left to suffer on the hook longer. If you don’t unhook your teammates before the entity creeps down to thrash with them, you probably won’t escape with your life... or your friendship. If you don’t heal Bill quickly, his wheezing will be everyone’s downfall.

And, of course, if you so much as look at a killer outside of the trials, you’ll be cut off from the group.

Though it made all the sense in the world for survivors and killers to hook up in between hooking, you were the only one out of your little group to do the deed with one of the proverbial devils in your hell. Survivors smooching survivors was completely commonplace but you knew if they found out the infamous ghostface had taken very... different polaroids of you, they’d take it as a betrayal. Other survivors who weren't already spoken for were fair game, but choosing to interact with any of the killers was a statement.

So, despite Danny’s whining and bitching, you had made sure to be extremely careful. Which meant additional rules for the two of you. One of which was no sneaking off from the campfire, no matter how hard you could feel him staring at you from across the burning logs. Ironically, you weren't exactly sure where the two of you stood in the less literal sense. One dirty affair was more than enough for you, so you hadn't so much as looked at any of the survivors like that since your first hookup with Danny... but you didn't know if the same could be said for him. I mean, as ridiculous as the situation is, it would be nice to know what you meant to him. With Danny, it was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, he'd been... interested in you from the start. Any time you were in a trial together, you were his obsession, and it had always been like that. He was less lethal when it came to chasing you, like he enjoyed the game of cat and mouse when you were the one playing it with him. On the other, as much as he loved to stalk you, he wasn't exactly forthcoming about himself. Whenever you tried to get to know him beyond the ghostface mask, he'd distract you, or deflect, or get magically pulled away to a trial. Your gaze drifts over to where Nancy and Steve are huddled together, looking the very image of cutesy. Oh, to pick sensible romantic partners like Steve.

“You okay, kid?” Bill’s gruff voice pulls your focus from the flames you’ve been staring at to avoid Danny’s gaze. Ironically, Bill is sitting across from you so now you have a small excuse to glimpse in Danny’s direction. “Bad trial?” The old man prompts.

Your shoulders pull up in a shrug, “I mean, when is there ever a good trial?” Your answer isn’t cheery by any stretch, but that’s one of your favorite things about Bill. Talking to him, you don’t feel any pressure to bullshit and act optimistic.

A husky laugh rattles out of him and immediately you feel more at ease, like you’re just hanging out with peepaw. “Fair point,” he nods. “Who was it? One of the more fucked-up ones?”

It actually makes you snort, because intuitively you sort of know which select killers he’s referring to. “Yeah, it was the clown. I swear to god, I inhaled so much of that shit my voice is going to start sounding like yours,” you smile, eyeing Bill with the fondness of grandpa’s favorite grandkid.

Bill rolls his eyes and it looks like he’s going to fire back some sass when suddenly Ace comes sauntering over to clap a hand on his back. “Sorry to interrupt, hot stuff, but I need you to come teach the new girl that trick against slugging.” Ace tilts his head towards where Feng and Elodie are sitting a couple yards away, both audibly pissed at having been left to bleed out on the ground.

“Oh, sure, sure.” Bill nods as he gets up from his seat, always one to have his priorities clearly in check. Another one of the unspoken rules. Someone needs some guidance in the trials, you give it to them without hesitation. You still owed Meg for teaching you how to slip into lockers quietly. “Wait— you uh, you gonna be okay on your own?” The old man is standing like he’s ready to go with Ace, but his eyes are hard and clearly telling you he’ll stay with you if you need him to.

Ace opens his mouth, probably to offer to keep you company, but you’re not like Bill. Waving them both off, your eyes fall on where Danny is crouched in the shadows. Your priorities are nowhere NEAR where they should be, you think, waiting for them to take a few steps away before you break your very cardinal rule: no sneaking away at the campfire.

His hands were on you immediately and your adrenaline ran hot in response. “You have to be quiet, Danny,” you reminded him quickly, keenly aware of his penchant for risky dirty talk.

“Aww, but I thought you hated it when I was quiet!” You couldn’t see his face behind his mask, but god, you could feel the dramatic pout. His fingers slid across your hips, pulling you into him aggressively. “Or do you just need some foreplay first?” He purred, one palm slipping down underneath your skirt to grab at the flesh of your ass. “Fuck, I love it when she puts you in this.”

“Danny!” You hissed, nerves ablaze with proximity-based anxiety. You were playing with fire by even letting him get this far and you knew it. Danny was the kind of guy who you couldn’t give an inch to because he’d take a yard and would make it feel so good you’d happily give him a mile no matter how many warning alarms went off in your head. “If any of them-“

“I know, I know, if any of them find out you’d be a pariah, blah blah blah... hey, I didn’t know you liked the old fucker so much,” Danny says completely casually, his palm smoothing over your asscheek absentmindedly.

You sigh, hating how you can already feel yourself melting a bit under his touch. “Feeling jealous?” You breathe, looking up into the black mesh that’s hiding his eyes from you.

He has the audacity to snort, the cocky son of a bitch. “Fuck no,” he chuckles light-heartedly. “You’re lucky I don’t spank you raw just for suggesting that.” You feel the points of his fingers dig into the skin of your ass with the threat. Suddenly his other hand is on your face, cradling your jaw gently. “I just wanna know more shit about you,” he says plainly, his two hands sending two very different signals to your touch-starved brain, both of them good.

You lean into the one that’s framing your cheek, hating yourself for how handsy you’re letting him be when you’re both close enough to hear Bill bark out directions. “Yeah? You wanna know who’s my bff back at the campfire?” It’s sarcastic and you know you immediately need to make up for it unless you want to tempt him into making you scream. You decide you’ll placate him by turning your face and pressing a kiss into his gloved palm. You think you catch the faintest sigh from him for your effort.

“I do,” he grunts as his hand turns to cover your mouth, his fingertips pressing into your cheeks. “I wanna know everything about you.” Coming from someone else, it might sound romantic. But Danny’s voice is dark, teetering on obsessive. From a different person, the words might paint a picture of lovely dates and idyllic late-night conversations. But from his masked mouth, they scream stalking. Looking at you when you don’t know he’s there, sifting through your belongings, hoarding candids of you that you’ll never know exist.

“So come on, is it the geezer? You know, thinking back on it, he does love to take hits for you,” Danny muses, his mood suddenly light again.

You roll your eyes, reaching up to pull his palm off your mouth when you feel his grip soften. “Sure, I guess Bill is my bff. I have to fight Ace for him though, so I don’t know how mutual it is,” you shrug. It’s irrelevant shit, you know it is, and you can’t see his face to make sure, but you suspect Danny’s listening intently to you anyways. Like he’d be happy to hear you prattle on about the social dynamics between the people he loves to gut. The undivided attention fills you with yearning and his gloved finger is in your mouth before the thought is even fully formed. You don’t know how much of your heat he can actually feel through the thick fabric, but based on how his fingers slip under your panties, it’s doing something for him.

“God, you’re such a slut,” he hisses, the fingers in your panties now prodding at your slit. “You don’t know how bad I want to pull out my dick and make you choke on it right now.” His arousal feeds yours like it always does and combined with the leather slipping between your folds, you don’t stand a chance. Fuck the rules. You lathe at his finger happily, but Danny has other plans and before you know it your mouth is empty. Your eyebrows pull up in confusion and he shushes you sweetly. “I wanna hear more,” he explains, his fingers inching towards your hole. “Tell me,” he urges, “tell me everything and I’ll make you cum, beautiful.”

His slow attack on you has you biting your lip and failing to decipher what he specifically wants to hear. “W... what do you want to— know?” You breathe, both of your hands finding themselves on his chest for support.

“Which one of them was your first friend here?” He asks as one of his long fingers penetrates you lazily. He wastes no time in establishing the sensual rhythm, but you know Danny, and you know it’ll all stop unless you play his weird games. Today, it’s whatever the hell this line of questioning is.

You blink, trying to come up with an answer while he massages your walls. “Meg,” you finally answer, your nails digging into the leather covering his chest. He doesn’t answer right away and you bite back a smile. “The redhead,” you clarify. Of course he wouldn’t know anybody’s names, duh, you’re letting a killer fingerfuck you right now.

Pleased that you’ve caught onto what he wants, Danny slips another finger into you and makes you keen like a teenager. “Who would you bring back with you, if you could go back to your old life?” Both the question and the spot his second finger rubs up against take you by surprise and you almost cry out. The contrast between how well you know each other’s most sensitive spots and how little you know about each other’s ‘old lives’ gives you a weird feeling in your stomach. “Shhh,” Danny taunts happily, “we have to be quiet, remember?” His smirk is pretty much audible as he throws your words back in your face.

You shoot him a glare in response but grab onto one of his outfit’s tendrils to hopefully try and ground yourself. “Who’s your bff?” You suddenly ask, taking you both by surprise. His fingers keep moving but it’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to flip his inquiry back on him. You can't blame him, you weren't expecting you to do that either. The quiet milliseconds feel like hours and you find yourself starting to sweat a bit more. Fuck, was that not okay? His fingers stay inside you, moving at their same rhythm, but you're to busy overthinking to keep climbing towards your orgasm right now.

“Amanda, probably,” Danny responds with a small shrug. You feel yourself start to breathe again. “Oh,” he giggles, “you wouldn’t know her name, right. The Pig,” he clarifies quickly before shifting his focus to your clit.

A sigh tumbles out of you as he rubs it with just enough pressure to make you sink your nails into the cloth of the tendril. Like always, Danny’s mind and body seem to be on two different paths as he starts plunging his digits in faster. “Danny,” you beg, desperately wanting a beat to think about the information he just gave you but not finding it in his new rhythm.

“Come on, you didn’t answer my second question. You’re lucky you look so fucking hot right now or else I’d leave you high and dry... well, maybe I will...” he threatens and you press your forehead into his chest, trying to communicate how badly you do /not/ want that to happen.

“Fuck, fuck,” you pant, brain whirring trying to remember his question. Honestly? It’d been so long since you let yourself think of your ‘old life,’ you didn’t really have an answer thought out. “I don’t— know,” you pull back to look at him through his mask, “I don’t think about my old— my old life anymore.” You’re not sure if it’ll piss him off because you’ve again failed to answer the question but Danny tends to like honesty so you pray he lets it slide. Because, fuck, his thumb on your clit like it is has you ready to drench him at any moment.

He’s quiet for a second. His head tilts. And then you hear his gruff sigh and suddenly his pace becomes even more lethal. Your knees buckle but his other hand wraps around your waist like a vice and you swear some of the tendrils seem to reach out towards you too. If you thought it felt heavenly before, it was nothing compared to how he was touching you now. Your own hand has to slap across your mouth to stop you from moaning like a whore. “Good,” he hisses, his voice low. “Don’t ever think about it,” he demands, “you’re here, now.” Your vision swims as you tear up, his assault on your heat making you shake. “You’re never getting rid of me, you understand?” His voice sounds obsessive again but it only gets you hotter.

You both know you’re going to cum any second, there’s no way you could properly respond to the insane shit he’s saying right now, you can barely even process it. So, instead, you choose to be risky again and move the hand that’s covering your mouth to his neck instead and pull his mask to meet your lips.

Your eyes jam shut as your hips seize and sharp jolts of white-hot pleasure wrack your entire being. You hope you’re quiet but honestly, mid-orgasm you can only hear Danny’s erratic panting. For a few precious seconds, while your body is flooded with endorphins from his ministrations, it’s just you and him. Your mouth pulls away slightly while you ride the orgasm but he closes the distance between you instantly, pressing his masked mouth to yours.

The blood pounding in your ears starts to slow down and your eyes open back up slowly. You’re so close you can see through the mesh and into his irises. His pupils are completely blown out and it gives him a downright feral look you know should really scare you. But it doesn’t. After all, that’s the real first rule you broke.

You pull away and lean your head on his shoulder when you start to worry he'll hear how your heart is beating out of your chest, your panting far quieter now though it’s still rugged as hell. “Who...” you pipe up when you feel his fingers slip out of you, “who would you...?” Your brain is still way too fuzzy from the hormones to fully articulate what you mean. Hopefully he gets that you’re asking his question back and doesn’t think you just sound like an idiot—

You feel his chest shake when he rumbles out a chuckle above you. From where you’re angled, you get to watch him bring his fingers up to his mouth from behind the mask. A small groan escapes him at tasting you and your chest soars with confidence. He thinks you taste good. Better than good, given how much time he’s spending savoring every last drop on his tongue. You almost forget about your question at the show, but you remember instantly when his raspy voice rattles out, “isn’t it obvious?”

You blink slowly and then suddenly you feel a swell of affection for him as you get his meaning.

Out of everyone, even the killers, you. He’d choose you.

#dead by daylight #danny johnson #DBD Ghostface #dbd danny #dead by daylight x reader #ghostface x reader #dbd fanfic #danny johnson x reader #danny johnson smut #danny 'jed olsen' johnson x reader #slasher #slasher community #slasher smut #smut writing

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years ago

Text

Meeting and Courting Jareth

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Apologies for the long meeting, I just love him and the story of Labyrinth with all my heart)

- The thing about Jareth is that he becomes what you wish for him to be. If you want an adventure then he’ll give you one. Want romance? You’ll get it. Want an escape? He’ll whisk you away in an instant. Everything that you encounter is there because of you.

- But perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You and Jareth meet after you encounter the story of the Labyrinth at an old bookshop.

- You couldn’t quite explain why you’d entered the shop. Curiosity perhaps, you’d never been inside, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. But a part of you knew that it was more than that; you felt a pull towards it. It was as though something beyond your understanding had wanted you to go inside. And so you did.

- Wandering between the dusty, wooden shelves filled with old, fading books, you jumpd as an abrupt dull thud came from behind you. Once you’d turned, you found that a book had fallen off the shelves. ‘The Labyrinth’ the cover read and upon opening it, you saw the portrait of an unsightly yet endearing goblin printed on the opening page.

- You went to put it back on the shelf before an odd gnawing feeling filled you, as though you were missing out on something if you returned it to its; what you thought was it’s, rightful place. You turned the book around and gazed at the cover for another moment before deciding that you’d purchase it.

“Oh that one? That one you can have for free. See how old it is? Free, free, free. No ones bought it for many years, you’re doing me a favor by taking it.” The withered shop keeper had said as you went to hand them the book.

- Odd. You thought since nearly all of the books in the shop were just as old if not older. But who were you to turn down a persons generosity? Thanking the shop keeper, you left the store, clutching your newly owned book in your hand as you made your way home.

- Once you arrived home, you set the book down and went about the rest of your routine. It wasn’t until later that night that you actually cracked the book open, completely unaware of how invested you would become in the story.

- You spent hours devouring the pages, seldom stopping for anything and oblivious to the starry eyes which watched you from the dark of the night outside your window.

- It was a few days later that you would first encounter the goblin king in person. You’d had a bad day and felt as though you’d rather disappear forever than be a functional human being for another day. It was then that you remembered a specific quote from the story you’d read mere days before. With a solemn chuckle, you sank to the floor, closing your eyes and saying the words.

“I wish the goblins would come and take me away right now.”

- You sat silent for a long moment, taking a few deep breaths and trying to forget about the day you had. Creak! Your eyes snapped open and your head whipped to the side before you began to laugh nervously, there was nothing there.

- But in an instant, it felt as though the entire room was alive and that; even though you were completely alone, there was someone or something there with you. The distinct feeling of being watched filled you and you felt a twinge of panic invade your senses. You quickly made your way towards your back door and stepped outside …only to find that you weren’t in your backyard.

- Before you was the beautiful view of a, well, a labyrinth. It was just like the one in the book. Were you dreaming? You must have been, how else would you be …here.

- You began to walk towards the labyrinth, soon encountering the fairies, Hoggle, the worm. You marveled at the place around you and yet, you were worried. How would you get home?

- The answer wasn’t going to be anywhere outside of the labyrinth, and so you kept on going. Maneuvering your way through obstacle after obstacle, joining up with Hoggle once more who agreed to show you the way out after some bribery and blackmail. It was with Hoggle that you saw him for the first time.

- Well, it wasn’t really him at first, he was sitting on the ground in the shape of a creature-esque beggar. Even if it was him, you wouldn’t have recognized him. You moved closer to Hoggle as the two of you went to pass the blind beggar, creeping past before the creature spoke.

“Your majesty.” Hoggle said and your eyes widened. Stooping slightly, you bowed your head in a show of respect, up until the king made Hoggle confess his “true intentions behind helping you”.

- Unbeknownst to you, the goblin king was jealous of your newfound friendship with the ghastly little man and sought to squash it. Playing the role of kind king, he watched your reaction to the news, hiding his glee and making a face of teasing disappointment at the Hoggle.

“And you Y/n,” he turned his attention towards you, a smirk settling on his face as he leaned against the wall in front of you. “How are you enjoying my labyrinth?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful,” you fumbled for the right words to say, your throat dry and your stomach filled with butterflies. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, the good and the bad. But …I would like to know the way home....”

- He tsked at you before offering you a deal. If you managed to arrive at his castle in the next thirteen hours, then you could leave. But if you couldn’t, you would have to stay with him forever. With no other option, you accepted the challenge.

- Of course, he tries to foil all of your plans and attempts. Every now and again, he’ll drop in and make your mission harder. He’s always very smug whenever he messes you up and makes you take a longer route, though; at the same time, he wants you to arrive at his castle as soon as possible.

- Throughout his visits, he’ll try and win you over. Trying to impress you with his powers and woo you with his charms.

- Not many people have gotten as far as you have so believe me; he’s impressed. Though he also feels jealous as he watches you express any affection to the creatures of the labyrinth and your new friends. He threatens them every time they leave your sight.

- Regardless of his attempts to throw you off track, you do in fact make it to the castle in time. Thoroughly distraught, he offers you a final desperate deal though it sounds more like a plea. Let him rule you. Stay with him, fear him, love him. Do as he says, and he will be your slave.

- The offer makes you freeze, your heart and mind racing. For a long moment, you remain silent before you slowly open your mouth and give him your answer. Yes, you’ll stay.

- The smile he gives you is genuine and the world around you begins to put itself back together. Soon enough, you’re standing in the room full of staircases, a hopeful feeling rising within you.

“Come, let us pick your new room.” He offers you his hand and you take it, allowing him to lead you into the corridor of the castle.

- The two of you have dinner that night and both of you would consider it to be your first date. Candle light, flowers, the occasional rambunctious goblin; it was beautifully strange and you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

- The two of you share your first kiss in one of the many gardens of the Labyrinth. You were admiring the flowers and he was standing beneath a shady tree, admiring you; something he does very often.

- Out of nowhere, he stalked out from his shaded corner, hands behind his back as he leans down and kisses you. No words spoken, no questions asked and certainly no complaints made. He pulled away and you smiled up at him, though he was looking at the flowers in front of you. He only returned your smile as you turned back to the flowers happily, his heart full of adoration and gratitude.

- The two of you would only remain together forever ...not long at all.

- You’re only ever in the company of goblins and/or other creatures; and he couldn’t care less about their comfort or opinions, so pda isn’t really a problem for him. The only problem with Pda is the fact that he doesn’t want to appear too soft in front of his subjects.

- Passionate, breathtaking kisses that make you weak in the knees and send a wave of heat coursing through you.

- He loves when you come to spend time with him; or just to see him, on your own accord, even if you’re technically disrupting something. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’ll say, his face brightening as you come into view or the instant he hears your voice.

- He craves your affection and attention, even though he’s good at hiding it. He knows that he’s been “alone” for a very long time but it still genuinely surprises him when he’s reminded as to how much he’s actually missed having a companion.

- He always gives you a closed lip smile whenever you kiss him on the cheek. How big it is depends on the situation.

- He loves when you play with his hair, he’ll lay between your legs and toy with his crystals while you braid or twirl his teased locks.

- Getting to hear him sing. He usually pulls you into a dance while he does so.

- He’s quite fond of terms of endearment, he likes that only he is truly allowed to call you them and you him. Usually, he’ll call you love, darling, pet, and my queen.

- He’s a cuddler but you aren’t allowed to let anyone know that. Most of the time, the two of you will sleep with your head on his chest, one of your hands in his and his other arm wrapped around you, keeping you close.

- He likes tracing his fingers across your skin, usually your bare back while you’re laying on your stomach next to him in bed.

- Hand kisses.

- Constant compliments and praise.

“Well don’t you look ravishing~”

- He plays little tricks on you from time to time. I’m fairly certain that he’s; at least, part fae and we all know that they’re mischievous little bastards.

- Occasionally getting spooked by him because he’ll just appear somewhere close to you out of nowhere, usually with an expression that tells you that he knew exactly what he was doing.

- He enjoys the banter that the two of you get into. He likes the little smiles he can force you into making with his teasing comments.

- Sometimes, he’ll just drape himself across you; or lay his head on some part of you, and start a conversation as though nothing is out of the ordinary; which is true because he does it enough that you’ve gotten used to it.

“Do you think it’s too much?”

- Telling him about your dreams and the little odd things that happen to you throughout the day, even though he most likely already knows about them. He finds it amusing to listen to you describe them either way.

- He likes having your full attention. He likes the feeling of being yearned for and adored, though he adores you the same amount if not more.

- He’s sorta clingy though he tries his best to hide just how clingy he is. You get little glimpses of it every now and again, like him dropping in to see what you’re doing throughout the day or having you stay close to his side whenever you can.

- He’s a; for the most part, chivalrous gentleman, even when you’re testing his patience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve just had an argument, he’s still offering you his hand to steady yourself with while climbing up the castle steps.

- Getting his capes draped over your shoulders.

- Getting to hear all of his stories about the land, the labyrinth, and all of the creatures that inhabit it.

- You definitely sit on his lap while he’s in his throne, having little conversations while the goblins jeer at each other and cause trouble around you.

- You try to get him to be nicer to the goblins and all the other creatures of the labyrinth but old habits die hard; especially since he sees them as below him. He tries though, mainly to please you.

- You’re somewhat feared by association; at least until they get to know you, which means everyone is pretty much always incredibly nice to you, even if they’re usually rude to people. After they do get to know you, then they just begin to genuinely like you enough to be kind to you.

- Although, they revert back to their; understandably, timid selves when Jareth shows up. You can; quite literally, tell when the king shows up because their smiles will drop and their eyes will widen, some cowering slightly as you glance behind your shoulder, finding the blonde watching you.

- Masquerade balls thrown in your honor.

- Strange but delicious meals.

- Nights spent in front of a fire, cuddled into his side and watching different places and dreams in his crystals.

- Watching the sun rise and set together.

- You get anything your heart desires, all you have to do is ask or mention something in passion. He’ll either leave it for you to find in your room or manifest it right then and there, raising an eyebrow at you and smirking, a sparkling little glint in his eyes.

- Magic tricks. He enjoys seeing the wonder and awe on your face.

- Hugs from behind.

- Catching him talking to the goblins about you. It’s always something that you can’t help but find cute.

- Getting dressed up in extravagant clothing. He enjoys seeing you in proper goblin ruler fashion.

- You assume your queenly duties and take it upon yourself to make the labyrinth a better place wherever you can. He doesn’t understand your need to be kind but he does find it quite adorable when you return home with dirtied clothing and mussed up hair; usually out of breath with a big smile on your face, having spent the day helping the citizens of the labyrinth.

“Well look at your dress. You’ve ruined it.” He’ll say, usually in such a fond teasing manner that you can’t help but let out a little laugh.

- All the goblins adore you, even if you don’t necessarily fit in with them and the king. They like your little quirks and contrasting personality traits as much as they like the ones that match theirs.

- Occasionally stepping in to stop him from making brash; and oftentimes cruel, decisions.

- He’s incredibly jealous. Anytime he sees someone talking to you in a relatively “too friendly” way, he’ll threaten them with the bog of eternal stench or some other horrible part of his land.

- He’s very protective of you, the labyrinth can be a very dangerous place for someone who doesn’t truly know where they’re going. He always insists that you have someone accompany you; which you usually have no problem with. He also watches you from his crystals whenever he feels that something is wrong.

- You cant be sure but you guess that Jareth has something to do with the barn owl that follows you on your little journeys through the land.

- Arguments here and there. He usually ends up either shutting you down or snapping at you, though he doesn’t ever yell. Just to be petty, you’ll ignore him and occasionally go to stay somewhere else, usually being wholeheartedly yet wearily accepted into the home of one of your strange friends.

- He’s extremely irritable during these cold shoulder sessions, snapping at the goblins more than usual and ranting to them about how you “could dare just walk out on” him. He usually makes the creatures/goblins try to convince you to talk to him. Eventually, he’ll visit, telling you that you’re acting childish before breaking; as you refuse to say a word to him, and desperately trying to get you to forgive him.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” constantly but he does say it very often. Even so, it doesn't change how special it feels every time he says it.

- He wants to marry you as soon as he can but he thinks he’ll wait for children for a little while, wanting to savor your lives together before making a new one. As surprising as it may be, he genuinely does like children and is eager to have his own, especially with you.

#80s movie imagine #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #labyrinth imagine #labyrinth headcanons #labyrinth headcanon #labyrinth imagines #jareth imagine #jareth headcanons #jareth headcanon #jareth imagines #jareth x reader

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wh6res · 4 years ago

Text

taeyong — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. when your soulmate gets a wound or cut, flowers bloom on the same spot in your body.

synopsis. you’re desperate to meet your soulmate. maybe you can put a stop to the flowers stubbornly blooming on your wrists.

warnings. tread cautiously. mentions of mental illness (depression, attempted suicide), swearing, manipulation, implied self-harm, dubious content, forced relationship, unconsensual touching near the end, ty pulling the sadboi agenda

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

by the time you’re graduating high school, you’re used to the sorry glances people sent your way.

for someone so young, you have more flowers blooming on your skin than any adult. a few small pieces of it blooming in the corner of your cheek, near the jawline. a few of them on your thighs.

but the most concerning piece is the one on your wrists that are fully covered by the flowers, your skin nowhere to be seen with all the lilies of the valley tainting your skin.

yet the worse has got to be the summer before senior year. you had been halfway done with the college entrance examination for a local university. your parents said the pain you felt the first time will turn into a mild itch whenever the flowers form on your skin.

it started small, absentmindedly scratching at something on your neck. initially, you thought it was the heat, your sweat, and the fabric of your clothes irritating the sensitive skin. but when you walked up to the proctor to turn in your exam, you knew that apologetic stare like nothing else—but his eyes had flickered down to your neck.

when your friends blew up your phone, asking where you are to celebrate, you lied and headed straight back home, head ducked, collars upturned, hiding the lilies of the valley wrapped around your throat like some insignia.

a year later, you end up studying soulmate theory in university. they say it’s a useless course as there can be no scientific explanation to soulmates. you like thinking you chose the course because of sheer interest but really, you’re just finding an explanation, some external reason that probably bore no results but you trudged forward anyway.

you’re restless in the pursuit of finding him—or her, you couldn’t care less. the hurt you feel weighs heavy in your heart each time you feel them blooming on your wrist, mind plagued with worry.

your roommate interrupts your deep thinking as she practically throws herself onto your bed. “i have an idea!” she cheers, determined. “why not part-time in the school clinic? that way if people come in, you can compare their cuts to your flowers.”

“now, you just might be onto something there.”

the hunt for your soulmate still wasn’t easy despite working in the university’s clinic and it only got worse each day. your schedule is killing you, you’re slightly getting behind in some subjects, and you practically live in the library.

contrary to popular opinions, soulmate theory can be a fucking bitch to study about. what with learning psychology, astrology, and botany all together. it was interesting how all these things can be factors in how people are paired to become soulmates. interesting, but rather complicated in a sense, too.

they say psychology and astrology dealt with two people’s compatibility. while botany, the meanings of the flowers themselves, was theorized to predict how the soulmate connection will affect their relationship—ultimately, roses were a really, really good sign.

you have been busy messing up your hair, utterly frustrated and irate—astronomy’s messing with your head and you can’t go a minute without scratching your wrists as the flowers bloomed after the other.

then something unexpected happened.

a lanky guy dressed in an all-black ensemble walked into the clinic. well, it was more of a being carried between two guys by the arms rather than walked in. everything about his clothes looked way too big to fit his delicate frame and it hardly looked like it was for fashion style purposes. his skin hugged his body to the bone, eyes sunken, and he looked so frail that a tiny shove would’ve sent him sprawled on the floor.

his name was taeyong and he lied on the bed unconscious, with handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists like bandages—courtesy of his friends, who looked deathly worried for the fate of their poor friend. if he had lost any more blood, he would’ve died. you had never seen the clinic in such chaos, people running around, anxious. your leg muscles were sore from going back and forth from the nurse’s side to the cabinets storing all the medical supplies she needed.

it had been a whirlwind, and after your superior had patched and properly bandaged his cuts, you were left to look after him in the meantime as nurse jung tried contacting his guardian.

his friends—who you learned were named yuta and jaehyun, were snoozing outside on the bench across the hall, parallel with the clinic’s double-glass door, as they waited for their friend to wake up.

depression. suicidal. taeyong has been like that for his whole life, jaehyun stated earlier. you can only shoot a sorry look at the unconscious boy lying on the hospital bed.

it had already been dark outside when you came in to switch out his bandages for new ones—only to realize that his cut is exactly where you had been scratching earlier before he showed up.

you retracted, unbelieving of what that possibly entails. along the way, you’ve pieced together that your soulmate is probably struggling through something heavy, something that weighed him down so much that it made him believe hurting himself is the only solution, what with all the flowers on your skin.

“it’s him…” you mumble, wide eyed as you eyed the faded scars around his wrists, eerily aligned to the flowers blooming on your own.

you didn’t want to overwhelm him, that much was sure. you didn’t want to chase him away if he gets uncomfortable. so for weeks you started leaving anonymous notes in his locker. not the sappy love letter types, just little words of encouragement that could make his day better.

when their friend breaks out into the tiniest of smiles, yuta and jaehyun’s thankful eyes would scour around the halls. sneakily looking for you behind taeyong’s back. they understood where you’re coming from and hadn’t spoken a word of disagreement when you told them you didn’t plan to make yourself known as his soulmate yet.

and as if the notes were not enough, you start giving him his favorite starbucks drink every now and then—on days the flowers didn’t bloom as much as it normally would. you turn up half an hour early before lectures so you can place it on the table where he usually sits with his two best friends. even if his class is on the other side of campus, you’d still go.

but it only took three weeks of creeping around until you’re caught by your soulmate himself.

“do you want something from me?”

you didn’t know what to say, cat got your tongue as you stood before him holding the drink. you couldn’t weasel your way out and say the drink’s yours, not when he caught you standing before his usual seat, not when you were already leaning forward to place it on his desk.

“uhm… i…” you stutter pathetically, not being able to meet the intensity of his eyes.

“jaehyun and yuta aren’t exactly the most lowkey, especially with how much their eyes wander when i open my locker. so, do you want something from me? what are you playing at, stalker?”

the name he called you stung like a bitch but you can’t blame him for it. you knew him, he doesn’t know you. you’re giving him gifts anonymously. even if they were all from the goodness of your heart, from an outsider’s view, your actions still appeared sketchy.

“soulmate,” you correct him.

you watch his features twist into confusion, only for it to morph into shock once he’s digested what you just said. eventually, he schools his expression back to indifference. his stoic face is so intimidating, you thought, biting your bottom lip and fidgeting on your toes.

“what?”

“i’m your—i’m your soulmate.”

his eyes flicker downwards to peak a glance at the bouquet of flowers painted on your skin. colors as beautiful and vibrant as the day you got them, the stems of the bell-shaped flowers intricately woven into each other. for a split second, you even twist your arms a little, showing him the rock hard proof of your claim.

ever since you found him, you’ve always contemplated for the better part of your limited free time about what his reaction will be when he finds out you two are soulmates. will he accept you? or worse case scenario, pretend you didn’t exist? the possibilities are unknown especially with someone who seems to be going through so much that the last thing they wanted is this person who thinks they’re entitled to be part of their lives because the universe made it be that way.

not that you feel entitled… taeyong can reject you all he wants and you’ll give him the space he needs—

he’s crying.

and not the simple, small tears slowly streaming down his face one by one type of crying, no, his tears were an onslaught. full-on sobbing as he threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, words heavily muffled by your coat.

“is it—” he hiccups. “true?”

you blink, from all the reactions you’ve gone through in your head, crying was the very last thing you expected from him—crying and hugging you like you’re the last person on earth and he’s been touch-starved until he found you.

maybe that was the case.

you wonder what jaehyun and yuta felt whenever taeyong ditched them to spend time with you—and that was pretty much all the time since he’s found you. he’s like a puppy, following you around wherever you go (unless he has classes) and had been neglecting his friends. whether it was intentional or not, whether his two friends were cool with it or not, you don’t know.

you try your best to smile every time he runs up to you on the other end of the hall, spotting you coming out of your own respective classroom after lectures are done.

he’s beaming like a child, inviting you to this cafe he wants to take you to—and pathetic ‘lil ‘ol you just can’t seem to say no to those huge expecting eyes.

but you’re not blind to the slight scowl on yuta’s face nor the razor sharp smile on jaehyun’s features. they want to hang out together, just boys, but now there’s this soulmate who’s suddenly more important than them—what happened to bros before hoes?

but they knew taeyong needed you. heck, he never once smiled like the way he did before he met you. it was like he’s become this whole new person with a child-like innocence reflecting his eyes.

“so?” your soulmate prompts just as his two friends came over, flanking him.

taeyong deflates the moment he sees the hesitance in your eyes. “uhm… i actually have a shift in the clinic, and nurse jung said the clinic isn’t some hang out place, so you can’t, uhh…” you trail, not wanting to finish the sentence.

a little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right?

taeyong shouldn’t depend on you all the time, not when he also has friends who care about his well-being and mental health just as much as you do. being soulmates didn’t mean he has to spend every waking moment with you and the faster he realizes, the better.

when you dashed away before he could even mutter out a reply, you miss the frown on his face, his eyes never once leaving your frame until you turned the corner.

people often favor the underdog. they have this gnawing urge in their gut to sympathize and unknowingly root for their own plot twist or happy ending.

people look at you and your soulmate and think you have poor, suicidal and depressed and sad taeyong eating at the palm of your hand, following you around like a lonely duckling—the undeniable underdog in a coming-of-age movie, the person shoved around until some bigger, more capable person comes to their rescue (in this case you, unfortunately).

but appearances have always been deceiving.

your little 3-week head start with getting to know your soulmate had only been on surface-level. you just wanted to help him but taeyong’s obvious attraction—can you even call it that? you’d like to think it’s more of infatuation—is off-putting for you. from standing way too close to putting an arm around you, from walking you to your lectures to walking you home, from the light headpats to having the guts to kiss your cheeks.

it’s too much and it wasn’t as if you basked in the public display of affection. whenever you tried telling him off in the most gentlest of ways, taeyong would frown and curl in on himself, eyes glossy, darting around, and looking like a kicked puppy.

you couldn’t leave him like that just because of some harmless skinship, right? he’s just excited and happy he’s found you. weren’t you also the first one to initiate? with all those notes and gifts you’ve given him? and now you’re backing away just because of a few touches?

“you know,” your roommate plops herself on the couch next to you, netflix movie playing as background. “you’re not obligated to fix him. you’re his soulmate, not his psychiatrist.”

you sigh, head diving into the couch pillows. “i’m not trying to fix him, i’m just…”

she raises a prodding eyebrow.

“…i’m just trying to be there for him.”

taeyong likes to think that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but the sense of rush and sick pleasure running up and down his spine whenever you force a smile and give in to his wishes proves otherwise.

all his life he’s been pushed around. tasked to buy his old man beer and cigarettes and an assortment of drugs. if he turns up empty handed, guess who becomes a punching bag? and he has always been alienated throughout his school life. immature elementary kids aren’t exactly the kindest and would’ve picked on every single thing to appear cool to their friend groups. and poor little scrawny taeyong who didn’t speak and didn’t defend himself was just too easy of a target.

“uhm… you don’t—don’t need to walk me home all the time.” do you think so low of him that you believe he doesn’t sense your fake little giggle?

“but i like walking you home,” he pouts, jutting his lips just a wee bit more for extra measure. he makes sure his eyes are as round and glossy as can be, he noticed those puppy eyes are what gets to you the most.

he can tell by your tense shoulders, the clear hesitance in your face, that smile that looked too sweet to be real, and your averting eyes. you needn’t say anything for taeyong to figure you out. he isn’t blind to the lack of comfort you’ve developed by being with him.

he has to think of something or else you’ll be slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

he asked you out on valentine’s day. it wasn’t the simple, forgettable act of popping out the “hey, do you want to go out on a date with me?” question while holding a bouquet of flowers. taeyong made sure you’ll never forget this certain day that he had laid his claim on you—not that it needed to be vocalized, it was his wounds that made flowers bloom on your skin. the soulmate connection should be enough.

but taeyong wanted to go the extra mile.

with the help of his friends (yuta’s popular and jaehyun can be very persuasive), he’s got people handing you lilies of the valley every ten feet until you reach the auditorium in the main building. despite it blooming on your skin you’ve never really seen them in the flesh. they’re like dew drops, bell-like flowers growing in an elegant dip from it’s main stem and appearing no bigger than your thumb.

you were awed, but skeptical.

you meet taeyong by the end of your little journey, standing on a decorated stage with a bouquet of the flowers nestled delicately in his hands. the natural sunlight bleeding through the open windows giving him such a beautiful glow that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. he had smiled and timidly gave you the flowers while asking.

“will you be my girlfriend?”

if only you’d look close enough, that sugar coated smile contrasted greatly to the sly flickers in his eyes. he knows how your actions are dictated by the reputation you’ve built. taeyong knows you'll say yes, because if you didn't, how could you have rejected your own soulmate who has made you the light of his life? he’s been nothing but kind to you and you’ve only pushed him away! you’re a monster! you should’ve saved him!

if him alone can’t make you say yes, maybe the pressure-induced stare of the whole student body can.

and as you shivered amidst taeyong’s suffocating hug, feeling the triumphant smirk against your head and his prodding nose as he sniffed your hair, you now understood why your body bloomed this specific woodland flower.

lilies of the valley are beautiful.

but lilies of the valley are poisonous, too.

the flowers remind you of taeyong.

making things official has only made things worse. taeyong has promised you that after being together he won’t try hurting himself anymore and that he’s a big boy and he can attend his therapy sessions alone. but the itching in your skin is as constant as ever and you just got off the phone with the receptionist of the clinic he goes to.

“are things alright? i haven’t seen taeyong since three weeks ago.”

if there’s one thing you absolutely hate doing with your soulmate, it’s confrontations. for the three months you’ve been together, taeyong has always, always spiraled out whenever you confront him about something. be it the mildest or the most superficial thing, what started out small will turn into a complete whirlwind and he’d be in a fit of tears by the end of it.

every single time.

you prefer happy taeyong than sad taeyong—if you can avoid it for as long as you can, you will. but you’re at your breaking point. him lying to you about his therapy sessions is the pin that popped the little balloon of security you’ve been protecting.

when you arrive home, he’s already there, crouched and sifting through your bookshelf. it wasn’t a surprise or anything out of the ordinary, he possesses the key to invite himself into your apartment any time. “hey, you’re home!” he immediately stands, barreling towards you.

he encircles his arms around you protectively as he pulls you flush against his body. you feel the tip of his nose prodding against your neck, hearing him inhaling your scent like cannabis.

you learned to ignore it, this habit of his—but just because you do doesn’t make you any less uncomfortable than the first time he did it.

you don’t bother hugging him back.

you were too pissed off to keep up with pretenses.

“the clinic called, said you weren’t attending your sessions. why were you lying to me?”

when pushed into a corner, you were never one to beat around the bush.

“i don’t like going alone, i told you that, remember?” he quickly replied, shoving you away. “i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just come with me for my sessions, don’t you think? you’re blowing this out of proportion when it’s all your fault.”

you wanted to pull at your hair. scratch that, you wanted to pull at his hair—no, not in that kind of way.

“how the fuck—” you stop. taeyong hates it when you curse. cursing will do you more harm than good. you inhale through your nostrils, willing yourself to calm down. “how is this my fault? i told you i have to run errands for professor kim!”

“then quit working there! they’re not even paying you, it’s just for extra credit! which you wouldn’t even fucking need if you weren’t flunking astronomy so bad.” taeyong must’ve seen your features twisting into that of betrayal. he was there when you were crying your eyes out because you failed the exam. he knew the subject was taking such a big toll on you.

how could he…

“don’t fucking look at me like that, kitten. you know it’s the truth.”

what is the point of this, some form of payback he’s subjecting you to? just because you didn’t come with him to his sessions? six months in this relationship and you already feel so drained, how would the universe expect you to keep up for a whole fucking lifetime together with him?

“why…” you choke, the tears building up in your eyes as your voice breaks. “so what do you want me to do, then?” you ask, because you genuinely don’t know.

does he want you to choose? is that it? you didn’t want to lose the credits, but you didn’t want to lose this relationship either, no matter how much you’re drowning in the toxicity of it all.

because this is your soulmate.

certainly, the universe wouldn’t destine you to each other if it would only bring forth chaos, right? taeyong has mentioned time and time again that this is his first relationship. of course, he’s depending on you to show him the ropes.

but it seems he isn’t really a big fan of how you do things.

“quit.”

you shake your head defeatedly. “you know i can’t. i’d have to take the whole subject again next semester and—”

“i said quit, dollface.” the finality in his tone renders you speechless. “then fucking take the subject again next semester! i don’t care. that’s your consequence for neglecting your major. why the fuck do i have to suffer, too, if my soulmate is such a failure?”

his words cut deep, deeper than flesh, cutting through bone as your knees the urge to buckle and collapse before him. “taeyong, please—”

“honestly, i don’t even know what you’re doing with that professor. you always brush it off whenever i ask you!” the glare he sends could kill. “is this… is this why you’re so adamant about not quitting? then again… what kind of professor is willing to pass his students just by interning for him? i can’t believe i’m only realizing this now!”

this is bad. this is very, very bad.

“whatever you’re thinking about is not true! trust me—”

but as if he can’t hear you, he dawdles on, trying to connect the dots when there is absolutely nothing to connect.

“you suck dick for grades? how could you do this to me? how can you do that to yourself?”

you don’t understand exactly why he’s crying again so you don’t say anything. not because his fierce accusations were right but because even if you try hard to convince him that nothing is going on with your astronomy professor, he’d still cry and whine and paint you to be the bad guy.

“what… what use do i have in this world if my soulmate thinks i’m not enough? and i lost you to some guy who smelled like prunes of all people!” you would have laughed if the situation had been different, but taeyong was dead serious. “i’m useless. i’ve been useless with my family, my friends, and now you. i can never do anything right, can i? i can never make anyone stay. i can’t even make you stay!”

and like a switch that has been flicked off, your conflicted emotions vanish in thin air. gone are every trickle of anger, confusion, and irritation you felt as he makes a beeline to the coffee table, smashing the little ornamental fish bowl and pointing a shard against his dainty wrists.

“no!” you tackle him to the ground, groaning when you feel the shard dig into your side yet you made no effort to get off of him. blindly, you reach, twisting his wrist to drop the piece of glass. “you promised!” you wail, clutching the collars of his shirt as you pull him close to you. “stop, stop hurting yourself.”

you feel him shaking his head, his own onslaught of tears staining your shirt as the negativity he’s been bottling pours over like a tsunami, dragging you under the currents with him. “no, no, no…” you splutter, snot running disgustingly down your nostrils. “it’s not true, none of that is true. you’re my love, my moonlight, i’d never betray you for anyone or anything!”

“but—but your professor, the internship—”

“i’ll quit. i’ll take the subject again next semester, it’s not a big deal, okay? don’t worry, i’m here. i’m so sorry!”

it was all too easy.

the thing with noble people like you is the foolish sense of responsibility lying underneath your skin, it’s gravitational pull so strong that you don’t bother to think before you speak, to think before you act, to think before you make promises, because what’s important isn’t yourself, it’s the person lying meek and helpless before you.

quit, you say? taeyong wants something more.

the evil lying inside pandora’s box can never remain dormant, not when meddlesome people like you who think with a one-track mind pull the lid off its hinges, preaching how every evil can have their own redemption.

a hand finds purchase around your waist as an eerie blissful smile stretches on his lips, eyes clouded over. “really? i’m your moonlight?”

“yes—”

“would you prove it to me?”

he doesn’t make room for your hesitance to settle, he lunges, hands wrapping around your face to pull you into a kiss. it wasn’t like all the other kisses you’ve shared with him, no, this one had a dark, underlying purpose. his hands digging into your open wound to make it bleed, tongue sliding into your mouth the moment you gasped in pain.

your hands press on his chest, trying to push him away but taeyong’s thoughts are running wild. you blush in sheer humiliation when he lets out an almost pornographic moan. with a sinking realization, you’ve become hyper aware of something poking at your abdomen.

no, not yet. you weren’t ready yet!

“taeyong, wait—i’m not—”

“you said you love me, didn’t you?”

#nct imagines #taeyong imagines #nct scenarios #taeyong scenarios #yandere taeyong #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #idk how to tag stuff geez

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ephemerlskies · 4 years ago

Text

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments.

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you.

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his.

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing.

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride.

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly.

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow.

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook.

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right.

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away.

“I suppose you hate everything I love.”

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.”

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question.

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight.

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now.

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear.

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly.

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear.

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall.

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours.

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability.

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him.

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents.

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh.

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder.

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter.

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you.

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed.

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray.

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning.

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him.

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning.

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth.

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details.

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you.

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that.

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now.

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.”

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once.

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?”

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened.

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded.

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan.

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt.

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder.

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them.

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!”

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?”

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity.

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you.

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep.

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself.

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.”

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head.

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her.

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world.

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you.

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete.

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing.

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.”

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook.

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday.

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter.

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon.

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him.

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily.

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him.

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.”

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him.

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant.

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.”

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender.

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.”

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination.

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train.

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.”

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could.

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked.

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder.

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement.

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available.

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot.

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia.

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook.

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.”

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way.

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…”

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon.

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift.

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital.

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with.

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart.

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air.

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it.

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing.

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon.

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts writing #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #bts enemies to lovers #musician!jungkook #of honey and cinnamon #rubycoast

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Ultimatum”

Welcome back, everyone! We had an unexpected break last week due to the horror going on in Texas. I'm glad we did. Not because of any salty "RWBY is bad right now yay free Saturday" feelings, but because keeping to a schedule for a fictional webseries should never take precedence over peoples' safety. I can't believe I need to type that sentence out, but it's true! Over the last seven days I've seen fans who are not merely disappointed by the mini hiatus (understandable) but outright hostile towards the crew because they... were ensuring everyone survived during an unprecedented emergency? Yeah. Given the highly critical nature of these recaps — including today's! — I want to be clear that my thoughts towards Rooster Teeth's creative choices are distinct from any thoughts about the crew itself, including the most basic forms of compassion like, “I sure hope everyone is okay over there.” In an age where it has become horrifically common to harass creators and even send them death threats over stories, it has likewise become necessary to remind people: Don't do that shit. Never do that shit. If I can teach anyone anything at all, let it be that!

Anyway, dark fandom reminders out of the way, let's dive straight into our delayed episode. It was certainly a doozy. Titled "Ultimatum," we open on a trigger warning for flashing lights. Good on Rooster Teeth for including that, though I do wonder if creators shouldn't be including time stamps as well? Or perhaps a note that you can find those time stamps in the credits, avoiding any (minor) spoilers for everyone else? I'm not photosensitive myself, so I certainly don't mean to speak for that group, but my first thought was, "So how would I watch this episode if I was? Hand on the pause button, hoping I stop fast enough as soon as the lights start?" Hard to do given the surprise nature of the scene. Really, my answer would be, "Wait for the fandom to post warnings of their own, likely including where it happens so I know when to skip" which is perhaps an indication that this information that should be included from the get-go.

But I am glad the warning exists, regardless. The episode itself begins with a shot of Ironwood looking down at the kingdom. He's used his windows as a vantage point since Volume 7, so that's nothing new, but something about this particular shot reminded me of Ozpin, looking down from his tower. I'm sure the response from many would be simply, "Ah yes, the two power hungry dictators watching over their victims," but I think there's a much more nuanced reading here about leaders being expected to fix the literally unfixable and what that responsibility does to an individual. Of course, it's a nuance that is absolutely obliterated by the episode’s end, but the implication existed for a hot second!

Two other soldiers are in the room with Ironwood, reporting that Cinder has helped Watts escape. They try to soften this with news that they still have Jacques in custody, but receive only a, "I don't give a damn about Jacques Schnee." Which, fair. He's pretty useless at this point. It's when Ironwood learns that both Qrow and Robin escaped too that he really gets mad, something his subordinates have been expecting given their scared expressions.

Now, I'm treading lightly here because I realize how this is going to sound given the end of our episode, but I still want to note that outside of that ending... this is a weird take? Just hear me out. Since Volume 7 the show has worked very hard to make Ironwood seem scary and unstable — bad setup for what we end with today — but the problem is that none of it works in context and it certainly doesn't work when compared to other characters' actions. They are literally in the midst of an unwinnable battle and thousands of his people are dying. If the audience wants a human being — who also just lost a limb and was betrayed by half his allies — o remain perfectly poised and polite during that, sorry, but that's not how human beings work. But even beyond this, what’s the message here? Ironwood raises his voice, so does Yang. Ironwood hits his desk, Qrow hits a child. If we're going to examine how Ironwood handles his stress and anger, he often handles it better than many of our heroes. Namely, by continually taking that anger out on inanimate objects. I kept waiting for him to attack his subordinates or attack Winter this episode, especially given where we end up, but it never came. Ironwood always has enough control to break the desk or punch the wall, not the person in front of him. Which, of course, would not be a good thing in the real world. I want to be clear given these sensitive subjects that if someone is breaking things in your presence that's a major problem to address. But this isn't the real world. This is a fantasy world in the middle of a war, populated by other characters who express their anger by punching people, slamming them into walls, or screaming at them until they run away. The story wants us to fear Ironwood long before he makes his objectively horrific choices and it tries to achieve that by showing us characters who are clearly terrified in his presence, by giving us a string of broken objects in his wake. But those details don't land well when we compare them to other instances of stress. In the same volume I have watched Ironwood take a deep breath to calm himself down when things have gone horribly wrong. I've also watched Weiss start a conversation by threatening her defenseless brother. So again, what’s the message here? It can’t be that acting violently towards someone = villainous behavior because, as established since Volume 6, that’s common for the heroes. Why are these subordinates terrified about Ironwood slamming his fist on a table, but Whitley has no problem hugging the woman who threatened him? Obviously there is a HUGE difference between our main group and Ironwood when it comes to other actions (cough-bomb threats-cough), but these day-to-day moments don't match up. The show wants to use violence as a way for us to easily identify the Bad Guy while ignoring all the times when our heroes do the same thing.

All of which isn't meant to be a defense of Ironwood. As we'll see in a bit, there is no defense for what he's done. Rather, it's a way of acknowledging just how badly he's been written. Why does a man who consistently reins in his anger and takes it out on objects suddenly shoot a councilman for literally no reason? Why does a man defined by wanting to save as many people as he can suddenly threaten to bomb his city? Ironwood's characterization is all over the place, in the sense that they keep writing him as the morally gray, sometimes harsh, but ultimately compassionate man he started out as... up until they need a villain. Salem isn't here yet, so Ironwood can shoot Oscar. Salem isn't attacking yet, so Ironwood can shoot the councilman. Salem is currently reforming, so Ironwood can threaten YJR and Mantle. He's the B-plot villain whenever Salem is out of commission, which is a problem for both their characterizations. This filler doesn't make sense for Ironwood and it severely undermines the threat of Salem. You finally introduce the Magical Big Bad and our heroes are facing more of a threat from a guy with a broken army and three loyal allies left? Hmmm.

The tl;dr is that Ironwood's arc is a disaster and, frankly, it's gotten old reading simplified takes of, "It's just a realistic look at what white U.S. men will do in power sweetie :) " RWBY does not have the context capable of conveying that sort of critical take because our world is not besieged by literal monsters and an immortal witch, to say nothing of how real life good guys do not get deus ex machina canes that fix the problem instantaneously. Ironwood is not an example of anti-U.S. imperialism, he's an example of writers who don't know how to write.

Anyway, I'm getting severely off topic. Obviously Ironwood is a major part of this episode, but the problems demonstrated here are two years in the making. This is the culmination of things I've been discussing for months across hundreds of posts... so I should probably stop trying to summarize it all in a few paragraphs lol. Perhaps when RWBY is over — or Ironwood has died — I'll do a single meta on his character, try to pull everything into one, unified argument.

For now though, we have an episode to analyze.

While Ironwood is receiving this news we get flashbacks to Qrow and Robyn. Qrow attacks a soldier in his bird form, which is hilarious. Someone GIF that please. It does raise some interesting questions about this magic though: does Qrow retain his aura and strength in this form (something I thought given his choice to transform during the explosion), or was that soldier just so shocked at being attacked by a crow that he went down easy? We'll never know, because that would require establishing concrete rules for this world. The point is Qrow is going feral in his freedom, throwing punches left and right — did he kill that guard? — while Robyn watches it all from under a rock. They're apparently still somewhere in the facility since all the exits are guarded, but that's not the good thing Ironwood seems to think it is. After all, Qrow is out to murder him. He wants to be there.

We all see where this is going, right? The show is going to ignore Qrow's crazy belief that Ironwood got Clover killed in favor of a "Qrow saved Mantle by murdering Ironwood"/“Qrow got revenge for Mantle by murdering Ironwood” ending. Who cares why Qrow wanted to kill him in the first place now that Ironwood has his finger on the trigger? If RWBY is good at anything, it's writing moments that encourage you to ignore everything that came before it. We'll be seeing more of that in just a bit.

"Damn it!" Ironwood yells, because the show is leaning into its cursing. He orders that the subordinates not return until "you have Qrow Branwen in custody." Here we have another great example of the show conflating what the audience knows with what other characters know. See, we know Qrow has a vendetta against Ironwood. We know their relationship is the important one to the story and that Robyn is incidental. Ironwood doesn't know that. There's no reason for him, as a character, to specify that they only bring Qrow back, but it makes sense for the audience who has the whole, thematic picture. Our understanding of the situation is influencing Ironwood's dialogue, which is... not great.

This entire scene we've had creepy music to hammer home just how evil Ironwood is. Except, as said, he takes a breath to calm down and the music fades. Instead of flying into a rage, hurting someone, or doing anything the music suggests he might, Ironwood calmly calls in for an update — which is when the explosion hits.

It's MASSIVE, seeming to originate from a lightning strike, which is weird, since it's coming from inside the whale, but whatever. The animation is very dramatic and pretty, as we've come to expect of RWBY, but the actual plot is lackluster at best. It's funny though because I thought for a hot second, when Winter and the Ace Ops were caught in the blast, that RWBY had actually done something exciting. I mean, holy shit! There are the deaths we expect from a battle like this. My god, what is everyone going to do when they realize that Oscar's needless attack took out five characters, including Weiss' sister —

No wait, never mind. They're fine.

Let's talk about that "needless" descriptor for a moment though. Do you all remember, two weeks ago, when I went, "Hey, why isn't anyone telling Oscar that that Ace Ops are approaching with a bomb? They're on a time limit! If someone would just mention that Very Important Information then Oscar wouldn't keep standing around to fight Salem." See, at the time I was frustrated because of how the plot was needlessly allowing Oscar to put himself in danger (especially when the whole point of this mission was to rescue him). Now, I'm frustrated because that same plot needlessly wasted the most powerful weapon the group had. There was no reason for Oscar to use literal lifetimes worth of stored energy when the heroes already had a bomb to do the same job! What was the point of that? I guess he took out the other grimm too, but without the whale that still would have been a challenge with a finite end, one Ironwood's army and the remaining huntsmen should have been able to handle. It doesn't feel justified to have Oscar use a weapon kept on the bench for lifetimes when there was another option literally minutes away.

There's so much wrong with this I need another list. So:

Ozpin's cane supposedly stores kinetic energy, which may contradict what we've seen from it before. Regardless, we’ve never heard about this. The all powerful weapon comes out of nowhere

It also begs the question of why Ozpin wouldn't use that power at Beacon and why he wouldn't insist that they try to get their cane back while captured. You had an out this whole time! But we’re going to ignore that because Oscar is a little hesitant?

Which makes YJR's presence even more useless than it originally was, which was already pretty useless. Oscar essentially rescued himself

This kinetic energy miraculously doesn't hurt any people or buildings, just grimm

So what is the point of Silver Eyes? That's been their MO since they were first introduced. Sure, Silver Eyes can be used far more often than Ozpin's cane, but it still feels like a let down to learn that the Big Secret behind this weapon is... the exact same thing Ruby has been doing for years

Like Ruby, Oscar likewise didn't need any practice or training. He just set off this massive attack perfectly and without issue

We have now eliminated the biggest threat to the cast instantaneously — the whale and the other grimm — with no effort from the rest of the heroes. Like the Hound, the stakes are obliterated with no satisfying work on the part of our protagonists

Instead, as said, the actual plan already in place never happened. The bomb just... goes back. Kind of like how Cinder attacked and then just went back to Salem. Penny woke up and then just got knocked out again. We continue to go in circles

This is because no one took two seconds to tell Oscar, "There's a bomb on the way"

Because this threat is gone the show needs a new one, hence Ironwood randomly threatening Mantle with said bomb

The one way we might have justified Oscar blowing up the whale instead of Winter is if he did it to save Hazel, but Hazel is implied to be dead

Maybe he's alive, but if he's not that happened off screen and we're not sure how. It couldn't have been because of the blast itself — everyone else is fine — so what, Salem somehow killed him before she was blasted to bits? While he was holding her?

And there's no body?

Salem was torn apart multiple times during that fight and reformed instantaneously, yet now, conveniently, she's taking her time

None of the characters mention the issues above. None of them admit that there was no reason for Oscar to waste LIFETIMES worth of power when they already had a solution in the works. Fantastic

I need to take a moment to acknowledge that so far this recap feels... bad. Disjointed. Bit all over the place. Which makes a certain amount of sense because that's where my thoughts are at. There's so much going on in this episode — so much wrong with it — that I don't know how to boil it all down into a few, neat claims. This episode is a mess! We're barely a few minutes in and the combined issues of Ironwood's characterization and Oscar's choice have left me reeling. So if you're still reading this, bless your patience, I think we'll both need it for the rest of this journey.

Let's snag a neater plot-point to discuss. Amidst all the chaos Neo literally skips away with the Lamp, clearly thrilled at how her own life is going. Later in the episode she'll text Cinder with the obvious: Salem is going to be pretty pissed when she realizes this is gone. “If you want her name you know what you owe me."

So wait... what is Neo leveraging here? Is she agreeing to give the Lamp back so Cinder doesn't get in trouble with Salem? Give Salem the password she's been looking for? Or give Cinder the password to use the Lamp for herself? What would Cinder even want the Lamp for when she's after the Maiden powers? I'm confused about what Cinder is being blackmailed with. Regardless, she needs the lamp for something and presumably what she "owes" Neo is Ruby. We get a cut to her just to hammer that home.

(Side note: both pictures of Neo are hilarious.)

Before that though, back at the whale, everyone is taking stock of the situation when Marrow cries, "Hey, they were still in there!" I feel like this is another scene meant to make him look like the one good guy in the group — he cares about YJOR while the others can’t be bothered — but as always, that reading doesn't fit well with the situation as a whole. The others have barely had time to realize they're alive. I don't think it's a moral failing that they didn't instinctually worry about four betrayers, one of whom attacked them, while they're still checking that they have all their limbs intact. Besides, why does Marrow assume they're dead? The Ace Ops were caught in the blast as well, yet miraculously came out unharmed. They clearly didn't set their own bomb off, so it's logical to assume that YJOR did something themselves. It feels weird to have a "Marrow mourns them and Winter is the only other character who cares" moment when everyone is recovering from bomb shock and no one even knows if the others are dead. But, of course, the show is out to portray only two of these characters as good people, so ignore the logic and run with the emotion of the scene.

All of which is bolstered by Elm pulling away when Vine puts a hand on her shoulder. Why is she acting cold towards him now? Because they're not friends, remember?

While we get more ridiculous relationship dynamics, Ironwood calls in and congratulates them on the bomb working, but tells them to get back because they have another problem in the works. That would be Qrow and Robyn. Winter decides to tell him about the bomb in person.

We cut to Watts and Cinder watching the remnants of the blast from a rooftop. Cinder has tried calling, but no one answered. Unsurprising, given that Salem doesn't have any other allies left. Cinder says that the plan hasn't changed, she's still going to take the Winter Maiden's power for herself, and Watts can help her by bringing Penny here. He explains that he doesn't have full control over her. Rather, he implemented a virus that is setting her on a single path: open the vault, then self-destruct. Cinder, as one might expect, is furious.

She snags Watts by her grimm arm and threatens to toss him over the side of the building. Thus begins the best part of the episode, hands down. Despite the danger he's in, Watts throws common sense out the window in favor of dragging Cinder in the most satisfying manner possible.

“You think you’re entitled to everything just because you suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been is a bloody migraine!”

It's true! You know what else is true? This speech could apply to our heroes as well. Accusations of entitlement and reminders to be smart as opposed to just strong hit hard, considering those are the same flaws our protagonists are struggling with. The difference is that Cinder, miraculously, listens, pulling Watts back to safety and going to cry by herself. That moment is simultaneously more growth than Ruby has gotten and more sympathy than Ironwood has gotten. The woman who murdered Pyrrha is treated more kindly by the narrative than one of our initial heroes and our very first villain has taken more time to reconsider her choices than our title character. You know a show is falling apart when excellent choices are applied to the worst possible character.

So Cinder is crying while Watts looks guilty and we cut back to YJOR's group post-blast. Yang is finally able to answer a call from Blake who is obviously overjoyed to see her. Weiss gives them directions to the mansion and they ask what in the world they'll do with Emerald, currently on her knees, mourning Hazel.

Thus begins the third most frustrating part of this episode. See, on the way back the group continues the conversation about what to do with Emerald, with Yang and Jaune distrusting her vs. Ren and Oscar encouraging cooperation. I can't believe I'm saying this after's Ren's speech and Oscar's entire existence... but I'm team Jaune and Yang here. Look, what Oscar and Ren say — the literal words coming out of their mouth — is nonsense. Ren goes, “We can’t let all of our actions stem from fear," as if Yang and Jaune are being ridiculous for mistrusting Emerald, one of the established villains, after years worth of harm from her. It’s weird that Yang points to her arm as something Emerald is responsible for, rather than being framed or the deaths at Beacon, but the general sentiment of, “She’s done horrible things!” is true. Ren’s perspective is the same simplification that was applied to Ironwood last volume, wherein everyone acted as if he was crazy for fearing an attack on his kingdom... post an attack on another kingdom and pre an attack on his kingdom. Putting generic lines in Ren's mouth about not being afraid makes him sound willfully ignorant, as if choosing to believe that someone is good will magically make them so, to say nothing of thinking it will erase all the harm they've already done.

Oscar at least acknowledges the difficulty here, but then follows this up with, “You don’t have to forgive her… just give her a second chance."

Oscar, honey, that amounts to the same thing in this situation. Allowing Emerald a second chance means working with her, which means trust, which means emotionally reaching a point where these characters can put aside the harm she's done them in an effort to give her that chance in the first place. This actually ties into a post I saw last night, one I've come across before, that claims redemption arcs don't require any suffering on the part of the person who has done wrong. I agree in theory, that prolonged suffering doesn't help anyone, but the problem is that people tend to conflate suffering with consequences and someone who has done this level of harm should face consequences for their actions. The problem with redemption arcs is not that the bad people suffer too much — emotionally and physically beating on them as a form of revenge — but that the people they've harmed are put into situations like this one. If Yang and Jaune let Emerald go like she suggests, they are agreeing that she doesn't have to face any consequences for the damage she's done (which, keep in mind, involves multiple deaths, not including all the lost lives here in Atlas). If they agree to give her a second chance, they are forced to jump straight to some level of forgiveness. We might claim they don't have to forgive Emerald to work with her, but from a practical perspective how are they meant to function, especially during a warzone? Anything she provides them with — information, watching their back in a fight, undertaking missions, etc. — requires trusting her enough to allow those things to happen: working with that info, letting her protect them, allowing her that responsibility. It's all about trust, trust she has yet to earn. In order for a redemption arc to be successful, the power has to be in the hands of the victims. They need to be able to see some justice for what was done to them, be offered some proof that the person in question has truly changed, and have the ability to walk away if they decide no, I don't forgive you, glad to hear you've improved, but please stay out of my life. Jaune and Yang have none of that. There are currently no systems in place for Emerald to face consequences for her choices, she has offered them no proof of her remorse or true motivations, and the other half of the group is pressuring them to give her that second chance without closure or reassurance. None of that makes for a good redemption arc and reducing that to, "So you want to see poor Emerald suffer, huh?" ignores the suffering she has already caused. The group are her victims and they are under no obligation to give her a second chance, particularly under these circumstances, which makes the story's choice to have Ren and Oscar act like Yang and Jaune are being stubborn or inconsiderate a problem. The conversation boils down to, "Give the woman you know to be a liar, manipulator, murder accomplice, and servant of our enemy a second chance based entirely on unfounded faith. If you don't you're letting yourself be ruled by fear."

RWBY's touchy-feely themes really don't sit well within its realistic, morally gray premise. We cannot continually have these characters go through hell one moment and then have others accuse them of being paranoid the next. The fact that all of this is wrapped up in the group trusting Robyn, Emerald, and Hazel over their established allies remains beyond frustrating.

Because yeah, you know how Oscar finishes his speech? “I’ve already gotten a lot of help today from someone I don’t exactly trust right now." Meaning Ozpin.

The story is trying to compare Emerald and Hazel to Ozpin.

"Oh hey, I kept a secret from you after lifetimes of watching that secret lead to betrayal and death. I keep apologizing for my mistakes while ignoring that I had no reason to trust a bunch of kids with such world-shattering information and also that you tore it from me in the most traumatic way possible."

"Oh hey, I willingly joined our world's version of the devil and helped her destroy your school, leading to numerous deaths including your friend and headmaster. It was his death that put Oscar in this position in the first place! I then continued to attack your group, leading to another near death of a friend, and a kidnapping, and the destruction of Amity, until I became scared enough to make a run for it."

Which one of these characters is granted an instant second chance? You'll never guess who!

And I do think the word "instant" is important here because just like Jaune and Yang have the right to have distance and justice from Emerald, they had that right with Ozpin too. The difference is they got it. They had the power in the situation, as evidenced by their use of the Lamp and physically attacking him. Ozpin heard what they needed from him — leave us alone — and did that without complaint. They were given months to come to terms with the secrets he kept. They were offered apologies and acts of service to demonstrate intent: saving them in the airship and continually saving Oscar. I don't believe Ozpin ever needed a redemption arc, but even if we think he did, he had it. After three volumes of material Oscar's perspective is still "I don't exactly trust [him] right now" but Hazel and Emerald have earned at least the same amount of trust in a matter of hours? They're really having my boy look at the guy who has tried desperately to do right by him despite unimaginable circumstances, and the guy who tortured him to get information for Salem, and went, "That first guy. He's the one we need to watch out for."

To make things even worse, Oscar tells the others that Ozpin took on all the torture so he wouldn't have to. So he did that and they still don't trust him? If you had told me back in Volume 6 that two years later the group would still be hostile towards Ozpin, while simultaneously urging one another to trust Emerald, I would have said you were lying. RWBY has its problems, but it's not that bad. Yet here we are. I suppose the one silver lining here is that Ren smiles when he realizes Ozpin is back? So at least one of them isn't prepared to draw their weapon at the mere mention of his name.

Both these moments raise more questions though. How in the world did Ozpin take on that torture when we clearly saw Oscar getting pummeled for a good portion of the kidnapping? Is that a weird merge thing the story hasn't bothered to explain? I wouldn't be surprised, considering Oscar said last episode he didn't want to use magic because it hastened the merge, he uses the biggest explosion of magic we've ever seen, and nothing has changed. Ozpin is still in the back of his head, thanking him for the tinniest shreds of decency they get. Ren, meanwhile, seems to be back to mindreading. How in the world does he know that Ozpin is back? I assume it has something to do with his semblance, but we don't know what. They could have shown us Oscar from Ren's perspective, perhaps with two distinct emotions swilling around to imply that he sees two different people now, not a useless shot of Emerald with purple flower petals, whatever purple means.

Oh, but no, we shouldn't have gotten either of these scenes. Remember that Ren's aura broke a very, very short time ago? Is it back already? Can he use this part of his semblance without it? Considering it was near impossible to see Ironwood's aura breaking in the Watts fight and we were then mistakenly told he used his semblance in the office, I'm going to go with, "The writers forgot."

Oscar explains that the cane had "lifetime after lifetime" of power in it and though there's still some left, "we have to be careful with how we use the rest." He says that Ozpin trusted his judgement and of course he did! Ozpin also didn’t know that there was a bomb on the way. Yet funnily enough, no one else mentions that, whoops, your choice made in ignorance was a waste and that's due entirely to us prioritizing hugs over basic mission information.

Also, all these explanations take place in front of Emerald. Half the group doesn't trust her, but they'll freely discuss their powers and limitations here. Remember how the group once wanted to talk about magical relics in front of the old lady they'd just met? Yeah, they've learned nothing.

Combine all this insanity with the fact that Ozpin's magic saved the day before Ironwood's bomb could do the same... while Ruby sat in a mansion drinking tea. Who's our hero again?

So things are a hot mess, to put it lightly. Their conversation finally ends when they hear voices and round the corner to find all the Atlas citizens huddled in the subway. For once the show actually writes them in a sympathetic manner, emphasizing how terrified and helpless they are. This image doesn't lead the group to any revelations though, certainly not anything that would tie back to Ren's earlier speech in the snow. No, once again the justified criticisms here are ignored as we hear that “However this fight ends, we could really use someone like you, [Emerald.]” That's it then. Discussion over. We knew as soon as it started that blindly trusting her was being presented as the "right" thing to do and now here we are, deciding that conclusively, despite Jaune and Yang's complaints. By the time the group reaches the mansion, Oscar is defending Emerald from Ruby. We're supposed to just accept that she's a part of the group now, only minimal pushback allowed.

Before that though we return to Ironwood getting news that their bomb never went off. He briefly wonders who else could have done that, but puts the currently unanswerable question aside for what he does know. They still have the bomb and it could be "useful." See, this moment — like shooting Oscar and the councilman — is when Ironwood just randomly goes off the deep end. One minute he's talking about what they've lost and cradling his new arm,

the next he's saying that he should have tortured Qrow to get Penny to obey him! Which doesn't even make sense since I'm pretty sure Penny hasn't ever spoken to Qrow. She wouldn't want anyone to suffer, true, but it's not like Ironwood had a close friend like Ruby to use as leverage. Qrow is just Some Guy to her. Regardless, he thinks Yang, Jaune, and Ren are decent replacements, despite Penny also having no relationships with them. This is what happens when your characters only start breaking up their teams eight years into the story, the response to Ironwood wanting to torture Ren to hurt Penny is, “Does Penny know Ren exists?” But, you know, torture is torture, right? Maybe. Probably not. I mean, if they're going to turn Ironwood into a cartoon villain, they could at least keep him smart.

Because all of this is just the height of stupidity. Ironwood wants to torture people Penny barely knows to make her listen (so just grab some civilians? It would do the same job...). Ironwood wants to shoot down empty ships, even though no one, including us, knows where in the world those ships would have gone. Ironwood wants to destroy an entire city to try and save another city. He wants to use a bomb meant for a comparatively small whale and acts like that alone will take out the majority of a kingdom. None of it makes sense! And I know the easy comeback for that is, "Well yeah, Ironwood is crazy and evil" but he's not. I mean he is. Threatening torture and bombings is obviously evil, but he's never been insane, or stupid. As said before, his arc (or lack thereof) is an absolute disaster. The fandom assumes so many things about Ironwood given the opportunity — the whale is a suicide mission. He expects the Ace Ops to die on his order — and the writing hints at so many things that never happen — he's going to hurt his subordinates, attack Winter for disobeying him — and every time what we actually get is a far more compassionate, level-headed character... until he randomly does a 180 and goes, "Let's murder a whole city now!" I never wanted Ironwood to be the bad guy, but they could have at least given me a persuasive decent into this level of horror.

So... yeah. Ironwood has got to die by the end of the volume, yeah? Between Ruby warning the whole world about him and him going into full villain mode, there's no coming back from this.

Neo sends her text to Cinder and the group makes it back to the mansion. Remember Yang's criticisms of Ruby's leadership? The ones she conveniently forgot about when Ren started to agree with her? Yeah, those are entirely gone as the sisters hug it out and, presumably, forgive one another for... daring to admit that things are bad? Look, I'm not going to deny that Ironwood's scene with Winter was creepy as fuck,

but I'm not of the opinion that the heroes are any better when it comes to the theme of obedience. They've attacked one another, screamed at one another, and any dissent from Ruby's leadership results in the questioner being left behind in the snow. We'll accept you again when you fall back in line. I used to adore the relationships in this show, but watching them now is just discomforting. The show might be 100% more obvious with Ironwood, using creepy music, a smile, and that hand on Winter's shoulder, but the concept of, "Sorry I dared to question you before! We won't ever do it again :)" isn't healthy either. The fact that the show keeps erasing theses problems with hugs — Weiss hugs Whitley now, Yang hugs Ruby, someone will probably hug Emerald soon — doesn't make the circumstances any less uncomfortable.

None of this even gets into the Blake and Yang hug. First of all, why is Blake acting like they had a fight and Yang might not want to see her? She's hiding inside rather than rushing to greet them, ears down in a devastated expression until Yang touches her. Combine this with Yang's "Do you think she's mad at me?" and it feels like the writers cut a fight in the final script and then didn't bother to remove the fallout from that. Seriously, where did any of this come from? You can't just have characters act like they've been fighting when they haven’t.

Also, can't forget this.

At this point there's nothing more I can say in regards to RWBY's almost-queer baiting. Is touching foreheads more intimate than the hugs Yang gave the others? Absolutely. Is that an appropriate stand-in for overt representation? Absolutely not. This would have been a perfect time for them to kiss. Take out Blake's nonsensical fear and replace it with them both reuniting after their first separation since Volume 5, working under the knowledge that either one could have been killed, finally admitting their feelings. Hell, they don't actually have to kiss. Not all girlfriends are interested in kissing! But they could use the terminology that makes things unequivocally canon. Another forehead touch when we got that in Volume 6? It's not enough, especially not when our straight couples have all been allowed their rep.

Ren at least wants to know where Nora is. He's presumably told what happened off screen as Oscar tells Ruby that Emerald is their friend now.

Then an emergency call from May interrupts the reunion and the group learns that Ironwood is bombing the Schnee ships. “Those ships… they were going to save people” Weiss whispers. How? Tell me how they were going to save anyone. Where were you going to take these people where they would be safer than where they are now? RWBY continually asserts things without explaining them, meaning there is precisely zero emotional weight here. Again, Ironwood is far past the point of defense, but I'd be a whole lot more critical of this particular action if I had a better sense of why it's bad. He appears to be endangering the people given May's shout to run — falling debris? — but the further implication is that Ironwood has doomed the people of Mantle by denying them these ships. It's that part that makes no sense based on what we've been told.

Which finally comes to the ultimatum of our episode title: Penny opens the vault, or Ironwood bombs Mantle. Great! So glad this plan is wicked smart and works well for his characterization. It's definitely not a nonsensical, unfounded, overblown change that feels like it belongs in a child's cartoon, complete with dramatic spotlight. Nope. Excellent writing choices all around.

Our final line of the episode is, “I hope you live up to the title I gave you," referring to Penny's job as the Protector of Mantle, and you know what? That line could have been very cool if it was delivered by an Ironwood with a persuasive fall and a halfway decent plan in place. I love that we've twisted the concept of a protector and turned the title into a horrifying, rather than honorable responsibility... I just hate everything surrounding those details.

So, usual RWBY fare.

(At least we get to see that Nora is awake!)

Will things get better over the next four episodes? I doubt it. We're still expecting the rest of the Ace Ops + Winter to ditch Ironwood, someone getting the vault open, the fall of Atlas, now the potential destruction of Mantle, and none of that includes Salem who should reform at any moment. Frankly, I'm not looking forward to any of it. The final leg of a season should make its audience excited to see how everything turns out, not dreading it. I've heard from multiple people that this is the volume that finally got them to drop the show and honestly? I'm not surprised.

As a final (happier?) note: we've finally got a bingo! I completely forgot our board last time, which was a terrible oversight, but we can update it now.

Our army of grimm can't kill anyone now that it got KOed by Oscar (that is the third one hit defeat of a major enemy we've seen this volume. Yes, I'm including the Hound considering it was obviously on its last legs after Ruby's eyes.)

I'm likewise including "Ozpin apologizes for everything including his existence" because he's done nothing but apologize since he came back. The emotion is there even if the literal words are not. Oscar reminded everyone of how untrustworthy he is, but kept the group from jumping them again. And Ozpin thanked him for it.

Neo didn't literally backstab Cinder (shame), but the Relic still counts.

So a triple bingo! Is that how bingo works? Idk, I've never played. I feel like I should have thought up some sort of humorous prize, but sadly I've got nothing. If you think of anything, let me know lol

That’s all then, folks. Until next week! 💜

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #rwby ultimatum #rwby recaps #mymetas

103 notes · View notes

hercleverboy · 4 years ago

Text

miss you, love you

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer never came home from the case.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ major character death, depression, funerals.

word count ↠ 2.7k

“My heartbreak is grief that comes in waves, gruelling, stealing appetite and sleep alike.” — Angela Abraham

Ring

“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”

Y/N stared down at her phone in her hands. She listened as the dial tone rang out, before ending the call and dialling again.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Spencer Reid-“

She wondered if she was insane, dialling same number over and over just so she could hear his voice again.

It had been 3 days since Spencer had left for the case. It was a more local one, so he wasn’t going to be thousands of miles away this time. That didn’t lessen the worry that consumed her whenever he left the house. She knew how dangerous his job could be, and while she knew he could handle himself, and that the team would protect him with their lives, she couldn’t help but worry. Spencer knew she worried, but he was always quick to reassure her that he would always come back to her. Before, he’d admit, he could be reckless in the field at times. However, that was before he met her, before he fell in love with her, before she became his wife on a warm evening last July. He used to come home from rough cases to a cold and empty apartment, left to tend to his cuts and scratches alone with his thoughts. But now, he had someone waiting for him to come home. He had a family, someone who depended on him, who needed him.

So he made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t be so reckless, that he would always come home to her.

When he’d left for the case a few days ago, for what would be the last time, she made sure to say goodbye the same way she always did. (Though now she found herself wishing she’d said more.)

“Thank you for making breakfast baby, but I gotta go!” Spencer had exclaimed, rushing to throw his satchel over his shoulder and grab his coat. He shoved the last bite of his blueberry pancake in his mouth before moving to kiss Y/N’s cheek, then scrambling to the door.

“Spence!” She called after him, making her way to the front door, where Spencer had stuck his head back inside the door to see why she’d called him. “You forgot something.”

He gave her a confused look, patting down his pockets to check he had everything. “Did I? I’ve got my phone, my car keys-“

Y/N cut him off by pressing her lips to his, and Spencer melted into it, figuring that the telling off he’d get from Hotch for being late was worth it to spend a few more minutes with her.

“I love you. Be safe.” She whispered against his lips and he smiled, pecking her on the lips again quickly.

“I promise, Mrs Reid. I love you too.”

And then he was gone.

That was the last time she would see her husband alive.

She remembered the day vividly. The day she’d always dreaded would come.

It was JJ who had called her at 2AM, sobbing down the line.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m-“

“JJ? What’s wrong? Oh god, is it Spence? Is he okay?”

JJ had just cried harder at the question, begging her to come to the hospital. Y/N didn’t take the time to question her, instead pulling on her shoes and grabbing her car keys. She drove quickly to the hospital, tears clouding her vision. When she got to the hospital, she asked the receptionist for Spencer Reid, and she’d told her he was on the second floor. She’d taken the stairs, far too anxious to stand in the elevator. When she rounded the corner she was met with her husbands team, standing in front of the room she assumed was his.

Hotch noticed her first. “Y/N-“

“Where is he?” She asked, the tears slipping from her eyes.

“Y/N please, just let me explain-“

“I said where is he, Aaron? Where’s my husband?”

“Y/N-“

“I swear to god if you don’t tell me what’s going on-“ Her voice caught in her throat as she finally glanced over into the room that the team stood in front of, almost as though they were shielding her from what was inside. On the bed lied a body, covered by a white sheet. A still, unmoving body.

“Y/N-“

“I need to see him.” She murmured. JJ came toward her, placing her hand on Y/N’s arm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N-“

“I said I need to see him.” She spat coldly, harshly shrugging JJ’s hand away.

Hotch led Y/N into the room and JJ followed, closing the door behind them. It was Hotch who gently pulled back the white sheet to reveal Y/N’s greatest fear.

Spencer.

Y/N didn’t recognise that the heartbroken scream that filled the room was coming from her lips until Hotch’s arms wrapped around her, to stop her from falling to the floor as her knees buckled beneath her. She sank to the ground in Hotch’s grasp as the sobs ripped from her throat. The pain was unimaginable. It felt as though someone had ripped her heart from her chest. Like it had been torn from her and crushed in front of her eyes.

She couldn’t b r e a t h e.

She whimpered out incomprehensible words as she wept. “Please. Please, no. Not him. He promised. He promised me.”

JJ had to clasp a hand over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing aloud as she watched the heartbreaking scene before her. She remembered how she felt when she thought Will had died in the bank, how she wondered how she would live without him, how she would ever breathe again without the love of her life by her side. She couldn’t begin to comprehend the pain Y/N felt.

Hotch attempted to soothe the wailing girl in his arms, but it did nothing. He recalled how he felt when Haley died, and his heart ached at the thought of Y/N suffering the same unbearable hurt that he did. Whilst he was heartbroken at the death of the BAU’s youngest member, he was easily the most emotionally well-put together at the moment. Garcia, Morgan and JJ were absolutely inconsolable. Emily sat in the waiting room chair in a state of shock as silent tears trembled down her cheeks. Rossi sat next to her, his head in his hands as he cried.

Y/N trembled in Hotch’s arms, her entire frame shaking as she wept. Hotch’s eyes met JJ’s, and he signalled for JJ to pull the sheet back over Spencer, so she didn’t have to look anymore.

As if that mattered.

As if the image wasn’t already burned into her brain.

Eventually Hotch pulled Y/N up to stand, still holding her close to him as she relied on him to stop them from both collapsing to the ground again.

“I’m gonna get Derek to take you home, okay Y/N?” He whispered, attempting not to alarm her. She still panicked, shaking her head profusely as she whimpered.

“No, no. Aaron I can’t leave him here. He’s all alone, please.” She begged, but she ultimately knew Hotch was right.

She allowed herself to be taken to Derek’s car. He took her back to the house (Y/N could hardly call it a home anymore), and parked up outside it.

Y/N made no move to get out of the car. Derek turned to her, the woman his best friend loved. Derek wouldn’t tell Y/N this, but in his last moments Spencer had made him promise that he would take care of her If something happened to him. And Derek would keep that promise if it was the last thing he did.

“Y/N we have to go inside.” He tried gently, and watched as the tears still fell from her red eyes.

“How did It happen?” Her voice was cold and numb.

“I’m not going to tell you that-“

“Derek please. I need to know.” She choked out, her eyes meeting his.

“He jumped in front of a bullet to save the life of a little girl.”

It only made Y/N sob harder. Her husband had died giving his life for a young girl. She didn’t know how that made her feel.

Derek got out of the car, coming over and opening the door for Y/N. She nodded to him gratefully as he helped her out of the car, her shaky hands grabbing onto him to give her something to hold onto. “Will you stay for a little while? I can’t be alone, not here.” She cried, and he nodded, holding back a cry of his own.

“Of course I will.”

The house felt cold and empty. Spencer and Y/N had purchased the home shortly after getting married, with promises of raising their family here. As they came in through the front door, Y/N stared at the battered pair of Spencer’s converse that were lying by the door.

He’d never wear them again.

As she looked around the rooms that she once found so much comfort in, but now felt so suffocated, she noticed how his things were everywhere. His books scattered around the living room, his suits still hung in the wardrobe, his toothbrush sat by the sink.

He was still everywhere she looked.

Derek had stayed for a few hours, trying to get Y/N to eat and sleep before he left. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Y/N sunk to her knees, collapsing in on herself. She’d never felt a pain so intense, so all-consuming. Her chest burned and she begged and she prayed for it all to be a sick, twisted nightmare. That she’d wake up in bed, in Spencer’s arms like she was supposed to be, and he’d soothe her with his calming voice, his large hand gently rubbing her back.

“It was just a nightmare baby. You’re okay, I’m here. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pinched herself a hundred times because she just couldn’t accept that any of this could be real, that she would have to face the world without him by her side.

She realised then that she didn’t know how to live in a world where Spencer Reid doesn’t exist.

The team called, but she never picked up.

“Hi there, sweet girl, it’s Penelope. I just wanted to check in. I stopped by your house again, and I noticed you haven’t taken in any of my baskets. It’s okay, I left you another one today. You like cashews, right?”

“Hey, it’s Derek. Please just send me a text letting me know you’re still there. Cause you know I’ll break down that door if I have to.”

“Y/N, it’s JJ. I just wanted to remind you that the funerals on Monday. We really hope you’ll come, but we understand if you can’t. I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Y/N just listened as the the dial tone rang out after JJ’s voicemail. She was sat up against the wall of the living room, her knees to her chest as she stared at the phone that sat on the floor before her. She hadn’t showered in weeks, and she hadn’t eaten in god knows how long. None of that stuff seemed important to her, really. She noted how JJ had reminded her that Spencer’s funeral was on Monday. At first she didn’t want to go. She wasn’t sure she could handle it. All these people who were probably going to be there, talking about how they missed him, as If they’d cared about him while he was here. Though she knew she owed it to her husband. She had to be strong enough to go. So, she pulled herself up and forced herself to shower for the first time in a long while.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat on the shower floor, her tears mixing with the water that fell on her face.

She dried herself off and dressed herself for bed, knowing she had to try and get some sleep before Monday. When she opened up the wardrobe in search of her pyjamas, her eyes lingered on his clothes that were nearly hung and stacked on his side of the wardrobe. Her lip quivered. Up until then, she hadn’t dared to touch any of his things. The half drunk coffee was in his favourite mug was still sat on his bedside table. She knew it would start to smell soon but she couldn’t bring herself to move it. His shoes that laid scattered in their hallway from where he’d thrown them off one night were still in the same place he’d left them. She brought her hand out to gently touch the fabric of one of his hoodies. She tenderly took the fabric from the hanger, bringing it up to her nose as she inhaled deeply.

She let out a cry.

It still smelled like him.

She pulled the hoodie over her head, watching as it fell to her knees. He always was so much taller than her.

She curled up in bed that night, the scent of him calming her, lulling her to sleep.

It was the best sleep she’d gotten in weeks.

When Monday inevitably came, Y/N had called JJ to ask for a lift to the cemetery. JJ sounded surprised but glad at Y/N’s request.

As they watched her husband be lowered into the ground, Y/N couldn’t stop the tears that fell from her eyes. JJ held her hand tightly throughout it, comforting her as she cried. Y/N couldn’t say it then but she was so thankful for the teams support. If it weren’t for them, she’d be doing this alone and that would be even more unbearable.

Y/N had agreed to say some words at the funeral, despite Derek reassuring her that it was okay if she didn’t want to, she insisted.

Taking a deep breath, she started.

“My husband was many things. He was stubborn, at times. A bit of a know it all, which I loved about him.” She gave a teary chuckle, and the team gave one too, as they fondly remembered their friend. “But he was also kind, and loving. He was the best husband I could’ve asked for, and it was a privilege to love him, and to have his love in return. Spencer Reid was easily the best thing that ever happened to me, and I will honour him for the rest of my life.” She turned to face the newly placed headstone.

‘ Spencer Reid

Beloved Friend, son and Husband.’

That night, she sat up against the wall in their living room again, wrapped in Spencer’s jumper. She pressed the familiar number on her phone again, finding comfort in the sound of his voice.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

Beep.

“Hey, Spence. I don’t know if you know, if you’re somehow watching me from up there but, I call this number a lot. I just want to hear your voice, sometimes. Even if it’s just your stupid voicemail.” She chuckled quietly. “I don’t actually have anything else to say. But I’m going to stop calling this number. It’s not good for me, to keep clinging onto you like this. So this will be the last time I call you. I can let you go now.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’ll always love you, Spencer Reid. I promise.” She grabbed at the chain that hung from her neck, which now had his wedding ring dangling from it. “You’re the love of my life. And what an extraordinary life it was.” She smiled. “Maybe in another life, we get to be one another’s forever. But not in this one, it would seem.”

She knew she had to stop calling the number. It was damaging her, clinging onto his voice. She knew that if she wanted to be able to let him go, she had to start there.

“Okay. I’m gonna go now. miss you, love you.”

She ended the call, staring down at the phone, as the numbness she’d grown accustom to filled her.

She tried to convince herself she didn’t need to call again. She didn’t need to hear is voice again. Maybe things would be different, now she’d laid him to rest. Maybe now they’d both finally know peace.

Beep.

“Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid-“

But then again, when had the universe ever been so kind?

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid one shot #mgg #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler

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hops-hunny · 4 years ago

Text

Love Lines

Pairing: Severus Snape x Divination Professor! Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Severus was the moon, (Y/N) was the sun and when they came together, they made a beautiful eclipse.

A/N: I got this idea from a thought that came in my head after imagining someone reading the palmistry on Snape's hand and saying “this line means you’re in love with me”. It was supposed to be shorter but I got really into it.

Severus Snape had had it up to here with the new divination professor. She was bright, cheery, and loud and in his opinion, extremely annoying. Every time she'd walk into a room, he couldn't take his eyes off of her....which he found to be quite bothersome. While hearing her name was enough to ruin his day, the rest of the castle couldn't get enough of the young professor. But, who could blame them? She was the type of professor who made learning fun, the type to stay after class if you had questions, the type to let you out of a lesson early just because it was a nice day outside. She wasn’t just adored students, but her fellow professors as well.

When she’d walk into the great hall, everyone’s eyes would light up as bright as Christmas lights. Everyone except Severus that is. He tried his best to ignore the flutter in his chest when she’d smile at him. He convinced himself the warmth in his cheeks when she’d throw her head back in laughter was just a mere change in temperature in the room. He told himself the scent of her vanilla and cream fragrance as she walked by was much too sweet for his liking. But, he was no fool. He couldn’t keep lying to himself about what his heart, his soul wanted. That’s why he tried to distance himself from her, avoiding her whenever humanly possible. But he was no match to her efforts. She always found a way to flock to him, like a moth to a flame.

He found himself pondering these things as he wandered through the forest. He had been out from the castle gathering ingredients needed for tomorrow’s potion. He crossed another item off his list as he placed it into his basket. In reality, he wasn’t very low on the ingredients listed. In fact, he had plenty of them. However this is what he usually did when he found himself having free time. Leaving the castle to avoid her as much as possible. Although he didn’t know, today was in fact, not one of those days.

“Severus! Hey Severus! Wait up!” he turned around to see her running to catch up with him. She had a basket of her own which had a blanket hanging out the side, as she pushed her round glasses up her face. Her attempts were quite futile considering they kept slipping down. Her wild (h/l) (h/c) dancing around in the wind around her. Her sweater draped over the slopes of her shoulders, much too big for her and the same could be said about her jeans. He couldn’t help but find her beautiful, dirt covered shoes and all. When she finally caught up to him, she gave him a wide grin.

“Ah yes, Professor (L/n). Always a pleasure to see you.” He retorted, sarcasm dripping from his words. If it was obvious, it didn’t seem to phase her much at all. ”Is there a reason you’ve charged at me like a fool in the middle of the forest as the sun sets? Shouldn’t you be in the castle by now?” He added on, turning away from her as he continued to walk seemingly unphased by her presence.

“Well I’m not sure if you keep up with the moon cycles but tonight’s a full moon! I always head to a spot I found during my first week here. However, the sun is still out currently and while usually I’d just go and wait, I decided I’d join you in whatever you’re doing! Maybe I could be of some help? I won’t be much trouble, I swear to Merlin!” She finished what she was saying with a warm smile. Severus looked her up and down before sighing and continued to walk which Professor (L/n) took as a sign to follow.

The next hour or so was interesting to say the least. (Y/n) practically skipped next to the man as she followed him through the forest. Every once and a while she’d peek over his shoulder to view his list, finding the next thing needed pointing it out to him before he found it. At some point Severus muttered something along the lines of ‘damn hufflepuffs’ but Miss (L/n) simply didn’t hear him(or chose not to respond).

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

Finally, as the sun finally started to retire and the moon awoke, his list was complete. He turned to the professor, and quickly tried to bid her goodbye. ”Well Miss (L/n) this has been a rather...interesting time. But, it appears my list is complete so I bid you farewell. Enjoy your moon or whatever it is you seemed so eager to get to.” He said as he began to walk off.

“Wait, uh, Severus! Why don’t you join me? I know you’re quite a busy man but if you could find the time I was hoping you would like to view it with me? I think you may enjoy it!” She said hesitantly. ‘Why would she be hoping for me to join her? Don’t get your hopes up Severus, we know where that led to last time.’ He found himself thinking. His face took on a scowl as the silence grew. It was quite awkward as she rocked back and forth on her heels, looking up at him awaiting his response. He realized this and let out an exasperated sigh before giving her a simple nod. That was more than enough for her. She grinned at him, intertwining her free hand with his as she led the way.

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

“Oh it’s such a lovely night for this! The sky is so clear. And the stars, oh the stars. I wish I could see this every night, it’s quite breathtaking.” She began to lay the blanket out over the grass. She walked close to the ledge of where they were, looking down at the small pond there. The frogs croaked their song as the crickets played alongside them. It was all quite beautiful. He found himself in thought again. In all his years at Hogwarts, how come he had never come across it? That was the thing he loved about her the most, no matter where she went she left a little piece of wonder and beauty trailing behind her.

She continued to take things out of her basket, placing them on the blanket. She took out two silk cushion-like pillows, along with a thermos. She sat on the pillow before patting the other one as she opened the thermos, pouring the liquid into two porcelain tea cups. He sat down on the other cushion rather stiffly, stealing glances of her out the corner of her eye as he pretended to be gazing at the moon. A warm cup being placed in his hands brought him out of his thoughts. He took a sip, chuckling softly. Hot chocolate. Such a childish drink yet it suited her perfectly. They sat in silence for a bit, the only thing that could be heard was nature’s symphony and the soft hum of the small vintage radio she had sat up.

“You know, I’ve always been interested in the moon and stars. When I was a little girl I’d sit there every night outside of my family’s cottage fascinated by them. When I got a bit older I was fascinated to learn about how they correlate with our existence. How we think, how we act, how we love. I think that’s what made me get into divination in the first place.” She turned to face him as she spoke, her eyes filled with pure adoration for her craft. It reminded him of when he first started to teach potions. He smiled contently, listening to her talk about divination. She was so expressive when she spoke, waving her hands around wildly, her body dancing gracefully. At some point he had to take the cup from her hands because she was spilling bits of coco on herself. That’s when she grabbed his hands. “You know, palmistry is one of my favorite forms of divination because of the endless combinations of lines and marks. Each person's hands tell a different story.” she analyzed the lines of his hands as she spoke, bringing them closer to her face. As she stroked and traced the different lines on his hands he spoke.

“Is that so? I’ll admit, divination was never my best subject. Do tell what’s present.” He said as he gave her his other hand as well. Despite always being a bit skeptical of divination, after hearing her speak so passionately, so sumptuous of the subject was slowly nestling a place in his heart beside hers. He watched as she bit her lip slightly as she gathered her thoughts.

“I apologize if I’m over stepping but this line,” she said tracing the line as she spoke, “Indicates that you will have a lot of struggles during your life. Especially when it comes to loving others. And this one here indicates you’re a lot more sensitive than you let on to be, you care deeply even when you don’t show it.” She smiled after that one, locking eyes with him. The ambiance had clearly shifted in the air. It was more of a somber, bittersweet feeling than before. To lighten the mood, she followed up with a bit of a joke. Or, so she thought it was. “And this one here means you’re in love with me.” she said, trying to remain with a straight face. (y/n) thought he’d give her one of his usual Severus responses. Oh how wrong she was.

“It appears divination is a lot more accurate than I once thought it to be.” He said, holding her hands back as he stroked her small calloused ones with his thumb. He looked up to be met with a wide set of eyes and a look of shock. He felt her hands warm up in his own as she took a dry swallow.

“I’m sorry Severus, am I hearing you correctly? Perhaps I’ve misunderstood you.” she said barely above a whisper. A quiet tone for Miss (L/n) was very uncommon in any situation. Instead of answering verbally, the raven hair man reached up removing the young woman’s glasses. He pulled her closer causing her to fall into his chest. He reached down, tilting her head up oh so delicately as if she’d fall apart if he moved even a tad bit rougher. They both mutually began to inch their lips closer together, eyes closing softly. Their lips danced a delicate and affectionate waltz that tasted of the hot chocolate they had moments ago. He wrapped his arms around her waist, settling his hands at the base of her spine. Her own hands held his face stroking his cheek lightly, his coldness meeting her warmness. They both pulled away from the kiss, resting their foreheads against each other.

He held her close for the remainder of their time together, his cloak wrapped around them both. Neither he or her uttered a word but that was the special thing about that night, neither one needed to in order to convey the deep and immense amount of appreciation they had for one another. Perhaps she was onto something, the moon and stars could not only tell about how we love, but help reveal who we loved as well.

#snape x reader #severus snape #severus snape x y/n #snape x you #professor snape #harry potter imagines #harry potter #harry potter x reader #severus x reader #severus snape x reader

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zee-writes-and-draws · 3 years ago

Text

Truly Important

Summary: A look at some of the more important birthdays that Saw Paing has had, and the one he celebrated right after the tournament.

A/n: It's still July 8th, so I'm on time w/this. Nonetheless, I slept five hours so I apologize for lack of proofreading.

------

The first birthday that Saw Paing truly considers important is his fifth one, the day he gets to start Lethwei training for the very first time. He comes home covered in scratches and bruises and a trickle of blood running down his forehead. His father fusses a little and his ma doesn’t let him up until she bandages every little cut and bruise but nothing can spoil his good mood as Ne Win Paing puts him in a headlock and their little sister congratulates him on the start of his training.

------

Most birthdays to Saw Paing aren’t majorly important beyond the fact that even as a fighter Pa Paing did his best to see every single child on their birthday every year. But some are important because there’s new people in his life, people who aren't’ there, certain benchmarks and events that are important in and of themselves, but are easier to tie to years and dates and celebrations.

Saw Paing’s sixteenth birthday is remembered fondly only because it is one week before he meets his eternal rival for the very first time, a boy named Gaolang Wongsawat.

------

Seventeen. Nothing particularly important. Current youngest brother starts his training that year.

Eighteen. Important solely by the freedom it grants in travelling. Almost all countries recognize eighteen as an age of majority, an age where you can do a lot of things that would be illegal otherwise like go somewhere without an adult’s supervision or rent a car so you have your own transport. Going to places outside of Myanmar and Thailand is the most interesting he’s done in his entire life.

Nineteen. He finally gets a job outside the village. The weapons corporation that hired him is run by an old man and a teenage girl with a vicious streak longer than the destruction radius of the missiles she’s designed. Still, they hired him to safety test things and work to rescue people in afflicted areas, not attack them. It’s Togo Tomari’s brilliant ruthlessness that causes him to end up in the same place as Muteba for a month. Another friendship struck up with someone he’s fought against. A birthday gift of an absolutely gorgeous button-up with twelve patterns and wild color is dropped off at his door that year. Even though the gifter will likely never see it, Saw Paing wears the shirt with pride as often as he can for the next few years.

Twenty. Barely important but it was Gaolang’s eighteenth birthday that year and the time the title ‘God of War’ starts creeping into people’s thoughts about him. Saw Paing cheers his rival on whenever possible.

Twenty-one. Nothing. Little sister asks out crush, dates her for seven months and change before they have to break up because the crush’s family is moving. He and Muteba have each others numbers saved and text between missions.

Twenty-two. He and Ne Win Paing get to fight outside of legal matches for the first time. It’s exhilarating. Their father hugs them both afterwards and tells them how proud he is.

Twenty-three. The first birthday in their family celebrated after Pa Paing passes. It’s somber. Saw Paing would rather have skipped the day entirely if not for how his youngest siblings all seemed determined to follow traditions for at least the illusion of normalcy and he’s not about to ruin their coping process just because he’s sad. With Ne Win Paing travelling nearly full-time and recovering when he’s home, Saw Paing is the de facto leader of the family and he’s not going to let them down so easily.

That night there’s a card delivered to him by a hassled-looking mail carrier. It’s from Gaolang.

I heard about your father’s death, Saw Paing. My deepest condolences to both you and your family. Take care of yourself. Do what you must to feel more stable.

To anyone else the writing would be cold and impersonal. Saw Paing re-reads it over and over until a drop splashes onto it and the crinkling of paper registers and then he hurriedly folds it and drops it onto the desk in his room so it doesn’t get destroyed.

If in two weeks when they next see each other, Gaolang relents and truly fights Saw Paing for twenty minutes before declaring a defeat form boredom, neither of them acknowledge the change in routine anymore than they acknowledge that Saw Paing’s yelling is more like loud talking and that Gaolang had made an extra plate of his favorite fish seemingly just in case.

------

Twenty-four. Saw Paing meets Sayaka for the very first time that year, a bright and sunshine-sweet teenager who screams out his intro and doesn’t seem to mind that he’s super-loud or that his opponent throws him into the commentators box and nearly crushes her by accident.

When he had apologized she made a joke about it. He made one back. A friendship stronger than any other he’d made was started that day. Sayaka reminds him of his little sisters, friendly and upbeat and ready to take on the world if she has to and come out with a smile, sharp wit and keen mind concealed under a bubbly layer that requires no lying to maintain.

That year his birthday includes a surprise delivery of a completely new set of cookware with a small note attached.

Happy birthday, Saw! Sorry I couldn’t make it, dad scheduled fifty matches for this week alone so I’m not even sleeping, but I hope you like it! See you in May (PS I’m secretly rooting for you!)

That night Saw Paing makes dinner for everyone with said cookware and an unflappable grin on his face.

------

Twenty-five. Nothing.

Twenty-six. His little sister is now formally competing on a near-national level. His brothers, no longer so small but always little in his eyes, work hard to bring in food and water and trade with the local villages and Saw Paing never stops feeling proud of them.

Twenty-seven. More and more fights in the arena. He leaves Tomari’s contracts behind but keeps in touch with Muteba. A chance metal concert allows him to meet Yoshiko, who in turn introduces him to Sawada. Saw Paing mails him several CDs of traditional Burmese music for the other man’s birthday. Gets a collection of ballet remixes in exchange. Listens to the collection every night for weeks and weeks on end until he can whistle half the songs without thinking. Smiles at how many small reminders he has now of the people he cares about.

------

Twenty-eight. The coldest and harshest one yet. Ne Win Paing is not there that year. Everyone’s energy is lower than usual. Saw Paing spends the day mostly taking care of the youngest siblings and visiting the graves of those he’s lost. He can feel the wrongness of this land on his skin, it’s Yoroizuka’s home and that’s better than the alternatives but it is not his home or their home or the home that his family deserved and had grown up in and lost because of Ne Win Paing or maybe because Saw Paing should have noticed sooner, should have caught onto the damage his brother had taken.

Sayaka leaves twenty voicemails and thirty texts, all reassurance and compassion and kindness that Saw Paing is beginning to doubt he deserves. Sawada had arranged for several boxes of their favorite sweets from all over the world to be delivered to his house. Muteba messages him a list of names and places if he needs to fight the emotions out or to talk to a professional specializing in fighters and loss of loved ones and tells him to cherish the rest of his family.

Gaolang visits that evening, sleeplessness evident in his posture and eyebags. It’s rarer and rarer for the two of them to see each other now, between the jobs they both hold and duties they’re bound to. Saw Paing’s first priority will always be his family, just as at the end of the day the Thai God of War is not that but the bodyguard of Prince Rama of Thailand. And yet here they are, sitting next to a firepit just outside a house that was not truly meant for Saw Paing’s family, in a country outside of Gaolang’s own.

“Are you alright?” Gaolang asks him. Saw Paing looks up.

I’ll be fine, he wants to say, thinks instead because even things like talking feel like too much right now. He settles for a nod instead, one that feels too slow and tired to really be him but has to be because who else could he be? Gaolang does not look reassured by this. He sits down next to Saw Paing and talks. That quiet voice, normally at least partially twinged with annoyance and exhaustion, now flows with an undertone of gentle energy. It’s not the fire that Saw Paing usually feels running through his veins. Nor is it Ne Win Paing’s quick fury or Pa Paing’s ruthless confidence.

No, it’s the other kind of energy, the kind that Gaolang always emits though it’s hidden under the day-to-day life’s mundaneness. Gaolang tell him about fights, about what guarding Prince Rama has been like for him, some recipe his parents love and he despises because of how annoyingly spicy it is and how Saw Paing would probably like it. And then he talks about staring into a fire.

“Look,” Gaolang motions at it. “It moves so incredibly, alive and unalive at once.” Saw Paing looks into the fire, watches the moving flames flicker and dance in and out of existence. Next to him, Gaolang smiles.

“It reminds me of you sometimes. The difference is fire burns out. I truly hope you never do.” They sit next to each other, watching for a while until something in Saw Paing’s chest undoes itself, letting some feeling back in. Gaolang notices.

“Tell me about Ne Win Paing,” he asks, shoulder brushing against Saw Paing’s own, warmer than the air around by just enough to be noticeable without feeling too off-balance. And so he does, spilling out every little detail he can remember about his brother and all of the memories that were crafted for as long as he can remember. The sky is light when he finishes, still tired but somehow lighter. That something that had unwound a bit earlier is almost completely gone. He’s still saddened by the loss of one of the greatest people in his life, but things look a little better.

Gaolang leaves then, apologetic but unable to stay. Saw Paing nods at him again to say it’s alright and it must come across sufficiently this time, because Gaolang’s smiling softly as he walks to his car and drives back to his too-loud and too-busy life for such a quiet man and yet a life that couldn’t be anyone else’s.

Saw Paing’s younger siblings are slowly waking up, coming out to check up on him and start their day. He hugs them, feeling his spirit coming back to something normal.

------

Twenty-nine. Still a tad colder than before but mostly better.

Thirty. A year with little occurring beyond the increasing amount of kengan matches and the frequency that he gets to see old friends like Sayaka. The tournament that happens later in the year is undoubtedly something unforgettable that he;ll treasure for the rest of his life. So many new friends made, so many bonds forged and strengthened. He makes it a point to keep correspondence with all of them, even the more quiet ones like Karo and Rei. They clearly need the company if they're quite that quiet.

Thirty-one. He wakes up expecting another birthday that’s rather insignificant. His sisters and brothers in college call and Skype and do whatever else they need to say hello first thing in the morning, yelling through the screen loud enough that he can her the dorm’s complaints through the call. The siblings still at home whether from sentimentality or youth wake him minutes before that by running into his room and wishing a happy birthday to him at the top of their lungs. He’s so proud of their lung training being quite so successful.

He checks his phone after all of the younger siblings hang up out of habit. There’s another twelve messages from various members of the assassin clans he’s befriended, a missed call from Cosmo, a notification about a post from Adam, and an alert of the local post office telling him about several packages that are addressed to him.

On the journey to the post office and back he gets six more calls. As he’s balancing reading a short ‘happy birthday!’ texted to him from Cosmo and a rambly congratulation courtesy of Okubo that is interrupted by an incoming call from either Hanafusa or Yoshizawa, a wonderfully familiar voice calls out.

“Saw! Over here!” Sayaka stands by the edge of the road, looking as red carpet-ready as always, except for the small trolley of boxes and bags she’s keeping from rolling away.

“HEY SAYAKAAAA!!!!!” He yells to her as he runs over. She’s hugging him so there’s no reason not to complete their usual greeting by picking her up and spinning in several circles.

“Happy birthday, Saw!” She laughs as he puts her down. “Sorry I didn’t warn you, but there was a lot of last minute stuff and everyone wanted to send something to you and it was ‘one more thing’ this and ‘oh wait here!’ that, and it’s so great to see you again! Here!” the packages he was holding until two seconds ago are now in Sayaka’s hands, traded for a fancy-looking photo album.

“It’s for you. I wish I could stay, but Retsudo’s been flipping out for six hours and he threatened to send a SAR squad again, but I promise i’ll call this evening, kay? See ya soon, Saw Paing!” She runs to the familiar figures of Takyama and Misasa, waving the whole time they drive away until she’s out of his line of sight. Only tnen does Saw Paing turn his attention to the trolley and the photo album.

Getting everything home requires ignoring messages and calls so his plan to find out what these things are that everyone was so determined to send to him has to wait another hour or so but then he finally has the time to check everything out.

There’s two gorgeous shirts that fit perfectly, bright greens and yellows combining with the soft fabric and reminding him of his old shirt but nicer. This, he knows without even needing to check the card, is a gift that only someone like Muteba would have gotten him. A thick book of various recipes from several different regions in Japan, along with an impressively full binder of leaflet instructions for dishes made in the mountains is sent courtesy of Sekibayashi and Haruo.

A sharp-looking knife that seems to be more familiar with intestines sliding across its blade than vegetables is gifted by the Kures he’d met after Hayami’s rebellion, right next to several ‘free assassination’ coupons Reichii and Fusui must have snuck in as a half-joke and and half-true gift.

Most of the things are actually quite small, just fragile and packaged with an insane amount of cushioning, he realizes. It’s nothing particularly fancy, but they’re all things that will remind him of the senders, be it the scalpel that Hanafusa mailed him with instructions on how to DIY surgery or the old shogi set Kaneda gifts along with a book on most famous shogi strategies played throughout history.

Saw Paing moves everything to where it should be once everything but the photo album has been looked through. The cookbooks go to a specific shelf in the kitchen that no one else can reach. The weapons are hidden in a small box under his bed to avoid any incidents. Muteba’s shirts go onto hangers, Sawada’s fancy candies are set on a plate for eating while looking at this final gift, and then the album is opened.

The first photo makes him smile, a perfect snapshot from one of his earliest fights in the Kengan matches, capturing the moment they had both gone from enemies to friends mid-blow. A date, presumably of when the photo was taken, is written on the border in Sayaka’s neat writing. The second one is of Ne Win Paing from seven years ago. This time, the date is in heavier, blockier writing, not unlike Hollis’s. Saw Paing flips through the album a little more, taking it in. there’s plenty of photos of his various friends, fellow fighters, and even some family from the tournament and before it, but there’s also old photos of his brother and father, and even one of his mother back when she had fought in occasional matches, along with candids of some of the more stoic people. They must have been collected over several months, and not just by Sayaka.

Saw Paing already knows what will happen this evening. Gaolang will come over with some kind of small yet so deeply personal way of also saying happy birthday. Sayaka will call again, most likely throwing a small party in the Katahara house and inviting everyone she can. Rei might stop by and even if he doesn’t, he’ll Skype before the sun sets because he’s a punctual person by both nature and training.

But that’s still hours away, and in the meantime, Saw Paing decides to keep looking at the beautiful snapshots of the past, enjoying the present to it’s fullest.

------

END.

#happy birthday to my all-time fave #saw paing yoroizuka #sayaka katahara #gaolang wongsawat #ne win paing #pa paing #kenganverse #kengan ashura #kengan #fic #fanfic #my writing #I wrote this in one sitting please if you like it leave a comment or rb or somehting

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seancekitsch · 4 years ago

Text

Heat

Diego Hargreeves x Reader filth but also its kinda sad ngl

warnings: unprotected m/f sex, emotionally stunted idiots, set in the same universe as prize buck, sadness, one half of a whole fic

It was hard to believe that Diego could hit it off with one of Klaus’ friends, let alone be friends with her for about a year now, and have her fall into his bed with him for the past five months on a poorly executed friends with benefits arrangement. She wasn’t a maniac, and even though that Indiana Jones chick from rehab Klaus was playing house with was nice, he couldn’t handle yet another person with a personality like his brother. And actually how Klaus had met this new friend of Diego’s was through a therapy program, so he was sure there was something wildly inappropriate about their friendship, but he would look the other way because Diego knew calling that into question would be calling her into question in general and she didn’t need that because she was good. She was really fucking good. He was crazy about fucking this girl with a great ass and a fire that matched his own, but it was more than that. She was a good friend, the kind of friend Diego needed. The kind of friend that would patch him up after getting into a scrape and not lecture him on it, but still call him on his bullshit and push him to do better for himself.

Like tonight, you come to him wearing no panties under your short tight skirt, animatedly telling him about an empty warehouse with cheap rent he could probably turn into his own boxing gym like he told you he was considering one morning. You’re so excited about this business opportunity because when does cheap easily renovated business space just fall into the lap of someone looking to start a business? But in the back of your mind you know it crosses a line that each day was getting harder to navigate. Yeah, that’s probably more than what “just a friend” would be doing for him. But then again, “just a friend” wouldn’t be beckoning him to strip with his hand up her skirt, deftly making all the right moves. This arrangement started a few months ago, actually in the very room you’re in now. You had both had a few beers, the conversation traveled towards relationships, and you made an off-handed comment through loose and tipsy lips that you were lonely, you forgot what a man’s touch felt like after your last break up. And, well, Diego? He offered to remind you. And then the next weekend he reminded you again. You’d made up a “no attachments” rule and said that this was temporary, just friends lending one another a helping hand or mouth or every body part, but would end whenever either of you found something “real”. But somehow as you woke beside him morning after morning, you fell in love. Love love. Real “I want to fuck you and then I want to open a business with you and make you breakfast and write my stupid first name next to your stupid last name” love. And fuck, did it hurt. But being close to him and having it feel like torture was worse than not having him at all. Actually, that thought process is shit, you think, you’d never let a client think like that about their personal relationships. So why were you? Why were you hurting yourself? Why would you...

The thought dies in your mind and is replaced with Diego. Everything is Diego when he’s got two fingers roughly working you over from the inside, calloused fingers such a drastic contrast from the soft smoothness of your cunt. He knew exactly how to work you, knew exactly what to do to have you begging and crying out his name long into the night.He keeps you on edge giving you enough to have your legs shake and for you to have to lean your weight on his shoulder, but not enough to be what you need. No, that was a job solely for Diego’s cock. He brings your right to that moment before sweet release and then usually impales you on his cock. His idea of reminding you of a “man’s touch” which has kind of become a macho competition against himself, but you wouldn’t complain if it meant he kept making you scream like this. Tonight he’s determined to put in the effort, to really have you screaming as you come around him, because theres something to celebrate and not because he has this desire to make you happy. Diego loves nothing more than to see you like that, like it’s just you and him in the world, and nothing exists outside the two of you in his bed. He loves the sigh that falls from your lips as he makes quick work of the skirt, but refuses to let you sit down. He loves the way you laugh when his kisses tickle your hips and stomach. He loves the way you get impatient and crawl into his lap on his cot of a bed while he continues to undress you. He keeps his fingers moving, thrusting in and out and scissoring them within you, adding pressure from his thumb making light circles on your clit. You unbutton your shirt but then when he looks back up your head is hung to the side, watching him through mascara covered lashes and parted lips. God, you’re flushed and panting already, he thinks, it’s so fucking sexy. The hand not fucking you travels from the top of your ass to your breasts, groping and squeezing earning him little mewls of approval. He could listen to that for the rest of his life.

Your hands reach to his scalp and he groans as your nails rake between his hair. His hands and mouth feel like fire against your skin but you want more and more and more. The heat is inside you as well, pooling deep and threatening to escape your very being. But as always, Diego doesnt let you have it that easily. No, his hand slips from under you and instead he takes those two fingers that were just fucking you and wraps his lips around them. A dramatic moan as he licks and sucks all traces of you off his lips.

“Girl, you taste so fuckin good.”

You cant formulate a response to that, so instead you pull him as close as you can as he puts the other arm around your back and bends until your back hits the bed. He wastes no time leaning back up to whip off his shirt and haphazardly wiggle his pants down to his ankles before kicking at them until they are no more than a heap at the floor.

This was Diego at his most desperate to be inside you. He loved the way that your eyes fluttered closed and your entire chest heaved. He loved how your legs and arms would wrap around him and hold him so intimately close, like he anchored you to the earth.

When he thrusts inside you, you do exactly that. His pace is rough, but not fast. He’s strong and deep, the way that it feels like he's inside all of you. The friction, the rocking, its a delicious fire that nips at your entire being. He kisses and bites at your shoulders and breasts, like hes trying to memoize your skin with every part of him as he fucks you into the mattress. In out in out harder harder harder. Thanks to his game, you're already clenched around him and close to coming, but judging by the sloppiness of his thrusts, he probably wouldn't last that long tonight either. Theres something all consuming about tonight. About the way he holds you so tight he could break you, the way hes as deep as possible and your bodies meet at every seam. About the way your skin burns hotter than any other time.

And the dam breaks. Your skin is so hot you're sure he can feel it too, youre screaming, you can feel in your throat, but all you see and hear is white. He holds you and shakes, and the way you feel him paint the inside of you makes you shudder again, aftershocks or another orgasm, too hard to tell the difference. And you're breathing. And hes sliding out of you. And you see the ceiling. And then you see his face.

“Oh, shit…” Diego mutters, looking worried, “Did I hurt you or something?”

What did he mean? What… oh. You were crying. Tears were streaming down your face. Suddenly the room feels small, cold, anything but a room with someone you love. And you know you have to get out. You are officially in too deep. Without even responding you get up and start to fiddle with clothing, shaking hands buttoning haphazardly all to just get free of this room and Diego as soon as possible.

“Sh-sh-shit, Y/N, I’m s-sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you or anything, p-please”

“You didn’t hurt me, Diego,” You refuse to meet his eyes, its easier that way, “I just can’t do this anymore. This can’t happen again.”

“What, like y-y-you f-found someone? You c-could have told me.”

Fuck fuck. Fuck! You know he only stutters when he’s upset. And he's upset. Why was he so upset? You were just fucking. You were the one throwing love away. You. He was just having fun with a woman in his bed three or four nights a week.

“I just, I can’t sleep with you anymore, Diego.”

I can't sleep with you anymore. That was it, he thought, he was the problem. You can't sleep with him.

Before he responds, you’re already up the stairs and out the door. You're gone.

On his bed is the address of that gym, intentionally left.

Next to it is a hair pin, unintentionally left.

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves smut #diego hargreeves fanfic #diego hargreeves imagine #my work

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tarteausuga · 4 years ago

Text

Not Like This

In which you’re caught in a situation where no one can be happy

WC: 3K

CW: Jungwoo x Reader (x Mark vaguely) angst, a lot of angst. Cheating, unhealthy relationship, mild manipulation. Usual disclaimer that the characters are purely works of fiction and are not directly correlated to their namesakes in any way.

Prompt: “We can’t keep this up forever.” Part of the Candy Hearts Collab (click link for other members) hosted by @127-mile

Outwardly, the last word you would use to describe Jungwoo was “exhilarating” but he always had a way of surprising you. He was amazing. Amazing in his ability to show anyone exactly what he wanted. He had you fooled for a long time as well. Soft spoken, unassuming, funny Jungwoo who was polite to everyone he came across, put a smile on everyone's face and was the perfect boyfriend to his girlfriend.

He treated her like a princess. At least from what you could see. Watching them was pure agony and it didn't help that he had the audacity to occasionally take a glance at you with that conniving smirk on his face, all while with his girlfriend. Were you jealous of her? Rarely. Pity is what you felt whenever you passed by her but more than anything, guilt was the heaviest weight of all.

What am I doing here? You questioned yourself whenever you were with him. He was nothing like how he was with his girlfriend or friends. At least not with you. But who could deny late night adventures with him? Who was he to you anyway? A friend? He couldn't be your boyfriend… at least not now. You felt ashamed to know that you were an accomplice to infidelity. They looked so damn perfect. But were they?

[2:34AM] jungwoo: hey, you up? I'm outside your place.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as they adjusted to the light from your phone.

[2:36AM] you: I am now?? It's so late, what are you doing?

[2:37AM] jungwoo: not sure, let's find something together :)

[2:37AM] you: I'm not wearing pants…

[2:38AM] jungwoo: is that an invitation? ;)

[2:38AM] you: shut up, I'm coming down now.

You begrudgingly pull on a pair of track pants and throw on a hat to cover your bed head before leaving to meet up with Jungwoo. If it were anyone else, you would have pretended to not see the text at all. There always seemed to be this inescapable pull towards him whether you liked it or not because those moments where it was just the two of you in the dead of night made you feel like time slowed down. The way he accepted you into his arms and pulled you in to fit perfectly into his ever so perfectly proportioned frame - it felt like home. He kissed you ever so softly but deeply enough to make you believe that those kisses were meant for you and you alone.

But you knew that they weren't.

The tricky thing with Jungwoo is that he made you feel like the most important person to him while also feeling like he didn't want to be seen with you. Otherwise, he wouldn't call you when most of the world was asleep. You wouldn't have to sneak around behind everyone's backs. You wouldn't have to fantasize about the simplest things like holding his hand while he walked you to class.

And yet, it was worth it to you. For some bizarre reason, you were just happy to be with him and didn't care under what circumstances.

"Hey baby," he pulled you in and placed a kiss on your forehead. "Sleepy?" He smiled as he lifted your head up by your chin. The sleep was apparent in your eyes but that softened him even further. The layers of his outer persona melted away and suddenly you were left with Jungwoo in the purest form.

"What are we doing?" You hold back a yawn. He was so warm, so comforting, you just wanted to fade into him.

"I don't know yet but I'm sure we can find someone, right?" He smiled and reached out for you to follow along.

Night and day, that was exactly how Jungwoo behaved. The daytime version was this upbeat guy that made everyone laugh. People gravitated towards him naturally. He was the sun and you were Pluto. At night, the real Jungwoo would come out, the Jungwoo you fell in love with despite your best efforts to distance yourself when you found out he wasn't single. But something about him was irresistible. It could be the way he confided in you. His fears, his dreams, his most obscure thoughts that didn't fit into his days so he expressed them to you in his nights. Maybe that's why he wanted to keep you in the dark but that didn't make things any better.

Even so, with the guilt locked away in the back of your head, you happily spent the dark hours with Jungwoo. It was never anything extravagant. You often bought convenience store food and sat on a random park bench, talking about anything and everything. You took turns sneaking into each other's apartments in efforts to not wake your respective roommates. It was tradition to leave before daybreak so you often woke up by yourself, wondering if the night before was a dream.

There were times when you questioned your own sanity. Did Jungwoo only exist in your dreams? When it came to the Jungwoo you see everyday on campus, he was a different person. The extended periods of not seeing him for weeks at a time convinced you that maybe it wasn't real at all. The quiet glances you exchanged during the day were purely coincidental and your dreams were just dreams.

But when you least expected it and you had begun accepting that Jungwoo was just a dream, he would pull you away at random points during the day to remind you that he was very much real. Is this what love feels like? The rush of pure elation when you're with The One? The cliche feeling of time stopping? Or was this the excitement of getting caught and maybe worse, the everlasting awareness of how wrong this was that you tried to keep tucked away in the darkest parts of your mind.

---

It had been almost a month since Jungwoo last lured you out from the warmth of your bed. A month since you last felt his lips on yours. A month since he made you laugh until your sides ached. Maybe he finally realized this wasn't right for either of us. You conceded. It was time to move on. And though you kept waiting for him to find you in the halls to pull you into an empty office or lecture hall, it didn't happen. Instead, you felt the pull of someone wanting you both day and night.

Mark had been your friend for a while. The two of you were in the same group for orientation week and for some reason, you kept in touch. He often joked that it was because you are both perfectly awkward to the point where you combined to make one functional person. No matter the reason, he was a good friend but you were still surprised when he asked you out. You could say you saw it coming with your best friend constantly saying how Mark could never stop asking about you but it never clicked in your head to be true. Likely too caught up in Jungwoo's world, you never stopped to experience your own.

So you said yes.

Things felt so easy with Mark. It was nice to not have to sneak around to go out with someone you kind of liked. He walked you to class, held your hand and did the simplest things to make your heart flutter. Mark never pulled you away for no reason. He didn't take your breath away but he certainly made you feel safe and warm. You tried your best to forget about Jungwoo and it was starting to work. Eventually, Jungwoo became an afterthought with Mark around but as always, Jungwoo always had a way with you.

Walking to get lunch one day, you felt a sudden pull on your wrist. Turning, you see Jungwoo. Your brain told you to pull away at risk of Mark seeing you but your heart wanted to follow Jungwoo. And follow him, you did, into an empty classroom with the lights off. The moment you entered, Jungwoo closed the door behind you and pulled you into his arms.

"I missed you." His voice nearly broke.

"Where have you been?" You melt into his body.

"Things got a bit complicated…" he looked down, staring at your lips.

"Tell me." You stared back.

Before either of you could say anything more, you kissed each other desperately. A craving you didn't know you had was being fulfilled and it was truly intoxicating. You were addicted to him. As your mind finally caught up to what you were doing, the thought of Mark being hurt by what you were doing flashed into your brain. The guilt got caught in your throat and you pushed him away.

"What are you doing?" He said, offended that you would reject him at all.

"We can't keep this up forever." You say as you gasp for a breath.

"What do you mean?" He tries to pull you back into the kiss.

"This, Jungwoo!" You finally push him off and motion to the

"Can we not do this now? Please." He reached for your hand but you pulled away. As much as you missed him and wanted to dissolve into his arms again, it was too much.

"We do this now or we're done. We're hurting people and it's not okay anymore." You cross your arms.

"What? You really want to be with Mark? Yeah right, like you're not just using him to-" he was cut off by the ringing of your phone. He tries to snatch it away from you but you pull away before answering the call.

"Hey Mark." You try to sound as normal as possible.

"Hey, I thought we were meeting up after class. Are you okay?" He says.

Jungwoo is now glaring at you and the waves of jealousy were more apparent now than ever but you continue your conversation, "Yeah, sorry, I had to talk to my professor about something. I'm heading over to meet you now."

The call ended and you wished that would mark the end of your confrontation with Jungwoo. "Don't go." He sounded like he was begging.

"This isn't going to end well for anyone. We need to just end things before we can't turn back." You sigh as you collect your bag. It took every ounce of your being to not plant a kiss on his cheek to say goodbye like you usually did. This was likely the last time you would have this chance but you pass in favour of just cutting things off completely.

You tried to forget about Jungwoo. You really tried. You wanted to have the same feelings that you had for Jungwoo with Mark but it wasn't sitting right at all.

"Are you okay?" Mark asked from across the table at the cafe you two were studying at.

"Hmm?" You responded.

"You seem really spaced out. Did something happen?" He said with honest concern.

"No… well yeah but… it's complicated." You struggle to explain.

"What's going on?" He held your hand but you instinctively pulled away, leaving him confused and mildly offended.

"You're going to think I'm a terrible person."

"You think peaches are better than watermelon, how much worse can you get?" He smiled and you reciprocated.

Why does he have to be so nice and cute? You cursed at yourself.

"Peaches are a more practical fruit than watermelon." You joke back and the two of you chuckle but it didn't make things any easier to say.

"Whatever it is, I'm your friend. I know I asked you out and I'm not quite sure what we are at this point but I like you no matter how bad you think what you're doing is." He assured you and you once again, curse yourself for what you're about to do.

"Hypothetically…" you say slowly and he listens intently. "Hypothetically, let's say you're seeing someone but they're already someone's boyfriend or girlfriend…"

"Hypothetically that would be messed up." Mark concludes.

"I'm not done." You glare at him and he shrugs. "But hypothetically, let's say the person you're seeing is more real and raw with you than anyone else. And you feel a stronger connection to them than anyone else."

"I think hypothetically," he emphasizes for your sake, "it's still wrong. Everyone would just end up hurt in the end no matter what happens." He sits back in his chair, waiting for your response.

"Yeah, I know. Why do I have to have a conscience?" You bury your head into your crossed arms across your open textbook.

"Is that what's happening?" Mark leaned in.

"Yeah but I broke things off." You say with your head still hidden from the world.

"For me?" Mark smirks but you look up to glare at him.

"Partially for you but mainly because I'm fully aware that it's wrong." You sigh.

"I'll be honest, I like you a lot. But I think with the way you talk about this person, you're still attached to them."

"I'm sorry, Mark." You pout at him.

He holds your hand again, lifting it up to place a kiss on your hand. "I'll be alright. I just hope you will be too.”

---

"I don't get why you broke up with Mark. That guy is like… The ideal boyfriend." Your best friend ranted over the phone.

"We weren't together so we didn't break up." You clarify as you squeeze the bridge of your nose. She had been your best friend for 15 years so, naturally, she had an amazing talent of giving you headaches with little to no effort.

"Are you even aware of how many girls who are absolutely in love with that guy? And you broke up with him?" She practically yells.

"I'm aware and once again, we didn't break up!” You remind her.

"Whatever. You're the one whining about being alone on Valentine's Day."

"No, you're the one who called me to whine about Valentine's Day and you're the one with a boyfriend. What? Jaehyun only got you one dozen roses except for two?" You chuckle.

"We've been together for two years. It makes sense to get two dozen."

"Alright, alright. Go talk to him about it, I'm sure he'll make it up to you in other ways." You say suggestively and you swear you could hear her blush over the phone.

"Shut up! Oh my god. Please call Mark and ask him to hang out. You're too cute to be alone today." She said before you hung up on her.

You tossed your phone onto your bed before doing the same with your body. Maybe I should call Mark… But I'm the one who ended things… I could call him but he's probably with his girlfriend. You groaned in frustration as your best friend's words resonated in your head. She's right though. Mark is the ideal boyfriend but so is Jungwoo… If he were single. Why is this happening to me?

A knock came from the front door of your apartment. Your roommate was out for the night with her boyfriend so you were puzzled about who would be coming to visit.

"Hey." A slightly disheveled Jungwoo greeted you when you opened the door.

You try to harden your expression for him but he's truly your weakness. Especially in this state where he's looking like he hadn't slept in who knows how long. "What are you doing here?" You finally ask when you let him in and he collapses on the sofa.

"I'm here to see you." He says but you roll your eyes.

"Okay but why? Why aren't you spending Valentine's Day with your girlfriend?" You interrogated him.

"Oh. We broke up." He said nonchalantly.

"You what? When?"

"A week ago… I was trying to call or message you but I couldn't get through." He says and you tell him you blocked his phone number. "That's harsh… but what about you? Why aren't you with Mark?" He throws the ball back in your court.

"We stopped seeing each other…" you say quietly and Jungwoo looks at you with wide eyes.

"When?"

"Right after I broke things off with you. Things just didn't feel right." You explained but realized you had done a terrible job at that.

"I see…" The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before you heard him say quietly, “she was cheating on me the whole time.”

Shocked was an understatement for the flood of emotions you were suddenly experiencing. “That doesn’t make what we were doing any less wrong.” You resolved to say.

“I know. I don’t really know why I didn’t just break up with her…”

“So… what? You just used me to make yourself feel better?” You accused him.

“What? No! I care for you more than I have ever cared about anyone else.”

“Then why didn’t you leave her? Why did you choose her?” You stood up, demanding an answer.

“I…” He started but hit a wall in trying to come up with a reasonable answer. This wasn’t how he was planning for this to go. This wasn’t how he played this out in his head. What could he possibly say to make you less upset with him? How could he fix this?

“It’s funny because I thought that we really had something and I was delusional enough to think that we could work…” You started and he stared at you intently. “But I’m still just your second choice.”

“You’re not…” he said, sounding out of breath.

“I am! You wouldn’t be here otherwise. You wouldn’t have started anything with me if I was your first choice. You wouldn’t keep me in the literal dark. You wouldn’t sneak away with me. You wouldn’t keep this a secret.”

“Hold on. I thought you liked that stuff.” He stood up in order to tower over you again.

“It was fun but so was dating someone in public… like normal. Not having to feel like I’m doing something wrong anytime I look at you or think about you.” You said, stepping away when he tried to pull you into his arms.

“You make it sound like I was the one doing something wrong?” He started to sound angry.

“That’s not what I’m saying. We both were. I knew it was wrong too and that guilt was just too much.”

“So… what now?” he asked

“We’re done.”

#jungwoo angst #jungwoo scenarios #jungwoo imagines #jungwoo scenario #jungwoo imagine #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct scenario #nct imagines #nct imagine #collab

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years ago

Text

Courtyard secrets

James Potter x reader, Remus Lupin x reader

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: i’m sorry it’s a angsty one mixed with parents issues

A/N: I think I hurt my own feelings by writing this... I hope you like it xxx

Special thanks to @approved-by-dentists for helping me out when i was stuck.

not my GIF

- - - - - - -

The sky was dark, darker than the deepest blue of the bottom of the ocean. The only light came from the half full moon and the tiny speckles of bright light above your head.

At night everything seemed calmer. The whispers silenced and laughter quieted. If you listened you could hear the soft breeze of the wind and the sounds of the animals that lived in the dark nights. The bats that fluttered through the dark blue air and their squeals that echoed on the walls of the castle and the ever so light chirps of the grasshoppers that were hidden in the grass.

You sat on the cold stone ground of the courtyard and watched the night sky. The stars flickered and you traced the figures that they formed on the blue canvas. It seemed surreal that even so far away there was life, maybe not in the way you knew it, but the stars shone and that was a sign of life.

It also felt comfortable to know that there was a place outside. A place where your worries would disappear because they had no use. A place that existed of everything opposite of what you saw right now. Would you look at the stars the same from that place?

The hot tears streamed down your cheeks and there was no need to wipe them away. It had happened so many times, how could it be that it hurt you so bad?

But just like all fears and insecurities; you think you know them but they change and take new form, surprising you when they come back.

In moments like these you told yourself that it was okay to cry. No one was around, it was just you and the stars, the escapes to another world. There was no one that could feel your emotions and no one that would try to understand them.

But it was also in moments like these that you felt the most alone. In the cold air and the silence you were reminded of the thing you missed the most; love.

Where was the love when you needed it the most?

Surprisingly for you the answer came walking towards you, though not in the way you had expected it.

When you thought of love, you thought of undying support and unconditional care. You thought of the warmth that came with touches and sparkles that came with kisses. Love for you was what you had seen around you but never felt.

You had never known that love could take another form.

As James sat down next to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, you, for the first time in your life, felt affection in a stronger way than ever before. A warm feeling spread through your chest and your tears dried.

Maybe you didn't need love, maybe you just needed the support.

‘They sent another letter,’ you spoke, your voice hoarse from the pain that had been going through your body.

Your hand reached for the papers that lied next to you. You held them in front of you and watched the words that were smudged from your tears. The ink that held so much hate and the angry passion that it was written with.

James let you talk. He knew about the ongoing fight with your parents and the hatred that they had for you. You were open about it to your friends, much to the dislike of your parents. But that only made you share more with them. Not all. There were somethings that even you could not bring yourself to share with them.

‘I should act more like my brother. Oh, my perfect brother. Mother's favourite. Only fourteen years old and already top of his class! He's better than everyone else and I should take a better look at him.’ You snorted and James squeezed your shoulder. ‘I bet that's not even half of the truth. He only thinks he is better than everyone else.’

You stopped talking and stared at the ground. It had been that way your entire life. Your brother was always perfect in your parents' eyes. Everything he did was considered a blessing and every word he spoke was believed. All the blame was pushed to you, everything was always your fault. If your brother made a mean comment to you and that made you sad, your parents blamed you for ruining the mood. He acted like you were a small child, always pretending you didn't know what you were talking about. He acted like the big man in the house, though he was the youngest.

‘Have you spoken to him lately?’ James asked carefully.

You shook your head and a tear escaped your eye. Quickly you wiped it with your sleeve, the place where the water hit the fabric a stain forming.

Though your brother was three years below you, you rarely saw him. You were a Gryffindor, he a Slytherin. Whenever you saw him he ignored you or shot you an angry glare that spoke he thought he was better than you.

You waved the papers in front of you and watched the wind play with the edges. The meaning of the words faded with the wind. The dislike was wiped off them and what was left were pages of meaningless words that had nothing to do with you anymore. They were now just faded letters without a message.

James stayed next to you, sometimes saying something but quiet most of the time. It was nice, the silence was comforting. Sometimes you don't need words, whether they are reassuring or not, sometimes you just need a hand to hold and a shoulder to rest your head on.

And James' hand was there to hold and his shoulder was there to rest your head on. You closed your eyes and for a moment you thought back of what you thought love was.

Maybe this was love. Maybe this was what everyone was looking for in their life. But what you felt right now didn't feel like love to you. You weren't really sure what love felt like, but you thought that this wasn't it. There might be support and care here, but there wasn't affection other than what you had now; holding his hand and leaning on his shoulder. And neither of you craved for more affection than this. This was good. Right?

- -- -

That night was a secret shared between you and James. None of your friends knew about the way you had broken down next to James.

Neither you nor James had to ask the other to keep it a secret. It was an unspoken decision that had been made with just one look the next morning at breakfast when Sirius asked where James had been the previous night.

‘Some Hufflepuffs were annoying and I had a handful taking them back to the common room,’ James shrugged as he pricked his eggs with his fork.

You squeezed your eyes at your breakfast, thankful for James' secrecy. This morning, despite the awful feeling that had filled you last night, you had woken up with a smile. The burden that had fallen off your shoulders had been holding you back from being happy more than you had known. It was a delight to wake up and don't feel alone anymore. That thought of love had been in your head, but you had pushed it out quickly.

What you felt wasn't love. Not in a romantic way. You cared for James like he was your brother, or so you had always thought.

Marlene and Lily plopped down at the table next to you and Marlene stole your toast out of your hand.

‘Someone's in a happy mood,’ she chirped with her mouth full of toast.

‘You are never this happy,’ Lily chimed in and she watched you suspiciously.

You looked at your friends and smiled at them. ‘Can't I just be happy? Without a reason?’

‘Of course,’ Marlene said and she took another bite of your toast. ‘I like you more when you're happy.’

As you continued to eat breakfast you looked at James from the corner of your eye. He was talking happily with his friends but ever so often his gaze turned to your side of the table.

Something happened inside you when you caught him looking at you. But whatever that happy feeling was disappeared as snow in the sun when you realised that he was not looking at you but at Lily.

But that was fine, you really hoped that Lily would answer to his feelings one day. James had been after her for years and he deserved to be happy. With Lily.

- -- -

Remus watched you walk with Marlene and Lily out of the Great Hall. A sigh escaped as he turned back to his breakfast. He was glad you were happy, you hadn’t really been in a long time. Or at least, not in the morning.

Remus liked to see you happy. Or he just liked to see you, for that matter. You brought butterflies to Remus’ stomach and a smile to his face. His cheeks turned red whenever you talked to him and he stumbled over his words whenever he spoke back to you. He could look at you for the whole day and not get bored. Every time he looked at you he discovered something new he could love.

But as most loves, it was unrequited. The feelings Remus had for you, you had not for him. And yet, he kept throwing himself in that ring, fighting the unanswered feelings. It was a match that never ended. One time he was on top, the victory rushing through his veins, the next moment he was lying on the floor, his face pushed against the ground.

It exhausted him. Being in love with you was tiring, but there was nothing in the world Remus would rather do. The feeling that he would get whenever you laughed at one of his jokes or when you lightly touched him, that was the feeling that dragged him through his days. It was the light at the end of the tunnel. The candle in the dark.

- -- -

The next Thursday you found yourself back in the courtyard. The darkness surrounded you as you read the letter for what felt like the hundredth time. You knew every word by heart and if someone would take the letter away from you, you could recreate it the exact same way.

Sometimes your parents didn't even try to hurt you and that was why maybe it hit even harder. What your mother had written was nothing else than a praise for your brother.

He told us that they are thinking of mixing up the classes. I would have assumed to hear something like that from you too, but you are probably too busy with your friends. Your brother has told us about them. They are quite a peculiar group, are they not? I have heard stories about that young Black and I must say I am not happy about you being friends with him...

Stupid mother. She had no right to decide who you would be friends with and though you had let her know that, she kept pushing you.

The tears stung in your eyes as you looked the letter again. What had you done to deserve this? All your life you had almost been invisible, letting your brother get all the attention. You were always seen as the quiet kid, while that wasn't entirely like you. Mostly you were quiet because you didn't want your parents to get angry with you for taking the attention.

The same footsteps as a week ago sounded through the open air. A small light revealed James in front of you. He was standing at your feet with a concerned look on his face.

‘Thursday's post day,’ you muttered with a dry laugh and waved the letter in front of you.

James sighed and sat down next to you. His arm was quickly wrapped around your waist and you rested your head on his shoulder.

‘Why do they do it, James?’ you asked.

‘Because they don't realise their daughter is amazing,’ James answered without missing a beat. ‘They don't know you. They never have and now it's too late to start,’ James looked at the letter, ‘I don't think your parents will be too happy when they hear that your brother failed his Charms.’

‘They won't hear it,’ you spoke softly, already knowing that your brother wouldn't tell them and no one else would too.

‘Promise me something?’ James asked and you looked up to him. ‘Don't open their next letter. Just throw it out, or give it to me when you want to know what's in it. But don't open it yourself.’

‘I won't open it,’ you promised.

A silence fell over you and you looked at the stars above you. There was no moon tonight; the last full moon was two weeks ago and the next would be in another two weeks. The only thing that decorated the dark blue canvas were the little sparkles.

‘How can you be so brave?’ you suddenly asked. ‘How can you just make decisions and be sure of what you are doing?’

James chuckled and he rested his cheek on the top of your head.

‘I'm not that brave,’ he confessed. ‘I am scared. Scared that all of this will be worthless. There is a war going on and we are learning about ways to turn a table into brown cow. What if we are not prepared for life out there?’

‘I don't think anyone is ever prepared,’ you whispered. ‘You never know what is to come and that makes the future so scary. But that is also what makes it exciting. We want to know what will come to us and that is why we go on. To see the future.’

‘You're really smart,’ James said. ‘I know you don't believe me, but you are.’

‘Thank you, James.’

You stayed on the ground for a moment longer, enjoying the scene. There was a tingle in your stomach. A tingle that you had never felt before. A feeling that made you want to do a dance and a feeling that made you want to throw up. It was a hint of nervousness mixed with excitement.

It was long dark when you returned to your bed, safe in the Gryffindor Tower. The soft breaths of the girls around you sounded through the silent room. You were calm. James seemed to have that effect on you.

Around James there was support and care. And there always would be.

- -- -

The common room was dark and Remus sat in the corner, hidden from whoever would walk into the room. His face was buried in a book but his mind was not there. He was thinking about you. You had been off all day, as if something was bothering you. It had taken all Remus’ courage to walk up to you and ask you if there was something wrong and you had brushed it off like it was nothing. Remus’ heart had broken a little when you had shared a look with James.

But you and James were just friends, Remus knew. James was madly in love with Lily, who lately seemed to have the same interest in James.

As Remus was deep in thought, the portrait opened and you and James walked in hand in hand. Remus shot up in his chair and stayed still, hoping that neither of his friends would notice him.

You and James walked to the middle of the common room and Remus’ heart beat faster with every step you took closer to him, afraid that you would see him. But you and James kept still. You placed your hand on James’ arm and James pulled you in for a hug. Even from his place and in the dark, Remus could see there were tears on your face.

So something was bothering you.

James kissed you on the top of your head and Remus’ inside twisted. He should have been the one standing there, holding you in his arms and kissing you on your head. Not James.

‘You’re a good friend, James,’ you whispered, but the space was empty and Remus heard every word. The jealous part of him calmed a little. James was your friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And as James and you both went your ways, Remus stayed in his chair in the corner. In the dark he stared at the place where you just had stood.

It was nothing like Remus to feel jealous, but as he thought of how his friend had just hold you, jealousy rushed through his veins.

- -- -

The following weeks were the same. Once a week you and James sat in the courtyard, discussing your fears and insecurities. You told him about the parts of your anger that you had hidden from your friends. You confessed that, despite telling a lot of the issues to your friends, there still were bottled up emotions.

You shared your deepest thoughts with him and he shared his with you. You learned that he was scared he was going to let his family down. He was afraid he would lose his friends in the war and he was fearing that he would never be enough. To his family and his friends.

Every Thursday night you spent with James and somewhere between spilling secrets and staring to the night sky, you fell for him.

You had always feared love because you didn't know what it would do to you. You had feared love because you didn’t know what it felt like. You thought that what you and James shared was a strong bond. A bond of friendship. But as you lied your head on his shoulder and held his hand in yours, you realised that this was more than a friendship.

To you.

You came to treasure the moments you shared with James. The Thursday nights, the breakfasts in the morning when neither of you was really awake, sitting next to each other in class, staying up late at night to plan a prank. Every time you were near James, your heart fluttered and your cheeks darkened. The butterflies started to fly in your stomach and your mind started to wonder. Wonder about sitting in his lap, putting your arms around his neck, kissing him or just holding his hand. You wondered what it would be like to be with James.

But you kept your thoughts to yourself. Because James didn’t share them.

You saw it in the way he looked at Lily, with eyes full of adoration. You noticed he was the same around you as he was around Marlene. He joked with you and called you his sister. He pushed you to Remus or Sirius with the joke that you should date on of them.

Your heart broke a little more every time your feeling weren’t returned. And yet, you kept coming back to him on those Thursday nights. You sat next to him, his arm around your waist and his hand playing with your fingers. His head resting on yours. There was comfort and solace in the dark courtyard. You still talked about your fears and your dreams, but you closed more. Where James once saw the bottom of your heart, he now only saw the top. You had closed yourself for him, knowing the secrets that lied underneath. You didn’t want him to know.

And James noticed nothing. He never realised you were opening up less to him. Maybe that was what hurt the most; he never saw the change in you.

- -- -

Something was wrong with you, Remus had noticed. You laughed less and your smiled didn’t reach your eyes. You left the room quick and spent more time on your own than with your friends.

Remus saw how you closed yourself for your friends. You talked less, opened up less. Where you were once the inexhaustible pit of jokes and comfort, you were now cold and distant. Remus was scared that it was something he had done; you rarely sat next to him anymore, you never studied with him and you always declined when he asked if you wanted to do something. But Sirius and Peter told him that you did the same with them. They noticed it too. The change in you that made you less their friend.

The only one who didn’t notice was James. He paid too little attention to you to notice. But whenever his friends told him that there was something wrong with you, he reassured them that everything was fine. Remus wanted to believe his friend, but his guts told him he was wrong.

He hadn’t forgotten when you had walked into the common room late at night with James. Every Thursday James would come to the dorm late and though he had an excuse every time, Remus knew that he had been with you. Every Thursday night when James came back, Remus felt like confronting his friend with what he knew, but it felt not right.

So instead he bottled up his emotions. The love that Remus felt for you was eating him inside. He wanted to tell you so bad, but he knew that you would turn him down. And the fear of rejection was bigger than the courage to confess.

- -- -

‘I said yes!’ Lily screeched and she fell on her bed.

‘Yes to what?’ Marlene asked beside you, watching Lily with a peculiar expression.

Lily turned to you and Marlene with a big smile on her face. ‘Yes to James.’

And that was when the final pieces of your heart, that had been holding everything together, broke apart. Your heart shattered into a hundred pieces. A burning fire rose in your body and your stomach twisted. It was as if someone had stabbed you in your chest. Only this was your own fault. Your own stupid fault. You should have never fallen for James.

‘Finally!’ Marlene said and she ran to Lily’s bed. That gave you some time to get yourself together. You had to hide your emotions now. No one knew about your feelings and no one would. It was a mistake.

‘That’s wonderful!’ you said with a high pitched voice to show your false excitement. From her bed Lily grinned at you and she then hid her face in her hands. Marlene was sitting beside her, rubbing her back.

‘What have I done?’ Lily groaned from behind her hands. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Lily, you have been crushing on this guy for the past year now,’ Marlene said, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘It was about time!’

‘But this is James! He came up to me, no extras and no stupid jokes, and just asked if I wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him next Thursday. Before I knew what happened I had already said yes.’

Just when you thought that things could not be any worse, your inside twisted again. Thursday? James planned at date on the only day of the week you looked forward to? Did he really care that little about you?

You got up from your bed and left the dorm, mumbling an excuse as you did so. Your feet walked you through the common room in the hope to reach the portrait hole without anyone seeing you. But your luck got worse.

‘Don’t look so sad,’ Remus said as he walked over to you and grabbed your arm to stop you. ‘Lily just said yes to a date with James!’

You put on a fake smile and nodded. ‘Yeah, I heard all about it from Lily,’ you said with a voice that was more bitter than you intended.

Remus looked at you and placed his hand on your shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked in a soft voice. His eyes stood full of worry and you felt a wave of tenderness flowing over you. A warm feeling spread through your shoulder and when you looked up to Remus, the locks opened and all your emotions spilled out.

‘Weeks I spend with him! I tell him all my secrets! I shared my darkest fears with him and he acts like he cares. He acts like I am the most important person for him! But then he doesn’t even look at me and still runs after her!’ your voice had raised and some students looked at you. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes and you pulled away from Remus’ touch. You ran from the common room, not listening to Remus’ calls and ignoring the Fat Lady telling you it was past curfew. You ran until your legs didn’t let you anymore. In the courtyard you fell on your knees and as you breathed out the tears streamed down your cheeks.

The scene was all familiar. The dark sky, the stars, the courtyard. The tears were running down your face in the same way they had done weeks ago on that first Thursday. All your emotions were the same; you were sad, angry and hurt.

And you were taken back to love. Was this love? This pain and discomfort?

If this was love then you never wanted it again. You would live your life without. You would find a way to live your life without this pain. You didn’t need to love someone. You didn’t want to love someone if it was like this.

- -- -

With pain in his chest Remus followed you through the dark corridors. He could have known that you liked James. He should have known. The way you looked at James and the way you always leaned towards him, should have warned Remus. But he was blind from his love for you. Blind to the love you had for James and not for him. But he couldn’t leave you alone. He had to put his own hurt to the side and help you. Like a friend.

The sound of your sobs brought Remus to the courtyard. There in the middle on the dark stones, were you sitting on your knees. Anyone who wasn’t looking for you would have probably not seen you. Remus kneeled down next to you and carefully placed his hand on your back.

You did not even look up as you started to talk, ‘I thought I meant something to him, you know? I spent all those nights with him, thinking that he at least cared for me. But apparently not.’

You lifted your head to Remus and he saw the tears on your cheeks. He cupped your face and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. He knew there was a blush on his cheeks. ‘He doesn’t deserve you,’ Remus whispered to you and you blinked at him.

‘Did he ever talk about me?’ you asked and Remus sighed. He wanted you to know the truth; that James was not the one for you. But he didn’t want to see you even more broken.

Remus stayed silent and that was enough an answer for you. The tears rolled down your cheeks again and you averted your eyes from Remus. He dropped his hands and watched as you stared at your hands.

‘Stop crying, love,’ Remus said, making you look at him. ‘He is not worth the tears.’

‘How can you say such a thing about your friend?’ you asked curiously as you wiped away the tears with the back of your hand.

‘Because what he did hurt you. And I hate to see you in pain,’ Remus answered.

You stared at Remus for a moment and then you kissed him.

It was all Remus had wanted for months, but it didn’t feel right. Your lips were cold and your heart was not in it. It was no kiss of passion, but a kiss of desperation. And as much Remus wanted to kiss you, he didn’t want it like this.

He broke away and placed his hand on your cheek. You were crying again and Remus shook his head.

‘It’s alright.’

‘No, it’s not,’ you whispered. ‘Why did you never tell me?’

‘Because you don’t feel the same,’ Remus said. ‘Do you?’

‘I-’ you started but you stopped and looked away. Remus’ heart shattered and the tears threatened to fall. He knew you didn’t love him and yet it hurt. He took his arm back and sighed. You took his hand and he let you take him in your arms.

Remus looked up to the sky and watched the stars that painted figures in the dark. Stars that were escapes to another world. A world where no one would get hurt. A world that was the opposite of where he was now. An escape to his feelings.

You lied your head on Remus’ shoulder and took his hand. Everything was the same, but nothing was. What you felt here with Remus was not the same you felt with James. With James it was comfort and support. With Remus you felt love. The love he felt for you might not be the one you shared, but he loved you and sometimes that is enough.

‘We will be alright, Rem. We have each other.’

‘We do.’

- - - - - - - -

taglist:

remus lupin:@racerparker @susceptible-but-siriusexual

marauders: @secretsthathauntus @ronniethelost @sognatrice-as-a-hobby @hxrgreeves @belovedadam @wecouldbreakthedistance @valentina-007

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @bloodblossom73 @mytreec

#james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #marauders #james potter #remus lupin #james potter imagine #remus lupin imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #potter x reader #lupin x reader

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slitherofgold · 4 years ago

Text

I loathe you Pt 1- Sam Fender Imagine

Standing before the mirror, you were impressed with the reflection. You had made an effort with your appearance (for once) and the result wasn’t too bad. You were looking forward to tonight, finally getting the chance to catch up with the boys who had been on tour for months. You had missed them, in fact your home town didn’t feel the same without them. The plan was drinks at your local pub- the Low Lights Tavern- just so you could catch up and see how everyone was doing. Well, not everyone. Thankfully, Drew had convinced Sam not to come for your sake. It wasn’t as if you hated the guy, but he always seemed to kill the mood with his sulky attitude and blunt remarks. It was almost as if he despised you and just couldn’t stand your company, so you kindly asked Drew not to invite Sam.

You hopped in the taxi and headed towards the tavern, getting more eager by the second to see your friends. The pub was your guys spot, whenever someone needed to celebrate, whenever someone was sad, whenever someone needed to let off a little steam, you’d always meet at this spot.

You walked in and instantly looked towards your usual booth.You would’ve been happy to be reminded of your friends faces, but unfortunately to your dismay, Mr Sam Fender was sat with them, blatant of your arrival. You were tempted to walk back out, to come up with some petty excuse for you to leave, but it was too late, the gang had noticed you. “Y/n!”, Dean waved you over, obviously happy to see you. You quickly plastered on a smile and strutted in their direction. You were not going to let Sam ruin tonight.

“Hey guys, long time no see.” Dean squeezed up, allowing room for you to sit. Within an instant it was like they had never left. They told you stories from on tour (like Sam threatening to break into a Greggs after a particularly messy night out) and they had asked about what you had been up to too.

“So y/n you seeing anyone”, Drew asked, whilst side-glancing towards Sam. Great, you were going to be reminded YET AGAIN that you were still single, and you were certain that Sam basked in your sad, single loneliness.

“Yep obviously. I think I just defer guys with my presence.”

“Obviously”, Sam muttered under his breath. You pretended to ignore him but you couldn’t help but notice the sharp glance Drew gave him from across the table. He quickly attempted to assure you. “Nah that’s not true, I knew a bunch of guys who had a crush on you at school.”

“Yeah, like who?” You raised your brow out of curiosity.

“Sorry that’s classified information. I promised I’d never tell.”

“Drew, school was nine years ago.” You folded your arms across the table, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah but it was a pinky promise and you know how sacred they are.”

“Sure, now I’m gonna go get us some more drinks before you bore everyone with my non-existent love life.” You left the table and headed towards the bar, hoping they’d change the topic by the time you’d get back. It wasn’t as if your love life was non-existent it was just very much unsuccessful. For some reason you had a certain type for dickheads, the kind who loved to walk all over you and cheat whenever they felt like it. In a way you were grateful for your chain of ex-lovers, they had made you tougher to a certain extent, and boys knew it too. In fact, most of the time, the boys refused to meet whoever you were dating. It was almost as if they could see right through each and every bloke, and decided that any guy would never be good enough for you or their time. “6 pints please.”

“That’s a lot of pints for a small thing like you.” You hadn’t even looked at the bartender, but his voice seemed to pull you out of a trance. You quickly realised how good-looking he was. He was roughly in his late 20s, dirty blonde hair and kind brown eyes. He was charming in some sort of way and he had even kinder smile. Shit, you were still staring. He must think I’ve got something wrong with me.

“I wish they were, but I’m pretty sure you’d have to roll me out of here if I even attempted to down all six.” He laughed and started pouring out glasses, locking eyes with you every so often. “So are you new? I haven’t seen you around here before.” God, you were cringing so bad. You knew you were a bit rusty but this ‘flirting’ was just a shit-show.

“Kinda, some of my relatives live down here but I don’t live too far either. I take it you’re local?”

“Sadly, yes. Hopefully I can get out soon if my job picks up.” You were hopeful, but it was the truth. Although you loved Shields, you didn’t wanna stay here forever.

“It’s not too bad around here, where would you wanna go, when you do get out?”

“I’ve not thought that far ahead yet, maybe down South or maybe even somewhere else in Europe.”

“I’ll have to tag along if you don’t mind.” He folded his arms across the bar and leaned down to your eye level. God, talking to this guy was so easy, you could stare into those eyes for hours. You hadn’t even realised that he’d poured all six drinks!

“Sure, I could use the company.” You played along, silently hoping he’d take you up on the offer.

“Isn’t your boyfriend good company then?”

“My boyfriend?!” You gave him an unsure glance, you were certain that you were single.

“Yeah, the guy giving me the evils.” You turned to look. “Don’t look!” He lightly grabbed your arm stopping you from turning. “God, don’t make it too obvious”, he laughed. “The guy in the white-shirt sat with you and your friends, blondish hair?”

“Ohhhhh, that’s Sam”, you laughed. “We’re not together.”

“He’s been giving me the evils ever since you strutted on over, I took a guess thought you and him were a thing or something.”

You snorted, “Sam basically hates me, he treats me like shit or ignores me half the time.”

“Trust me, coming from a guy, he’s definitely feeling something other than hate for you.”

“And trust me, knowing Sam for nearly 10 years, basically makes him my brother.” You couldn’t put anymore emphasis on that, you and Sam were not a thing. Period.

“Well if you’re adamant that there’s nothing going on between you, I’d love to take your number?” You blushed but willingly took the guys phone and dialled in your number.

“Y/n by the way.”

“Archie, lovely to meet you y/n.” He smiled and you and you smiled back effortlessly. God, his smile really was something.

“You too, now I’d better get back to my friends before they start screaming for their beer.” You walked on ever to the group, careful not to spill the drinks.

“Oi oi, look at you gettin’ ya flirt on”, Dean whistled. You blushed again, knowing full well that Archie could hear.

“See told ya guys fancied you, you just can’t see it half the time.” You instantly thought back to Sam and glanced in his direction. Sure enough, he was sulking as usual.

“I’m going for a ciggy”, Sam announced, and with that he stood up and stalked on outside- ruining the mood once more.

“Think I might join him”, Drew said and quickly left after him. You shrugged and sat down next to Dean once more. Dean started talking about the good old days, laughing about the stupid things you guys did when you were young.

“Remember that one time you hit by the swing playing chicken, and Sam felt so bad he pedalled home to go get you a plaster.”

“Omg and by the time he got back, I had stopped crying and we had started a new round.”

“He was so mad, I remember he wanted you to sit out to rest your “injured” knee. It was literally the smallest cut ever!” You both laughed at the memory. You remembered that you had argued with Sam that day, you refused to sit and watch whilst the boys had all the fun. “I miss those days man”, Dean continued, “when we didn’t have to worry about anything other than going to the park after school.”

“Yeah but you enjoy tour life right? You’re travelling, meeting new people. I’m sure you got girls throwing themselves at your feet as well.”

“That’s one bonus, I get homesick though. Actually, Sam was saying how you should come with us when we go on tour next.”

“He did?!” The news took you by surprise. He wanted to spend time with you.

“Yeah, he said you could be our own personal groupie”, Dean chuckled. You? A groupie for Sam? You loved there music, there was no doubt about it but you weren’t sure how you felt about him as a person. You’d known him for a while but you didn’t really KNOW him that well. He was a difficult person.

“Yeah sounds good. I missed you guys whilst you were away.”

“We all missed you too, especially Sam. It was kind of annoying actually, he complained about you not being there with us A LOT”. God, Sam just seem to escape the conversation tonight. Everything just sounded so unlike him. It never acted like this around you, and he certainly hadn’t said anything nice about you to your face. It was definitely a shock.

“Speaking of the buggers, I’m going to see what’s taking them so long.” You needed some air anyway, it was so stuffy inside. As you reached the door you heard a quiet a conversation. You wouldn’t usually snoop but you recognised the voices. It sounded like a very important conversation. Their voices were tense yet quiet, ensuring that no one would be able to hear. No one but you obviously.

“Drew leave it. Nothings ever going to happen between us. We wouldn’t work. We’re two VERY different people who have VERY different lives.” Sam. You wondered who he was on about, was he seeing someone? Why did you care?

“Mate you’ve had a crush on her since we were 12. I know you still like her, and you can’t deny it.”

“Yeah and so what. We date. It goes wrong. It fucks up our whole gang. Things become awkward. The end. That’s what will happen. End of.”

“Well, you’ll never know until you try. All I’m saying is that you better man up quick, otherwise someones gonna beat you to it.”

Wait, known since 12, fuck up whole gang, that only narrows it down to one person. Me, Sam likes me, you thought, and with that, you heard the boys stomping out their fags ready to re-enter the tavern and face you once more.

#sam fender #sam fender x reader #sam fender imagines #imagines #angst #fluff

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch. 4

what you can do with what there is

Chapter Three

This is the fourth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Last Chapter: some time passed and Spencer is still struggling, especially after he felt betrayed by Rossi on the Solitary Man case. Georgetown tried to recruit Spencer to run their Chemistry department.

In This Chapter: Aaron comes to some heartbreaking realisations, gets very protective, and Stuff Happens in Alaska.

TW: haley & foyet as well as grief mentioned; chapter centres on an outsider's view of depression.

Word Count: 4.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is. — Ernest Hemmingway, The Old Man and the Sea

Much of the year passes in somewhat of a blur for Aaron. He focuses on looking after Jack, dedicating absolutely everything he has to his son when he’s at home while throwing himself into the cases that come across his desk at work.

A small part of him he’d thought was dead regenerates as his work serves as a stark reminder of all the people he saves, all the good he can do with his job still. Maybe he couldn’t save Haley — something that will no doubt haunt him for the rest of his days — but he can save other people’s loved ones. There is still good to do, and he tries to draw his strength from that.

Grief, of course, still flickers relentlessly in his heart, and no matter how hard he tries he can’t quite seem to extinguish the flame burning its way through the tired tissue, but at least the smouldering doesn’t hurt quite so viscerally anymore. He’s learned to live with it. Getting up in the morning feels easier day by day, and sometimes he’s even able to look at Jack without seeing Haley’s face — and if he does, it doesn’t punch him in the gut in quite the way it used to.

As soon as he’s back to work he tries as hard as he can to keep an eye on Spencer, but the hectic nature of the cases and the younger man’s talent for melting into the background when he wants to is making it far harder than he’d like. He’d come over to his place a few times after Aaron had invited him to stay for lunch and he’d seemed a little more comfortable each time, brightening up considerably as he sat on the sofa with Aaron or let Jack take him on a tour through his lego sets.

The problem is that even though Aaron knows Spencer’s mental state is deteriorating, he has no idea how to bring it up. Sometimes it’s even easy to miss: it doesn’t affect his work, he avoids the rest of them as much as possible — Aaron and Penelope appearing to be the only exceptions for some reason — and his fake smiles seem to have the others on the team pretty much convinced.

He can’t exactly order him into his office and demand to know what’s going on, especially since his work is still exemplary, nor does it seem tactful to bring it up when Spencer is sitting on the floor playing trains with his son. Broaching the subject of emotions isn’t something either of them are exactly comfortable with, and he knows he’ll scare him off if he ambushes him.

Something had changed after their case in New Mexico, but he still can’t quite put his finger on what. An element of relief has been playing over Spencer’s face and body language; something of the deep uneasiness he’d been carrying lifted.

He’d be relieved if Spencer had had even a single conversation with him outside of work since that case. Surely if he was genuinely feeling better his visits to Aaron’s apartment would only increase, but they’ve stopped altogether.

Between working hard to distract himself from the pain of losing Haley and looking after Jack, he just can’t figure it out.

That is, until the Alaska case.

🌧

Aaron makes a point to get on the jet last. Spencer’s been avoiding him, but if he chooses a seat first, then Aaron can slide into the seat opposite. He doesn’t exactly have a game plan, but he wants to at least stick close to Spencer, to have at least one conversation with him.

Having him close has felt more and more essential recently. He chalks it up to feeling Spencer’s avoidance all too acutely, but really — if he’s being completely honest with himself — he knows it’s more than that; something deep inside him is shifting. If it is what he thinks it is, he’s in for a world of trouble.

The jet always feels cosy at night, the soft lighting and comfortable seating a decent environment to get a nap in, and as he climbs in, the door closing behind him, he sees the rest of the team getting ready for a few hours of sleep before they debrief an hour or so before landing. Spencer’s tucked into the corner closest to the door, feet curled up under him as he faces towards the window, the blackness of the night and warm light of the plane reflecting his tight, pensive face.

As he slides in opposite him, Spencer’s eyes open briefly. He’s careful to school his expression, but Aaron sees the turmoil in the miniscule movements of his face muscles. He wants to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until his anxiety passes but he doubts that would be helpful: he’s clearly playing at least a part in the pain Spencer’s going through.

“Okay?” he murmurs, as the quiet roar of the jet engines starting up gives them a little privacy for conversation.

Spencer nods, keeping his eyes closed as he shifts a little. Maybe it’s the gentle illumination of the cabin or maybe it’s just one of the first real times of clarity and concentration he’s had in months — barring his fierce focus on the cases — but in this moment Aaron notices. He notices how Spencer’s lost a significant amount of weight, how his face is gaunt and exhausted, his body language tense and self-protective. It’s like all the confusion that’s been playing across his mind is answered in an instant.

Aaron’s stomach clenches with guilt. How did he ever let it get this bad? How did he not see? How has everyone else not seen?

He’s been operating in such a haze of trauma and grief it’s as though he’s been floating through life, not focusing on anybody but Jack longer than necessary. Even when Spencer was sitting on his couch and clamming up whenever he brought the team up or discussed something that made him uncomfortable for some unfathomable reason, he just couldn’t see it. He’s been so wrapped up in himself and Jack, he’d missed the signs of someone who means so much to him spiralling down into a black pit of… what? Exhaustion? Despair? Misery?

Aaron clears his throat. “Spencer,” he starts — it feels more appropriate to use his first name — as they take off towards Alaska, “you can be honest with me.” He tries for gentleness, and reaches across the small table between them to brush Spencer’s hand with the pads of his fingers; meant to be a reassuring, non-assuming touch.

His stomach does a somersault as his fingers meet Spencer’s cold skin. As much as he wants to pretend it’s nervousness, some sort of anticipation, plain and simple worry for the wellbeing of a colleague, he can’t. Every fibre of his being is begging him to take Spencer’s hands in his, hold them until they warm up again, until his eyes open and meet his own, until he climbs into Aaron’s lap and lets him make everything better.

Instead, Spencer’s eyes squeeze tighter as a small tear makes its way past his eyelashes, sliding down his pale cheek and Aaron’s chest burns at the sight.

“Oh, Spencer,” he says, voice hoarse as emotion crawls up from his chest, invading his throat. “I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not noticing sooner, sorry you’re in so much pain, sorry I can’t make it better.

Spencer just shakes his head, eyes still tight and wrinkled, withdrawing his hand from where it’s still resting under Hotch’s cautious touch. “Not your fault,” he whispers eventually, bringing himself together enough to manage a watery, self-deprecating smile. “I’m being ridiculous.” He wipes another tear away and inhales deeply, letting out slowly as he looks down in his lap. “I’m tired and we need to sleep before we get to Alaska. Can this wait? Please?”

He’s definitely telling the truth. His eyes are dark and every muscle in his body is belying his exhaustion, there’s no question about that.

Aaron knows he needs to relent. Spencer is right, they all need their rest so they can focus their full attention on the case once they arrive in Alaska, and it’s not like he’s going to spill his soul to Aaron on a jet surrounded by people he doesn’t seem all too happy with.

“Okay,” he sighs, trying to school his face rid of anything that could be construed as pity as he tries for something closer to empathy. “Let’s talk about it after this case.” He doesn’t add a question or leave any room for argument: he’s going to get the truth out of Spencer if it kills him.

Spencer nods once, closing his eyes and drawing even tighter in on himself. Aaron doesn’t quite trust he’s really agreeing — he’s holding something back; his face is a little too blank to be natural, his body language tense, and Aaron isn’t inclined to believe it’s simply apprehension for such a conversation. But pushing won’t get him anywhere. He takes his comfort in at least knowing now, knowing what to look out for, knowing he needs to protect Spencer, as well as a tentative agreement.

He closes his eyes, not intending to sleep but to think. Something’s gone horribly wrong, and he needs to figure out what. With Spencer involved, he’ll move heaven and earth to get to the bottom of it.

Emily and Derek are taken on a tour of the small town as soon as they arrive by seaplane, and the rest of them are directed to Carol’s Tavern by the Sheriff. Aaron tries not to be obvious, but he can’t help himself from hovering a little closer to Spencer than normal, itching for an excuse to touch him as they enter the inn and start to set up.

Spencer sits quietly in an armchair, speed-reading through the existing files and documents on the case supplied by the police department, and he looks so small Aaron wants to cry. He didn’t have weight to lose in the first place: he’s skin and bones and he looks utterly exhausted. He’s flipping through the papers slower than usual, rubbing his eyes and face constantly as his leg bounces up and down. It’s so unlike Spencer, Aaron has to ask himself again in utter bewilderment how on earth a team of FBI profilers all missed this.

“Everything okay?” Dave asks as he sidles up to where Aaron is standing, pretending to fiddle on his phone while he sneaks covert looks in Spencer’s direction.

Aaron’s known Dave long enough to hear the implication in his voice, and he fights to keep his cool, to keep the blush off his face. “Yeah,” he says as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring whatever he’s trying to imply. “The Sheriff is going to escort me to the police office as soon as he wraps up talking with Carol. I want you and Spencer to head to the ME.” Even if Spencer is having problems with people on the team, surely Dave will be a comforting fatherly presence. As much as he itches to go with him instead, that would only raise suspicion, and he knows Spencer would never forgive him for that.

“I hear it’s actually the town doctor,” Dave says, raising an eyebrow, “not an ME. But we’ll head out as soon as you do.”

The Sheriff wanders over and Aaron sends Dave a flat-lipped smile and follows him out of the inn. He catches a final look at Spencer’s bone-weary face as Dave collects him to go to the doctor’s office, and nothing registers on Dave’s face to say he’s noticed Spencer’s misery; he simply taps him on the shoulder, tells him where they’re going, and collects his coat.

To some extent, he forgives himself for not noticing Spencer’s suffering despite the guilt he still feels, but the rest of the team — Dave, his father figure — not seeing it, not reaching out, not doing everything they can to alleviate it feels unforgivable.

Anger rises in his chest as they walk the short distance to the police office. How long has it been like this? No wonder Spencer was so cagey when he bought up the team: they abandoned him in his hour of need. He forces the swelling fury down as they walk into the building as best he can though; it’s unproductive and they have a case to solve. He’s going to work relentlessly until it is, until they can fly home and he can fix this.

They regroup back at the inn that evening, sharing their facts and theories from the day’s work. The fire is going, a cosy antidote to the freezing Alaska air outside, and Aaron’s sure he would probably feel quite content if he wasn’t so damn worried about Spencer.

It’s the sort of place he could properly relax and enjoy on holiday. Haley was always a two-weeks-in-Europe kind of person, but he’s always preferred a cosy, private cabin in the middle of winter. His therapist has slowly got him used to the idea of one day moving on with someone new, and he thinks that maybe he’ll have to revisit Alaska and take that person with him one day.

(He ignores the part of his heart that longs for that person to be Spencer.)

“Alright, so we have a psychopath with hunting skills who knows the routines of everybody in town,” JJ sighs, resting her head on her palm, curled into the corner of one of the sofas. “How do we keep everybody safe?”

“Sheriff, I suggest you institute a curfew until we have the unsub in custody,” Aaron says, voice grave. “Nobody out after dark.”

“I’ll have one of my deputies patrolling around the clock.”

He nods. “Garcia, how’s it coming with town records?”

“I've run everyone who's been printed through CODIS, nothing's come up so far. I'm gonna pull an all-nighter, finish going through the town records — should have background checks by sunrise.”

“Good,” he says, nodding appreciatively in her direction. His eyes are still half-watching Spencer. “The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning.”

“I’ve got four of the rooms available upstairs,” Carol says, clearly anticipating less than pleased reactions.

Spencer’s head snaps up at that, “uh, four?” Anxiety is written across his face, not for the first time today, and Aaron itches to hold his hand, calm his worries. His instincts, let alone his feelings, are getting harder and harder to ignore.

“It's the best we can do. Your team is double the size of my department,” the Sheriff replies, somewhat harshly as he gets up to leave. Aaron winces at the way it makes Spencer draw in on himself, almost flinching at his tone. “See you in the morning.”

“Looks like we’ll have to double up,” Aaron says, inching closer to Spencer’s armchair. He ignores the Sheriff’s good night. Anyone who speaks even somewhat rudely to Spencer doesn’t deserve niceties.

Immediately, Derek scoffs. “I’m not sleeping with Reid,” he says, and it’s so out of the blue that Aaron nearly does a double take. How uncalled for, he thinks, and his heart sinks at the sight of Spencer retreating further inside himself, a hurt, bewildered expression colouring his features.

(He once again ignores the part of his brain that responds to Derek’s comment with ‘I’d like to’. That is wildly unhelpful right now.)

“Dibs,” Penelope says, resting her hand on his forearm as they share loving glances with one another, but Aaron barely pays them any attention, his eyes glued to Spencer and his heartbroken expression. He realises that it probably feels like a double rejection for him, both Penelope and Derek choosing each other for him.

“I’ll sleep alone,” Dave says knowingly, coming up behind him and resting his hands on both his shoulders for a moment before grabbing his bag and heading upstairs, room key in hand.

Spencer seems frozen in time, thoughts clearly going a million miles an hour, so Aaron waits until JJ and Emily have paired off and gone upstairs with Derek and Penelope before crouching down in front of Spencer’s armchair.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching his palm to Spencer’s arm briefly. As soon as his eyes come back into focus, a flash of that expression Aaron hasn’t been able to put his finger on — relief? — whips across his face before he carefully schools it into neutrality. Aaron can still see the undertones of pain and betrayal written in his eyes, though. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

Spencer starts at that. “You want to share a room with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Aaron asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

He shakes his head and gathers himself, grabbing his bag and heading to the stairs without replying.

Aaron enters the room a moment after him, surprised to see the ensuite light on and door locked already. He heads towards the only bed in the room, a spacious double, and dumps his bag before sitting on the edge and fixing his eyes on the motel art hanging on the wall opposite him. He takes a deep breath in before exhaling slowly: he can do this, he can share a bed with Spencer and not make it weird.

It’s a good few minutes before Spencer exits the bathroom, changed into a relaxed t-shirt and pajama bottoms with his long hair combed and fluffy around his shoulders. Aaron tries very hard not to think how utterly delectable he looks and simply offers a small smile as Spencer approaches the bed.

“I can sleep on the floor if you prefer,” Aaron says, completely sincere. He’d do anything to make Spencer more comfortable. Any other time he’d expect Spencer to stay polite and insist it’s fine, but this version of the younger man seems to be teetering on the edge of reckless carelessness and furious irritation just precariously enough to say what he really means.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Spencer crawls under the duvet, not meeting Aaron’s eyes as a blush colours his cheeks. “The bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Aaron gets ready for bed as quickly as he can before joining Spencer under the covers, feeling the warmth of his body heat and desperately craving more. He tries to stamp those feelings down. He’s only recently lost Haley, and where did this ridiculous crush on his youngest subordinate come from anyway? He squeezes his eyes tightly shut for a minute as his chest tightens with the flood of all these confusing emotions before he turns his attention towards the man lying next to him.

“Spencer?” he whispers, rolling over to face him.

He doesn’t respond, just turns his head a little and blinks slowly.

“Derek shouldn’t have said what he said in the lobby,” he murmurs carefully, not wanting to upset him. “I’m sorry.”

Aaron feels the mattress move as Spencer tenses up, curling in on himself but not turning to face the other way. He can’t help it when he reaches out to place his hand on top of Spencer’s clutched, freezing fingers.

“What do you think he meant?” Spencer whispers, voice vulnerable and strained as his big, blinking eyes meet Aaron’s.

Aaron swallows as his stomach dips at the intensity of sad, hazel eyes staring into his own, and he squeezes Spencer’s hands a little tighter. “I don’t know, Spencer,” he says sadly. “I really don’t. He probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it was cruel and uncalled for. He’s the one missing out.” He smiles a little in the soft light of the streetlamp streaming in through the curtains, trying to convince Spencer how serious he is.

A gallery of emotions play out across Spencer’s face. They’re gone too quickly for Aaron to read, but he can gather enough to know he’s conflicted about something.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” he promises softly. He feels so unprofessional right now, but there’s nothing he can do to stop himself: Spencer is hurting and every part of him is itching to make it better. His reasons are unimportant and irrelevant at this moment in time, all that matters is Spencer’s well-being.

Spencer looks away at that, shifting a little as he pulls his hands away from Aaron’s. “We should get some sleep,” he says quietly, rolling away to face the window.

Neither of them sleep for hours.

He keeps Spencer as close as possible for the rest of the case, and once they’ve finally wrapped it up — Aaron quietly proud of how clever Spencer is for figuring out the driving motive for the unsub — they clamber onto the jet and collapse into their seats.

It’s nice to be flying home in daylight for once, but the bright light of the clear sky is clearly hurting Spencer’s head as he curls into himself in the same corner he chose on the journey there. The first thing he does when he sits down is close the shutter, heart fluttering at Spencer’s thankful smile.

Aaron works through his paperwork as Spencer sits opposite him silently, not joining in with anybody’s conversations like he used to do, instead seeming totally wrapped up in his own head. It’s nice to sit in the configuration they’re both so used to, although Aaron definitely prefers to sit at the other end of the jet, and he’d relax into it a little more if Spencer wasn’t so obviously in pain. He cracks on with his work, trying his best to focus on the knowledge that the second they get back to Quantico, he can talk with Spencer and they can get started on fixing what’s wrong.

“Hotch?” Spencer says quietly, unravelling himself from his curled ball as they approach landing.

Aaron looks up from his careful organising of the case notes into his binder, and can’t help it when his face softens the second he meets Spencer’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, looking a little fearful for some reason. “When we get back to the office?”

Aaron is immediately torn between feeling elated that Spencer wants to confide in him and not completely trusting that this is a good thing. Spencer didn’t exactly seem like he was chomping at the bit to have the kind of conversation Aaron is hoping for, and he doubts that two nights of sharing a bed changed that drastically.

“Of course,” he says, regardless of his doubts, but his suspicion is only raised when Spencer’s expression turns to something like shame at Aaron’s cautious smile, turning to look out the window instead.

Aaron watches as Spencer eases himself into the chair opposite his desk as soon as they get into his office, wringing his hands as he waits for him to situate himself. Watching his body language, he’s still torn: this really could go either way, but his gut is telling him to prepare for the worst. Aaron prays he’s wrong, but he knows that this is instinct; his subconscious has picked up on things he isn’t even aware of and it’s telling him to brace himself.

“I’m resigning,” Spencer says. “Effective immediately.”

Aaron’s head swims, his vision blurs, his heart pounds — considering the implications of Spencer Reid resigning from the BAU is dizzying him. He does his best to keep his cool, but Spencer is a profiler. He’ll be able to see the raging emotions through the cracks in his mask.

“Is…” he starts, before clearing his throat and briefly glancing down at the table, “is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

Spencer shakes his head, despondency evident on his face. Did he really manage to miss such miserable expressions all this time, or has Spencer finally stopped concealing them now he doesn’t have anything to lose?

“I can’t do this anymore, Hotch,” he says, allowing himself to be vulnerable with Aaron again, and despite the circumstances, he treasures that trust more than anything. “I’m tired. I don’t want it to affect my work, and I have no joy in this anymore. I’ve been offered a position at Georgetown, and I’m accepting it.”

When Spencer joined the bureau at 22, three years below the standard eligibility age, one of the conditions of his contract had been the ability to resign without notice: the brass’s attempt at insuring his mental health and covering their own asses. Three years away from a contract renewal, the condition remains, and Spencer is free to leave if he wants to. Even if it makes Aaron’s heart sick.

“I’m… incredibly sorry to see you go, Spencer.” He’s sort of at a loss for words. “I hope you know that you can still talk to me, even when you leave. I know you’re unhappy, I know there’s something going on and I want to help. This team is a family, and that doesn’t change just because someone leaves to do something else.”

“Well, I’m not sure how welcome I really am in this family,” Spencer responds, an edge of bitterness in his tone that catches Aaron off-guard.

“What do you mean? Is it what Derek said?” Aaron knows it’s something bigger than that, but he still hasn’t figured out what. He knows Spencer’s been a bit left out since everything happened with Foyet, but the specifics are lost on him, and he’s desperate to know, desperate to fix this.

Spencer deflates, suddenly looking incredibly tired. “No, I—” he trails off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worrying about it, Spencer,” he says, firm and kind. “I worry about you. I care about you.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I need to go home. I’m exhausted,” Spencer says slowly, standing up to leave. Aaron’s at a loss for what to say so just stands up with him, hoping against hope that this isn’t the last time he sees him. Spencer pauses in the doorway. “Did you mean… what you said? That I can talk to you still?” His voice is small and apprehensive, refusing to meet Aaron’s eye.

He softens at that, feeling some of the intense emotions raging inside of him quieten as he looks at the smaller man standing in his doorway, hanging on with his fingernails. “Yes,” he promises quietly. “I meant every word. You can call me anytime, day or night. If you think I’m just going to let you walk out of my life, Spencer, you’re sorely mistaken.” His voice is fierce, emotional in a way he doesn’t often allow.

Spencer meets his eyes then, and Aaron wants to drown in them, consequences be damned. “Thank you, Aaron,” he whispers quietly, before he opens the door and makes his way across the bullpen, both ignoring and ignored by Emily and Derek chatting happily at their desks.

He doesn’t turn around this time, and Aaron doesn’t wave. He sits at his desk, and he cries.

Chapter Five

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187

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