#it’s on stray kids if you’re unfamiliar

[trkstrnd]

vocal stims i’ve had lately -

“the FUCK yall know about the tim tam slam??” (i’m american)

stray kids japanese lyrics (all in, falling up, night, social path) (again, i’m american but i have echolalia and romanized lyrics)

“abababababa”

barking

hitting high notes resonating in my sinuses while i have a sinus infection to make my head vibrate

“1, 2, 3!!! RACHA GET SPOTLIGHT.”

“the FUCK yall know about gardettos?”

screaming but quietly

meowing (specifically at my cat)

“AYO???”

[reobsessed]

Unfamiliar Waters

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral. Content: Bathing, kissing, hair washing, fluff, comfort, slight conflict that gets resolved immediately, no sex, minor mention of torture. 1500 Words. Summary: You were in dire need of a bath after a harrowing fight outside the inn you were staying at. Unfortunately you find the tub already occupied by Astarion. In an attempt to bond with and get him out of there, you offer to wash his hair. Another short Astarion fic I started a while ago. Wanted to do something fluffy and intimate without any sex. Thanks again to Suri for edits and help with lines and the title!

You flung open the wooden doors, uncaring as wood chipped against lavender painted walls. Just as you were halfway through discarding your shirt, an indignant cry caught you off guard.

“What in the sweet hells, do you mind?!” The towel and toiletries fell from your hands. You’d never been very perceptive and today was no exception. Already fully submerged in the tub was Astarion; chest bare slumped over the side, a dripping copy of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette in hand.

“Astarion?! I haven’t seen you in hours, is this where you’ve been?” You spluttered. “We really could have used your help. There was a fight right outside the inn. There’s absolutely no way you didn’t hear the commotion.”

“Some of us take pride in our appearances and besides, I needed time away from that festering group of ingrates.” As if to emphasise his point he shuddered. “You know, you could all learn a lot from me, starting with regular bathing.”

“And how exactly are any of us meant to bathe when you’re in the bathroom four hours every day?”

“Oh I don’t know, Baldur’s Gate has plenty of scenic rivers and lakes. I’m sure the bear has no problem leading each of you to nature’s finest bathhouse.”

You rubbed your temples with a freehand. As much as you loved this man, he could really start to grate on your nerves after a while. You scooped up your belongings and made your way over to him, arranging your towel neatly on the floor beside you.

He looked up from the paper disinterestedly. “As much as I love your company, dear, I hope you’re not planning on joining me. I hardly think this,” he gestured disapprovingly at the tub, “can fit us both.”

“Astarion, if there’s anything I can do to cut this exceedingly long bath short, I would be more than happy to assist.”

His eyes widened momentarily. How stupid of you, you hadn’t considered the implications of what you’d said. 

“No, no, that's quite alright. I’ve still got my hair to wash and that’ll take at least another half an hour.”

Perching yourself on the edge of the tub beside him, you began rolling up your sleeves.

“Then allow me.” You smirked.

He flung the sodden paper to the floor and stared at you dumbfounded. “You mean you- wash my hair. I’m sitting here naked, dripping and gorgeous and all you want to do is ‘wash my hair’?”

“Couples do things for each other. Things outside of sex and combat, I might add,” you sniped back. Using your fingers, you began combing through his dampened locks.

“Without the sex, I suppose that leaves only the one thing we do together then.”

“That’s true.” His body tensed. “No, no wait- '' Flustered, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your forehead against the back of his head. A feeble gesture, intended to soothe him and buy you enough time to explain.

“Just kidding,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, but you knew it wasn’t genuine.

“I like doing other things with you,” you mumbled into his curls. “I don’t care about the sex.” You relaxed your hold, allowing him to turn around to face you. Delicately, you reached out and wiped a stray piece of hair from his forehead. As you did so, his unnaturally pale cheeks took on a darker hue, perhaps from the heat or from your touch, you weren’t sure.

He cleared his throat and turned away again. “I see then. Well, this is as good a time as any to try something new.” 

“Really?!” your head perked up. “I’m so excited, haven’t washed anyone else's hair since I left home.” You began swirling a hand in the tepid water, carefully choosing a spot faraway from where Astarion sat. “Did you and your siblings ever do this for each other? Like my family did,” you asked without thinking.

He shot you an incredulous glare, which soon contorted into sarcastic glee. “Oh, of course we did! And then in between our torture sessions we’d paint each others’ nails! What good fun it was.” His smile dropped and he fell backwards into the bath, splashing you in the process.

You scratched the back of your head. “Sorry I-”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave it, my love. No use dwelling on all that now.” You nodded your head in agreement, not that he could see you. “Come now, we don’t have all day.” 

You hummed in agreement, looking over the various bottles that sat on a shelf beside the bath. Astarion was a very particular man and you didn’t wish to upset him by, god’s forbid, using the wrong fragrance. You gestured towards the selection of shampoo. “What’s your poison?”

“Hmm, I think today I‘m in the mood for jasmine- no wait- night orchid and ginseng- actually, that honey shampoo sounds positively delicious.”

“Might net you some unwanted attention from our camp bear,” you joked, hands sifting through the knots in his hair.

“Fair point. Alright then, I think I’d like to try that raspberry one, the one you got from that dear little market stall.” 

The same one you liked to use.

With a gentle firmness you cupped the sides of his head. You hoped it was enough to stop him from turning around and seeing the pure glee etched onto your face.

“Alright, I need to get it wet, lean back,” you instructed, as you scooped up a handful of water.

He did as he was told and reclined backwards, eyes closed and squinted, anticipating the stream of water. Doing this for your brothers and sisters had been easy. Hells, you could get away with lobbing them in the river and they’d be just fine. Astarion, on the other hand, required a more delicate touch (even if he’d never admit to it) and you were more than happy to cater towards him.

With slow precision you poured the cooling water over his scalp, immediately pushing back any stray drops that threatened to drip down into his eyes. 

Gods, how was it possible for such a man to be so beautiful and how was it that such a man had chosen you as his partner? Your hands stopped and your gaze lingered, as you took in his picturesque features.

An eyelash heavy with steam peeled open, giving you an inquisitive look.

“Enjoying the show, darling?” A thick, humid heat bloomed across your cheeks. “By all means, keep admiring me.”

“Shut up and close your eyes!” You grabbed the bottle from the side and began lathering it in your hands. The familiar fragrance filled your nostrils and despite having grown accustomed to having it as your own scent, you were looking forward to how it smelt on him.

You rubbed the foam through your fingers, fully enveloping his hair in a thick mousse. As your nails dragged across his scalp you heard him moan. 

“That feels positively wonderful.”

“Oh yeah, like this?” you asked, repeating the same motions as before. He mmm-ed softly, sinking further into your hold. You paused for a second, this might be the most satisfied sound you’d ever heard coming from his lips, not a bad thing of course, given his past experiences. 

His eyes were open again, staring up at you, face awash with bliss. 

“Itching for a taste are we?” he goaded lightly.

There was no use dignifying that with a response. You brought your lips down upon his, his head still clasped in your hands. It was brief and sweet, reminiscent of those first kisses you’d once shared with young lovers. Unthinkable that such innocent yearning could be reclaimed so late in life. 

Reluctantly you broke the kiss and pulled away.

“I do rather like that, you know…”

“I know and so do I.” You beamed. “Okay now can you please hurry up so I can have a bath,” you pleaded, peppering his mouth with more kisses.

“Always so demanding,” came his curt reply (the audacity). Nonetheless, he complied and finished up. 

A deep sigh of relief escaped your lips after finally lowering yourself into freshly ran water. About halfway through wetting your hair, a freezing pair of hands on your shoulders caught you off guard.

“Astarion!” you shrieked. The little rogue had snuck up behind you.

“Oh, do be quiet, and don’t splash me. Wouldn’t do to get me wet again.” You watched as he rifled through the shampoo bottles disapprovingly. “We must go to the market together again soon, darling, just the two of us. I know just the product that’s perfect for your hair type, might do something about that helmet musk too.”

You opted to ignore that last dig, instead choosing to relish in the satisfaction of a warm bath and your lover threading his fingers through your hair. “I’d like that,” you hummed happily. 

A contented silence descended over the room. You felt at peace and when you saw him hovering above you with that serene grin on his face, you knew he felt the same.

[hihello-pinky]

Sight (6)

Suna Rintarou x F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintaro had to learn this the hard way.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, explicit smut (unprotected, rough sex) -> lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 6k+

Finally, an update! Thank you for staying with this fic despite my very slow updates. There might be 2-3 parts left before the end; depends on your answer to my question at the end of this chapter! haha (wink, wink)

Kindly reblog, like, and/or leave a comment if you loved this chapter and let me know what you think! xoxo

part one ༘⋆ part two ༘⋆ part three ༘⋆ part four ༘⋆ part five

kofi for tips 💌 ~~

˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚ - - - ˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚

Twenty-five days.

Suna Rintarou swears he isn’t keeping track, but his stupid brain screams the number at him. It’s been twenty-five days of torture - his mind plagued with thoughts of wanting to kiss you.

Kiss you, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you.

He’s had the urge in the past but all of those times were out of the haze of sexual intimacy. His current dilemma, which began 25 days ago, is something else.

It had been a mundane Saturday morning. The kids were already up and engrossed in the TV show they both loved so much. Suna was in the kitchen, trying to be of help as you prepared breakfast.

The menu for that day was sunny side-ups paired with hotdogs. You were trying to show him how to perfectly crack eggs open when he moved to stand beside you to look closer. Your hand slipped, spoon cracking against the egg and he laughed. You moved to chastise him and in turn, the egg white from the cracked shell plopped against him.

With widened eyes, you gasped and then, backed with a barely contained giggle, apologized to him. The sound of your laughter was sweet and the way your eyes turned into little crescents tugged at Suna’s heart.

At that moment, he badly wanted to kiss you - to feel your laughter through your lips.

Now, he finds himself at the balcony of your bedroom, eyes turned towards the moonless sky with a lollipop in his mouth. Through the open door, he can hear the faint sound of the shower and he groans, urging his mind to not stray towards other thoughts.

He feels foolish with these emotions that you’re bringing out of him. Granted, they’re not unfamiliar, but it’s been several years since he’s had these feelings. And truth be told, Suna never thought he’d feel this way again: wanting to love someone.

He knows what he’s feeling for you is more than just platonic. But Suna is also pretty sure that he isn’t in love with you.

Yet.

“Rin?” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Would you mind closing the door? The breeze is coming through.” He sees that you’re now done with your shower, robe wrapped around your body with a towel in your hand.

He bites off the remaining lollipop and chucks the stick at the small bin by the balcony. Shortly after, he joins you in the room but not before making sure the door is securely locked behind him.

The smell of your green-apple hair conditioner hits him almost immediately. It’s a scent he has ignored for years but now that he’s free from his pride to admire every little thing about you, he basks in the scent. He then makes his way to the vanity. “Do you need help drying your hair off?”

Your curious eyes meet his through the mirror and after a few slow blinks, you nod. He takes over the towel and you open a drawer to bring out the dryer.

For a few moments, your eyes watch him work with the towel, gently squeezing clumps of your hair for the last drops of water possible. Then, before passing the hair-blower to him, you say, “You’re gonna end up with cavities given all the candies and lollipops you’ve been having.”

“They’re working, though,” he replies. “I haven’t smoked in over a month.”

You smile at him. “I’m so proud of you.” And then, as if deciding on what to say next, you add, “I wish there is another alternative so you won’t have to take too much sweets.”

Maybe it’s the proud look on your face. Maybe it’s the way your lips pucker out in a cute pout. Or maybe, he’s just so tired of counting the days.

Finally, Suna says, “What about a kiss?”

The way your eyes immediately widen is almost comical. “W-what?”

Suna only laughs as he takes the hair dryer from you, the brief skin contact making you blush. He shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

“Huh?” you try to turn around so you’re face to face but he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Stay still.”

“But…”

“Y/N. Let’s dry your hair first, okay?”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Drying one’s hair is supposed to take around five to ten minutes only, but after Rintarou’s question, it feels like it’s taking an hour. It’s not helping that he’s standing so close to you, hands gently drying your hair, warmth radiating from his body.

Once finished, you immediately turn on the seat. “Rin.”

“Y/N.”

The question comes to the tip of your tongue but never leaves your mouth. You bite your lip instead and avoid eye contact. “N-nevermind.”

As you try to stand, Rintarou stops you. “You’re cute when you blush, did you know that?”

You don’t answer, knowing full well that his remark only made your already flushing cheeks redden even more.

Suna sighs before cupping your cheek tenderly, urging you to look at him. Once your eyes meet his, he rubs a gentle circle on your skin. “I want to kiss you.”

It feels like your heart is beating a hundred miles per minute. Did you hear him correctly? He wants to kiss you? Suna Rintarou, the man who never kissed you in the five years you’ve been married? Suna Rintarou, the man who didn’t bother to kiss you on your wedding day?

I want to kiss you.

A lot of things have changed in the past months but still, Suna manages to surprise you. You feel like a teenager navigating romance for the first time again.

Another gentle rub on your cheek brings you back to the present, where Suna is saying he wants to kiss you. “Well? Are you going to allow me to kiss you, Y/N?”

Your only response is a meek nod to which Suna shakes his head. “I want you to say it. Tell me that you want me to kiss you.”

He never once breaks eye contact as he says those words. The urge to look away is so strong, for you feel like the longer you stare into Suna’s eyes, all the emotions inside of you will break out. Burst into a bubble that would consume you. It’s going to be cool, but suffocating.

Instead, your eyes remain on him, trying to decipher if there’s any ill-intentions in them.

You only see sincerity… and pained longing. As if every minute you’re not asking him to kiss you is bringing him immense pain.

But kissing him… it’s going to be a big step in your relationship. Granted, the two of you have been sleeping with each other again. But kissing is an entire thing different from sex. You’ve never kissed during sex before. Kissing him now would mean…

Rin doesn’t speak with words, but the way his thumb grazes your cheek once more tells you that he’s waiting. Finally, you decide to pocket the fears you have about kissing him. “Kiss me, Rin.”

He exhales in relief as he leans down and the distance between your lips get smaller and smaller and smaller and you get the sweet taste of his strawberry lollipop from earlier.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Goodbye, 25 days. Suna thinks to himself that night, as you lay sleeping beside him.

It’s just a kiss, but he can’t stop himself from feeling warm at the memory of your lips against his.

It’s just a kiss, but he feels like he’s on top of the world.

It’s just a kiss, but when he finally falls asleep that night, a stupid smile is on his face.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

In the following days, Suna learns that he has found a new addiction.

Waking up in the morning? A kiss on your lips.

Thanking you after finishing a meal? A kiss on your lips.

Saying goodbye before leaving for work? A kiss on your lips.

Seeing you after arriving at home? A kiss on your lips.

It’s not just even the feeling of your lips against his that makes him addicted to it - he’s also enamored by your reaction every time you kiss.

The way your breath hitches a little as your lips meet, and the soft sigh you let out once you part almost always bring a flood of warmth to his chest.

“Are you going out today or staying home for work?” Since you’ve been getting better, you have started to resume working again.

If it were up to Suna, he wouldn’t want you to work at all. Your current job is not demanding at all, minimal reports needed. He remembers helping you get it five years ago, when you had opened up to him about the missed opportunity after your graduation. Still, he knows you enjoy what little you do at work, so he can’t ask you to leave it.

“I’ll stay in today,” he hears your response. “I’ll visit the office on Friday.”

He makes a mental note to himself. “Okay.” And then, “Do we have any plans this weekend?”

He adjusts the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt as he hears you hum in contemplation. “Ah! Hajime invited us for Kenta’s birthday party this coming Saturday, right?”

Of course. Suna remembers the conversation two weeks before. He remembers trying to tame the jealousy brewing deep within him as the older man talked to you. He knows he has nothing to be jealous about. You’re just naturally sweet and friendly while Iwaizumi apparently started seeing someone.

“I almost forgot,” he confesses as he approaches you to where you’re lounging at the sofa. You’re currently waiting for your laptop to finish installing its update before you start work. “Do we have a gift already?”

“I actually ordered something but it’s stuck in one of the sorting hubs. If it doesn’t arrive by Friday, maybe we can drop by the mall or something?”

“Okay. I’ll go now, then. See you later.” He crosses the short distance between you, hand already cupping your face as he kisses you goodbye.

And if Suna is smiling while driving on the way to work, thinking about your goodbye kiss, then no one has to know.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Express delivery, as is turns out, do not always live up to its name. It’s now Friday and the package carrying your gift for Kenta has made no movement from the sorting hub. You’re at your table at work, waiting for Rin to pick you up after you texted him that you would need to drop by the mall first.

The children are at their grandparents since this morning and you’ll be picking them up when you and Rin go to their house for breakfast tomorrow. You look at the picture on your phone. Rintarou is splayed on the bed with the twins all over him. It’s from last weekend, when your kids had come to wake the two of you up.

Your heart is instantly flooded with warmth and joy. You didn’t think it’s going to be possible, but years later, here you are with a happy family despite of the circumstances. You couldn’t ask for more.

The notification on your phone alerts you that Rin is almost at your office building. You bid goodbye to your colleagues. As the door to the elevator begins to close, you see a woman rushing towards it. Luckily, you’re able to press the ‘hold door’ button immediately.

“Thank you,” the woman sighs in relief as she shoots you a grateful, sweet smile. She’s an unfamiliar face, which is not a surprise to you since you rarely visit the office and interact with people outside of your core department.

“No problem,” you reply while mirroring her smile, before turning your gaze ahead.

You’re about to settle on that elevator silence between strangers when the woman speaks. “For a building with over 30 floors, you’d think they have more than three working elevators.”

You hum in agreement. “The ‘under construction’ signs at the other two elevators have been there forever, right?”

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t know.” She lets out a small laugh. “I’ve only been here for two weeks. I’m in a contractual project, actually.”

The elevator doors open and you two walk out, still conversing. “Ah, may I ask what project?”

“Hitomi-chan’s passion project,” the woman replies with a smile. “I’m in-charge of photography.”

You feel foolish only noticing the camera bag slung on her left shoulder. “I see. You must be very good, then. Hitomi knows to pick partners well.”

A sweet laughter spills from her again, her cheeks blushing a little. “You’re too kind…”

“Y/N,” you reply, as you both approach the exit.

The woman extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. You can call me Serin.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Serin.”

A security staff of the building approaches the two of you. “Your husband’s car just pulled up at the parking area, Mrs. Suna.”

Serin’s grasp on your handshake falters a little. “Oh, you need to go?”

“Yes. See you around the office, Serin.”

She gives you one last smile before waving goodbye. “See you around!”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You’re only supposed to buy a gift for Kenta but two hours at the mall later, you and Suna are pushing one big cart of shopping carts each. You don’t talk as you navigate the parking space, but the exchange of smiles and grins speaks a lot.

“Why did we buy so much?” You ask as you watch Rin load the bags into the car. “We’re such impulsive buyers, oh god.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad splurging sometimes. We all deserve to spoil ourselves once in a while.”

“Is that why you bought a large fox plushie?” Your voice is laced with teasing. “I didn’t know you’re into stuffed toys.”

Suna loads the last bags before closing the door. “I bought that for you, though.” He takes your hand and leads you to the front passenger seat, opening its door. “And don’t act as if you weren’t looking at it with heart eyes when I showed it to you.”

You make yourself comfortable in the seat. “Sure.”

Suna scoffs playfully before shaking his head as he swats your hand away and puts the belt on you himself. “Okay, you’re never allowed to hold it ever, then.”

You fake gasp. “Really? Then that makes me sad.”

He leans in and kisses against the pout on your lips. “You’re so cute, Y/N,” he says once he pulls away.

“And you’re so silly, Rin.” This time, you’re the one who leans in and pecks his lips. As you’re about to pull away, you feel Suna’s hand on your head before he tries to deepen the kiss.

A small whine leaves your lips and gets swallowed by Suna immediately before he finally pulls away.

“Rin…”

You’re breathing heavily and he’s in no better situation. His eyes have darkened and the way he looks at you makes you squirm on the seat. You avert your gaze. “L-let’s go home.”

It takes him a beat to answer. “Yeah. Okay, sure.” He pulls back, squeezes your upper thigh, and then closes the door for you. You’re still not looking at him when he gets in the driver’s seat and maneuvers the car outside of the parking lot.

Once you’re on the road, one of his hands lets go of the wheel and reaches for you blindly before landing on your thigh. It stays there for a whole minute before you remove it. You lace your fingers together and place it on your lap instead.

Suna hums in contentment as he continues to drive, but not before squeezing your hand. You don’t even notice that he’s driving at the fastest allowable speed limit.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You’re glad that your children are at your in-laws’ house as you hear the incessant and loud creaking sound of the bed, paired with the headboard’s rhythmic slamming against the wall. Rintarou is groaning against your lips as his hips are working overtime in thrusting against yours.

“Fuck,” he whispers before capturing your lips in another frenzied kiss. “You feel so damn good, shit.” He’s heavily breathing and making lots of noise than usual.

You would have called him out for it if you were doing any better. “Ah, Rin, ah… right there.” Your words are cut off as he kisses you again.

Tonight’s sex feels different. It’s not only because it’s the first time you two are kissing during the deed. Right now, it feels as if Rintarou wants to tell you something through his actions.

His unforgiving thrusts continue, the onslaught of pleasure throughout your body unending. You already know you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him to be less rough. He’s hitting all the right spots and all the sounds that you’re both making are only adding heat to the room.

“It feels like your pussy wants to swallow me whole.” He pulls back slightly so he can see the probably messed up and fucked out expression on your face. “I love the way it pulls me in. Fuck, you’re so tight. Feels so fucking good!”

His words bring you to an unexpected orgasm and you whine with volume. It doesn’t deter him as he continues his hips’ movements. His lips are quick to silence you as he begins to move inside of you faster.

You should probably feel embarrassed with the sloppy, wet noises that your bodies are creating but it just feels so good. Your head is empty and all your mind can do is chant his name repeatedly.

Rintarou. Rin. Rintarou. Rin. Rin. Rintarou. So good.

“Louder,” his word snaps you out of your daze. It’s when you realize that you’re now moaning his name out loud. Ironically, you feel flustered and look away from him.

His hand starts roaming around your body and settles on your left breast before he pinches on the nipple. “Look at me, I want to see you come.”

He guides your face towards him and you two meet eye-to-eye. The room feels too hot but you ignore it, trapped in your bubble of intimacy with your husband. You’re stuck with letting out little whimpers and small exclaims of “ah, ah, ah”s as Rintarou continues to move inside you.

Unlike his earlier kisses, he plants a sweet peck on the side of your lips before pulling back. “Do you feel good? Are you okay?” His voice is now soft, a stark contrast to his rough thrusts.

You can only nod before a gasp of pleasure leaves you again.

He chuckles against your lips before aiming a single hard thrust, forcing a louder moan out of you. “Am I making you feel good, Y/N?”

You nod repeatedly, hands gripping him harder. The dig of your fingers on his skin makes him groan sexily. “Fuck, answer me. Do I feel good inside you, wife?” Another well-aimed thrust.

“Y-yes, yes!” you finally let out. A sniffle. “It’s so good. More please, Rin. I need more.”

Rintarou doesn’t deny you and quickens his pace, giving you what you want.

And everything feels right. This is what things should have been. The both of you giving and taking. The both of you feeling good and taken care of. You and Rintarou. Rintarou and you. Under a happy spell.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

The last time you were at a party setting with Hajime, things didn’t end well. However, you feel like today is a good one. For starters, you don’t have the underlying pressure of making sure everything goes smoothly. And to make things better, your husband has not left your side ever since your family arrived at the venue.

Risa and Ryuu are happily playing with all the other kids while you’re at the parents’ table, making small talk with the other guests. An older couple - Hajime’s relatives, you think - comments on how you and Rin look good together.

You thank them, turning to your husband’s shoulder to hide your blush. Instead, you see him smirk teasingly, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

The party goes well. Food, games, gift-giving…

Hajime finally sits next to you with a small sigh, the two of you barely exchanging more than a few words within the past hour. “This is tiring but very rewarding.” He’s staring at the direction of his son. “All for Kenta’s happiness.”

As if feeling his father’s eyes on him, the boy turns to your direction and waves, a toothy grin on his face.

“You know, in his earlier years, I only felt resentment towards his mother.” Hajime’s voice is tender. He rarely talks about the mother of his son, her being a touchy subject. “But now, all I feel is gratefulness and pity. I’m thankful because without her, I wouldn’t have Kenta. I pity her, because she’s missing out so much on how wonderful and amazing my son is.”

You can’t say you truly understand what he’s feeling. Still, you acknowledge to yourself that your children do seem to be merrier ever since Rintarou joined the three of you, bonding all the time. “Did she ever try to reach out?”

Hajime shakes his head. “No. And my attempts to talk to her were all futile.” The sad look on his face passes quickly. “You know, Y/N, I never considered dating again. Not until Kenta’s much older. But I’m glad I took the leap recently. She already adores Kenta and he likes her a lot, too.”

You perk up at the mention of his new lover. “I’m glad to hear that. Speaking of, I thought she was coming today?”

“She said she’ll catch up because something came up with the project she’s working on.” Just then, a notification pings on Hajime’s phone. “And now we’ve summoned her. I’ll go meet her at the door.”

You watch as your friend eagerly makes his way through the crowd. It’s then that you decide to go on a powder room break to freshen up. On the way, you bump into your husband who’s returning from the restroom. He tucks a hair behind your ear. “You good?”

You look up at him, smiling. “Yes.” It’s crazy, really, how a simple gesture from Rintarou makes your heart flood with happiness.

He mirrors your smile, a bit of mischief laced in it. Rin leans closer to you and asks, “You’re not too sore anymore?”

Blood rushes to your face and you swat at him. “Please, don’t.”

Through his arms around your side, you feel his body shake in laughter. “Okay, okay. Don’t be a blushing mess. We’re in public, Y/N.” He pulls you closer to him and plants a quick kiss on your temple. “Let’s behave from now on.”

You murmur chastising words as events from last night come back to you.

Suna had just forced you to finish drinking a glass of water, mumbling something about you needing to re-hydrate. You’re already washed up, dressed in a pair of fluffy cotton pajamas.

“Good girl,” he murmured before placing the empty glass on the bedside table. He then propped himself up against the headboard, making sure the blankets are covering you.

The praise made you smile like a shy young girl and Rin opened his arm. You didn’t allow yourself a moment of hesitation, immediately going towards his warmth. He squeezed the side of your waist as you snuggled against him.

The post-sex bliss was still surrounding you both. “What are you thinking?”

The sound of his heartbeat was calming, and you didn’t realize it had been slowly lulling you to sleep until Rin repeated his question. It’s been happening a lot lately - him initiating conversation, wanting the two of you to build good communication.

Maybe it’s the domesticity of snuggling in bed with your husband, or the way his hand had traveled upwards to where it’s rubbing softly against your back. You weren’t exactly sure what spurred you to answer candidly. “I’m thinking that I really like you, Rin. A lot. But I guess you already knew that.”

He hummed in confirmation. You weren’t expecting anything back, you knew it’s only been a few months. But much like he’s been doing, Rintarou surprises you. “I’m thinking I’m starting to care about you. A lot. Though it may take me a lot more moments of introspection for me to truly know what I feel. But, really, Y/N, I care about you and I want you to know it, in case I haven’t been clear.”

The hesitation in his voice almost made you melt. He didn’t need to say it, to be honest. You’ve noticed it in all the ways he had been changing in the past several weeks. Trying to quit smoking, spending more time with you and your kids. Opening more communication between you two.

Still, the verbal affirmation is welcomed.

“Thank you, Rin,” you murmured sleepily against him. “For all your efforts.”

You vaguely heard him whisper the words back to you before you drifted off to sleep.

You pull back from hiding your face against your husband’s body and crane your head back. He inspects your face briefly before saying, “All good, you no longer look like a ripe tomato.”

You fake glare at him and remember where you two are. You look around and see Hajime introducing someone to his guests. Beside you, Rintarou pulls out his phone after it pings. He begins typing his reply with one hand, the other reaching for yours.

One of the things you have learned about your husband in the past months is that he can be clingy. You grasp his hand and intertwine your fingers together.

As Hajime approaches you with his new guest, your eyes widen. “Serin?”

Two distinct sounds reach your ear.

Serin’s gasp.

And the sound of a phone crashing on the floor.

Rintarou lets go of your hand as he bends down to pick his phone up.

“Y/N? What a lovely surprise. You’re friends with Hajime?” Serin is quick to give you a hug. “Such a small world!”

You smile at her and then your at friend. “This is… wow.” You turn to Rintarou who’s now back on his feet. You reach for his hand back but he puts both his hands inside his pockets.

The look on his face tells you that his phone must have experienced serious damage.

“Serin, this is my husband, Rintarou. Rin, I met Serin at work yesterday, I didn’t know she’s the girlfriend that Hajime has been talking about. This is a nice coincidence! Don’t you think so?”

The woman blinks slowly before she smiles slightly at your husband. “Nice to meet you.”

To your surprise, Rintarou ignores her extended hand. Instead, he gives her a curt nod before promptly excusing himself outside.

You mask your concern and turn apologetically to Serin and Hajime. “Um, I’m sorry about that. Maybe he’s upset about his phone.”

Serin purses her lips in a small pout. “No worries, Y/N. Let’s talk again later, I want to go to the birthday boy now.” She shoots you a dazzling smile before dragging Hajime by the hand towards Kenta’s direction.

You sigh. As much as you’re delighted that Hajime’s girlfriend is the same nice woman you met yesterday, you can’t help but worry about Rintarou.

After a quick glance at your kids who are engrossed playing with their friends, you follow your husband outside.

Rintarou is restlessly pacing back and forth and though you’re not that physically close, you can see his brows knotted in worry.

“Rin?” He pauses at your voice and looks at you with slightly wide eyes. He doesn’t offer any words.

“Are you okay?”

He blinks a few times. “Yeah.” And then, “Just needed space to breathe.”

There’s a moment of hesitation - as if he wants to say more but decides against it. He resumes his pacing and you quietly slip back inside.

The rest of the party goes relatively well and you’re glad that you’re able to spend time and converse with the other parents from the playground. Moreover, the happy giggles and wide smiles of your children filled your heart with love.

Soon enough, Rin’s earlier actions get pushed to the back of your mind.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

It wasn’t particularly a long day but as soon as you got Risa and Ryuu to fall asleep, your body starts demanding you to rest.

You barely make it through showering. Once you’re done for the night, you move to settle on your shared bed with Rintarou to see him all quiet. He’s sitting on the bed, leg impatiently tapping on the floor.

“Rin, what’s the matter?”

He looks up, your eyes meeting briefly before he turns away. “Nothing.”

In the past, you would have let it go, afraid that you’d push the wrong buttons to set him off against you. But now, given how things have changed between the two of you, you want to talk.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Kenta’s party. Is something bothering you?”

It takes Rintarou a very long time to respond. When he does, it makes you think you may have misheard him.

“Sorry? What did you say?” You ask, your voice gentle despite the tremors and dread building inside you.

His response comes again, louder and clearer this time. “You.”

“Rin?”

He looks you in the eye this time as he stands up. It’s only then that you noticed he hasn’t changed out of his clothes yet. “You. The one that’s bothering me.”

You shake your head as you begin to step closer to him. “I don’t understand.”

Rintarou scoffs. “Of course you don’t.” He swats away the hand that tries to touch him and it leaves you freeze in surprise.

He then makes his way towards the balcony. And you’re still standing there, left alone in the room, dumbfounded and confused.

Oddly enough, this feels like a deja vu.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

At the beginning of your forced marriage to Suna, you knew there was a slim chance that you two would get along. He hated you, and deep down, though you never voiced it out loud, you also resented him for taking advantage of you and getting you pregnant.

But now, looking back at the past few months, you think that your relationship might actually work. He’s no longer treating you horribly. In fact, he’d been extremely nice, getting involved in preparing for your kids’ arrival, being supportive and caring, and overall acting friendly.

For this night, you decided to cook him a simple dinner. He had texted you earlier in the day that he’d drop by Osamu’s newly-opened restaurant to give his congratulations. You had told him it’s okay if he wanted to celebrate with his friends but Rintarou insisted that he’d much rather spend the evening with you.

You knew not to get your hopes up, that he’s just being a responsible father and husband. Still, your traitorous heart beat wildly at his last message, looking forward to seeing him come home.

Four hours later, however, the dinner you prepared is cold and you’re seated alone at the living room couch. Waiting for Rintarou who never came home at the time he promised.

Your eyes were drooping, drowsiness almost winning the long battle you’ve been having against it. Finally, the door opened and Rintarou came in.

He looked utterly wasted.

You stood up in the fastest way possible for a heavily-pregnant person. “Rin, what happened? You weren’t answering my texts and calls. I was so worried.”

He looked up from tossing his shoes to the side. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed, probably from drinking. “Fuck off.”

The words surprised you, the venom in them strong enough to make you take a step back. You were able to regain your stance nonetheless and moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Huh? Are you okay, Rin?”

“Don’t call me that.” He glared at you before swatting your hand away. “You ruined everything. Everything.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “What? Rin, I’m confused. What happened?”

He didn’t answer you and instead began walking towards the stairs. You were hurt and confused but you didn’t want the night to end with him ignoring you.

Being pregnant, it took you longer to arrive at your now shared room. When you opened the door, you saw that it was already a mess. Broken things everywhere, confirming your suspicions from the sounds you heard on the way to the room.

“Rintarou, stop!” You tried to tell him but he whipped so fast to face you that your feet froze on the spot. “Leave me the fuck alone! You ruined my life, my everything!”

You remained unmoving, fists clenched at the sides. “I don’t understand. Can you calm down, please?”

He grabbed an ornamental vase that you had placed on the dresser and threw it on the floor.

You stared at the flowers from your garden. Lying, broken, and mangled. “Rin, I’m getting scared. Please, let’s talk about what’s wrong?”

“You,” he finally responded. “You’re the most wrong thing in my life.”

His words felt like dagger to your heart. You couldn’t understand what was happening. Things have been going well…

“I hate your existence in my life. I hate this. I hate that I had to marry you. I hate that you’re pregnant. I hate-”

“Please don’t say that,” you begged, tears flowing down your face. “Don’t.”

Rintarou laughed emptily. It pained you to see how angry and sad he looked like. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To talk about what’s wrong? It’s you. So here’s what’s going to happen: since you’re adamant about keeping the babies, then fine, go ahead.

“But I want you to know that this marriage will only be words on a paper. Do not expect anything from me. I will never be your husband. I will never be your friend. You will never mean anything to me. I will never love you. Understood?”

You could barely see him through the stream of your tears. You wished this was just a bad dream and that you’d wake up soon.

“Answer me!” Rintarou yelled. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

He kicked at the broken vase by his foot. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

The memory claws at your heart and you clutch at your chest. It seems like everything from the past is repeating but this time, the pain is multiplied ten-fold.

You can’t help but ask yourself as you stare at the fox plushie on your hands.

What really happened?

Can you really not be happy with Rintarou?

You lift a hand to wipe at your eyes. The other loses its grip on the toy and it drops onto the floor. You wipe your tears one more time before leaning over the bed to reach for it. It bounces against your strained grip, going further out of your reach.

It seems like the fox plush is mocking you.

You tiredly go down the bed to pick it up. However, once it’s back in your hands, you decide to just lean your back against the bed’s side instead of climbing back onto the bed.

You haven’t felt this tired in a long time. Not even during your recent fight with Rintarou months ago.

You close your eyes to fight off the tears that have resurfaced, tears that never really stopped forming in your eyes. To your dismay, you’re unable to ward them off, so you’re left crying, tears escaping your closed eyes.

And as you succumb to the darkness brought by your closed lids, you wish for the pain to be gone the moment you open your eyes.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Outside, Suna shuts the balcony door behind him before he leans against the railing. He can hear the faint sounds of your crying but wills himself to ignore them.

Instead, he stares ahead at nothing, hoping something can drown out your sounds of sorrow. He curses under his breath until he reaches into his pocket, hand clenching tightly on the item.

Not long after, with the backdrop of the dark sky devoid of moon and any stars, the tip of a lit cigarette burns bright like a blaze.

to be continued.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

I hope you liked this update hehehe. Question! Do we resolve things quickly or go down the hard path (and curse Suna along the way?) LET ME KNOW!

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added or if you changed your user): @warrior-of-justice @alisa--things @wolffmaiden @kurookinnie @simp-nerd-16  @alex-is-100 @k4g3hika @harukaaaaa172993 @themoonreflectsthesun  @lvjycrow @cantbedenied @sweetlikerockcandy @sirimiripetrichor @yamiakari-chi  @noideawhothatis @nervouscoffeetaco @lovemyfamily4ever-blog nervouscoffeetaco  kamukayakmonyet  yuqixidle ieathairs  cantbedenied  gariben  beomeomgyu  esmeisdrunk-blog  123j456l  iluv-ace  semitje @justablogforreblogs @alienvarmint @itohsi @tamimemo @mshope16 @jeonsfizz @syndyj @susuarin @ssc7514 @tkooooop @lialoveskaisersomuch @dilucsleftshoelace @bakingcuriosity @appepel @arusio

[dovesdreaming]

Tides of fate

Summary: You’re silver mists daughter and grew up with Harry hook in neverland. When you were sent away to Auradon you thought you had lost him forever until a chance encounter on the isle when you helped mal.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

You had always loved the water. As the daughter of Silvermist, one of the most graceful water fairies in Pixie Hollow, the gentle ripples of a stream or the crashing waves of the ocean had been your constant companions. But it wasn’t just the water that held your heart, it was the boy you used to share it with. Harry Hook. Back in Neverland, when you were both just children, you had found a friend in Harry. The son of Captain Hook was wild, adventurous, and fearless, everything you admired but didn’t quite have the courage to be. He loved the thrill of the sea, and you loved the way he made you feel like you could do anything, be anything, as long as you were together. But life in Neverland wasn’t all adventures and endless days. Eventually, your mother decided it was time for you to leave the island, to see the world beyond its shores. Harry had wanted to come with you, but his father wouldn’t allow it, and so you had been torn away from your closest friend, leaving behind the only home you had ever known. You were sent to Auradon, a place where everything was bright and perfect, but also stifling in its orderliness. You tried to fit in, to make friends, but no one understood you like Harry had.

The endless parties, the gowns, the formalities. They all felt so hollow without the freedom and chaos of Neverland. You had only recently found friends just under a year ago when the villain kids came to Auradon. You saw how they were somewhat similar to Harry in their behaviour, how they loved mischief. You were slowly welcomed into their group and while you still felt as though a part of you was missing at least some of the whole had been filled with a similar friendship. But then, everything changed when Mal decided to return to the Isle of the Lost. She was determined to rescue Ben, and something deep within you stirred, a longing you hadn’t felt in years. You didn’t know what you were hoping for, but you knew you had to go with her. And so, you found yourself sneaking onto the Isle, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d find Harry again. You didn’t know where he had ended up after you left but an island full of mischief was your best bet at finding your Mischievous pirate.

The Isle of the Lost was nothing like you’d imagined. It was dark, grimy, and utterly devoid of the magic and wonder that had filled your childhood in Neverland. The air was thick with despair, and the streets were a labyrinth of alleys and shadows. You hoped if Harry was here he was ok. You clung to Mal’s side as the group made their way through the winding streets, but your heart wasn’t in the mission. All you could think about was the possibility of seeing Harry again. What would he be like after all these years? Would he even remember you?

Your thoughts distracted you so much that you didn’t notice when you strayed too far from the group. By the time you realized you were alone, Mal and the others were nowhere to be seen. Panic surged through you as you wandered the unfamiliar streets, the darkened buildings looming above you. Every noise made you jump, every shadow seemed to hide some unknown danger. But then, as you turned a corner, you saw something that made your heart skip a beat.

A figure stood at the end of the alley, his back turned to you. Even in the dim light, you recognized him, the familiar outline of his hat, the long coat that brushed the ground (shorter on him now that he had grown), the ever-present hook gleaming at his side.

“Harry?” you called out, your voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.

He froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the Isle. Then, slowly, he turned around, his blue eyes wide with shock as they met yours. “Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you took a step forward. “It’s me, Harry. It’s really me”.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The years of separation, the pain of being torn apart, they all seemed to melt away as you looked at each other. Then, with a shaky laugh, Harry closed the distance between you and pulled you into a tight embrace, his hook carefully positioned to avoid hurting you. “I thought I’d lost you forever” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as tears of relief streamed down your cheeks. “I missed you so much, Harry. I never wanted to leave you”. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. “You’ve changed” he said softly, his gaze lingering on your features. “But you’re still the same Y/N I remember”.

You smiled through your tears, reaching up to cup his face with your hands. “And you’re still the same Harry, just a bit more piratey and grown up”. He chuckled, the sound bringing a warmth to your chest that you hadn’t felt in years. “Aye, that I am. But you… you’re still my fairy”.

For a while, the two of you simply stood there, lost in each other’s presence, as if trying to make up for all the time you’d lost. You told him about your life in Auradon, how different it was from the freedom of Neverland, and he shared stories of his time on the Isle, the struggles and the battles he’d faced. “I always wondered what happened to you” Harry admitted, his voice soft as he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “I thought about you every day, hoping you were okay”. “I thought about you too” you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Auradon felt so empty without you”. He sighed, his grip on you tightening just a bit. “If I’d known you were there, I would have found a way to come to you”.

The thought of Harry trying to find you, despite the barriers that separated your worlds, made your heart ache. “But we’re here now” you said, trying to smile. “And that’s what matters”. Harry nodded, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotions. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again, Y/N. I lost you once, and I’m not losing you again”.

Just as you were about to respond, you heard voices calling your name. You turned to see Mal, Evie, and the rest of the VKs running towards you, their expressions a mix of relief and concern.

“Y/N!” Mal shouted, skidding to a stop in front of you. “We were so worried! What happened?”. You glanced at Harry, who was watching the VKs warily, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I… I found Harry” you said, your voice hesitant. Mal’s eyes flicked to Harry, her expression softening slightly. “Harry Hook”. Harry nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “Aye. And I’m not letting her go”. Mal seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding once looking at your expression and the pleading in your eyes. “We need to get back to Auradon. Ben’s waiting, and we can’t risk staying here any longer”. You felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving Harry again, but before you could say anything, Harry spoke up. “I’m coming with you”.

The VKs exchanged surprised glances, but Mal nodded. “Alright. But if you’re coming with us, you’ll need to keep a low profile. We can’t risk drawing too much attention”. Harry smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Low profile? Not exactly my style, but for my fairy, I’ll try” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It was the first time in years that you felt truly whole,?like you’d found the missing piece of your heart.

The journey back to Auradon was surreal. Harry stayed close to you the entire time, his presence a comforting reminder that you were no longer alone. The VKs were cautious around him at first, but they quickly warmed up to him, especially after seeing the way he looked at you. When you finally arrived back in Auradon, Harry was in awe of the bright, pristine world that was so different from the Isle. But even as he marveled at the beauty around him, he never let go of your hand, as if afraid that you might disappear if he did. Life in Auradon took some adjusting too, but with you by his side, Harry managed to find his place. The other students were wary of him at first, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that there was more to Harry Hook than met the eye. His loyalty, his fierce protectiveness of you, and his undeniable charm quickly won them over. And as for you, you finally felt at home in Auradon. With Harry by your side, the world felt brighter, more vibrant. The days of missing Neverland were behind you because you had found something even better, someone who knew you, who understood you, and who loved you for exactly who you were.

[sunnie-angel]

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

[uranometrias]

hello aly! 🤎 i saw that you were receiving requests and it's okay if i ask for something about hotch? 🥺 perhaps him falling in love with jack's art teacher, i'm in the mood for something really fluffy because i need comfort haha take care pretty soul!

this is such a sweet ask. and yes that's more than okay, you never have to ask xx it's kind of short, i hope it's still okay, i focused mainly on their first meeting, but i am open to writing more works for this universe.

────────────────────────

"Good morning, bud!" you don't have to fake excitement or enthusiasm as Jack Hotchner bounds into your classroom. You crouch, kneeling so that you're face to face with him, as he practically glows. His smile is so bright you fear you may have to squint as he's quick to jump into your arms, chubby little hands looping around your neck. You tried your best to make every single student that walked through your door feel welcome, but they all weren’t as agreeable as Jack Hotchner was.

The hug is comforting, sweet, and it reminds you why you got up every morning to work for less than you were worth. The joy you instilled in your kids made everything worthwhile. Jack pulls back after a moment, exclaiming that you were squeezing too tight. It makes you chuckle slightly as you brush a bit of stray lint off his shoulders. “Sorry, kiddo! You’re just too stinking cute.” You hum, and you enjoy this part of the job. You adored all of your students.

Hellos at the beginning of the day, and goodbyes as they poured out into the hallways to head to their next class. Specials at your school, which consisted of Art, Music, and Gym, happened on rotation. You had Jack’s class first period, four times out the week. His entire class though, had been angels. Through the year you'd only had about two incidents, and both included students fighting over who's turn it was on paint day. You finally let Jack go with one more squeeze.

He giggles, which is a tell that your hugs weren't all that bad. You're a bit startled when an unfamiliar man steps through the door behind him. He's wearing a collared button up, with jeans, and a matching belt. "Um, excuse me, Sir." you hold a hand up, quickly moving to usher Jack, and the other entering students away from the door. "You can't come in here." you affirm, and you look around to see if there was anything in your direct vicinity that could be used to attack.

You settle on a foam brush, clutching it by it's bristles, as you hold it out towards the man. "Stay back, or I'll-" you look down at the paint brush, and then back at the mystery assailant. "I'll use this, and you won't like it." you assert, and your students are giggling, seemingly amused by the situation. You don't see the humour in it. You'd met every single parent and guardian of your students, and this man had never been there. Which made him a flight risk, a danger.

"I think you've got the wrong idea." the man speaks, and his voice stands out. It's very stern, but not hostile. He has a commanding presence, and he seems to appraise you diligently. You take a look at your hand-print dress, and suddenly feel very childish. You loved your job, mostly because you could dress without much judgement. It wasn't like the kids were going to tell you that you looked childish.

"You can never be too careful." you retort sharply, and you readjust your grip on your paint brush. You hoped you looked a bit intimidating, but you wouldn't count on it. "And I don't see a visitor's badge." you add a second after. "Jack, come this way." you prompt, and he seems to stall. He looks from you to the man and back again. He was conflicted, for starters he had his father, his hero standing on one side. And you, his favorite teacher of all time on the other.

"Bye-bye, Daddy." and his choice is made, the small child waving his hand boldly before he's rushing off to his desk, and you're stuck. Aaron, is surprised. Eyes trailing after his son with that feeling every parent has when they realize their child is growing up. It forces a puff of air to escape him, as his eyes quickly flit back to you. His eyebrows raise, dark eyes swimming as realization sets in. Usually Jack was dropped off by his Aunt Jessica Brooks, she was a lovely lady.

She'd mentioned Jack's parental situation. How his mother had passed a few years back, and how his father had a demanding job. You'd given up on ever laying eyes on the man. "You're Mr..." you trail off as your voice cracks obnoxiously. "You're Jack's dad?" you ask, and he lets out a quiet laugh, one that's more a nose exhale than anything else. It's a fitting sort of laugh, you hardly expected the man to be the type to guffaw or even chuckle in an ugly sort of way.

"Not that you can tell by the way he took off." he retorts, and there's still an amusement that rests in his tone. "Aaron," he finally introduces. "Hotchner." he finishes, hand shooting out. It must have been habitual. You didn't know much about the FBI, but you did know that they were sticklers, stone serious. You'd done a project on greatest heroes, and Jack had managed a piece that consisted of a JJ, Prentiss, Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, and Reid. They'd been paired up with a piece that was solely his dad, his superhero. His favorite.

"I'm Jack's teacher." you introduce, as if that didn't go without saying. You reach forward with your free hand, allowing his palm to press against yours. His shake is firm, but you're surprised at how nice his hands feel. There's this spark, a feeling of lightning zigzagging from him to you, and it makes you leap back, paint brush clattering to the ground. The class seems to get lost in the mishap, watching with bated breath for what would possibly come next.

Aaron doesn't bat an eye as he bends down, crouching to pluck the brush up from the ground. He looks bemused, standing back to his full height as he holds your weapon of choice out towards you. "You should be more careful. It's a pretty dangerous weapon in the right hands." and he's making a joke. You find yourself gobsmacked, it was too much for him to be charismatic, and attractive. No, he had to pick one or the other. Still, you grab the brush, despite your fear of sparking again.

"You just got lucky you were vetted by the right kid." you offer your own sort of joke, and his smile makes you proud on the inside.

"I'm sorry for the late appearance." he changes the subject, but it doesn't feel forced or charged. "I meant to get here sooner so that I could lay eyes on Jack's favorite teacher..." you feel proud at the compliment. "You're all he talks about when his day is done." he adds, and you're turning to look at Jack. The kids were separated at their tables, multicolored smocks already on their bodies. They were more than ready for the day. "But as I'm sure you're aware, my job can sometimes keep that from happening." he says and you nod.

"Jess did mention you had a hectic schedule with your job, I understand." your hand waves tiredly, brushing off his apologies. You didn't need them, not when it was so clear that Jack adored his father. And it was more than clear that Jack was Aaron's world. "I'm just glad you finally got here." and you try not to sound as breathless as you feel. "It's important for teachers and parents to be on the same page." you prompt, and Aaron's head nods. You don't know if he really believes you or if it's all politics in a way.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." and he looks so sincere. He's staring at your face intently, and you feel self conscious, blinking too much to be normal. "You've got a little..." and he's motioning towards you. Mortification is the only thing you feel as you run through your morning routine. You'd scrubbed your tongue and teeth thrice before leaving the house. You'd cleaned out any evidence of sleep from your eyes, so what exactly could be out of order.

You swipe frantically at your face and nose, hoping it wasn't something that would make you look like a dunce or a fool in front of Aaron. He chuckles a bit as he extends a hand. "Uh, may I?" he asks, and you're nodding before you should be. It's almost instantaneous the way he's cupping your chin, tilting you head, and dragging his thumb over your cheek. He removes his hand a second later, you could almost pretend it didn't happen. That is, until he's swiping paint on his jeans. Damn, you were such an idiot.

You'd been prepping paint stations for your lesson on symbolism. You must have forgotten to clean up your face before the first bell rang signaling the day's beginning. "That's so embarrassing." you exclaim, and another student is entering the classroom, quickly hugging your side, as you offer an awkward wave to another parent. You squeeze the girl a bit, before she's bounding off to her seat.

"You know, I think it builds character." Aaron promises, and you snort. "Besides, it was kinda intimidating." he's lying, and you know it. He's trying to make you feel less shameful about it. "Anyone looking to mess with your class is in for it." and you're certain your face is visible exposing your humiliation, and subsequent embarrassment at the hands of one of your student's parent.

"Enough, enough." you plead, and here's where you get a full laugh. It's handsome just like everything else about him. "Your sarcasm's far from helpful." you huff, and you're dragging your hand over the same place he'd touched. It tingles as you drag your hands down, and you hope for your sanity Jess is back tomorrow. Garnering a foolish infatuation for your student was the last thing you wanted to happen.

"I'll do my best to keep that in mind for next time." he replies. The bell chirps overhead, a signal that class needed to begin. "Don't work too hard." he prompts, and your heart stutters in your chest. You feel like a fool, he was just being nice, a gentleman like his job required him to be.

"I'll try my best." you promise, and he smiles at you like he's pleased.

"I'll see you later, bud!" and he's addressing Jack, who ignores protocol. He bounds across the room to offer his dad a big hug, he squeezes him tight, Aaron hugging him back maybe tighter. It's sweet, but you feel like you're intruding.

"Say bye-bye to daddy, Miss L/N." Jack pleads, and you blink.

Bye daddy. And you scold your horrid mind. Jack's waiting expectantly, and it seems his father is as well.

"Goodbye, Mr. Hotchner." you huff out, and he's smirking.

"Goodbye, Miss L/N." he matches your exasperated tone. And then he's leaving, and you're heaving a sigh of relief. Jack's going back to his seat, face just as smug as it could be for someone his age. It takes you a second to float back to Earth, staring at the doorway like he'd come back, but he doesn't. You inhale sharply, good riddance. You shuffle slowly to the door, shutting it as you soon address your class.

"We're gonna talk about Symbolism today." you announce, and the kids who were far from listening finally take you in. "Does anyone want to take a guess as to what Symbolism is?" you question, and a flurry of hands shoot up in the air. There's one girl, little Mary, who looks like she's doing the pee pee dance as she tries to get you to choose her. So you do, "Go ahead and give it a shot, Mary."

"Miss L/N, are you gonna marry Jack's dad?"

Maybe today was the wrong day for paint and symbolism.

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 3

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids UniversePoly OT8 x Reader18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

I feel like this chapter was more just a filler chapter but we'll being getting somewhere soon I promise.

Chapter 3

Minho was right, both the sweatpants and shirt were too long on her. She had to roll the waistband a few times so she won’t be tripping over them. After looking herself over in the mirror as she’s sure she’s gonna be meeting the rest of the pack soon. She hesitates at the door before opening it, finding Minho leaning against the back of the large sectional couch. 

“I’ll show you to the room you’ll be staying in.” He starts to walk to the stairs and occasionally looks back to make sure she’s following. 

He tells her whose room is whose as they walk past each door. Once they get to Jisung’s door she knows the open door next to it is where she’ll be staying and the door after that must be Changbin’s. She follows Minho into the room where Chan, who is holding a few blankets, is talking to Felix who is adding pillows and blankets to the bed and scenting them. 

“Hey, I see Min gave you some of Hannah’s clothes.” He smiles but it doesn't last long as he sees the bandage on her upper arm.

“We need to talk.” Minho tells the older alpha before walking out of the room and waits for him in the hallway.

Felix frowns as he watches Chan move to the omega and hands her the blankets and pumps out soothing pheromones to calm both of them. “I’ll be back in a few, why don’t you show her what you were setting up Lixie.”

Chan joins Minho out in the hallway, shutting the door behind him and Felix shakes off any negative emotions before smiling at the omega. 

“I know sometimes it can be hard sleeping in a new and unfamiliar place so I thought you could use some extra blankets and pillows. Maybe make a temporary nest for while you’re here.” He explains to her gesturing to everything he has on the bed. “I know I’m not an actual omega but everyone always assumes I am at first and says I act like one so I scented some of it to hopefully help you feel comforted.”

“Thank you Felix, I appreciate it. I had thought you were an omega at first. Jisung too, but I realized sooner about him than you that he wasn’t.” Y/n explains as she notices the blankets that Chan gave her smells like him as she brings them up to her face a bit.

“We’re pretty used to that.” Felix smiles as she sniffs the blankets. “I had Channie scent those ones, I wasn’t sure if you would want them in the nest or not so I was just having him hold them until you came. I know you’ll probably change it up to how you like your nests but I just couldn’t help myself to kind of start one for you. I’m big on nesting, especially if it’s to help someone.”

Y/n examines the nest and tries to hide any negative emotions she’s currently feeling due to her own lack of omega experience and hands Felix the blankets she’s holding. 

“I like how you did it. Add these ones too?” 

Felix smiles and adds them to the nest. Situating a few things before he settles back on his knees satisfied with his work.

“Don’t be afraid to change anything if you need to, it is your nest after all. I just want you to feel comfortable and have a safe place.”

The omega smiles as she climbs into the nest with him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

 “What’s wrong Min?” Chan closes the door behind him so the younger two won't overhear the conversation.

“We need to make an appointment for her to see Dr. Hajoon.” He tells him and the older alpha frowns.

“How bad are her wounds?”

“I’m sure you noticed that I had to bandage her upper arm.” Minho growls still angry about the situation. “Besides the bruising on her wrist she had more bruising on her upper arm and a nasty gash. Her entire side from her chest to the top of her thigh is bruised too. She may have a broken rib.” Chan clenches his fists and breathes deeply, nodding as he listens. “She said she fell down a flight of concrete stairs. She never confirmed nor denied it but I’m sure she was pushed. By who or why I don’t know.”

“I’ll call her and see if she can get us in tomorrow. Changbin and I have to go into the city for a meeting anyway so we’ll take her with us to the office and take her to her appointment after.”

Minho nods, still trying to keep calm, not wanting both his and Chan's scents to affect anyone else in the area. Especially the two who are most likely omega bonding right now.

“Changbin is also calling for a pack meeting before dinner. Some aren’t happy about the situation.” 

“Yeah I figured.” Chan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hyunjin didn’t seem too happy when he greeted us at the door. And I haven't seen Seungmin or Jeongin since we’ve gotten back.”

“The pups are with Changbin right now, Jisung went and joined them too.” Minho points out the window in the hallway where the four of them can be seen in the backyard. “Ji thought he could maybe help make them understand by telling them about her but I don’t think it's working as he had planned. I think it will be good to have the meeting in the kitchen while I make dinner, let Y/n settle in a bit and hopefully defuse the situation before she meets everyone else?” 

“Good idea, I’ll try and pry Lix away from the omega bonding he’s probably forcing the poor girl through.” Chan continues to watch the heated conversation between the four outside. “Can you go find where Jinnie is sulking? And we’ll all meet you in the kitchen.”

Minho nods and walks off to find Hyunjin and Chan sighs before going back into the room where he found Felix and Y/n lounging in the nest Felix made.

“Are you doing okay Y/n?” He gives her a smile and accepts the nod she gives in response before turning to the beta. “Come on Lixie, how about we let her get settled in before dinner.”

“But we’re bonding” The beta pouts.

“Felix.”

He sighs at the look his alpha gives him before sighing and gets up to follow Chan but turns to Y/n one last time. “I’ll come get you when dinner is ready, enjoy the nest.”

The two males leave and head downstairs where the other six are in the kitchen. Minho has already started on making dinner and Felix quickly joins him as Chan joins the rest around the kitchen island. 

“Where is she?” Seungmin crosses his arms.

“She’s getting settled into the temporary nest Felix set up for her in the empty room upstairs.” Chan keeps his voice calm and leveled. “I understand that there are some issues with this?”

“You brought home an outsider without discussing it with any of us first.” Hyunjin spats.

“She was an upset omega out alone with nowhere to go.” Chan gives the beta a sharp look. “We weren’t gonna just leave her there to possibly be picked up by traffickers. We have better morals than that in this pack.”

Hyunjin looks down in guilt. But Seungmin didn’t seem like he was ready to back down yet though. 

“That’s understandable but then why place her upstairs?” Seungmin steps forward. “We have five guest rooms down here for a reason, why place her in the one empty room we have upstairs with the rest of us? We always agreed that upstairs is for pack only.”

“I thought we all agreed eight is fate?” Jeongin speaks up but barely enough to be heard. “We agreed no one else after… he left.”

“She’s been through a lot.” Felix pauses in his cooking. “I don’t quite know what but I don’t think she’s ever experienced a real pack. And I believe Chan made the right decision, she has Jisung next to her in one room that she already knows and is comfortable with and Changbin in the other, an alpha if she’s needing one.”

“Down here she would be alone.” Jisung joins Felix. “Which I have a feeling she’s experienced long enough. She needs help, and I don’t think there’s many other packs out there who’d be as kind as us.”

“We have all agreed that in our pack omega’s aren’t below us. They are still people and not possessions.” Changbin reminds them all. “She is an omega in need of help who was found by a rare pack that is understanding of that. We are going to do whatever it is that is needed, for however long.”

“You guys don't have to be her boyfriends, let alone her best friends. We aren’t even saying she’ll be pack.” Minho doesn’t even turn from the stove. “Just be someone she can rely on for now, and maybe she’ll grow on you eventually.”

“Doubt that.” Hyunjin turns and walks away and with a sigh Felix goes after him. 

“I need to make a call.” Chan grabs his phone and looks at Changbin. “She’s gonna come with us tomorrow to the office.”

Changbin doesn’t question it and nods as the others look confused. After Chan walks away the others all disperse from the kitchen, except for Minho and Jeongin.

“Need help hyung?” 

“Thanks Innie.” Minho lets the youngest alpha join. “How are you doing with all of this pup?”

“I’m wary of letting someone in again… after before.” Jeongin speaks truthfully while focusing on his task. “But I understand that she needs help and this is just temporary. Though somethings off, her scent, it’s different. Not like how my brother’s is, or Chan’s brother or Felix’s sister.”

“I noticed that too, it’s hard to describe but it’s like, it’s not fully there.” 

“Do you think it’s something to be concerned about?” Jeongin glances at his mate who seems calm.

“In a way it could affect the pack, no.” Minho finishes what he’s doing and wraps an arm around the alpha’s waist. “But in a way it could be bad for her, possibly.”

Jeongin whimpers at this as Minho comforts him. “I wanna meet her.”

“Well lucky for you, dinners ready.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Felix knocks softly on the door before opening it to find Y/n half asleep in the nest. “Hey, dinners ready.”

The omega sits up and looks at the beta not moving. “Some of them don’t want me here, do they?” She notices how his smile quickly turned to a frown. “I could smell some heated negative emotion after you guys left.”

“I’m sorry baby.” Neither of them noticed the use of the pet name because it just feels so natural. “Our pack has a history, so it’s just gonna take a few of the others some time. Hopefully they’ll come around before you leave.”

With a sigh Y/n crawls out of the nest and Felix holds his hand out for her which she takes. He leads her back down the stairs and into the kitchen and just off of it is the large dining table meant to sit ten, which seven people are occupying right now, four of which Y/n hasn’t officially met yet. She’s not counting the interaction with the one who had been leaning in the doorway when Chan brought her inside the house.

Everyone turns when they walk into the room causing the omega to shy away a bit, trying to hide behind Felix a little who gives her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. She cant help but to over think a little when two of the beta’s she hasn’t met yet frowns when they notice this. 

“Y/n, meet the whole pack.” Felix starts off finally wanting to break the awkwardness. “You’ve of course already met Chan, Jisung, and Minho. The alpha sitting next to Minho is our youngest, Jeongin. The beta next to him is our head beta, Hyunjin. The beta next to Chan is Seungmin and the last alpha is our head alpha and Chan’s second in command, Changbin.”

“Hi omega.” Jeongin sits up straight, looking happy to finally meet her as Minho tries to hide his smile.

“Hi.” She whispers before Felix leads her to two empty chairs between Jisung and Changbin. He pulls out the chair right next to Jisung for her to sit in before he takes the one next to it and next to Changbin.

Dinner starts off awkward at first, some small talk, they just asking Y/n some basic questions. She notices how Hyunjin and Seungmin try to exclude her at times. Changbin seems wary but doesn’t have any ill intent. Jeongin seems like he always wants to say or ask her something but then chickens out. Minho is keeping an eye on her. He’s noting how much she’s eating, how her mannerisms are, notes every time she stutters and how she tenses up when some people speak but is calm with others.

“So how long do you plan to be mooching off of us?” 

“Seungmin.” Chan growls next to the beta. 

“I-I don’t know.” Y/n places her chopsticks down now having lost her appetite. “I’m sorry to intrude, I understand some of you don’t want me here. I don’t have to stay, I can… figure out something else.”

“NO.” Felix yells, grabbing her wrist as she tries to stand up.

“You’re not going anywhere Y/nnie.” Chan speaks. “We promised we’d help you and that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“YOU promised. Not we, you.” Hyunjin stands up pointing at Chan, then Felix and Jisung causing the two younger beta’s to cower and whimper. “She has three days to come up with a plan and start working on getting the hell out of here or I’m leaving instead.”

Hyunjin storms out of the room, Changbin calling after him as the tension is high. Chan and Minho immediately start producing calming pheromones to help sooth the two betas who look on the verge of tears as well as the omega.

“I agree with Hyun.” Seungmin stands up and leaves too.

“I’m sorry.” Y/n starts to cry and panic, the two alphas' soothing scent not helping to keep her calm. “I don’t want to cause trouble in your pack, I’ll leave, I’ll be okay.”

Felix scoots his chair closer and starts to scent her.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Surprisingly it’s Minho who's the voice of reason. “You’re in no condition to go wandering around alone at night. You’re staying, those two will just have to learn to deal with it.”

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[jinnie-ret]

MY YOUTH | SKZ NINTH AU

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

<---------- back to my youth

<---------- back to main masterlist

chapter 6

genre: angst content warnings: bullying word count: 1.6k

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Lou began to feel like the trajectory of her life in this universe was heading down a path of one sick joke after the other. She had been holed up in her personal studio ever since the incident in which her childhood toy she was so attached to had been torn to bits. Lee Know had tried to comfort her but she was so overwhelmed that she had to leave the dorms. It left her with an odd feeling, one that didn’t quite sit right as she knew that she wouldn’t be feeling this way in her home world, but the longing that ached within her wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation. Her friends and family that had been left behind, seemingly nonexistent here. Seemingly, because Lou knew she couldn’t exactly go up to the boys and ask them about random people they would have never heard her bring up before. Or, on the other hand, she couldn’t ask about her ‘family members’ because she should know them more than anyone right?

The girl had become so absorbed into her thoughts that she had failed to notice the new object that had made itself home on her cluttered desk, an old floral notebook with a tattered leather binding at the spine. Until. the pages started flickering before her very eyes. The visual distraction was welcome, despite the unease and immense confusion that it caused. Dusty yellowed paper flickered until it came to a stop, landing on one page in particular. Ah, here it was, the next sick joke making itself known.

Marigolds.

These were the flowers she got yesterday. Lou gripped the book in her hands in disbelief, eyes scanning over the description of the plant, one that was presented in a time of grief. Surely not? Perhaps she had imagined the unnatural nature of the book. She could have subconsciously turned to that page. Yes, that must have been it. Lou was slowly convincing herself that there was no way that there could be a magic book in her grasp, even when she had been transported into a completely different universe. It didn’t matter for now, not when the three girls she wanted to see least had suddenly stormed into her studio, making her jump back into her chair and turn, hand on her heart.

Mina, Sora and Jiah, the younger girl of course hiding behind the older two who had dragged her along. In all honesty, Lou didn’t know why they were all still friends when it was clear there was a disconnect in beliefs - the beliefs being on tormenting her or not.

“Here, thought we’d be nice and give this back,” Mina plastered on a fake smile and proceeded to throw Lou’s notebook at her, hitting her against the head. Sora snorted from beside her at the disgruntled look on Lou’s face. The poor girl already had a heavy weight of thoughts and feelings to deal with, her neck hunched as she slumped over, pinching the bridge of her nose as she huffed.

“What? Not gonna say anything? I don't know why we even bother doing this if you’re not going to even react,” Sora kicked Lou’s foot to grab her attention.

“Pathetic,” Mina’s eyes scanned Lou, before nudging Jiah.

“Oh, y-yeah,” she looked up briefly before ducking her head down straight away.

“You bought me marigolds,” Lou blurted out, unable to get the thought out of her head, “why?”

“Marigolds?” Sora snorted, looking at her accomplices with incredulity, “you think I care about what type of flowers we sent you? Give me a break.”

“They were on discount,” Jiah added unhelpfully, yet it still led the other bullies further on their hateful discourse.

“Cheap, nasty stuff. All you deserve,” Mina grinned evilly, before practically snarling as she spat at Lou’s shoes.

“We did you a favour, really, tearing apart that ugly toy,” Sora sighed, inspecting her nails as if she was bored. Lou hoped that they would get bored one day. She was tired of their antics, the amount of times they dropped in to insult her before she performed Miroh for the first time was nearly more than she could count on her fingers.

“So you didn’t know what type of flowers they were?” Lou pushed away their comments, wanting to get to the bottom of this weird situation, her eyes boring into the gazes of the girls in front of her.

“Oh don’t tell me we’ve got a nerd here!” Sora rested her hand on Mina’s shoulder, leaning against her slightly as they both chuckled.

“We already told you we don’t care about that, idiot. Aren’t you more upset about your ickle lickle stuffed animal?” the latter pouted mockingly, bending over slightly and leaning forwards to squeeze Lou’s cheek, the pinch being a bit too hard.

“Get out!” Lou pushed her away, standing up with frustration, stray hairs flying in front of her eyes yet she still maintained her steely gaze.

“Woah! No need to get all angry,” Mina laughed loudly, enjoying the reaction she finally got.

“My members are still here, wouldn’t want them to see you acting like this, would you?” Lou instinctively bit back, not really knowing if her statement would affect the actions of the other girls but it fortunately did.

“We should go,” Jiah nervously looked behind her, tugging at the sleeves of Sora and Mina to get them to follow her. It was probably one of the only times they listened to the younger girl.

Lou was happy to breathe for a second with the disappearance of the trainees. She gathered her things together, her old notebook which she had finally gotten back, and the new mysterious flower journal that only seemed to bring her trouble and more stress. So the girls supposedly didn’t buy the marigolds on purpose, yet there was a connection to the real life events with how the book itself acted sentient for a short moment to show her what they truly meant. This was going to nag at her brain for a while, that was for sure.

By the time she shook it off, made the short nighttime walk back home to the dorms, Lou had checked her phone as she entered through the front door and saw the time on her watch. 03:25AM. How was it that time already? She didn’t even realise how the time had flown by.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay. I’m sure of it,” she heard Felix speak up from somewhere in the lounge. She took off her coat and shoes, only to see Bang Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin and Seungmin putting on their own jackets.

“Where are you going?” Lou quietly spoke up, her members so caught up in their own bubble they didn’t hear her get back.

“To look for you! Have you seen the time? Why didn’t you reply to our texts?” Bang Chan rubbed a stressed hand over his face before ruffling his own hair.

“Texts?” Lou had to pause for a moment, left hand patting against the pockets of her sweatpants and hoodies but she couldn’t find anything. Where was her phone? “Oh, I don’t know…”

“I tried calling as well. You just ran away. I was worried, we all were, Sunny,” Lee Know stood up from the sofa to get a better look at her, in case he could spot anything alarming.

“Is your phone off?” Seungmin looked at her knowingly, unzipping his windbreaker.

“Yeah, I was at the studio,” Lou shrugged. Maybe that’s why she had no idea where her phone was. She’d have to look into it, just something else to add to the mountains of issues she had to deal with.

“Told you she’d be there!” Han rolled his eyes, legs tucking into himself as he tiredly leant against the arm of the sofa. It was then she noticed how tired everyone looked, all because of her. Felix was sat upright, Jeongin next to him and although he was more reclined, their legs still touched for that extra bit of comfort. Changbin and Hyunjin were following in Seungmin’s footsteps, taking off their coats too, yet still standing attentively alongside Bang Chan.

“Now’s not the time,” Changbin tapped Han on the head through his hushed words.

“I’m sorry, I’m back now though. Can we just talk about this tomorrow?” Lou urged, not wanting a grilling from her members, her leader in particular, before she felt that fuzzy feeling she still hadn’t gotten used to. A flash blinded her vision before she was entered into a glimpse of a vision.

“Please, Hannie, can we just talk about it tomorrow? I don’t want to talk about it now,” Lou begged a younger version of her member.

“Flo, I’m worried about you. You need to tell me what’s happening, please. Something is wrong,” Han pleaded, his hand reaching out towards her before the vision was gone.

“Yah, Flo? Louisa?” Chan snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“You should get some sleep,” Hyunjin added when he saw Lou wasn’t off in her own world.

“Something is wrong,” Han whispered to Seungmin who nodded but rested his hand on his shoulder to show now wasn’t the time.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Lee Know almost sternly told Lou. She thought he had a right to feel that way, she had run out on him after all.

She quickly took herself off to her room, knowing where she was going this time. It wasn’t long before her head hit the pillow and she fell asleep, entering a dreamland - one she had not visited before.

<-- previous chapter next chapter -->

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tagged: @akitfffr @aeinzzzketchup @mirelys98 @itsjustkhaos @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

[kurithedweeb]

I know we always talk about Garroth ending up looking exactly like his father, but what about Dante growing up to look eerily like Gene.

When he joins up with Phoenix Drop, he's still young. He's a little on the short side, still a bit too thin from life in the wild and imprisonment, and he's a little anxious and shaky around so many people after having grown unused to living in a village. The smiling faces of the citizens remind you of your old home, of clamoring crowds and standing frozen in the plaza as your brother . . .

Anyway, it's good here. It's easy to fit in. The guards joke around with you and make sure you're healthy. They don't know a thing about dual wielding, but you get plenty of sparring partners out of helping the local baker practice her magick, and you maybe make a friend too. You're not too sure how you feel about the Lord, but she's a kind soul and does her best to make sure you're comfortable here in town, and her kids are great. Babysitting the boys is easily your favorite duty. Yeah, it's good here. For the first time in a long while, you feel like you're doing good.

Then the war comes. The children and non-combatants are sent away. The jovial atmosphere of the guard tower has soured into solemn silence as you make your final preparations. In the morning, you step into the battlefield and you go to war for the first time in your life. You have a horrible feeling in your gut that it won’t be the last.

You, Sir Laurance and Sir Garroth make a good team. It makes you sick. The three of you cross the battlefield at a slow and inevitable pace, cutting down any soldier that dares stray too close, and together you cleave the enemy forces in half, scattering them. The killing comes easy to you. You had hoped that in this peaceful new village, with time, you would become unfamiliar to how easily you were once able to take a life, but right then you’re glad your body never forgot the motions of death. Glad for the blood that stains your hands—how can you be glad?

You can’t remember how long you fought for. Days, weeks? Surely not months, or so you think. Yours is a small force, and though Miss Lucinda is a good healer, she grows tired while the other army’s numbers are replenished time and again. You remember the bags under her eyes as she tipped a potion sip by sip into your mouth the time you were shot through the face.

You remember sneaking into the enemy camp in the dead of night, skirting around the edges of it to the back line where the archers rested. You quietly slit five of their throats before you were noticed, and managed to slash another across the belly before the arrow caught you in the side of the face, in one cheek and out the other. The wood of the shaft cracked when you bit down. It was everything you could do not to scream as you fled. Dale thought you were a fiend when you first stepped out of the shadows, face obscured in blood and cradling your jaw as you cupped a hand beneath your mouth in an effort to catch more blood before it left a trail. Laurance held you while Garroth split the arrowhead from the rest of it with a knife and pulled the shaft out the other side of your face, your jaw gripped tight in one hand to keep you from struggling. It took hours to pull the splinters from your cheeks and tongue before they sent you to wake the healer. The whole ordeal had been excruciating. You might have cried. You remember that a lot more clearly than most other times at war. After a while, it’s hard to tell which side spills more blood when so much is shed that red squishes out of the earth wherever you step.

Every day, you fought dawn to dusk. And then one day you won. By Nicole literally knocking some sense into her father, of all things! You find a quiet corner to throw up in and for a beautiful moment, you think life in this little town you’ve started thinking of as home will go back to being good. Until your Lord tells you to guard the village as she races past the gates, and she doesn’t come back. None who followed her do either.

For days, you stand waiting at the gates. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. O’khasis is gone, Scaleswind has made a refuge of the plaza, and still there is no sign of your Lord or your brothers-in-arms. You won’t even leave to have your wounds seen to. Nicole has to drag a doctor to the gates to treat you, and the entire time you watch the forest hoping that any moment they will reappear. You only step away when someone brings you news that the ship that took the children away has returned. You should be the one to tell them.

Zoey knows something is wrong the moment she sees you. Levin and Malachi smile and ask where their mother is—they call you ‘uncle’ while they do. You get down on your knees before them, and you gather them close in your arms, and you cry as you tell them their mother has been missing since the day the war ended. You’re still holding them when the exhaustion catches up with you.

Zoey is with you when you wake. She tells you you’ve been out nearly two days. She fusses over you, and you know you’ve worried her because that’s what she does when she’s worried. You’re a mess anyway, so you let her fuss. You drink the broth she makes you, you change into the clothes she provides, you sit still while she cuts the unruly mats of your hair and shaves your face. You used to cut yourself shaving all the time, no one ever taught you how and you were only six or so when Gene was learning to; you don’t remember now how he showed you each step or the laugh in his voice at the face of disgust you made when you slapped a little hand into the lather on his face and left behind a tiny palmprint. Zoey doesn’t cut you once. When she’s done with you, she takes you by the arm and guides you back into civilization, where everyone who remained has decided already on search parties to go out looking for your missing friends.

You head each expedition. Dale brings himself out of retirement to watch over the town while you’re gone, and asks only that you also look for his son. Does he know you used to be a tracker, used to spend days in the woods trailing coyotes and runaways for enough coin to carry you through the cold months? You try for him, but the ground is soft still and every step anyone takes leaves a print, all overlapping and muddled. You keep an eye out as you circle the same stretches of woods for days, but you find nothing. Your group goes further and faster than any other, the first to find and dismantle bandit camps and dens of fiends, but no matter how far you go you find not a sign of anyone who has disappeared that day. It’s as though they vanished into thin air. Every time you return home, Dale looks at you with hopeful eyes, and every time you must take him aside and break his heart a little more. Eventually, he stops asking.

For a year, you search. The area has never been safer. You have never felt so alone as when people start to suggest that a funeral may be in order.

You feel like a monster for the rage in your voice when you denounce these people. You know they aren’t dead—you would have felt such a thing, you know, you would have felt pieces of yourself snapping like wire pulled too taut, you would have felt the sharp edges tangling inside you—it would have felt like it did when the brother you killed rose from the grave to slit your throat and cut your very existence from the memory of Boboros. You hear white noise rumbling in your ears when the first brave soul says Sir Dante, there’s been no sign for a year now, and your blood is boiling when you slap their comforting hand off your shoulder. You spit that you’re not giving up just because everyone else has taken no evidence of life to mean the surety of death, and with their pitying looks burning into your back to return to the woods. You scream into the trees until you can’t anymore. When it doesn’t help, you use your considerable tracking skills to hunt something, anything, until you feel human again.

You crawl back home the day before the funeral with your cape stained with blood; they held it back so you could attend. You polish your armor and swords until they shine, and the warped reflection of your own face makes you feel sick the way waging war did. You stand at attention the entire ceremony without moving a muscle. When Dale reads the names of the deceased at the end, offering their souls into the embrace of the Matron, you salute, and the clatter of your armor silences the crowd.

Everyone who fought in the war salutes with you. So do your Lord’s sons. You’re too tired to cry. You hold your salute long after everyone else has left.

The remaining forces of Scaleswind return home. One by one, family by family, the streets of your home empty. Without your Lord, without your guard, the citizens trickle out the front gates and never turn back. Some apologize to you as they say their goodbyes, and some of them you actually believe. You close the gate behind each of them until all that remains is you, Zoey, and your Lord’s sons. Then Zoey tells you she’s taking the boys to the Yggdrasil Forest. She holds you tight for too long and kisses your brow when you show them to the gate for the last time.

You can’t believe you ever thought you knew what loneliness was before this.

For five years, you are completely and utterly alone. You search and you patrol and you do your best to maintain the village. You don’t believe in Irene, but every day before dawn you stand before her statue and look down down down over the cliff’s edge and pray that this won’t be the rest of your life. That you haven’t deluded yourself into believing a fantasy, that you haven’t made such an incredible fool of yourself that people can’t bear to be around you, that you haven’t been forgotten. For five years, you pray that someone, somewhere, remembers that you exist. You look down down down over the cliff’s edge and have the terrible thought that you don’t know what you’d do if you were forgotten again.

The gate is falling apart. You don’t know how to repair the damage the weather’s done to it, you tried to patch the cracks but it never holds. With each year, you’ve been pushed further and further outtowards the coast. The only places you have the energy to maintain anymore are the guard tower and your Lord’s home. You blockaded the gates when the mechanism broke, you check it on occasion to be sure no bandits get in, and one day you hear voices from the other side. Familiar voices. You scramble up the wall and look over the other side at a boy you don’t recognize looking back up at you. He says, Is that Uncle Dante? and you climb down as fast as you can to embrace Malachi.

He’s nearly the age you were when you first met his mother. He’s grown tall, and strong enough to carry his brother on his back. Levin is fevered when you first see him, flush and hurting even as he dozes, and Malachi tells you he can’t walk from how bad he hurts. You remember how Zoey fretted over him when he was young, how sometimes he’d scream for seemingly no reason, and once you show them to their mother’s home Malachi refuses to leave his bedside.

You sit with them and ask where Zoey is. Malachi tells you of her obsession, and the relief that you are not alone in the belief that those who disappeared are alive feels like a hint of betrayal. You’re relieved that she’s driving herself into a downward spiral because of what? Because it makes you feel like you were reasonable to fight not to let their souls be put to rest?

You wait for her at the gates deep into the night and take her to her boys when she bursts from the woods, frantic that she’d lost them, and safe if your Lord’s home she holds you so tight your ribs hurt from the force of her grip. After so long, you’re not alone anymore.

You wake before dawn and strap your swords to your back. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe enough to go without your armor. You hike up the steep cliff to the Irene statue. You kneel before her to offer your thanks. You look into the pool at her feet and fear grips you by the throat.

Your brother’s face looks back at you.

You wear your swords the way he did. Your hair falls like his, dark in the shadow of Irene. Your face is gaunt and pale from old habits, eating only enough to sustain yourself so rations will stretch long enough for you to find more—do you remember how they starved Gene before they killed him? How they weakened him so he wouldn’t have the energy to fight? How pale and gaunt he was, dirt streaking over the side of his face, blood and grime drying in his hair, shaking and sweaty with how hard he fought back? Do you remember the scar that twisted around his throat when he returned from the dead to get his vengeance? Your collar is open over the scar he left twisting across your own, and it matches his own so very well. In the shadows of your eyes, you see his own staring back.

You think of the war. You think of how easy the killing was. You think of how easily Gene cut through the guards, the Lord, the memories of Boboros. The rage in his voice when he denounced you as his brother, the twist of his smile when he told you he would leave you to rot, Dante. No one will ever remember you. You can see that twist in the corners of your own smile, pushed into shape by the deep scars on your cheeks. You and your brother are the same.

You’re shaking too much to stand. You never go without your armor again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: I'm just tryna get through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The waiting room is excruciating. You find yourself standing more than you sit. Both are torture. Your concern mounts with your discomfort and the more you think of Hansen’s response. He’s a demanding asshole, he told you several times he takes what he wants, but today, he let you go. Even he could see something was seriously wrong.

Funny how you never dread the doctor so much when you’re there for Simone or Malik, but for yourself, it makes your insides knot. You can’t even think of the last time you made an appointment for yourself. That’s probably not good either.

As the doctor examines you and goes over your symptoms, you wince and struggle not to keel over. He’s patient and gentle, treatment you’re unused to. That stray realisation is even grimmer as it sticks in your head.

“Hmm, I’m going to be optimistic and say it’s a bruised tailbone,” he explains, “we can send you for imaging to check for a fracture but it wouldn’t likely be possible today. I’ll call the lab with a request, just to make sure.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you lean on the examination table, “so what does that mean? Painkillers? Stretches?”

“Rest,” he points at you with his gold pen, “avoid sitting. You want to keep pressure off the tailbone. Lay on your stomach when you sleep.” He tucks his pen in his coat pocket and goes to the cabinet in the corner by the sink, “you’ll want to keep this handy.” He opens the door and slips out a box, “it’ll help.”

As he gives you the box, you consider the image of the donut cushion on the front. The inflatable seat is stuffed into the tight package. You’re not unfamiliar with it.

“Apply ice. Every twenty minutes for the next two days, then two to three times a day should work,” he takes his pen out and his little pad, writing as he talks. “Make your husband do some of the chores.”

You cringe. You nod as you accept his advice. You were just about to argue; you have two kids and a job.

“I’m writing you a note. You’re not working for a week at least. I’ll fax a letter that should be acceptable for the time-off,” he rips off the top page and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you utter again as you look at his chicken scratch. “What is this?”

“Something for the pain and something for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure?”

“Your readings are elevated. It could be stress, it could be anything. Right now, I want you to keep track. Measure it and write it down. Come back in a month so we can go over the numbers.”

“Is it that bad?”

“At your age, it’s not entirely unusual,” he assures you, “better we catch it before it’s too serious. You get headaches? Feel tired?”

“Well, I have kids, I’m always tired and yes, they give me headaches sometimes,” you shrug.

“How often do the headaches come?”

“I don’t know, sometimes two or three times a week.”

“Do you have a history of migraines?”

“Not since college,” you answer.

“Ah,” he nods. “Take the pills, icy your tailbone, and stay in bed.”

“Doctor,” you go to argue.

“If it isn’t already a break, you’ll make it one,” he girds, “the lab will call you about your imaging appointment.”

You swallow down his orders. They’re much easier to follow than Hansen’s. And surely better for you. You thank him once more and leave the room, stopping by the counter to give your work address and get your imaging paperwork.

As you get to the car, you unpack the cushion and use the little pump to inflate it. You drop it on the seat and get in. It still hurts like a bitch but not intolerable. You sit behind the wheel and stare. 

You could cry as you go over the appointment. Is it that obvious that you don’t take care of yourself? That you don’t have time? The doctor saw right through you and that brings it all flooding in. You’re barely holding it all together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

You make yourself start the car and pull out of the lot. You go down to the pharmacy and turn in the script, wandering the aisles as you wait for it to be filled. You take out your phone to check the time. A missed call from Pete and another from Hansen. You don’t have the energy for either of them. Once you have your meds, you have to get the kids.

You claim your prescriptions and start your race against time. Waiting to see the doctor alone took up the bulk of your day. Now you have to get through the rest.

You nearly speed up to the curb of the school, at the tail end of the pick-up as the clock ticks on. You roll around as you see Simone and Malik waiting with Mrs. Guinness. You roll down the window and wave, thanking her loudly as the kids rush to the car.

You get out to strap Malik into his seat as Simone grips her book in her lap but doesn’t open it. You’re breathing loudly as the pain coils around your spine. You muffle it and give her a smile as she watches you. Her eyes dart to the front seat.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Good,” you say as you snap the buckles together.

“What’s that for?” She points to the cushion.

“The seat’s uncomfortable,” you grunt and push yourself out of the back door. 

You shut the door and get in the front. You settle in, clicking in your own belt and fix your mirror. Simone is smart, too smart. She’s quiet as you shift into drive.

“Mommy, mommy! We played a game today–”

“Shh,” Simone interjects, silencing her brother, “mom,” she utter tenuously, “are you pregnant?”

You nearly scoff as you grip the wheel tight. You laugh and shake your head. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well…” she lets her thoughts hang in the air before she speaks to them, “you and dad have been… arguing and you have that cushion.”

“Trust me, I’m too old,” you shake your head, “don’t worry, you won’t be having another little brother.”

“Oh,” she hums, disappointed, “I was hoping for a sister.”

You take a breath. It’s all so complicated but some of it isn’t. They’re going to know sooner than later.

“Look, the cushion is because I hurt myself. I was waiting until we got home to tell you but I fell and hit my bum pretty bad. Got some bruising is all,” you explain lightly, “doctor says I’m good, just need to rest.”

“Mommy’s hurt?” Malik babbles. 

“Oh,” Simone accepts again, “I… does dad know?”

“He’s been working but I’m gonna give him a call,” you fight to keep your tone steady, “he’s gonna have to come home and help me out a bit.”

“Mommy, you can have Donny, he’ll make you feel better.”

“Mal, she doesn’t want your stupid dragon.”

“Sim,” you rebuff, “don’t be mean. Malik, you can bring Donny in to snuggle with me, okay? That’s really nice of you.”

“Ugh,” Simone huffs and you see her roll her eyes in the rear view.

“Sim, do you have enough time between chapters to help with dinner?” You tease. She doesn’t answer. “Oh, don’t worry, I can manage some mac and cheese on my own.”

You flip on the radio and let the music waft through the car, trying to push away the other worries. You are going to have to call Pete but you really don’t know how much help he’s going to be.

🗄️

You pull into the driveway and repress a groan. You’re really starting to feel it. Your legs are numb yet painful. You push yourself out of the car and grab your purse and the cushion, your keys jingling loudly in your hand.

You open the back door but Simone’s too quick. She’s right beside you, waving you off.

“I’ll get him out,” she insists, “the doctor said.”

“I know what the doctor said,” you chuckle, “thanks, Sim.”

Another car door snaps shut from somewhere unseen. You don’t think much of it as other neighbours often get home at the same time. You wait patiently for your daughter to unbuckle Malik as he squirms impatiently.

“About damn time,” the timbre roils in the air hotly.

You almost let a ‘shit’ slip through your lips as Hansen’s voice makes you tense. You squeeze the cushion and look over Simone’s head at him. She lifts Malik down onto the ground and she turns to face your uninvited guest.

“Ew, it’s him,” she sneers.

“Nice to see you too, toots,” he struts up the walk with his hands in his pockets, “isn’t this sweet? Got the whole clan together.”

“What are you doing here?” Simone challenges.

He tilts his head, brows arching, “you know, maybe I should give your mom some time off so she can teach you some manners.”

“Hansen,” you put your hand on Simone’s shoulder and sidle past her and echo the same question, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m actually being a good guy,” he leans around, speaking to Simone pointedly, “not evil at all. Checking in since I sent you off to the hospital.”

You hesitate. That’s not exactly believable. You know why he’s here; to taunt you. At least he has the discretion to try to hide that from your children.

“Bruised tailbone, doctor is sending a letter, I’ll have to take a few days off to recover,” you say cautiously, knowing he won’t like the news.

“A few days…” he mulls with a sour expression, “bullsh–” he stops himself as Malik comes for to cling to your leg, peeking out from behind you.

“Mommy,” your son whines, “I wanna go inside.”

“Tell him to go away,” Simone hisses.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, I gotta get the kids inside and make dinner–”

“You can do all that but you can’t drag your –behind– to work,” he challenges.

“I have a doctor’s note–”

“I don’t f–” he struggles to censor himself, stopping as he waves off his agitation. He exhales and wipes the frustration from his face, “you’re right. You’re in bad shape, it’s plain to see. So where’s the husband? Shouldn't he be here doing the heavy lifting?”

“My dad’s on his way home,” Simone insists.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” you repeat her lie, “to help.”

“Well, he ain’t,” Hansen bounces on his feet, “but I am, so why don’t I help you out, huh? We need you back to work,” he reaches for your purse, latching onto the strap. “So you should rest.”

“Dude, go,” Simone snarls and pushes his arm.

“Hey,” he growls back at her. “I’m helping.”

“We don’t want your help. She’s not at work, you don’t boss her around here.”

“Simone, Mr. Hansen,” you snip, “please.”

“I’m being a nice guy,” Lloyd retracts his hand and throws it up, “she’s the one making this hard.”

You look at your daughter as she sticks her tongue out.

“She’s twelve,” you state.

“Yeah, and what are you? Sixty?” Simone accuses him.

He recoils, his lashes batting violently, “excuse me?”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, “Simone, take your brother inside,” you hold your keys out, “let me talk to him. It’s just work.”

“And the doctor said–”

“Please, Simone, thank you,” you shake the keys.

She sniffs and takes them. She blows a raspberry at Hansen as she grabs Malik and tears him away from your legs. You rub your neck, the donut cushion around your elbow, as you wait, staring at Hansen as he watches over your shoulder.

“Why?” You ask pointedly.

“What? I’m being good. I let you see a doctor for your fucked up booty and now I’m just tryna fill the hole left by that deadbeat–”

“Not in front of my kids,” you say.

“I was polite.”

“You are arguing with a twelve year old,” you shake your head, “please, I will do my best to get back to work. I know you don’t give a shit but I’m in so much pain, I can’t handle this right now. So please, go.”

“Huh, alright, let’s understand something here, you might be a little broken at the moment but you don’t tell me what to do,” he snarls, “that’s the first thing. Second, you put a muzzle on that daughter–”

“Don’t,” you warn.

“That mouth,” he points in your face, “it’s the ass that’s bruised, not that.”

You clamp your lips tight as your nostrils flare. You stand in a deadlock, silently glaring back at your boss. You feel the tension ready to snap. This is the moment where you could fuck everything up.

Neither of you speak, each measuring your next word but almost afraid to say it. A screech of tires veers in behind your car and fills the end of the driveway. You flinch and look past Hansen as Pete’s garish sports car beams back at you.

“Just in time,” Hansen mutters as he turns slowly.

Pete hops out and swings the door shut, almost frantic as his hair flops forward.

“Hey, I’ve been calling,” he puffs and stops short as he notices Hansen, “uh, everything okay? Where… are the kids?”

“Inside,” you eke out, clearing the frog from your throat, “everything is good, alright?” You try to convince yourself as much as your husband, “Mr. Hansen was just checking in. I missed work today. I went to see the doctor about… my fall.”

Pete blanches and nods, giving a guilty glance to his leather shoes.

“Yeah?” He dares to look at you, “you okay?”

“Bruised,” you answer bluntly, “so I was just telling Mr. Hansen that I am fine. I just need a few days to rest. And I was going to call to tell you the same but I had to get the kids.”

“Your wife’s a busy woman,” Hansen interjects, “hard worker. And she speaks so highly of you, bud.” He claps Pete’s shoulder, “you’re a businessman?”

Pete twitches, as if surprised. He looks at Hansen’s grasp on his shoulder but doesn’t shove it off. There’s a moment of recognition in his eye. Men and their ‘business’.

“Yeah, I run a fitness agency. We do equipment and training, aiming to get into the big leagues, you know, furnish facilities on the National scale,” Pete goes into his pitch.

“Ah, fitness, thriving right now,” Hansen slips easily into his role, “you know, I’m not wearing Louis Vuittons because I work in a dipshit office. I invest and I do it well.” He pulls his hand back and puts it on his hip, “why don’t you tell me more about this agency? I’m intrigued.”

You just stare. This has been an awful, painful day and it just won’t end.

“Uh, yeah, sure, come on in,” Pete sputters excitedly, waving him up the drive. “I got all my stuff in my bag.”

“Great, dinner’s on me,” Hansen offers, “for your time.”

“Oh, awesome,” Pete grins, “I’ll just get my bag out of the car. Honey,” he turns to you.

“Uh, yeah,” you swallow as Hansen faces you with a smirk, “right this way.”

You turn and hug the cushion against your stomach, each step tender and tingling. You sense him behind you, too close for comfort. He snickers quietly as you get to the door. You stop with your hand on the handle.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Be good and I will be, too,” he shoots back.

[sweetnothingtm]

HUSH// simon riley x reader

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

word count +5k

content warning +mdni!! nsfw, thigh riding, spanking, light knife play, hair pulling, light degrading, slight orgasm denial

authors note I feel filthy after writing this, in a good way, I hope you throw up you sick freak

heavily based on the song hush by the marias

This all started because of your nasty little attitude. You were leaning against Soap, eyes blinking away exhaustion and yawns slipping past your lips as you waited patiently along the rooftop. A simple hostage experiment, clean cut and a breeze for the rest of the task force. Yet you had to fuck it up by being a brat.

“Stay focused, kid.”

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” You said, playfulness lacing your tone as your head rests against Soaps shoulder. He chuckled beneath you, his face pressed to the scope.

“You really wanna do this right now?” His voice is steeled over the radio. There’s a silence that followed as you look to the abandoned hotel across the field, a flash of white catching your eye. You smiled, fingers pressing down on the walkie-talkie.

“Affirmative, sir.”

Soap casted a glance in your direction, eyebrow raised. You nudged him softly, a little laugh bubbling up from your chest. It’s always been like this, your quick jokes and comfortable personality stuck to Ghost like a thorn in his side. He takes it with ease, always grunting in response and ignoring the ways in which you manipulate his heart. Every day, except for today. Soap rolled his eyes, focusing back on the task at hand.

Ghost didn't answer. A gentle quiet ensues as you continue to make yourself comfortable against your teammates body. You’re new, but the team has warmed up to you quickly. Like a stubborn child with no remorse, there’s always a little twinkle of mischief in your eyes. Sharp, cautious and playful, you became everybody’s favorite. Except for his.

“Careful, sweetheart. Just might think you need a little punishment.”

You held your breath, cheeks turning a shade darker. His voice was thick, dark and teasing in a way you haven’t heard before. The Lieutenant was watching you from a hundred meters away, teeth grinding together in irritation as your soft little voice rings through the comms once more.

“And if I did? What will you do then?”

»»————-　➴　————-««

You’re alone now, save for the ominous sounds of your footsteps and the ghost that’s haunting you. Unbeknownst to you, there’s a pair of eyes smudged with black paint that watches your every move.

Your boots crunch beneath the gravel and stray debris of what was once a home. Uniform covered in dirt and grime, your breath comes out shallow and even as you sneak through the city of rubble.

There’s a gentle breeze that carries itself through and around your hunched figure, a hand instinctively rubs away the sweat from your forehead. It’s the heart of summer, sweat glistening against your skin and ripples of heat are rolling through the flattened land.

You risk a glance around the corner of a building, eyes scanning for any stray ghost. His ghost.

It’d been two hours since your feet landed on the unfamiliar soil. The haunting gaze of your Lieutenant rests comfortably in the back of your mind. A routine exercise meant to blow off steam within the task force, and to weed out the rookies. You. You knew it too, when he looked straight at you, voice laced with venom.

You need a reminder of who’s in charge.

Fresh meat for the slaughter, you’d nodded your head innocently as he pushed a rifle into your arms, blank rounds falling into your hands. You’ve been on the force for seven months, always underestimated and coddled like a child. You knew Soap and Gaz were waiting for you now, their faces plastered with a knowing smirk as you and the Lieutenant stand on opposite sides of the field.

A game of cat and mouse, and he would do anything to catch you.

The Lieutenant was a grim and foreboding presence that you drank from like a glass of wine. Always eager to please and ready to submit, you dotted on the idea of being his. He’d mentored you, molded you to be everything he wanted from you, the ghost of his fingertips always adjusting the weapon in your hands. A little higher, kid.

He’d catch you in the halls, his dark eyes dancing slowly on your figure as you blushed scarlet. Arms always crossed and gaze demeaning, you melted under him without hesitation. Your little crush for the brooding ghost was building itself into a forest fire. He’s your superior, the one who recommended you for the team, his sloppy signature still stained on the paperwork. You did everything to please him, but it still wasn’t enough.

Darting through the empty streets, you stumble through a door kicked off its hinges, scattered wood crunching underneath you. The home is in shambles, belongings strewn throughout the rooms. The rifle sits heavy in your hands, the rounds of ammunition beginning to dwindle as time slips by.

You climb the stairs, dodging eroded and chipped concrete. It smells like mildew and the summer breeze, and if it weren’t for your heart that tried to beat itself out of your chest, you might feel like relaxing a while. But he’s out there, waiting for you to slip up.

Upstairs, the sunlight seeps through a broken window and casts shadows across the bedroom. There’s a worn mattress flipped onto the wall, and an armchair sits in the corner of the room. You steer clear of the opening, head falling back against the plaster wall. A breath comes loose, slipping free from your lips. You’re becoming impatient, almost a little irritated at the way he’s living up to his name. Ghost.

Soap was caught first, the familiar laughter of Gaz sounding through the comms. The scottish brute had grumbled about needing a cigarette, his post abandoned after being found. His radio was turned down low, body leaning against the side of the pickup truck that carried you here.

Then it was Gaz, hiding at a gas station about two blocks from where you are now. He muttered low curses under his breath, arguing that the Lieutenant wasn’t playing fair. And he wasn’t.

Now it’s just you, thighs squeezing together out of an anxious habit you never kicked. An hour had slipped by since the two were caught, and you felt like Ghost was dragging this out on purpose. He’d counted on your impatience, slowly pulling at the string of your being until you began to unravel. Quite a punishment, you thought bitterly.

You’d never faced him alone, always the buffer of Soap or Gaz between the two of you. It’s not like you were ignoring him, or that his presence was suffocating - although, you realize, it is. But you couldn’t seem to think straight in his presence, body humming with an unfamiliar heat when he caught your gaze. So, you kept your distance. It seemed as though he saved the worst version of himself for you, always a mask of irritation and disappointment greeting you.

He made your knees weak. The implication of him watching you sent shivers down your spine. He’s out there, finger brushing against the trigger as you poke your head out the window, eyes scanning the rooftops.

You draw back, letting the sound of your anxious thoughts guide you. You know he’s there, you just need to find him. Before he finds you. The thought makes your heart skip a beat. Fingers dance along the button of comms, swallowing a breath of fear, you give in and press down.

“Any day now, Lieutenant. I’m waiting,” you say, adjusting the vest that sits right on your shoulders. A dark chuckle follows your words, a breathy laugh that tangles itself along your spine until your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’m right here. Just taking my sweet time,”

A knot coils inside your stomach, throat clogged with anxiety at his words. You feel like backing down, admitting defeat and ending the day with a shred of dignity. It’s immediately washed away by the shame that would follow should you give up. The boys would joke about it for weeks, and god knows how the Lieutenant would take it. Bad, you think, he would take it badly.

He knows you’re thinking about it. A stupid smile is plastered on his face as he spots you across the way, your hair brushing into your face as you search for him. You’re gonna lose, and he’s counting on it.

He's got a thing for betting on losing dogs.

Ghost left his rifle at the church, propped up against a crate with his tags dangling in the sun just enough to shine. A poor decoy, but one that he knows your pretty little head would fall for. He feels giddy like a child, head hung high as he saunters through the city like a phantom. He’s a block away, footsteps falling silently as he aims himself straight to you.

Peeking around the broken glass once more, you look to the church that stands tall. The windows are busted, spray paint decorating the building. Perfect for a lone wolf like him. There’s a flash of something, quick and glistening off the sunlight that hangs above you. There, at the height of the tower, there’s a glimmer of light and a blur of movement that catches your eye.

“Wanna tell the boys you’ve lost, or should I?” you say, excitement building in your system.

You load the rifle quickly, the palm of your hand slamming the cartridge in as your fingers pull back the bolt handle. A wide grin spread across your face at the idea of having found him. Taking a steady breath, the end of your rifle hugs your shoulder as you take aim. You aren’t certain if it’ll hit, but it doesn’t matter. The Lieutenant said it’s over when you’ve been caught - and you have him right under the tip of your finger.

The blank quickly fires, a flash of light following. You release an eager breath, letting the rifle hang at your side as you look triumphantly to the church. A second passes, then another. Silence laden in the air as you wait patiently for the Lieutenant to admit defeat. You feel like a show dog, having won an award you never expected to receive. You reach for the radio, dumb satisfaction spreading like wildfire. You take a winning breath before you speak, eyes shimmering with satisfaction.

It comes so quickly you aren’t even sure it’s happening until the soft beat of your heart crescendos and lifts itself into full panic.

A warm hand wraps itself around your waist, pulling you flush against his body as your head smacks against his chest. The gentle press of a cool knife is laid on your throat, breaths fanning hot against your cheek. “What the fuck are you-“

He laughs, the dark sound echoing in the abandoned building. Ghost rests his chin on your shoulder, and a little devil whispers to you - tag, you’re it. He presses the knife closer to your skin as you let loose a shaking breath, body completely frozen by the intoxicating presence of your superior.

“Boo.”

The voice sends pure and unadulterated fear throughout you. As your wiggling against his touch and struggling to free yourself, the Lieutenant is pulling you backwards. Your rifle clatters onto the ground, and you’re kicking your feet to try and break free from the death grip he has you in. You almost feel like it too - like you’re going to die.

The window is slipping further and further away from you as he drags you to the back of the room. The rifle looks back at you mockingly. Helpless, alone and completely fucked, you scratch at his wrist in a last ditch effort to run away.

He keeps the knife pressed against you, unmoving and unbothered by your desperate flailing. You crane your neck to look at him and instantly regret it.

There’s a darkness that circles in his eyes. His mask is hiding the dirty smirk that’s started to spread across his face, an unfamiliar emotion brewing on his face. You’re desperate to escape, suddenly overwhelmed at the close contact. You feel like screaming. He notices, the fabric of his mask flush against your skin as his words come out sharp and lethal.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,”

You nod meekly, teeth sunken into your bottom lip as he lets loose another laugh. He’s toying with you, like a cat would a dead mouse.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry-“ you start to speak, taking careful steps backwards with him as he leads you to a shadowed part of the room. The heat of his body suddenly disappears, but the knife stays put against your throat. He turns you around, little wide eyes staring at the ghost with a haunting fear. Such a pretty little face, he muses - too bad I’m gonna ruin it.

“You’re not sorry. Not yet,”

He takes a seat against the tattered chair, fingers locking onto your vest until you’re pulled into straddling his leg. You squeak at the contact, thighs pressing into his leg as you continue to squirm under his touch. His eyes are locked onto your face, free hand coming to grab your chin.

You wonder why he’s doing this - he’s won, isn’t that enough? There’s still thirty minutes left, Soap and Gaz are waiting for you to show up with your head hung in shame as the Lieutenant takes you home. The close proximity to him builds a fire between your legs, and you can’t help but think of all the filthy little secrets you’ve kept to yourself.

“Wanna stop being such a brat? Huh, sweetheart?” He uses the name mockingly, slipping from his lips effortlessly.

Oh.

Your lips are wobbling, anxious breaths pulling themselves from your chest as you try to remain calm. The rub of his thigh between your legs has your mind going completely blank. You stare at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

He’s sitting in the chair casually, one arm resting against the side as he continues to look at you. He’s waiting patiently, as if he’s got nothing but time. You swallow, shifting on his leg and unsure how to approach the situation.

It doesn’t help that he’s pushing his knee into you like that.

Exhaling, you shrink under his gaze. “I don’t understand-“ you begin, but he’s quick to cut you off. He grounds out your name. Ghost glides the tip of his blade against your throat softly, a delicate touch that you’re shaking under. “I asked you a question,” he states calmly.

You try your best to stay still. To understand what the fuck is going on, and how to talk to your lieutenant that’s pressing his knee between your thighs. Every movement sends another shock of electricity through you, cheeks blushing scarlet at the shameful heat that’s pooling between your thighs. “Yes, sir,” you say softly, fingernails digging into the palms of your hands.

He’s grinning like a fool, and you don’t even know it.

Ghost bounces his knee, admiring the way your eyes widen and how your legs squeeze around him to keep balance. The movements are slow, comfortable and paced. You’re biting your tongue, breath held as his free hand comes to rub your thigh softly. “Look at you, following orders like a good girl,” he says, voice velvet and smooth. “Show me how sorry you are.”

A moan slips and tumbles from your lips, hips grinding softly into the touch of his knee that continues to lazily bounce. He moves the knife from your throat, twisting it between his fingers. There’s dried blood on it, remnants of his kindness staining the blade. You’re terrified, about what he’s going to do, and what you’ll do for him. (A lot, apparently)

You shift along his knee, heat continuing to simmer from the contact. He’s bouncing his knee into you, the pace quickening when you grind down softly in defeat.

Your hips grind against his leg, hands cautiously taking place in front you to keep balance. Ghost continues to stare, fingers flipping the knife around. Gentle gasps escape you, eyes briefly fluttering closed as pleasure edges you closer towards him. His hand is rubbing against your thigh, dragging itself up and down your clothed leg. The contact sends shivers through you.

At this point, your mind is foggy with the continuous pleasure that continues to build between the two of you. You’re giving in, hips grinding and rolling against him. His leg continues to bounce with your movements, and your panties are slick and wet with excitement.

“Look at you, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grounds out, fingers digging into your thigh that’s sure to be bruised later. You’re dragging yourself up and along his leg, desperate for friction. Whines are slipping past your lips like it’s the only way to keep your sanity.

You’re so close. So close to euphoria, an arms reach away.

The knife he’s playing with is pocketed, dark eyes trained on your hips until your knees are weak and a heavy cloud of arousal is hanging in the room. His leg stops bouncing, a pout playing at your lips. “Get up,” he spits, flicking his wrist with indifference. Nodding, you peel yourself away from him and stand with a shaky breath. You sit between his legs now, intentionally avoiding his gaze. “Lieutenant. Sir, can I please g-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

The way you say his title makes his dick throb with need. You’re looking towards the door, chest rising and falling quickly with the beat of your anxious breaths.

The loss of contact has you desperate and craving to be near him. You’re soaked now, fists clenching as you try to remain calm. It’s embarrassing, the way you melt against him - you want to run and hide. And he knows.

His hand cups itself between your thighs, rubbing you softly as you moan from the touch. You should run, you think, but it wouldn’t do any difference. You’re scared to death, but a part of you likes it. He’s sitting there, legs spread open and the bulge in his pants growing.

“So desperate and needy for me - are you happy now?” He asks, free hand reaching down to palm himself and groaning. Yes. You want to nod, but you're pinned beneath his stare. The excitement is pooling between your legs, eyes landing to his lap where he’s stroking himself lazily through his clothes.

But you’re also scared. A subtle fear is manifesting within you, the situation weighing heavy on your shoulders. You don’t know what he’s playing at, what you’re supposed to do as your Lieutenant rubs soft circles into you. You could transfer teams, apply for another position, maybe even just up and leave without a word. But somewhere, deep down inside of you, you know that he’ll always be there.

He looks away, irritation spreading across his face. He’s listening to something, brows knit together. The radio, you realize. Curious voices coming to interrupt the moment, saving you for just a breath as the Lieutenant focuses on something other than you.

“Lt, everything okay? It’s been quiet,” You hear Gaz ask. Twenty minutes left.

Ghosts hand pulls itself from you reluctantly, fingers pressing down as his gruff voice responds. “Keep the lines clear,” he grumbles, his hips bucking softly as he continues to stroke himself. “Gone hunting. Out here,” he says.

The moment his focus is taken off of you, you’re bolting towards the exit with everything you have. You’re quick, mind heavy with the intentions of your Lieutenant. You’re an arms length away, fingers so close to grasping the frame of the door to pull yourself out. You’re right there, fingers outstretched-

But he’s quicker.

You fall on his outstretched ankle, tripping and landing face first. Your forehead smacks against the dusty floor as your breath is stolen from you. A deep laugh echoes behind you, your heart in your throat. He shuffles in the background, steps heavy as he saunters towards your downed figure.

A boot situates itself comfortably on your back, digging in until you cry out from the pain. Tears are forming in your eyes, the press of his shoe keeping you in place as you struggle underneath him. You were so confused, head spinning and mind reeling. Yet you’re still wet from the incredible feeling of riding your lieutenants thigh.

Your glossy eyes stare back at his knee as he kneels down. His hand lands on your ass with a sickening smack, a whimper coming free from you. “Wait - please, I’m so sorry, Simon-“ his name slips like it doesn’t belong to you - because it doesn’t, not yet. He grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look up at the terrifying mask that separates you. He doesn’t feel human, like a part of him is disconnected. You’re terrified, but you like it.

“Hush,”

Like an obedient pet, you nod to him with wobbling lips. His vest is off now, cast aside in the room. He rests an arm casually on his propped knee, shaking his head in disappointment. He exhales slowly, your eyes trained on the mask as he speaks low and dark.

“I’ll tell you a secret, love,” he says, pulling at your hair more until your neck is strained. Tears are rolling down your cheeks, palms flat against the floor as you wait for him.

“I’m no patient man, and I tried - I really did,” he confesses, head cocking to the side to mimic your current position. Another hard smack. You can’t see it, but he’s got a stupid grin plastered on his face as he stares at you, helpless and defeated.

“I thought if I was nice enough you would hear me.”

The pressure of his boot is unbearable, lungs pressed tight as you struggle to take a breath of air.

“But you just don’t listen.”

The last smack lands, and you squirm under the pain. He keeps his hand there for a moment, grabbing a fistful of your ass. “I do. I will - m’ sorry,” you whine. “Simon, I didn’t mean it-“

“Maybe not, but I do.”

He forces you to your feet, leading you with his fist entangled in your hair. Your thighs press against the side of the chair, his hand pushing you to bend over, face smushed against the worn cushion.

His groin presses into your ass, hips rolling into you softly as you bite the inside of your cheek. A hand grips down on the back of your neck as he pushes a forceful thrust into you. Intoxicating and overwhelming pleasure returns, thighs squeezing together in a futile attempt to stop the pooling of arousal that gathers.

Ghost drags down your pants, groaning softly at the view of your bare ass, still red with his handprint. He smacks it again - he just can’t help himself. He’s waited so long for this, to get you alone and let all the filthy demons he’s got go loose.

“Gonna fucking ruin you, brat,” he growls, two fingers meeting your clit and rubbing hard circles. Your legs open instinctively, and he laughs at the way you melt under his touch. “Already so fucking wet, how badly do you want it?” He asks, teasing your cunt with the tip of his fingers. You feel like drooling, mind numb from his fingers that roughly tease you.

“Go on, tell me,” he baits, fingers slipping further and further as a moan of ecstasy is pulled from your lips. “So bad,” you whine, throwing your hips back until he's knuckle deep inside you. “I’ll do anything,” you admit, rolling yourself into him as he continues to finger you. You’re soaking, nails digging into the chair as you bite back moans of pleasure.

Ghost’s undone his belt, pulling down his zipper and pushing down the hem of his boxers. Grabbing his cock, he strokes himself lazily while you writhe and plead with his fingers inside you. There’s a sickening wet sound that follows from the action, your cheeks turning scarlet with embarrassment.

God, he’s gonna lose it. All the self control that he’s built, the careful distance that he’s kept from you. It’s crashing down, lighting ablaze with a burning desire as your lips moan his name over and over.

Please. Please. Please.

He smacks his tip onto you, smearing pre-cum on your ass. You’re breaking down, hips grinding and rolling into his fingers. The playful act is dropped, blind obedience and need replaces it. Then he rubs his tip gently into your clit, and you can’t help but lose sight of everything that isn’t him.

“Fuck - don’t stop . Please, please just fuck me-“

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Ghost asks, curling his fingers until you’re seeing stars. So close. You’re tightening around his fingers, desperate for the touch “mm-hmm,” you mumble, unable to form sentences.

“Gonna beg for my dick like a desperate little slut?” He teases, quickening his pace until your legs are shaking.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

His fingers leave you suddenly, a cry falling from your lips at the loss of contact. You’re shaking, dragging your nails on the chair and begging him - please.

“Thought I’d let you cum so quick? Bloody hell,” he muses. “You just don’t learn, huh?”

You’re shaking your head. No. You’ll do anything for him, anything to have him .

He rubs his dick over your entrance, free hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling harshly. Ghost eases himself into you, teasing you slowly. Whines and pleads are leaving your mouth, desperate and out of control until his hips are flush against your ass.

Ghost is holding your hip with one hand, fingers digging into your skin as he sits with his cock in you. He doesn’t move, moments slipping by in pure agony as you unravel at the seams. He’s still, patiently waiting for you to come undone. And you do, pressing your ass against him and grinding “fuck me, please. I’ll be good - I promise,” you sob.

He’s laughing at you, and it’s got you blushing out of control. “That’s better, love. I like it when you beg for me,”

The Lieutenant is a greedy man, and he’s takes his sweet time with you.

Ghosts thrusts are harsh and rough, slamming you into the chair as his hand continues to grip your hair. His dick stretches you, mouth hanging open as he’s fucking you senseless.

The knot of pleasure is unraveling, waves of ecstasy rolling through you and eyes rolling back. Ghost keeps a quick and hard pace, and it’s got you dizzy with disbelief.

He smacks your ass, a mewl of approval sounding from you. Ghost likes it rough, and you take it like an eager little vixen. You roll and buck your hips, grinding your wet cunt against him as if you’re asking for more. He’s smiling, pure excitement hitting him like a kid playing with his new pet.

Ghost rubs into your clit, savoring the way you twitch under him. “Just like that, sweetheart. I bet you like it when I’m mean,” he states, your cunt soaking wet from him. “I know you do, taking my dick like this. Fuckin’ hell,” he groans.

“Mm-hmm, please, please - just please don’t stop,”

This time, he listens. He fucks you relentlessly, pulling at your hair and rubbing your clit. Ghost thrusts are becoming uneven, sloppy with pleasure as you both start to feel the orgasms building.

“I wanna feel you cum, you fucking slut,” he spits, fucking you harder. Your eyes squeeze shut, legs shaking as the heat burns into a forest fire. Slick wet sounds are coming from behind you, his dick pushing into you and hand coming down to smack on your ass. “Lemme hear you, love. Tell me what a good girl you’re gonna be.”

“I’m a good girl. I’m gonna listen, I promise. I’ll do anything - please, sir. I wanna cum, I’ll be so good, I-“

Ghost lets out a groan of approval, cutting you off before you have the chance to finish. You don’t mind, head cloudy with a sickening pleasure that crescendos into full grown ecstasy. Moans are slipping free, hips grinding into his thrusts until you’re screaming in pleasure face first into the chair. Nails digging into the side, your orgasm crashing through you until you’re seeing stars.

Ghost isn’t far behind. He’s thrusting sloppily, huffs and moans spilling from him as he rides you through your orgasm. He pushes your head into the chair, growling out filthy curses as he fuck you harder. Deep thrusts and low grunts are pushing you towards insanity. He quickens his sloppy pace, desperate for release as your cunt squeezes around his dick.

He cums soon after, slamming a fist into the wall and rocking thrusts into you slowly. “Think you’ve learned your lesson, sweetheart?” He teases, pulling himself from you. You nod into the cushion, breaths coming out hot and heavy. “Uh-huh,” you say softly.

Ghost rubs the bright red mark on your ass. A moment passes by in a comfortable silence, the air thick with arousal. He carefully pulls you to your feet, your shaking hands dragging up your pants. You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, asking yourself if this is going to be the only time - or just the first time. Ghost glances back at you, a hand coming to grab your jaw. The touch is delicate and gentle, something that catches you off guard. He looks pretty damn pleased, based off of the twinkle in his eyes.

“Times up - good hunting, Lt?” Soaps familiar voice cuts through the radio. You blink, almost forgetting where you are. His hand leaves your face. Blushing scarlet, you look to your Lieutenant. “Who are we buying drinks for?” Gaz questions.

Ghost is fumbling with his belt, slinging the vest onto his shoulders as you wait patiently for him to respond, lip caught between your teeth. He notices, another dirty smirk that you can’t see playing at his lips. “Go on, tell them,” he says, picking up the stray rifle on the ground. You look at him in disbelief, blinking in confusion.

“Tell them or I’ll show them by fucking you over my desk.”

You hang your head in shame, nodding to yourself as you press the radio. “Not me,” you say softly, grabbing the rifle from his hands and looking at him.

“The Lieutenant wasn’t playing fair.”

[soft-girl-musings]

Perks of Being a Wallflower

Jake Lockley x plus size fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for thirsty jake, author does not dance but saw it on the tv once (i'm mostly kidding), mustachioed jake jumpscare (tagging for the haters), no use of Y/N

wc: 1.9k

fic summary: For Jake, a night on the town means sticking to the background, listening for signs of trouble. That all changes when he sees you at the dance hall.

A/N: still on the jake train and I am making it everyone's problem. just wanted to preface by saying, as a curvy girlie, i recognize that plus size folk are not a monolith. so everything in this fic is based on my own experience, etc. enjoy!

----------

Jake likes to keep his intel hotspots in rotation. 

Mondays and Wednesdays he'll head to the diner after a day in the cab, refueling and checking in with his network.

Tuesdays and Thursdays he'll hit the bars. Weekends are mostly for driving.

But Fridays? Fridays are for dancing.

Jake's guilty pleasure is scoping out the dance hall. The clubs have their appeal, but there's something timeless about the hole in the wall he’d discovered a while back. Nothing special, just a cozy ballroom with a bar, tables lifted on a platform framing ¾ of the room and turning the dance floor into an inverse stage.

Tonight he nurses a beer in the corner, listening to a couple of seedy characters describe some suspicious activity at a warehouse he'd been tailing. But he hasn't caught much of their conversation. Truth be told, he's a bit distracted tonight.

Because of you.

He'd seen you come in with four other people, two couples by the look of it. He'd been immediately taken by you: while some patrons came to dance in jeans and t-shirts, you'd dressed to impress. He'd shamelessly raked his eyes over your form, generous curves hugged by the bodice of your dress that trailed down over your ample hips. You walked with a timid sway, the movement inevitable even as you drew your arms about yourself, settling into your seat with care at a table clear across the room from him.

As much as he's tried to fight it, his attention always drifts back to you: poised and pretty, eyes scanning the room as one couple, then another leaves you for the Latin-dance-of-the-week group lesson hosted like clockwork every Friday. The instructor drones on, but Jake is zeroed in on you: all softness and warmth, criminally tucked away from the rest of the fun.

The warehouse can wait.

__________

You don’t consider yourself the kind of girl someone crosses the room for.

That’s probably why you don’t notice the determined stranger making his way across the crowded dance floor, eyes trained on you as he adjusts his cap with a smirk.

You’re taking another sip of your overpriced cocktail when you hear an unfamiliar voice below you.

“Not a fan of the rumba?”

You finally register the man standing by the corner of your table. He’s handsome, you have to admit, his dark features highlighting kind brown eyes, creased from his almost too-eager smile. When you realize he’s talking to you, your words are still slow to come out.

But he doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s the mustache, isn’t it?” He grins sheepishly, dragging a palm across his lower face. “Knew it’d skeeve some people out, but I thought I’d give it a go.”

“No,” you say too quickly for your own liking, “It’s, ah– nice. Suits you.”

You’re met with a cheeky grin as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded as he leans in. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet a friendly face.”

You eye him warily, wondering what his angle could be. A quick glance around the room confirms there’s only so many unattached women surrounding the dance floor. You sigh internally. The game is always the same: keep them entertained until the girls they really want to talk to come back from the bar, or the bathroom, or stray just far enough from the guys they arrived with.

Might as well play along. 

Settling back into your seat, you tell him your name. His grin widens as he echoes it with something bordering reverence, and you bite your cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

Jake props one elbow on the table, looking up at you. Seems like he’s not going anywhere for a while.

“I gotta know– you not a fan of the rumba?”  He asks again, staring up at you dreamily. You don't catch it, your eyes flitting between him and the dance floor. The lesson is over, and couples spread out to dance independently.

“Hm? Oh, um– it’s alright,” you say with a shrug, arms wrapping around your middle again. “Just not a dancing night for me.” 

Truth be told, it’s been ages since anyone’s invited you to dance. You’ve contented yourself with watching, although something deep inside aches for someone to ask you to–

"Dance with me."

You raise an eyebrow, struck by his bluntness. "I'm sorry?"

He leans in, both arms now resting on the table. "Dance with me, doll." His grin widens as he drinks you in. Your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you almost believe the admiration behind his eyes.

You press your lips together and look back to the crowd. "No thanks."

"I promise I don't bite," he teases, baring his teeth for effect. The slight gap in his smile catches your eye and you look away again. He's definitely a charmer.

"I…" you trail off, searching for an excuse but find you're hesitant to give it. 

Your self-sabotaging streak wins out. "Sorry, I have to keep the table for my friends." You nod toward the couples you came with, each person settled in the arms of their partner as they stumble through the rumba on their own. Your frown deepens; it does look fun.

Jake hums and props his head on one hand. "Don't tell me you only tagged along to watch their purses? Not the best of friends," he adds, critique mixed with sympathy.

You almost tell him that this wasn't the plan, you were meant to have a date tonight. A date who suddenly couldn't make it once your friend had caved and sent him a picture of you– a snapshot you'd both hoped wouldn't "fatfish" but was flattering enough to entice him to commit. Clearly he didn't.

You consider telling him everything, so lost in thought you don't realize he's been saying your name. He calls you once more, and you snap back to the present, tearing your eyes away from the dance floor.

"Sorry, what was that?"

As you speak, Jake walks around the table until he's closer to your side. He holds out his hand.

"C'mon, one dance." He asks again, angling his head to catch your eye. "Please?"

The last of your resolve absolutely crumbles at the way his voice softens with every word. As if you have something he wants. As if you could reject him and make it sting. 

Oh, what the hell.

"...Alright. One dance." 

You didn't think he could smile any wider, but he does– tossing his cap onto the table and trailing a hand through his thick black curls, he's all crow's feet and smile lines as you accept his hand.

Jake weaves between dancing pairs with you in tow, until you reach the middle of the floor. Your eyes dart around at the couples surrounding you, but a gentle touch under your chin brings your attention back to him.

"Just focus on me, yeah?" His voice is still soft, keeping you grounded in the eye of the busy dance floor. You nod, letting out a shaky breath.

"Right, so–" Jake clasps your right hand and raises it to chin level. He moves your left hand to cradle his shoulder, and places his right hand on your shoulder blade. It takes everything in him not to squeeze the flesh under his palm; you're just as warm and soft as he'd thought you'd be.

He talks you through the basics, how to time your steps and the flow of each movement. Every so often, he’ll lift your chin again, since you keep looking at your feet to keep up.

You catch on quicker than you’d expected. Even though your cheeks are blazing, you feel yourself loosen up– your body relaxing, your hips swaying a bit more freely. 

Jake can tell: he’s never short of praise and encouragement, and has to remember his own advice to stop himself from watching your hips the whole time.

"Alright," he warns, "here's something a little tricky-"

As soon as you feel his hand flex, you know what to do. You step out and deftly spin under his arm, hips swaying with a cheeky flourish for effect.

Jake barks a laugh of surprise, arms settling back into place as you complete the step.

You let yourself crack a smile. “You third wheel enough of these dance lessons, you’re bound to pick some things up.”

“No kidding,” he affirms, resuming an easy rhythm for you both. You’d think he was born with that grin on his face, the way it hasn’t faltered since he introduced himself.

One song bleeds into another, but neither of you notice. Instead, you draw closer together, your frame more relaxed and your heart racing. With every beat, you fight back the budding intoxication of the moment. Because this can't be real; this can't be something that lasts. No matter how many praises he showers, winks he offers, or lingering brushes against your hips, shoulders, seemingly anywhere he can touch you, you know you won't be hearing from Jake once you leave this dance floor. That's how this always goes down.

The song ends and you both slow to a stop. Slightly breathless, your hands trail up to Jake’s shoulders, thumbs tracing the fabric there as you work up the courage to ask one last question.

"So… is this the part where you go back to your friends and tally up who got the big girl to believe you were interested?"

Jake's brows knit together, his hands pressed to your shoulder blades to hold you steady. "I don't-"

"Oh please, you don't have to pretend. I survived high school, I can take it." You smirk, worrying your lip to keep your disappointment at bay. This was a nice fantasy, but you know how this ends.

The band starts to play a slower tune, and his eyes meet yours. In a flash of flexed arms and footwork, you’re suddenly looking up at him, body tilted back as he dips you. A cheeky grin is plastered on his flushed features.

"Doll, you misunderstand." He draws you back up, bringing you cheek to cheek as the stubble of his warm face scratches your skin. He continues, voice low and close to your ear:

"We're dancin' because it'd be criminal to leave such a pretty wallflower unplucked all night." He starts to sway in time to the music, still holding you. An invitation to stay, to do this all again.

You lean back; his rapt attention is trained on you like before, the warmth in his brown eyes seeping into your cheeks. Your face blossoms into the widest smile, your soft angles catching the light and making you look downright radiant. 

"That's… so corny." And you laugh, a rich, uninhibited sound pouring from your lips until tears nearly spill down your cheeks. 

Jake takes it all in– the vision that you are. His hand trails down to the softness at the small of your back. The way you quake from laughter sends a thrill up his spine, and he chuckles in turn. If he wasn’t holding you, he swears he’d be a little weak in the knees.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder as you calm down. “What’s one more dance?” You breathe, letting yourself move in time with the music.

Jake bites his lip and nods, taking your hand again. “Thought you’d never ask, doll.”

With a flick of the wrist he spins you out, eliciting another laugh from you as he pulls you back in.

The warehouse can definitely wait: his night's going to be spent drawing that sweet sound from your lips as long as you'll let him.

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A/N: when I say "brainrot," i mean i couldn't sleep until i set this gd thing to publish (don't ask me what time)

huge shoutout to @hon3yboy @chrissymodi-frost and @mrsnadeem for letting me ramble in your DMs about dancer!Jake, all my love my darlings <3

addtl tag list: @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi

tysm for reading!

[moonlit-witches]

☾ Requiem — Chifuyu Matsuno

☾ Just to Die — Chifuyu Matsuno

❝you learn it ain’t fair by design/so you do what you can/when you’re born into life just to die❞

pairing: chifuyu matsuno x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you meet your new neighbor chifuyu matsuno for the first time

warnings: mentions of death (parental), language, violence, suggestive themes (nothing explicit), questionable morality, reader is lowkey a brat but ya know aren’t all preteens??, one (1) use of y/n, depressive themes (i be depressed so most of what i write is gonna b a lil depressing lol)

word count: 2.8k+

a/n: y'all i haven’t written fanfiction in years so please be mindful lmfao, this takes place right around/before chifuyu meets baji, so he’s his lil asshole self who thinks he rules the world, i have multiple parts to this planned so beware, let me know if you enjoyed! thanks homies!

now playing: [just to die — keshi]

part i

⋯⛩︎⋯

growing up with a single father definitely had its ups and downs. while you were on your own when it came to figuring out catty fights between jealous tweens who thought that words and hair pulling would affect your social standings, or why exactly there was a bright red stain inside of your underwear for a week straight when you were around eleven, your father stepped up in other aspects of your life. teaching you how to persevere against those that talked down on you with a sharp punch to the nose while avoiding retaliating fists, to making you feel as though you were princess of the universe when he’d walk you downtown late at night. he’d let you swing manically off one of his arms, while his other smoked a cigarette. you remembered glancing up and seeing a wide smile illuminating his face, as you giggled trying to kick at the walking pedestrians, causing him to have to flex and move his arm to avoid the collision.

you remember feeling like nothing and no one could touch you as long as your dad was next to you.

that was until you lost him too — moving into a bustling new city, with an unfamiliar aunt who claimed to be a relative of your long-gone mother and scolded you for the ways in which your dad taught you. one minute you were a happy child with confidence that shined through all aspects of your life including caring about schoolwork, helping your dad around the house, and being kind to those around you. the next, you were transported to the police station instead of walking back home alongside your father as he insisted on picking you up from school every day after work. you remember the flickering overhead lights as they said something along the lines of “you’re dad is in heaven now” to keep the conversation kid-friendly. you remember looking up the real story on the library computer late one night. some bitch stabbed your father and took his money.

your aunt suddenly had her hands full — although after losing both parents, was a wild child not what she was expecting to come out of this situation? especially a family member you had never heard of before your father’s untimely death. from violence, to sneaking out, or stealing anything your pockets could hold; you’d begun a search for any sort of feeling other than despair. cheap thrills seemed to be the best ticket.

you had punched your seatmate the first day of school for asking if you needed help purchasing pencils when she’d seen you chewing on a perfectly working pen. you were banned from the four closest convenience stores to your home, whom your aunt seemed to personally know the managers of as they’d ratted out your little heists to her. you’d even sneak out of your ground floor window to share half of your dinner with the city's stray cats as you couldn’t stomach much of an appetite once your solid footing on the universe had whisked out from under your feet. your middle school years seemed to be shaping into the bane of your existence. 

however, you learned just as quickly that simply because all of the lights had been shut off, it doesn’t stop soft, stubborn flames from flickering in long stale corners.

the apartment complex that you now resided in sat on a poorly lit corner, standing five floors high, and rang quietly with the sounds of mother’s scolding their ruly children while the dark alleys surrounding it smelled of tobacco and skunk, flitting behind the bodies of those that stopped to smoke. most days, following the lengthy and boring school days, you would stay out as late as you could, lying to your aunt that you’d been at cram school instead of running rampant along the streets of tokyo.

even after your father’s death, you’d feel him by your side, especially when you’d walk the streets after sunset with an unlit cigarette sitting between your tense teeth. the bustling streets weren’t as safe as they had been when he’d physically been here, but his somatic skills of protection that he’d ground into you as a child as a way to bound with the baby girl he’d had no intent of raising by himself before your mother had died six months after your birth in a fiery car accident, acted as a shield for your own wondering steps.

this night was no different. although, you’d receive stares from those passing as they searched for an adult figure in your vicinity to explain your late night strolling on this side of town, you ignored them, staring upwards at the crescent moon that followed you around. your lips played with the stick between your teeth, rolling it back and forth, slightly praying for a way out of the situation that is your life now. sometimes, you’d find a sick fuck who’d catcall you from a darkened alleyway, or find a stray cat being targeted by a group of unruly teenagers, which caused you to snap out of your almost unconscious state to beat them back into place.

those evenings, it was harder to convince your aunt that you’d been out at cram school, but eventually she’d tsk her tongue at you and retire back to her bedroom leaving you in the stillness of the living room as the street lights highlighted your bruised knuckles and sometimes brow bone. you’d often wonder in these moments how your dad would have reacted, daydreaming of his bright smiles and praise at his child standing their ground, asking all the right questions to rile you back up, your own smile mirroring his.

“oi!”

an unwelcoming yell alerted you to a group of half a dozen third-years milling about the alleyway beside you. their eyes were already on yours as you halted, tilting your head to allow the nuisance into your eyesight. your eyelids were heavy, your cheek twitching at the sudden interruption. you sighed slightly, removing the unlit cigarette from your teeth, moving it and your hands into your zip-up’s pockets.

“and what the hell is a young thing like you doing out this late?” the seeming leader of the group sneered, stuffing his own lit cigarette out on the ground under his foot. you stayed silent, uninterestedly sizing the growing boys up. they seemed to be dressed the same, in button up long sleeve shirts, with something embroidered on their left chests, although the kanji was too far away for you to read. they must report to someone with outfits like that, you think, righting your head finally and taking a few steps away from the well lit street into the alley.

after a pregnant pause, another spoke up harshly behind the first to speak, asking “you looking for some fun, little girl?” 

your hands removed themselves from your pockets, twitching against the school skirt you hadn’t changed out of since the final bells, slightly aggravated by the placename they’d given you. you were your dad’s “little girl” and now that he was gone, so too was that person. a slight rage beginning to boil under your skin as someone else addressed you as such.

“what’s it to you?” you spit back, rolling your shoulders to try and appear somewhat bigger.

this created a wave of reaction amongst the delinquents; laughter echoing against the damp, cracking brick walls surrounding them. you smirked slightly, somewhat glad that society had made everyone in it believe a small, young girl like you posed no threat to these older schoolboys, much less those that willingly participated in acts of violence such as brawls and beatings. 

once the fit of hysterics had quieted, the one that seemed to lead those behind him opened his mouth, seemingly, to reply to your rhetorical question. you decided now was as good a time as any. your feet carried you quickly forward, watching his face shift from that of amusement, to one of confusion, before your right foot came up to meet the side of his face. you pivoted on your toes, leg still in the air from coming down off his face, and used the momentum to slam the follower next to him square in the temple. taking a step, you brought your burning knuckles upwards, locking a solid hit on a third’s jaw, relishing in the sound of teeth clashing, before facing the one formerly standing next to his leader. you pulled your arm back, and felt your knuckles reverberate against his face as you smashed his nose in.

you turned on your heels this time, figuring you could take the remaining two third-years on at once, as usually those in the back weren’t as renowned in their skill as those between the object of victimization (you, in their hopeful case) and their leader, who laid moaning as blood ran from his ear that you’d smashed against his skull seconds earlier. your calculations weren’t usually wrong, but they seemed to be a bit off, as you watched the other two boys yell as they rushed you from either side.

you let out a small cry yourself, turning slightly to the bigger one, your fist meeting his chest, as he stormed into your personal space. the one behind you yanked the hood of your sweatshirt, choking you a bit as they pulled you downwards, back hitting the concrete with a jolt that had the remaining air leaving your lungs at an alarming pace. the position made you panic, grunting a bit as you held your fists forward, towards the remaining boy as he lunged on top of you. you sucked in a quick breath before his weight landed on you, causing an involuntary oof to escape your mouth. you had managed to get a knee between his chest and yours, as you let out another yell, and pushed with all your weight, forcing yourself back into the ground as the delinquent stuttered in his movements to catch your flailing hands. 

“get off,” you huffed angrily, as a voice in the back of your mind reminded you that maybe you weren’t as invincible as you’d perceived yourself to be. you shook the thought from your head, rearing a fist back to smash the skull of the one on top of you, when a strong vice gripped your wrist, smashing it back into the ground next to your head. you looked up with wide eyes and saw the one you’d punched in the chest catching his breath in pants, holding you down. you became frantic as his other hand wound its way around your other wrist, pulling it away from your chest and above your head as well. a harsh blow to your lower jaw brought you back to the present, as you heard your ears ring, and felt a sting from your upper lip being split by your tooth.

Shit, you thought, mind temporarily blanking, as your vision began to blur with frustration knowing that if you didn’t get out of this quickly, this night would be one of hurt and hell.

“if you wanted to have this much fun,” the one on top of you grunted, a smirk erupting along his ugly cheeks, “you could’ve just asked nicely.”

 you begin puffing, straining your taut muscles aiming to bring your other leg up along the other to force his stank breath out of your face, mind beginning to race at his implications. the one pinning your wrists above your head, struggling to move your wrists towards one another, and you spared a glance upwards, seeing a sadistic glint within his dark eyes as his own mouth formed a toothy grin.

suddenly, his face moved rapidly to his left, disappearing from your view followed by a sickening thunk as it echoed off the concrete next to you. you let a small gasp escape your already open mouth, averting your eyes back to the front of you, watching the third-year on top of you as his mouth transformed from a twisted smirk to a perfect ‘o’ before a fist smashed into his mouth, causing him to collapse face-first against your side.

the added weight made you anxious as you moved your body back, leaning on your elbows as you scrambled. before you’d even turned to see who had attacked the two, another hand was wrapping around your arm, this time yanking you up onto your feet, and pulling you towards the other side of the alley. your breath came back sporadically, sparing a glance behind you at the beaten group of teens who were beginning to rekindle their surroundings, before the grip on your arm yanked you to the right, causing you to trip over your own feet, struggling to keep up with the heightened pace.

after about a minute of combing through side streets, the grip loosened around your forearm, causing you to slow, leaning forward to catch your breath. you lifted your head slightly to see who it was running alongside you, and your eyebrows contorted at the sight of a boy your own age, maybe a year above you, with dyed blonde hair in a faux hawk, curling into itself. before you’d collected yourself to make an attempt at conversation, he was lowering his chest, towering into your face, face scrunched in frustration. “what the hell is wrong with you? don’t you know that they could’ve killed you — or worse?”

his eyebrows were angled inwards, half covering his green eyes, anger raiding from him and onto you, causing you to bristle, standing up straight to counteract his intimidating stance.

“i didn’t need your help,” you scoffed, wiping the side of your mouth, as he watched the blood smear from the corner of your lips and half disappear into the black sweatshirt sleeve.

for a minute he stared at you, disbelief surrounding the situation transforming into an unbelieved laugh. “then what the hell did i just fight those pricks for, huh?” he stared at you with wide eyes, finally turning away from you while shaking his head.

you frowned, crossing your arms. “it was just a small misjudgment on my part,” you muttered without looking at him. “nothing i couldn’t have handled.”

the last part came out breathy and if he hadn't been standing so close to you, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

he gave you an inconceivable side-eye before stuffing his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk off — the same direction you needed to go to return home. you furrowed your own eyebrows in irritation realizing you couldn’t split off from the blonde just yet, and began to trail behind him. he sighed deeply before speaking, “you just moved downstairs, didn’t you?”

you gape in disbelief. how did he know that you’d just moved here?

he shot you a look over his shoulder, before facing forward and shrugging. “you and your mom sure know how to yap about you being out too late, you know?”

your mind reeled for a minute, coming to the conclusion that this boy must live in the same apartment complex you’d recently found yourself home in. and on top of that, he had to have heard the recurring arguments you’d gotten into with your aunt about your punctuality or violent tendencies. after shaking off the questioning thoughts from your mind, you grumbled, “she’s not my mom,” while fumbling for your crumbled cigarette in your pocket.

he turned to look at you, seeing the cigarette between your lips and it was his turn to gape as he asked, “whoa, what the hell are you smoking cigarettes for?”

his hand reached out, seemingly to remove it from your lips and you shifted sideways out of his grasp, humming, “i don’t. just reminds me of someone.”

his fingers returns to his side, nodding as if he understood, before saying, “i’m matsuno chifuyu.”

you huffed, wondering when the hell you’d even asked, before he stopped suddenly, causing your chest to collide with his back, creating a huff to escape you. he slyly looked over at you. “and this is where you tell me your name.”

you gave him a glare back, stepping around his figure to continue home. “(l/n y/n).”

he grinned slightly in satisfaction, matching his pace to yours as you approached the apartment building the two of you reside in. he pulled the glass door open after punching in his access code, awaiting your entry before following himself. you turned to the hallway entry on the right before moving your head to look at him as he moved towards the stairwell.

“thanks,” you said quietly, moving the cigarette to the side of your mouth.

he turned to look at you, giving you a cat-like grin, before you finished your sentence and entered the hallway before you. “by the way, your hair looks stupid.” you caught sight of the grin disappearing as his lips turned into a scowl, as you turned away to hide your own grin.

and thus began your unlikely and somewhat unwanted friendship with the delinquent upstairs.

⋯⛩︎⋯

[punkpandapatrixk]

🪩Your World-Changing Talents — Timeless Pick A Card

First, you change something about yourself, because you see the value in doing so, then you change your worldview. Second, you devote yourself to your Personal Happiness, because you see that happy people create better, kinder worlds, then you pursue your Art. Third, you jump timelines and shift your Personal Reality, and as you create your Destiny, so you sprinkle the world with excitement that is like that of your own~!💅🏻👗👒✨🦋

SONG for all piles: Tsukema Tsukeru by Kyary Pamyu Pamyu

MOVIE for all piles: Kamikaze Girls (2004)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

Reading guide: For those unfamiliar with tarot meanings, your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion—the second segment of this PAC—revolves around your almost sacrificial determination to pursue your Art. Whatever you choose to do with your Life, to become something great in this world… anything worth achieving in this world… always requires a certain degree of sacrifice. Dunno who the fuck came up with that Law, but that’s how it is in most cases.

Whether or not your sacrifices will be worth your while, is a pondering you can only answer after you’ve walked the plank and made manifest all you thought would be important to you. But remember this tiny fact: your Life Force has a time limit. So I always say, ‘If you’re gonna spill blood sweat and tears for anything at all, make sure it’s something that’s important to your Soul’.

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Flame of Vengeance Incarnate

VIBE: Yoyuu by AKKOGORILLA

your untapped superpowers – 5 of Cups

I think you’re someone who carries a pool of regrets in your heart. You don’t always swim in it, but it’s like a weird aquarium of all your disappointments in a world you’ve come to know, and dislike, which you carry inside of you. When you were a kid, you already had set expectations about what you want to be or do with your Life. I guess you weren’t allowed to be yourself; weren’t supported in pursuing your heart’s true desires. You thought to yourself, ‘It’s not like what I like is a bad thing!’

People’s failure to understand where you’re coming from broke your heart—perhaps also self-esteem. You could’ve been made fun of for your unique perspectives. Because you were different, people acted as if you were out of touch with reality—like you were insane for even having thoughts and desires that didn’t match the norms. Your behaviours, mannerisms and fashion could’ve also been a source of your getting ‘bullied’ or belittled, in a manner of speaking.

Do you actually understand why you’re viewed so differently like this? The truth is, you’re an alien. You’re an astronaut with a mission. Two scenarios: 1. You came here to play whilst learning to understand the unique limitations that afflict the world of the Humans, 2. You came here specifically to break down conventions and boundaries because the limitations of the Human world are causing its inhabitants to stray even further from the truth of the Divine GOD of All That Is.

your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion – 7 of Cups

In a manner of speaking, you came into this world with a specific desire to not fit in, because your Soul’s purpose is to add more layers, shades, depths of colours into the Human experience. I hope that makes sense, seriously. You’re not necessarily a fighter of sort (you could decide to be though), but you’re just wanting to show people: ‘Yo, there are many ways to enjoy a Human’s Life. You don’t have to be restricted like that. Damn!’

Of all the piles, your rebellious spirit is the loudest. You could identify as an Indigo, Crystal or Rainbow Child. You could also have been born in the 50s, 60s, or you’re just generally into the punk aesthetic of that era. It was an era of vulgar charisma. Something about the spirit of rebellion of many artists during that era speaks to your Soul and could’ve inspired a pressing desire for Freedom. You like your Freedom and you’d do anything in your power to protect that Liberty—your sheer dignity for being alive.

You shouldn’t (you know you wouldn’t) stop dreaming your ideal Reality, no matter the oppositions. The drabness of the world actually pisses you off, and you want to fight that grotesque by being exactly your weird and wonderful self. You are fuelled by some kind of rage about the ropes put around people’s necks when it comes to choosing their own dreams or other people’s. You seek to destroy those ropes and avenge those whose flames of passion have been dimmed by their societies. You know you’d never allow yourself to be ordinary because your very existence IS your vengeance.

support for you to thrive – 4 of Cups Rx

I know you’re afraid of cages and lethargy. You’re most afraid of living the same days over and over again and repeating the same routines that have nothing to do with your Soul’s truths. You’re afraid of living the rest of your Life being normal, vanilla, unaccomplished, and above all, insignificant and unmemorable. This particular fear runs in the background of your mind and could cause you to want to be changeable at all times. But living on Planet Earth, a little bit of structure is necessary if you want to maintain any semblance of sanity.

Rather than being always ready to try all kinds of venue—to challenge or prove yourself in all ways to all people—try to really know the few things that actually matter to you. If you could devote yourself to only a handful of things that you know you will never regret dedicating your lifetime and energy into, you could become a real master of something meaningful. And if you do care about what some close people think about you, perhaps this is the best approach?

I think you could really change your world the moment you decide to focus. But first you have to find the precious light bulbs that shine a Light on the things that are treasures to your Heart. You probably won’t have enough numbers in your years to try and explore all possibilities, right? So, focus. Focus on one or two things that really matter. Below essay may be of some use😉

☆°・. Devotion to A Vocation .・°☆ | Punk Girl Culture + Pick A Card

PARADIGM SHIFT🔻💗

raison d’être by your Oversoul – Red Astrologer (William Lilly)

manifesting with the Magic of your being – Priestess of Innocence

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – All-Encompassing Spiritual Courage & Creativity

VIBE: NEXT LEVEL by aespa

your untapped superpowers – XIX The Sun

Since you were a child, you have always been different in that you saw the world with a brilliance in your Third Eye that allows you to see the deeper truths—as well as deceits—of the world. Always wiser beyond your years, you were practically a child sage. You saw through the black and white lies of the adults around you. And you felt a cold disregard for the mundanity of the hobbies and activities children your age were into.

You saw quite clearly some really strange things about the Human world that were normalised. And you couldn’t wrap your head around all this normalcy that wasn’t normal to you. In your heart, you promised yourself you wouldn’t be absorbed into all that insanity. So you created a world of your own that had nothing to do with the one you were part of. The world of your creation had only the colours you liked. It was separate from your immediate reality, but this inner world contained everything that would one day become your real Reality.

Of all the piles, I think you’re the most likely to become a celeb of some kind. Probably even a superstar in the entertainment industry. But whatever your line of vocation may be, you are definitely someone who will be recognised vastly by the public. Mostly for what you do to shine a new light unto this drab world of deceit. You could become some sort of a whistle blower—sharing with the world hidden truths that would liberate the minds of many people.

your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion – Page of Wands Rx

I think you’re someone who’s always been clear about certain evil and malice in the world that you think you were born to fight. But if you had to fight anything at all, it was that you had to fight for your place in the world. You believed that when you get older, you’ll be able to do something about all that’s wrong, abnormal, about the world. I’m not even sure if you’re fully aware of this, but…

Do you struggle within yourself to make manifest simple desires that should come easily to fulfil your basic needs—for your psychological and spiritual wellbeing? Manifestation doesn’t seem to work in your favour as easily as it does other people. You may have wondered what you’re doing wrong in the world for God to disfavour you so much. You can’t really understand what others are doing right for their manifestations to come so quickly.

But… easy come easy go, right? Your Soul actually has a very particular interest in understanding how the Devil works in this Matrix of a world we are living in. That’s why you’ve dealt with some serious lethargy and lack at some point in your Life. All for you to truly understand limitations, lack mindset, and many other trauma issues that typically hold people back from making manifest a Life of their true desires. If you can fully understand how limitations are set in place, you can unravel them for good!

support for you to thrive – Queen of Wands

If you chose this pile, there’s a very high chance you’re a Starseed. That’s why you refused to be like your environment or upbringing. You had this NEXT LEVEL understanding of who you are on a Soul level. You believed you were higher than the folly of Mankind. Sounds like arrogance, but what can you do when you’re literally nobler than the rest of Humanity, whose main characteristics are destructive, deceitful and bloodthirsty? You’ve always known you’re better than THAT.

Of all the piles, I think you’d resonate with the idea of never having your own free will. To some extent, it’s quite true because you’re like this important agent of change whose mission is too important to fail. From the Higher Realms, your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides were almost controlling your every step so you’d always be guided towards your Highest Destiny. From your perspective down here, some things may seem unfair. But if you could’ve seen things from your Higher Self’s perspective, you’d understand how supported you are in this messy Game called A Human’s Life.

If you’ve resonated with this pile, please acknowledge you’re a very special individual. You really came to Earth to be a trailblazer of sort. You’re definitely going to be famous one way or another. And although you may be worried about certain aspects of Life right now, there’s a secret here: knowing how much of your Life is dictated by your Higher Self, do you really think you could ever fail—at anything, really?

I’d recommend you read the previous segment again with this in mind😉

PARADIGM SHIFT🔻💛

raison d’être by your Oversoul – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

manifesting with the Magic of your being – Priestess of Healing

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – No-Nonsense Happy Go Lucky Attitude

VIBE: 2 Baddies & Ay-Yo by NCT 127

your untapped superpowers – Queen of Swords

Okay, I think people underestimate you because of the way you look, or that you don’t talk a lot. But you’re a quiet engine. There’s a lot going on in that pretty head of yours. You’re really intelligent, in fact, so intelligent you’re literally a weirdo for doing things differently. You know what I mean? Prof Snape, when he was a student at Hogwarts, figured out unusual-but-effective ways to brew his potions more quickly, with results that were even more potent. He was a quiet weirdo, but he was a brilliant potion master. Potion making was his interest, after all.

Do you know what your hobbies are? Are you brave enough to admit the things that light up your world? You must have pride in the pursuits that give true spiritual meaning to your Life. It’s your Life anyway. If you’re a bit shy about having strange interests, try to really understand the reasons your fears/worries/anxieties arise in the first place. Whose approval do you seek and why do you care anyway? Babe, it’s up to you what you wanna do with YOUR Life. Always remember that. On another note…

Because you’re so cute, or small, or soft-spoken, or just really patient (maybe just on the surface?), people think your head is empty. Mean people get really confident thinking they can fool you with their stupid words and stories. But quietly, you always, always see through their bullshit. One way or another, you always figure out who’s been shit talking behind your back, too. Your intellect literally cuts through the stupidity of conceited people. People would never expect such sharp intelligence to be housed in such a pretty face.

your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion – 10 of Cups

When you want to do well in the world, I think you really want to do it for your community. Your community could be your family, circle of friends, or the world at large, really. I think you don’t give yourself enough credit for how much you care. I think people could see you as standoffish, always doing your own thing, at your pace, can be quite lonesome, but you do care, dang, from a distance.

I think you don’t really want to be in close contact with people because you feel constantly misunderstood by them. It breaks your heart and you’re just afraid your hatred would only grow if you allowed yourself to feel that way always. So you intelligently decided to be a little closed off—it’s all your own protection as you also protect people from your nastiness (when you get upset). I think you’re really smart in that you know how to strike a balance. You just want to live in a peaceful world.

When you’re alone surrounded by only the things you like, you’re at your best. You think people should all strive to be a little selfish but happy like that. I think you could really change the world via showing people how prioritising your mental health and peace of mind leads to a better personality LOL

support for you to thrive – 3 of Pentacles Rx

You definitely need to work on your own. At least, you need to have your own thing that you can manage just by yourself. You know, the world isn’t the same as 50 years ago. Nowadays, thanks to the Internet, there are so many ‘jobs’ that can be managed alone. You can be an Internet creative in all kinds of medium. You could also be a solo small business owner. You could also be an online freelancer. You could also be an NFT miner or something.

I dunno, the possibilities for the future of ‘jobs’ are evolving constantly now and I think you’d be happy to know there are so many ways you can maintain your independence whilst avoiding dying alone and penniless. You don’t mind being alone; you just don’t wanna be penniless. And here is your confirmation that it is possible for you to live like that LMAO

Though I really think, when you’re much older you’ll eventually find your Soul Tribe and do exciting things with them. But that path will be accessible to you only after you’ve founded a solid base for yourself doing something you’re genuinely enjoying doing for the rest of your Life.

PARADIGM SHIFT🔻❤️

raison d’être by your Oversoul – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

manifesting with the Magic of your being – Priestess of Luck

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

[gyunglitter]

➷ 01 ➷

-“oh, the way he makes me feel that love isn’t real -– cupid is so dumb”

or

unlike you, your brother’s best friend just doesn’t know when to quit

word count: 1,766

warnings: probably just the reader making you cringe lol, give her a break--she's 11 lmao

tags: brother’s-best-friend!beomgyu x reader, ??? to ???, angst, fluff(??), beomgyu is the cool boy-next-door, reader is an independent girlboss (or trying to be, at least), beomgyu’s gonna be GROVELING, simp!gyu, pathetic pining from both sides lol, maybe some cringe from reader (she was a teenage girl in love, have some empathy plz😭)

notes: LMAO SORRY TO POST KINDA LATE, I FORGOT I PROMISED TODAY HAHAHAHA

another short chapter, but i promise the next couple of chapters are a lot longer! enjoy mini reader, beomgyu, and soobin tho :)

–> masterlist <–

Ten Years Ago

If there was one thing your family agreed on, it was that Soobin was the shyest person around.

You and Soobin were very close, having a lot of the same interests and mannerisms. You didn’t disagree on many things (yet), but there were only a handful of differences between you two. You were eleven years old, making your older brother thirteen, and about to go into his final year of middle school. But the main thing that had set you both apart was that while you had many friends, Soobin had absolutely no one. He was a very sweet and funny kid, but he was too shy for his own good, unintentionally pushing the majority of the people his age away.

You had hoped your brother would make some friends during his seventh year, but had little to no luck; apparently, the Bunny Girl Senpai Fanclub wasn’t taking many applicants and the Pokemon Card Collectors Club was a bunch of gatekeepers. Middle school boys.

“What if I just faked being sick?”

Soobin held his head in his hands as he was waiting for his pop tarts in the toaster. You sat on the counter across from him, shoving down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. You didn’t have to leave for another hour when your mom would drive you to the primary school a few blocks away. Soobin, on the other hand, was supposed to set off for his first day of eighth grade soon, but was stalling as much as he could before he had to start walking over. 

You snorted, “For the whole year? Fat chance of that happening, you’re the worst liar.”

Your brother lifted his head and glared at you, before sighing loudly and crying, “I hate school, it’s filled with people who are scary and take your rare Charizard card!”

You opened your mouth to reply, but were interrupted by your house’s doorbell ringing. You looked towards the front door and turned back to Soobin expectantly. But your brother wasn’t paying any attention. To your (un)amusement, he was still sulking about, well, just about everything. Like you said, middle school boys.

Shaking your head, you hopped off of the counter (carefully, as your dad had shown you) and walked over to the front door.You figured it was one of your neighbors or the mailman. You usually weren’t allowed to open the door yourself, but that completely escaped your mind when you opened the door and were faced with an unfamiliar boy.

A cute, unfamiliar boy.

You mentally thanked your mom for braiding your hair in two with your favorite butterfly clips now.

“Hi,” you said, a small grin taking over your face. “I’m Y/n!”

The boy looked at you and smiled back. “Hey, Y/n, your mom or dad home?”

You nodded your head. “They are, but they’re running around getting ready. I can definitely help you though!” What can you say, you were a confident kid.

“I don’t know, you might be a bit too little,” he teased you, making you scoff.

“Little? I’ll have you know, I can deal with anything, even crazy!”

He laughed a little at that and then said, “Of course! I’m sure you’re super responsible at the age of..?”

“Eleven,” you bragged, tucking a stray hair back into one of your butterfly clips.

The boy nodded in deep understanding and said, “Well, little Y/n, I’m Beomgyu. I just moved here and my mom told me you guys had someone my age here too! I figured we could walk to school together,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

Your eyes widened at that, a warm feeling taking over your stomach. 

The boy was cute, duh. But his easy offer of friendship, something your brother had struggled to find, made you know that this Beomgyu had a kindness to him that not many his age did–according to Soobin.

Your grin widened at the boy in front of you, nodding your head eagerly. “Just give me a sec,” you squealed, excited for your brother. “OPPA! YOU’RE FINALLY GONNA MAKE A FRIEND!”

Years later, you look back and remember the loud laugh Beomgyu had let out at your call, his excitement outweighing the awkwardness Soobin exhibited when he appeared at your doorway with a pop tart hanging from his mouth.

You look back and remember Beomgyu easily befriending Soobin with his wide smiles, animated hand gestures, and cool stories about his new pet bird. The way he eased your brother’s nerves and got him laughing, already offering to share the other pop tart in his pack.

You look back and cringe sometimes at the confidence those lame butterfly clips gave you. But you take it back when you would remember Beomgyu, with an arm around Soobin’s shoulder, had turned around while the two boys were about to take off for school, saying in a singsong tone, “Nice to meet you, little Y/n, love the butterfly clips, by the way!”

But most of all, you remember the way your cheeks flushed. The way he made you feel like you were cute too. Like you were special. You remember how that was the first of many times he would fluster you with his compliments. 

You were only eleven, but at that moment you would look back and remember how this is where you became a fool–a fool for love.

“You look really good,” he whispered to you.

It took everything in you to not show how much he affected you. Unlike the many instances before though, you actually succeeded this time around. Your focused gaze on your brother and father’s random discussion about his anime watching habits kept your eyes from widening, and your well placed makeup did a good job of hiding the flush that desperately wanted to highlight your neck and cheeks. It bothered you very much how Choi Beomgyu could still get under your skin.

“Thanks,” you replied shortly, not letting your eyes leave their spot on Soobin. 

–Your brother was whining about how there was no harm in watching anime when he already got his work done for the day–

Despite your subtle avoidance of him, you knew it wasn’t reciprocated by the way his breaths brushed against your ear. The way his eyes were on you, you could feel them as if they were burning you. It felt like he was truly drinking you in after so many years of not getting a single glimpse of you. But that was all you would allow him.

“I, uh, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while,” he continued, trying to catch your attention.

You hummed disinterestedly. 

–Your father had taken to pointing out Soobin’s body pillows, to which he groaned loudly, claiming that was actually Beomgyu’s gag gift to make him look sus–

But Beomgyu was not deterred.

“Congrats on, well, everything from the past four years! I know college can be pretty crazy!”

You winced a little at that, remembering how your mom told you Beomgyu had actually dropped out of college about three months after you left for school. Despite Beomgyu doing amazing in school when you were still around–there was talk of him possibly graduating at the top of your class–he practically tanked his classes the following fall semester. 

“But of course, if there was anyone who could deal with crazy, it would be our little Y/n, huh,” he laughed a little–that same damn laugh he had when you first met. “I mean, you are pretty amazing—”

You weren’t sure what he had gotten up to after you left, but you weren’t interested in hearing anything. Not about him, his future, and definitely not about how amazing he thought you were.

“Wow dad, this shrimp tastes great!” You shouted your false gratitude, successfully interrupting Beomgyu and the argument between your brother and father.

All the chatter stopped for a second, before your dad grinned at you. “Thanks, bean, make sure to grab some more then! You’re looking too skinny, anyways, are you sure you ate enough out there,” he asked, wiping his hands on the front of his apron.

You laughed and nodded, both at your dad’s question and Soobin's grateful stare for changing the topic. Eventually, your mother started another conversation about how Soobin’s friends from school were doing.

“I thought you didn’t like seafood,” Beomgyu muttered to you when he got the chance.

For the first time that evening, you looked back at him.

You realized, with a painful squeeze in your chest, that Beomgyu had grown past the stage of cuteness that you had adored when you were younger, and in your absence, became beautiful. Sure, his puppy dog eyes stayed the same, holding that familiar kindness and curiosity as before. But now, his face lost its round edges and became chiseled, looking as if his features were carved by Aphrodite, herself. His hair was dyed brown and had grown out a little into what was beginning to look like a mullet, giving off a boyish look that his typically mischievous expressions matched easily. Not only that, but he looked like he’d really grown into himself, physically and mentally. Granted, he wasn’t in the best place when you had left four years ago, but the way he carried himself was refreshing. Attractive. Him.

“I didn’t, but I do now.” You took another bite of the shrimp on your plate. “I mean, it’s been a long four years. The things I liked before changed quite a bit while I was gone. ”

You watched Beomgyu’s face fall a bit at that, his puppy dog eyes becoming downcast as he looked towards his own plate of chicken. There wasn’t much on his plate to begin with, but it seemed he wasn’t going to be eating any more after that.

“Yeah, I guess they would after so long,” Beomgyu whispered, pushing his food around with his chopsticks. 

You turned back to your own food to try and get your mind off of him, but he stopped you with his next words.

“If it changes anything, so have mine.”

This time, you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening. You turned towards Beomgyu, to see him looking at you with what you could only assume was guilt.

“I just wish they had done so earlier.”

–> next <–

[kyuusberry]

can i request minju ( illit ) x fem reader

fall for you - park minju

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝘂𝗻𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲

𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆: 𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲 𝗯𝘆 𝘀𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟲𝟰𝟳 (𝗶’𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱)

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: 𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺 𝗳𝗹𝗲𝘅 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗷𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝘄𝗶𝗻𝘀!! (𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵) 𝗶’𝗺 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻.. 𝗶 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶’𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗮 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗳𝗲𝘄 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀

© 𝗸𝘆𝘂𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰. 𝗻𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘀. 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴.

“lookin’ at you got me thinkin’ nonsense.”

“minju-ah!” you whined, chasing her around the playground. “come and catch me y/n!!” she laughed, running away from you with your teddy bear.

you caught her from behind in a hugging position, “i caught you!! now give it back!” you whined. “fine, fine!” minju groaned, turning around to give you the bear. your smile was bright, and you were hugging the bear.

wow, those were the times. it’s been years since that day. you were 5.. maybe 6 years old at that time? you were turning 20 this year, it feels so surreal. it’s also been 7 years since minju moved away, her parents moved from busan to seoul.

it sucked, she was your best friend for years. you didn’t have a way to contact her at the time either, no phone number or anything. and you saw that she debuted back in april, so it was gonna be even harder to contact her.

you were happy for her, being able to finally complete her dream of being a singer. you remembered the days when she would tell you about how she auditioned for shows and companies, and sometimes she would even sing for you.

“i think i did great!! the judges were amazed by me!” minju grinned, “the other people were amazing too!! there was this 14 year old girl who did this amazing high note! i think the song was i can’t stop me by twice sunbae-nim!”

“woahhh! i wish i could’ve been there to cheer you on, minju.” you groaned, falling back onto the grass. minju fell back with you, smiling and laughing

.“it’s okay, y/nnie. no need to go and cheer me on. i’m just glad you’re here to keep me company.” minju pushed a stray hair away from your face. you smiled, your face turning a slight pink.

-

the amount of flashbacks you got from constantly seeing her face on billboards and ads made you sick. you missed her — no you needed her back. you wanted to be able to gossip and hug her again. run around like when you were kids.

you just wanted to be a kid again. no worries, no bills, nothing. you doubted minju would remember you, let alone come back to visit you. or anyone for that matter. she was a famous idol, busy with her idol life. her fans, recording, music shows, concerts, so many things.

and you were just one of her lowly fans. someone who would never be acknowledged by her.

one day you were watching one of i’ll-it’s videos and minju has mentioned you in her video. that in her childhood she has a supportive best friend who always supported her throughout her trainee life. and that she was glad she met a person like them.

your heart swelled with happiness, making you emotional that she at least remembered you and everything you’ve done for her. it made your heart flutter that she was smiling while talking about you.

this feeling, it was unfamiliar but familiar at the same time to you. the fluttering in your stomach, as if you swallowed multiple butterflies and they were all flying around in your stomach. it made your head spin, your cheeks turning a rosy pink.

you often dreamed about meeting minju again, wishing she wasn’t an idol and could stay with you forever. you wished that she was able to hug and comfort you again. that she would be able to be by your side yet again.

you hoped and hoped, but deep down you knew it was never going to happen.you wished. but it was never going to work.

“cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in.”