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nelapanela94 · 2 years

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Hello! Today I'm dropping this new drabble following this fic.

Levi knows he's messed up for good with reader and is afraid to reach out and apologize because he believes he doesn't deserve it. The three had moved in together and fallen into their routine; however, Vi notices the frictions in the relationship between Levi and Reader, and somehow a tinge of guilt creeps through her. Hurt and not fully aware of what happened between her parents, one late night, she confronts Levi and listens to him as he unravels the mesh of feelings and thoughts that's been haunting him. Maybe, it is the kick on the butt he needs to move on.

Thank you to the beautiful San @notgoodforlife for feeding my angst soul and giving me great ideas for this one. I owe you!!

The windows are firmly bolted, standing against the squalling snowflakes, the mild rattling entwines with the distant rustling of naked trees swishing outside. The crackling flames of the hearth lick the living room, spewing fire chips that swirl and vanish in the air. Ten bells chime dull from the tower that watches the whole town.

“What flavor would you like for your birthday cake?” Violet’s voice scratches the silence as she scoops out the pinpricking marshmallows from the froth and shoves them into her mouth, letting the sugar melt and sink down her throat. She hums in delight, licking the spoon.

Levi from across the table watches her, a spiraling thread of steam oozes from his mug. He cracks a snort, and hops on the time machine that takes him to the day you asked him the same question. Wistfully, he recreates the scene. It was one of those queries that took him aback. Picking a flavor for a cake? He'd never thought about that. He’d never had a cake for his birthday, in fact.

So, he’ll dust off the same answer this time.

“Let it be a surprise. I know you have good options in mind.”

“It’s your birthday, you choose.” She insists.

“Vanilla, with pomegranate filling.”

“You’re lucky that’s mom best recipe.”

“What a coincidence is my favorite.” He smirks. his finger pads perch around the rim of his cup and bring it to his mouth. His breath casts waves on the surface as his lips clamp in the ceramic. The warmth rolls down his throat, contrasting against the iron cold of the room, and slams like a heat wave in his stomach. The cup clatters against the saucer.

A piece of bread wicks hot chocolate, and Violet waits, years of experience had taught her how long she should leave her bread soaking, so it gets that soggy texture without breaking and sinking to the bottom; the dregs are not yummy. She tows it to her mouth and cups a hand under her chin so the drops don’t splash on the table, and nabs. She repeats the same process until there’s only crumbs of bread skittered on the plate. Her eyes drift to her father whose cheeks are gilded by the candle glow. He’s there and he isn’t at the same time. His eyes are riveted on the wall across the living room where the light doesn’t skim, his chin roosting on the heel of his hand, his fingertips rapping on his cheek. The flicking glow from the guttering candle intensifies the dark circles under his eyes and spreads its warm yellow highlights over his cheekbones and eyelids and the creases on his forehead.

Something blemishes his thoughts. Like a drop of ink between the lines that bothers the eye, a subtle distraction you can’t stand, and you try to wipe off with your thumb; however, the more you rub, the more letters the smudge gobbles up.

Violet knows something pricks Dad’s conscience. It’s been three months since she’s moved in with mom and dad, and even though they’ve tried hard to make up for the time she was snatched from them, she can read the hints they left behind.

The way he retrieves his hand when he tries to reach out. He wants mom close, he longs for her, he wants to touch her and caress her hair, but when he's near to bridge the gap, he stops and holds his breath, closes his hand into a fist and draws it back.

They never kiss, they never hold hands, they don’t sleep in the same bed—dad barely sleeps—they don’t snuggle in the sofa before the hearth on a cold day. No sneaky glances or sneaky touches, no ‘how was your day?’.

For the unmindful, Levi stares vacantly through the darkness, but for the keen eye, like Violet’s, Levi is drilling through the guilt conveyed on the lighter spot on the wall. It was filled up and smoothed down, but it will never blend with the rest of the paint. He looks calm, unwavering, but his clenched fist resting on the table is holding up the remorse. Sometimes you block a thing that hurts. You pretend it isn’t there, but the whole time you know it is. It’s like a piece of metal stuck in your throat. It bothers you, but you’ve gotten used to it. He’s been pretending for so long the corners of the chunk have begun to scrape raw.

Happiness was so fragile, too fragile that if you were careless, you could smash it down and blight it.

How do you fix a broken heart? He wonders and rummages through for an answer. You can’t. A broken heart is like a shattered vase. You can glue the pieces back together, but it will never work the same way. Water will seep out through the little gaps.

Caught in the waves of his thoughts and feelings, he doesn’t feel those shiny steel gray orbs boring through him.

There’s a chasm between each member of this family, and each day the earth quakes and splinters a little bit more. All the things they never say to each other, all the things she can’t dredge from the bottom of her memories that keep them apart. Pretending is not healthy. Bottling up is carcinogenic, those tucked up feelings twist into a tumor that never stops growing and eventually metastasizes, rotting your insides. And when you scan yourself, it is too late.

But how can you convince someone to open up when he’s spent a great part of his life pretending?

Dad thinks mom’s is afraid of him, that she’ll never forgive him for whatever he’s done, that he doesn’t deserve to be near her, to touch her. He misreads her silence and skips the hints: mom craves for him.

Then, why doesn’t mom take the first step? Violet doesn’t have an answer yet. When she asked you, you replied that you’d already done your part.

But what does it exactly mean?

She wants to ask, yet she’s afraid to pick up at the scab and make the wound bleed again.

Guilt churns inside her as cuts of the last three months flash before her eyes. She tilts the mug a bit and stares at the naked chocolaty foam. Maybe it’s too much sugar for the night. She still thinks that you and Levi endure the martyrdom of walking barefoot on the shards of your relationship because of her. Because of her, her parents suffer, because of her they stick together even if they repel each other. That’s what she used to think when she first stepped into the house and sensed the heaviness suspended between those walls, a shivering fog. It didn’t feel like the home she longed for years. In fact, she had taken glimpses of your staggering relationship when she signed in for the Survey Corps. You didn’t need to be too observant to grasp the ice shavings belch from every glance you and Levi exchanged instead of the sparks that burst in the air when lovers’ eyes stumble.

As she walked into her new room, fresh lavender tickled her nostrils. She craned her head over her shoulder and forced a smile, holding back her tears. A family of teddy bears watched her from the shelf, a white cravat cinched around papa bear neck, the other two had white bows pinned in one side of their heads. Then, she caught her stunned reflection on the vanity mirror and sucked in her bewilderment before dropping her ragged slinging sack on the pale blue duvet, two downy pillows matched in color. She didn’t own too much, a few color-faded dresses, worn-out shirts, and a pair of high waisted pant she fixed for her figure. When you spent two years moving from foster home to foster home it is convenient not to put too much weight on your shoulders. The mattress sagged under her knees as she shifted to the window, it was soft unlike her bed in the barracks, and drew the curtains open. People sauntered on the street from one end to the other. She glanced around and a blush crept across her cheeks when she spotted the boy offloading sacks of flour from the wagon, a little girl with curls like his fed apples to the horse. Then her eyes drifted back to the boy and shut the windows before he caught her gawking.

“If you don’t like it, we can rearrange it.” You said, fiddling with your necklace, and she turned around on her knees.

“You kidding? I love it.” She heaped of the bed, scooted to the closet, and flapped it open. “I don’t remember what is like to have my own room.”

A rack full of puffed sleeve dresses, some high-neck, others buttoned-front. Her hands pampered with the different textures: silk, linen, cotton, chiffon; marveled with the colors and hand-painted flower patterns. An astonished ‘no way’ wriggled on her lips. “They are all yours.” The closet doors thudded close, and she looked your way.

“This is too much. I… thank you.” She sniffed and blinked away her tears. “Where is…uh…dad?” She glanced away, scratching an itch on her nape.

Leaning against the door frame, you crossed your legs at your ankles, and your sad eyes wrinkled in a smile. You shrugged. “I guess he’s got a lot of work to do.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Come here.” You opened your arms, and she pounced on you in an embrace. Gulping sobs raked through her as you stroked her hair. Your tear-soaked t-shirt–that once belonged to Levi–stuck to your shoulder. “You still like cheese and strawberries?” You asked in a velvety tone.

She nods and wipes her dampened face with her sleeve. “With tons of honey.”

You were right, a stack of paper was waiting for Levi’s right slanted signature. Although that day, paperwork was the least of his worries. Levi battled against himself, staring blankly at the bottom drawer of his desk. His face was sheen in sweat, his heart jackhammered in his chest. He drew in a long, shuddering breath and a healthy color roamed back to his knuckles, yet his fingers were still anchored to the armrest. He gulps.

Five years.

Five years ago, he locked it there and never dared look at it. He couldn’t let go, yet he couldn’t face it. It was too painful. It was all she’d left behind. A remnant that she was real. That she existed. He hoped that moths hadn’t feast on it.

A click wrung out at the twist of the key, the drawer creaked, and he pulled it out by the long ears.

“Long time no see, Mr. Whiskers.” He quipped, bringing it to his nose, and sniffed, the faint smell of roses, peonies and jasmine, the scent that lingered in her clothes he holds up against his palate as the bouquet of fine wine. He thumbed away his tears at the reminiscent of those lost years. “It’s time to get you back to your owner.”

Its flabby body plumped back to life. Levi pulled the thread that trussed the wound on its belly and sheared it with his teeth. He washed it, dredging all the grime and scrubbing off the stains, wrung it, and by the ears, he hung it on the clothesline to let the sun do its part.

The slice of sun that cut through his window tilted with the clangs that proclaim every hour, the light stretching on the floor and over his shoulders, casting his elongated silhouette on the burnished mahogany surface. When four struck, three knocks rapped on his door. You came in, a pensive smile curved on your lips. “I’m going home, Levi. I’m taking Violet.”

His eyes drifted to you; the quill vacillated on his forefinger.

You clear your throat. “Do I make dinner for three?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“See you then.” You nibbled on your lip, tapping a palm on your thigh. The knob twisted halfway when his voice strained from his desk. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” You replied, gazing down, with a pursed smile. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

Recklessly, his foot was drumming on the floor as he crushed the urge to get up and take you in an embrace. Yeah. Bullshit, you were not ok. Your skin had lost that glow, the dark circles under your eyes had deepened, you’d lost weight, and your smile, shit, that smile he himself turned off. Why couldn’t he squeeze those words out? Each time he tried to say, ‘I’m sorry’, bright red charcoal incinerated his throat.

The door close behind you.

Sighing, he pressed his hands on his eyes, a crimson smear. Leather screeched under him as he shifted straight on the seat and tilted his head back, closing his eyes, silky locks slithered through his fingers.

After six bells, Levi put the quill on the holder and stretched his arms over his head, his spine cracked, relieving the pressure.

He closed the windows, latched the bolt, wriggled off his jacket and left it on the backrest of his seat. One more glance over his shoulder, and he stepped out and locked the door. Levi headed the laundry drying yard, grabbed the lemongrass smelling rabbit and put it inside a leather bag. Crossed the mainyard to the stables and spurred his horse toward home. Orange stripes severed the amethyst sky.

“Mr. Whiskers!!!” Violet slapped a hand over her mouth and looked at Levi. She was trembling, tears soaked her lower lash line. He wasn’t sure how she’d take it, but when her fumbling arms tightened around him, all the tension oozed out from him.

Violet’s pink tipped fingers peek out from the hem of her taupe brown sweater and curl around the steamy mug. She brings it to her mouth and blows off the foam before taking a sip. A soft moan seeps from her at the fondling sweetness stretching in her mouth.

Her hair, shiny onyx waves that she spent forty minutes brushing, drips out from under the wool cap that you had woven for her in your first knitting class.

The flowery cup thuds on the table, and she wipes off her thin frothy mustache with the tongue.

“Dad.” The word still tickles in her mouth.

“Uh?” Levi’s eyes land on her as he pours his second serving of black tea.

“You and mom…” she dithers, sucking on her lip, averting her eyes. “Don’t you love each other anymore?"

Frozen, Levi stares back at Violet with bulged out eyes as the string of translucent reddish-brown plunges into his mug. The hot liquid spills over the table, and when he finally scoops the bullet out, he sets the teapot back on the potholder, cursing under his breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Her voice teeters with panic as she dodges out of her seat and hustles to the kitchen to fetch a cleaning rag.

In seconds, she’s back to the dining table. She lifts papa’s mug and wipes the wood while he stills chews the question. Her hand fumbles, but a puzzled Levi doesn’t notice.

Maybe her approach tilted to the harsh side.

The tea-soaked cloth hangs from the rim of the sink; drops unzip from the ragged threads, converging into a long cord that dive into the drain. Plink. Plink. Plink. A vague noise that disturbs their silence.

Again, they are clustered at the table, afraid to meet each other’s eyes. Both gaze down at the good grain. Levi sees a giant fingertip; Violet reads a map that locates a treasure, mindlessly running a finger along the rim of her mug.

“I fucked up real bad.” Levi mutters, more for himself than for Violet. Those words sound strange aloud. “That day… we thought we’d lost you” he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I was a total dick, I said the shittiest things, I…” He swallows the tears. “I never apologized.”

Puzzled gray eyes jerk to him. “Why?”

The last drop of tea swirls at the bottom. “Don’t know where to start.”

“Dad!” Violet frowned, refraining from slamming a hand on the table. “How can you ruin your marriage out of cowardice?”

“Your mother and I are not married.” He snorts.

“But–“

He raises his left hand and splays it in the air. “We got these at the market on sale.”

“Mom wants you.”

“And I want her.”

“It doesn’t seem to.”

“Don't meddle in adult things.”

“I will if those two adults concern me.” She nudges. “You’re acting like kids.”

“Oi!”

“Oi! Oi! Oi!” She mirrors him.

His eyebrows plunge. “Go to bed.”

“Only if you do.”

“Tch.” He wishes she were the little girl who played tea parties with him. He reels back and folds his arms over his chest.

“Tell me your story. I want to know.”

Levi sighs in defeat and fetches a new candle, the glow of the worn out one is dimming in a pool of molten wax. Levi lights the fresh one up with the dying flame and sticks it on the holder. Meanwhile, Violet grabs the empty teapot and, wrapped up in a thick blanket, she toddles to the hearth, the fieriness stinging her eyes. She rucks up her face and leans warily, tipping the kettle from the crane by the idleback to fill Levi’s fine china piece. Then, with the pit stoker, she lifts the lid of the large three-leg pot and takes a glimpse. The water hasn’t boiled yet.

Levi steeps the tea as she ducks back in her chair.

“Do you know what your mother’s favorite food is?”

“Chitterlings,” she sticks her tongue out in a gag. “But why is it relevant?”

“Shut up and listen.”

She nods attentively.

Three hours later, the candled has consumed in two thirds. Levi fiddles with his ring, chewing the inside of his cheek, waiting for Violet to condemn him. He deserves it, anyway.

Take her to a date. It’s everything she says before taking her leave. Don’t sleep on it before it’s too late.

She trudges back and presses a peck on his cheek. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” His voice trails. She clutches the duvet on her chest, dragging a tail that sweeps the floor. Levi rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He gobbles down the last swig and goes to his room. Your room. Cocooned in layers you lie on your side, rebel locks of hair it’s all he can see of you. Levi flings the blankets and burrows in, one hand tucked under his pillow.

“Levi…” A weak moan. Teeth chattering. You stir, flipping onto the other side to face him and tug down the covers, enough to peek out. Flustered face, harsh breaths, droopy eyes. “is that you?”

Levi alerts, frowning, and reaches out a hand to your forehead. His eyes snap wide at the incalescence; you’ve been burning in fever.

“Fuck!” Levi kicks his sheets off and rushes to the living room to get the boiling water. He warms the tub and whisks the surface with his hand, checking the temperature. Then, back in the room, he crouches at your side, beginning to peel the layers. The shivers intensify. “Don’t. It’s freezing.” You squeeze your eyes and hiss.

“I know, I know.” He whispers softly, sweeping off your hair clogged on the sweat of your forehead. “But I need to bring down your temperature.”

“But–“

His hands slip under your body, and he scoops you up swiftly. “I’m not leaving you.”

In the bathroom, he strips you down. His delicate fingers feel like ice claws on your skin as he slips the gown over your head, your ribcage poke through your skin. his hands saunter down, anchoring at your hips where his thumbs caressed the beautiful pattern of waves that stretch over your tummy. Seeking warmth, you drape your arms around him, teetering against his frame. His fingers slide under the hem of your panties, pulling down your underwear. You wish he was undressing you in another setting. How bad you missed his hands on your flesh.

“Join me.” You purr in his ear, pleading.

His clothes pile on the floor too, and patiently, he helps you swing your legs over the rim. Then he steps in too.

Your back melts against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder; his knees snoop out of the surface.

“Thanks.” You find his hand under the water and thread it with yours. “I missed us like this.”

“Close your eyes.” He croons, ladling water in his palm, and smothering it on your face.

“You know I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand squeezes yours. “I hope you’re not raving, cause I fucking love you.”

“My sweet boy.” You wriggle, and strew a hand over his chest, your forehead molds to the curve of his neck. “Can we stay like this until the sun comes out?”

“I don’t want my ass to look like a raising.”

“We can be raisings together.”

“Levi… look at me.” You trace a heart on his cheek, then swaddle him in your palm. “Look at me.” The candle beam slivers across his face, his eyes glint in the tears he’s holding up. “Cry if you need to, Levi. It’s ok.” You soothe him. where do you get all that strength? He should be the one heartening you not otherwise. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He spools out through gulping sobs, his nose prodding your cheek.

A brawny arm winds around you. “I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For so long, I was a selfish jerk to you.” You cling to him; his hand fondles your tickling skin. “The grief blinded me… and, shit, all those things I said… you were grieving too. You lost your mother and… and I didn’t let you mourn properly, and…” His voice cracks like dry leather.

You say nothing for a while, only your heavy breathing is dank in the bathroom. The soft wintry whisper.

“I forgive you Levi. I do.” You smile. "I needed to hear it."

The gnarls of trepidation ease off. He breathes and feels his lungs exhaling for the first time in years. He has almost forgotten what it felt like to touch you. To be forgiven even just this much. That unfamiliar saltiness engulfs his mouth; he sniffles, but doesn’t wipe off his tears. He lets them run.

Lingering kisses trail from the crown of your head along your jawline. A giggle bubbles out, and another and another, weaving in that pretty melody he longed for so long. You try to reel away but he traps you in his unyielding arms, dousing you in kisses overwhelmed with gratitude at having one more day. Spalshes of water. Violet was right. He had been an idiot for letting time dribble away through his fingers.

He tucks your hair behind your ear and coos, “would you go on a date with me?”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #nela writes #levi ackerman x you #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi attack on titan #snk levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you

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134340am · 2 years

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for the madeup fic game, idk why my brain immediately thought of the words "banana bread" but here i am with the title "banana bread" if you can think of anything 😂

hello my pretty rae! happy tuesday <3

for banana bread, i'm thinking of a light-hearted crack fic where bokuto is cursed at birth to drop any and all foods that he compliments after the first bite.

it started when he was a kid, just a little guy at the park chomping down on some ice cream on a hot summer's day. he's saved up enough to try a new flavour—today's treat is strawberry ice cream encased in a thin layer of mochi. "yum," he mutters to himself after the first bite: a small, tentative one, where he rolls the flavour about on his tongue afterwards. when he goes in for a second, bigger bite, he drops his ice cream.

fuck.

bokuto swears by his dad's toast. it somehow tastes better, though it's just toast? the outside is a stunning golden brown, the balance between the crunchy crust and the pillowy insides is perfect, and the little pad of butter his dad slides on top the hot toast is just the right amount—enough to coat the entire surface of his breakfast without getting it soggy and greasy.

"it's just toast, but it's awesome every single time, pa," he once said through a generous mouthful of said toast, before his fingers twitch and his breakfast goes barrelling towards the floor.

gravity 1, bokuto 0.

(screw this shit, he hates it here.)

he's mindful of his compliments to the chef now. pizza, beef rice bowls, cold soba in the summer and hot oden in the winter: whatever he's eating, bokuto's careful to express his appreciation for the food only after he's had at least half of it.

until he met you.

the humble bakery down the street serving the freshest pastries has been the fruit of your labour for the past five years. lemon pound cake, pain au chocolat, darling little vanilla cupcakes and giant chocolate chip cookies—your menu is sure to satisfy anyone with a sweet tooth. your best seller, however, is your banana bread: the caramelised exterior and fluffy interior, in addition to the overpowering smell that wafts through the street every morning, had people queueing up long before your bakery opens.

bokuto is no exception.

he's almost in tears when he tries your banana bread for the first time, teeth sinking into the crispy crust to find the soft sponge underneath and a satisfied hum already brewing in the back of his throat.

before he can help himself, he speaks, "this is the best banana bread i've ever had."

shitshitshit, he shouldn't have said that.

bokuto cringes, awaiting the familiar numbness to take over his fingers, awaiting the dreaded fall of the delicious banana bread from his hand...

...but it never comes.

when he opens his eyes, he's puzzled to find the golden-brown square still intact between his thumb and index finger. huh, that's weird.

"this banana bread is— it's, um. amazing. delicious. wonderfully tasty," he tries, eyes fixated on the dessert. he even takes another bite for good measure, nibbling at the corner where a bit of caramelised crust has formed. he starts rambling when nothing happens. "this banana bread is lovely. i'd eat it everyday, for breakfast and lunch and dinner. maybe even supper, but my trainer says i shouldn't eat too late or i'll mess up my circular rhythm. my circulator rhythm? what's the damn word— anyways, this is good. like, great good."

nothing happens. his little slice of banana bread, now down to a piece the size of his thumb, sits unharmed in his hands.

a grin breaks across his face, lighting up the room almost immediately. "holy shit!"

"holy shit is right, sir." you slide into the seat opposite his, armed with another slice of banana bread on a plate. your smile mirrors his, amusement decorating your pretty features, and bokuto feels his heart rate pick up even more—something he didn't know was possible.

"i'm glad you like my banana bread. it's our bestseller, and you probably know that, but nobody's really complimented it the way you have." you laugh good-naturedly, sliding the plate across the table. bokuto's eyes flick from your face to the bread and back, heart soaring.

"well, i hope you know i was telling the truth," he starts, almost shyly. "would you, um, like to share this piece?"

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it!

#omfggggggg this turned into a whole ass DRABBLE i am so sorry rae i got carried away... >o<#but yes!!! this is a fic i would write (and have now written i guess) if banana bread was the title #inspired by how for the longest time i'd drop whatever i was eating if i complimented it after the first bite #i'm still mourning my garlic bread... and steamed corn... and chicken skewer.... that i've dropped in the past...#anyways thank you so so much for asking <3 i hope you liked this! heh #okay i'm gonna tag so i don't let my hard work go to waste heh don't mind meeeee #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #bokuto fluff #yuna writes #ask yuna #beloved rae

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norimiya · 2 years

Text

Hope

Loverboy Chapter 17

masterlist prev

warnings: hospitals, anxious tendencies (?), that should be it.

"So," Abuela starts, pouring coffee into her mug. You already know what she's going to ask. "What happened last night?"

The spoon in your hand lazily mixes around the soggy cereal, eyes flickering up to meet hers. "What do you think happened?"

She raises a brow, "I don't think anything happened," she lets out a laugh as she stirs. "You and that boy are both too timid to do anything."

You flick a piece of bread at her, avoiding her gaze when she glares. "I'm not timid."

"So something did happen?" She grins when you throw your head back, "I'm just poking fun mi mundo, I don't mean to pry."

You're quick to shake your head, "I know." You rub your neck, "Before he left, he kissed my cheek." She quirks a brow again. "I know it's really small and people do that all the time but—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, Y/n," she interrupted, reaching over the counter to pat your hand. "It's okay for you to value the little things." She places her hands over her cheeks, swooning. "I remember your abuelo, he always tied my shoes for me, I fell so in love with him when he started."

A smile makes its way to your lips as she continues telling stories of her and abuelo, growing envious when she comments about how they never fought and if they did it was over who would make the salsa.

And here you were, not even dating the person yet but having fights and arguments left and right like it was a daily task.

Maybe you two weren't right for each other after all.

"How did you know abuelo was right for you?" You ask suddenly, gaining her full attention. "Was it instant or did it take a while?"

She gives a smile, knowing full well you're only asking to understand your own situation. "I was in love with your abuelo from the very start, mi amor. We were always together, we never got tired of each other even if we were mad. He was my one and only love."

Abuela gives another pat to your hands before taking her coffee to the sofa, clicking on the tv, and sinking into her chair. There's newfound hope in your heart, for some reason you can't understand. You weren't the same as her, you didn't even like Reki before you talked to him, and even when you did— it was the same for a while.

Your phone vibrates on the counter loudly, brows furrowing when it shows Kojiro's contact. "Hello?"

"Sorry, Y/n." He starts, "We've got another hospital patron." Your eyes widen when he tells you about Shadow's encounter, going into detail about his injuries. "He's going to be okay." He says the moment he hears the squeak of your chair.

Of course, he knew you'd be shaken up about this, the last thing you ever wanted was for your friends to be hurt.

"He's going to be fine." He repeats, concerned by your lack of response. "You can come see him, just be careful on your way here."

"Okay," you breathe out, rubbing your forehead. "Okay, I'll see you."

—

The lilies in your hands bent slightly at the force you'd gripped them at, your eyes widening when one snapped over.

"Shit," you cursed under your breath, rapidly pressing the elevator button. "Shit, he's gonna get mad." You panicked the more you thought about it, tears welling in your eyes when a petal fell.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Kojiro asked the moment he saw you, rushing over to you when the elevator doors began to close. He carefully takes the flowers from your hands, bumping your arm with his elbow when you watch him. "He won't mind them, you know."

Your eyes trained on the linoleum floor, focusing on the reflected light. "Is he awake?"

"In the bathroom." He pointed behind him. "I have to head out now, I've been here for three hours already."

You bid him goodbye before you realized you'd be left alone with your —now ex— rival. What would you even talk about?

"Did Joe leave?" You jolted when you heard the new voice, smiling nervously when Shadow leaned against the bathroom door. "I'll take the empty room as a yes."

"Yeah," you clear your throat when it comes out high-pitched. "He left." Shadow sighs as he climbs into his bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

"Thank you." You perk a brow. "For the flowers, they weren't here before."

You glance at the half-broken stems placed in a vase, wincing when one falls over. "Oh, yeah um— sorry for the way they look," you laughed, "I get anxious in hospitals."

"That's understandable," he says quietly, picking at his blanket. He lets the silence settle for a moment, glancing over at your appearance. "Get in a fight?"

"Yeah," you reply under your breath, "I let them swing first so it counted as self-defense." He chuckled at your addition.

After a minute he lets out a long sigh as he settles into his bed fully, letting his eyes shut. "I've been meaning to tell you," he starts. "You can call me Hiromi. Just because hearing Shadow might sound weird in public."

"Hiromi?" You repeat hesitantly, you watch for any signs of regret. "Hiromi." It felt weird. "Okay."

A new comfortable silence fills the room, your mind unprovoked by the beeping heart monitor and the heavy smell of chemical cleaners.

Shadow— Hiromi, tossed and turned before settling on a position that felt comfortable, holding the blanket over his chin. You took it as a cue to leave.

"Night, Hiromi." He mumbled out a goodbye, thanking you once more for the flowers.

Somehow, as if he knew your availability, Reki's contact photo popped up on your screen, and Langa's showed up on a message banner. Were they together?

"Y/n!" Reki exclaims, "Come to the skate park!"

Langa's messages are the same. Worry pools in your stomach, you don't know why though, Reki seemed excited on the phone.

Well, only one way to find out.

A/n: i actually really liked this chapter aha... was shockingly easy to write and came easy???

Taglist (send an ask or reply to be added or removed); @scentedcandlesandcookies @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @hallothankmas @akuri-shinsou @leuki @kronavis @tremenjules

#sk8 the infinity imagines #sk8 the infinity x reader #sk8 x reader #reki kyan x reader #reki kyan imagines #sk8 the infinity headcanons #reki x reader #reki kyan x gn reader #sk8 the infinity x gn reader #loverboy!#goob writes sk8!#goob writes!

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kiseiakhun · 3 years

Note

What if we threw MiaTim in to the HalKyle JayConnor DickRoy mess. Just to see what happens

"Oh, call him a soggy wet turnip sack of do-gooder hypocrisy and bad fashion choices again, that'll really show him."

Kyle mouths along to Tim, and then shoots Jason a confused look. "When did you start swearing like a brady bunch villain?"

"You've never read those books, have you?" Jason shakes his head. "Whatever. I'm not about to swear in front of the kid."

Across from him, Lian cheerfully tries to stick an entire stalk of celery in her mouth. "My fashion choices were good," Dick complains as he tries to stop her from choking yourself. "You guys just aren't on my level."

"I don't know," Roy says. "Some of your choices..."

The table watches as Lian's cheeks bulge out horizontally, like a hamster. She shoots a victorious look at Dick, while Dick just looks at Roy and says one word.

"Purple."

Roy sinks low in his seat.

Tim passes Mia a contraband pack of sour gummies under the table, while everyone else is distracted watching Lian try to chew the ranch-drenched piece of celery without making a mess. "I still think the condom helmet was worse," he says.

"Yeah," Mia nods. "The helmet you wore when you kidnapped me was much better."

Jason groans. "Can you stop bringing that up? I said I was sorry."

Thoughtfully, Roy eyes the breadsticks in front of him. "I bet I can do what she's doing."

Lian makes a muffled, indignant noise that roughly translates to "no way, I'm better than you."

"Don't forget to chew your food, honey," Roy adds. "We don't want you to choke."

Dick snatches the basket of breadsticks away and places them in front of Connor. "Don't even try it."

"Can you let me go now?" Jason pauses to eat a piece of bread that Connor feeds him. "This is fun and all, but it's really hard to eat when I can't use my arms."

Kyle glares, and makes the shackles around his wrist bigger for good measure. "I should just gag you."

Jason whistles loudly. "Got yourself a freak, huh?"

Hal opens his mouth. Oliver shoves a cannelloni in his mouth, smearing tomato sauce along his cheek. "Not in front of the kids."

#tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #oliver queen #mia dearden #roy harper #lian harper #connor hawke #miatim #jasonconnor #halkyle #dickroy #roydick #jayconnor #writes #asks #anon #ollie is still regretting his life choice #s

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!!

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_)

#svt fanfic #jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jun fic #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #jun imagine #jun x reader #svt x reader #wen junhui #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #junhui scenarios #jun fluff #junhui fic

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [10]

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

➜ Words: 5.2k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You love baking.

It’s what got you through the years of high school, through your grandparent’s passing and when home wasn’t the refuge you wanted it to be. For a long time, baking was the only real interest you had. And for great reasons too. It was magic and every time you stepped into the kitchen, you felt like a magician, pouring ingredients in, mixing to get an instant product. It’s chemistry with a sweet result. Something you can share with others. And that passion has only deepened over time. You love baking desserts, pastries, cakes, tarts, everything. Even things with chocolate, no matter how hard it is to master them. But fuck. Lemon meringue pie is an absolute bitch. “The pie filing is a bit watery.” The teacher places her tasting fork down. “Not too bad, but lots of room for improvement, you two. Watch that starch.” You and Jungkook sigh. This was your second attempt too. You swear this dessert is a nightmare in disguise and here to ruin your career. Taehyung notices the gloomy atmosphere bogging you and Jungkook down. He slides up to your counter after the teacher goes to judge the next pair that have finished. “Can I get a taste?” “Knock yourself out.” The boy beside you pushes the sad pie over to him. Taehyung eats, tasting it thoughtfully on his palate, and hums. “The crust is a bit soggy, huh?” “I don’t get what we did wrong,” you mutter. At least this was just practice and not a time-constricted examination. But so much for picking Jungkook as your partner. You thought he was the most competent baker in this class and thus the most worthy to bake with you. But maybe you gave him too much credit. “Well, there could be a number of things you did wrong. Maybe you boiled your cornstarch for too long or at too high of a temperature. When did you add in the lemon? The acidity might’ve destroyed your cornstarch’s ability to stay thick,” Taehyung points out, suddenly an expert on pies. “Also did you make sure the lemon filing was hot before you spread the meringue? That might be your issue as to why the filing is a watery mess. Try again, guys. Maybe you’ll succeed next time.” “What the fuck.” Jungkook has his brows furrowed, eyes narrowed into slits. Like you, he’s baffled. He doesn’t even process it and is unable to think of a comeback to Taehyung’s condescending tone. Taehyung is an idiot. Usually. Since when did he know better than the two best people in class? “Want a taste of ours?” A huskier voice sounds behind Taehyung. The brunette moves aside and you find Yoongi at the counter beside yours, a smirk plastered on his face. He sets down his lemon meringue pie. It looks similar to yours. “Sure.” You wonder what their pie’s issue is. But as you dig into the slice they cut and put it on your tongue, there’s an explosion of flavour. Their crust is buttery and crispy, meringue fluffy on your tongue and soft. The filling is sweet yet balanced with a citrus sharpness to the flavour. You almost cream your pants as you swallow. Your mouth is watering for another lick, but you have too much dignity and pride to do so. Unfortunately, Jungkook can’t hide his expression as well as you can. “Good, right?” Both Taehyung and Yoongi are wearing shit eating grins, obviously relishing in your reactions. “The teacher said it was the best she’s tasted in a long time. Asked us if we cheated and bought it at a bakery.” “This’ll probably be our last attempt.” Yoongi hums, crossing his arms. “Probably don’t need to try again. She said she’d give it an A anyway, and you can’t really get any better than that.” You take a deep breath and grab Jungkook by the shoulder to drag him back to the counter with as much dignity as you have left. // The scent of lemon is stuck to your skin permanently. Even with a change of clothes and your apron stuffed in your locker, you can still smell the damn thing when you’re miles away from the kitchen. “Can you smell that or am I going crazy?” “No.” Jungkook already knows what you’re talking about. “I can smell it too.” “God.” You bang on the door and Jimin opens it. “Hey, Chim.” “Hey, guys.” The two of you step inside where the others have already gotten started, playing Super Smash on the TV with Yoongi and Taehyung battling against one another. It’s not an unusual sight, but what makes you stop in your tracks is that— “Aeri?” Your friend is seated on the couch with Hoseok’s arm looped around her casually. “Hey.” She greets you with a shy smile. You nod, rather impressed at this new development. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” “I didn’t either,” she admits and Hoseok grins at you. You throw your bag down while Jungkook flops beside Yoongi, taking a controller to join in. “Gonna play?” Jimin asks, about to hand you a controller too but you shake your head. “Nah. Not yet. I’m starving.” You pat your stomach and walk to the kitchen, ready to raid the fridge of whatever it has. “Don’t eat the meringue pie!” Yoongi shouts after you. “Fuck you,” you spit without looking back. “I wouldn’t even if you paid me to.” Now that’s one huge lie. But you still have your pride to hold onto. “Let me join you.” Aeri gets up and scrambles from Hoseok’s arm much to his dismay. You hum, peeking into the fridge and purposely overlooking the beautiful, godly pie in the middle. Min Yoongi must’ve placed it there to mock you on purpose. That fucker would. But you aren’t swayed and you grab the jars of peanut butter and strawberry jam as well as the stale bread. You place the ingredients on the counter to slap a sandwich together. In the meanwhile, Aeri lingers on the other side of the island. “How was your day?” she asks. “Good,” you answer and don’t beat around the bush— “So you’re dating Jung?” She coughs, sputters, caught off guard by your question. “Well…..I-I don’t know.” You loll your head to the side, giving her a look, and the blush on her cheeks deepen in hue. “Maybe? I don’t know…..it’s...kind of my first time….” “Being in a relationship? Yeah, I get it.” You smile reminiscently. Even if you’ve lost a comrade to the curse called love, you can’t feel bitter about it. You know what it’s like — the excitement, butterflies, nervousness, how every touch got your heart racing into what you thought would put you into cardiac arrest. The innocence of a first love can never be repeated. “Do you like him?” “Y-Yeah. I think so.” Aeri struggles to explain how she feels and makes wild gestures without realizing. “Every time I see him and every time he’s gone….I...I….” “You miss him.” The girl in the sweater nods and tugs on her sleeves self-consciously. “Sometimes I get really anxious that I’m doing something wrong and other times I’m so happy.” “Yeah, that’s how it goes. Love’s a crazy thing, huh?” You spread the peanut butter on one side of the bread. “Fucks with your brain real bad.” “It does,” Aeri agrees sheepishly. “And I don’t like being out of control with my feelings, but I think….it’s worth it.” “I’m jealous.” The words come out before you can stop it, but then you reel back and you laugh it off, slapping both halves of your sandwich together. “Not really. I’m kidding. Anyway, take it slow and you’ll be fine. Hoseok’s a good guy. You have nothing to worry about.” “Yeah, I know.” She grins, rocking back from her heel to her toes, beaming with joy. “And if he ever hurts you, tell me.” You slam the butter knife you have in hand onto the counter and it makes her jolt in surprise. “I’ll kill him.” Giggles bubble out of Aeri's throat. They diminish as you finish making your sandwich, tossing your tools into the sink. But she doesn’t easily let go of the slight envy you had accidentally expressed. “You’re doing okay, right, Y/N?” “Things couldn’t be better,” you assure with a grin. Except that’s a lie too. The both of you arrive back to the living room and your ears perk, catching wind of a husky voice, “—pie is good enough to win the competition, guaranteed, so that’s why we signed up.” If there was one thing in your life that could be better, it would be Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung’s humbleness or rather, lack thereof. “Are you still talking about your pie, Yoongi?” You scoff, flopping down to the couch, and eyeing him with a cocked brow. Aeri slides back beside Hoseok in the meanwhile and the dark-haired man is visibly happy to have her return to his side, arm coming to drape the back of the couch again. “You have no other accomplishments to rave about?” “At least I have one.” “It wasn’t even that good,” you tell the rest of them just for the record. But Yoongi audibly scoffs. “Really? Because it looked like Kook here was about to start crying.” “Jungkook always looks like he’s about to cry when he’s put on the spot.” Your kitchen partner turns his head away from the screen towards you. “Excuse me?” “Just admit it,” Taehyung eggs you on to further irritate you. “Our lemon meringue pie was the best thing you’ve ever tasted and that we’re going to crush the other teams.” “After we pick up that five hundred dollar prize, I might as well retire.” Yoongi stretches out his muscles with a small smirk. “I finally found the product I can sell for the rest of my life.” “Gordon Ramsay would probably put it on his menu to serve,” Taehyung says to his partner who shrugs nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” You whirl your head to the other people in the room to see if they’re hearing this like you are. Both Jimin and Aeri are sheepish and shrug at you, not knowing what to say. Hoseok grins, enjoying the back and forth. But you know that look on Jungkook’s face, the expression he exchanges with you. The two of you are pissed off at their cockiness. Hoseok notices and decides to throw gasoline into the fire. “Was it really that good?” “You can try it if you want. It’s still in the fridge.” The corner of Yoongi’s lips curl. “But it’s better than Y/N and Jungkook’s, that’s for sure.” “A lot better than theirs,” Taehyung says in a matter of fact way. “Theirs was sad, the filing and crust soggy. The meringue was weeping too. What a shame.” “Can’t blame them,” Yoongi adds as he leans back into the couch, spreading his thighs like he owns the damn place. Which he does. But that’s not the point. “Lemon meringue is hard to make. Only the best. Excellent. Competent. Most talented can bake it.” “That’s right,” Taehyung agrees. A muscle in your cheek twitches. Your jaw clamps. That’s enough for you to snap. “Jungkook and I are competing too.” Your partner looks away from the game and quirks a brow. “We are?” “Yeah.” Your eyes flicker from him back to the grinning duo. “So we’ll see who the best really is.” // It hindsight, it was a bad, bad decision made on impulse. The baking competition was taking place on a Sunday at school with four teams already signed up, including Taehyung and Yoongi. The competition itself isn’t too shabby, especially considering that the five hundred dollar prize is a great incentive. The problem is you and Jungkook haven’t prepared anything whatsoever. And it’s a problem that explains why most students don’t do bake-offs — sometimes it’s more effort than it’s worth. The pair of you haven’t decided anything. You both haven’t practiced. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jungkook asks, standing in front of the bulletin board with all the details of said competition happening within the next few days. “Come on, Jeon!” You try to ignore your own doubts by firing him up, plopping a hand on his shoulder. “We have our pride and our dignity on the line.” “I’ve never had too much dignity to begin with,” he mutters. “Are you really going to let Yoongi and Taehyung tell you that they’re more competent than you?” Jeon Jungkook scoffs, his competitiveness being poked at. “Yoongi can’t pipe for shit and the only thing Taehyung can bake is bread.” “Exactly.” He nods and together, the two of you sign your names on the sheet, bracing for whatever is to come.

The day of the competition arrives sooner than expected. You’ve gathered at an open kitchen with all your friends watching on the risers at the sidelines, and two of those most annoying idiots are at the counter beside you. There are ninety minutes on the clock and three teachers you know seated at the front with bright smiles. Mrs. Pham is nodding her head, Mr. Chu looking around while Miss. Kang coming forward with a microphone. Something that should be a friendly contest has you, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Yoongi oozing an intense competitiveness that has the other three teams scared. “Alright folks, when the timer begins, you can begin and get whatever ingredients you need from the pantry. Remember, you will be judged on taste, presentation and creativity equally! Try your hardest and have good sportsmanship!” “Ready?” You lean in to whisper to Jungkook, eyes meeting his and he nods sternly. “Is everyone ready?” Miss Kang lifts her arm and on three counts, grins. “Go!” The timer begins and Jungkook books it to the pantry with Taehyung is hot on his tail. In the meanwhile, you preheat the oven to four hundred degrees fahrenheit and grease two baking sheets that are already at your counter. Jungkook ends up coming back sweaty but with a basket of things you need and doesn’t seem to be missing anything. “Nice.” “Course, I have it all up here.” He mischievously taps his temple, making you lightly scoff. “Hand me the—” Before you can finish your sentence, Jungkook slides the butter across the countertop and you catch it. “I got you.” The boy in the white apron winks, making you roll your eyes. You combine one cup of butter and two cups of water in a large saucepan, putting it over medium heat. At the same time, Jungkook works in sync with you and gets two cups of flour prepared with a half teaspoon of salt. Right when the butter finishes melting, you remove it from the heat and whisk in the flour and salt. He puts the egg carton beside you and begins to chop the semi-sweet chocolate he had gotten from the pantry. Beside you, Yoongi and Taehyung have fallen into a rhythm as well. They shout calmly at one another, as calm as shouting can be. You know they’re not to be underestimated, but it’s comforting to know that you don’t need to win — you just need to beat Yoongi and Taehyung. Miss. Kang approaches the pair of them. “What are you two doing here? Ooh, Yoongi, looks like you’re making pie crust and Taehyung you’re making working on some filing?” “It’s lemon meringue pie,” Taehyung says with a grin, flickering his eyes up. The teacher is genuinely impressed. “A classic, but one with great difficulty to master. I’m excited to taste it. Are you nervous at all?” “Not really,” he responds. “Our pie is the best.” “I am loving that confidence, you two. Keep it up!” She continues around and as you’re working, you hear the team behind you are making rhubarb cherry pie. Another team is working on mocha truffle cheesecake and the last, a duo diagonal to you, is baking blueberry bread pudding. It seems like everyone has a solid plan, but you don’t dwell or pay too much mind. You focus on beating the eggs into the mixture one at a time until the batter is smooth. “What a lovely sight to see, Jungkook and Y/N!” Miss. Kang is ecstatic to see the two of you working together. Especially when she was the one who paired you both to the internship happening in two months while being completely aware of the bitter feud that was going on back then. “And what are you two making today on this beautiful afternoon?” “We’re making croquembouche,” Jungkook says with a smile as he finishes chopping his chocolate. His announcement seems to get the attention of the other contestants, Yoongi and Taehyung whipping up their heads to look as well. The teacher is taken aback. “And you’re making that in an hour and a half?” “That’s the plan.” Jungkook grins with that bunny smile of his, channeling that Jeon charm of that almost has you rolling your eyes yet again. “It will be very impressive if you two can pull it off. Well, good luck!” Miss. Kang walks another round before waltzing back to where Mrs. Pham and Mr. Chu are waiting. She must murmur something to them because their eyes suddenly widen and they look over at your station. Jungkook works on spooning the choux dough into twenty four small rounds on each baking sheet and once it’s in the oven, the timer sets for half an hour. “It’s in.” “Good.” Quickly, you wash the raspberries and leave them to dry before preparing the caramel mixture. You pour the sugar into a saucepan and then add two thirds cup of water, allowing sugar to boil and you move to prepare the ice water. Jungkook, on the other hand, heats the one cup of heavy whipping cream until it shimmers and pours chocolate over it. He stirs until it’s all melted and lets it sit to return to room temperature after sprinkling in coarse sea salt. Once the choux is golden brown, it’s out of the oven and both you and Jungkook work side by side to pipe the ganache into the choux. “Twenty minutes left everyone!” Mrs. Pham announces. “I’ll grab the caramel,” Jungkook says and you nod, going to get the serving plate. The both of you work fast. You dip the choux into the caramel and leave it on the tray for Jungkook to begin assembly. But in the midst of working, he notices your hands beginning to shake. “Hey, Y/N.” He calls you softly and your eyes flicker up. “It’s going to be okay. We’re doing well.” You nod. It’s calming to have his reassurance and you finish dipping all forty eight in while Jungkook forms them into a cone shape, towering up to your eyes. You bring over the caramel, the consistency that of syrup, and you lightly drizzle around the choux pastry puffs. The thin threads of caramel wrap around the dessert, gold and glistening in the light. Jungkook’s brows furrow, placing the raspberries between them in the last few remaining seconds. “Here.” You help him. “Ten….nine….eight….seven….six….” Mr. Chu is counting down, watching the timer go off. Then it rings. “Alright folks, step away from your plates, please!” It looks like all the teams have finished on time, and the scent of baking surrounds your senses — breads, chocolates, and cooked sugar. The air is sweet. You look over and Yoongi and Taehyung are grinning. Their perfect lemon meringue pie is on their counter, exactly replicated from last time. But your eyes move back at your own dish, and you find pride blooming in your chest. The french dessert stands tall, choux pastry puffs piled into a cone shape and bound with threads of caramel wrapped around it. On the sidelines, Jimin, Aeri and Hoseok are cheering, and while you’re not sure if it’s for the other team or your own, you like to think both of you deserve it. “I think we did pretty well, if I do say so myself.” Jungkook gives you a cheeky smile, getting you to high five him. You giggle after your hands slap together. “I think so too. Ours has the best presentation that’s for sure. It’s only about taste now.” “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Well...I don’t know about your pastry, but my ganache filling is…” He does a chef’s kiss, gathering his fingertips together to kiss against them and then opening up his hand. You scoff. “Please, Jeon. If there’s any issue, it’s going to be the caramel or the ganache. My pastry is perfect. I would know. My specialty is going to be in pastries.” Jungkook grins, expression all too playful. “Okay, we’ll see then.” The three judges go around, giving a taste to all the dishes and giving compliments. As expected, their eyes bulge at Yoongi and Taehyung’s pie, and Taehyung seems to charm them too. All of them laugh, openly wondering if they somehow cheated and slipped in a pie from a gourmet bakery. “Very fluffy and crisp. Absolutely delicious.” Mr. Chu bobs his head in approval. “I’m not much of a pie person myself, but very well done.” “Thank you.” Yoongi offers a modest smile. They move on, having nice things to say about everyone with few criticisms. And when they come over to you two, they’re smiling and all the contestants pay close attention. “Now to the dessert of the hour.” “It’s incredible that the pair of you managed to make croquembouche in an hour and a half. It can take some up to four hours, so I’m very impressed over your ambition,” Miss. Kang admits, “There was a point I thought you weren’t going to make it. But you worked hard and finished it off, so well done.” “A very tedious and painstaking dessert to make,” Mrs. Pham notes. “But you both work well together if you can pull off something like this under such strict time conditions.” “Exceptional teamwork,” Mr. Chu agrees. They each take a choux from the top onto their plates with raspberries, and a bit of caramel. When they bite into the pastry, they quirk their brows in surprise. “It isn’t pastry cream?” Miss. Kang chews thoughtfully. “It’s salted ganache.” “Jungkook works well with chocolate and I work well with pastries so we decided to combine both our skills and put a twist to the usual croquembouche,” you explain. “Very creative!” “The salted ganache is also bittersweet and the choux is very crisp,” Mr. Chu says as he swallows. “Typically the choux has to be chilled in the fridge, but in spite of skipping that step, I cannot taste the difference. The raspberry is a good touch as well and not just for presentation.” Mrs. Pham nods at him. “It’s crunchy and has a good bitter note to lessen the sweetness of the caramel. It’s perfect.” “Well done, you two!” Miss. Kang grabs for another. Once they finish up, they take a step back. “We’ll take ten minutes to decide the final results!” After the announcement is made, they return to their places at the front as Yoongi and Taehyung slink over. “I’ll admit…” Yoongi ganders at your tower of pastries. “This is pretty damn extra.” “We take challenges seriously,” you chime with a grin and he smirks. “Can I have one?” Taehyung asks, fingers itching, eyes glimmering. “They made it sound so good.” “Sure.” But you stop him before he can grab one. “On one condition. I get a slice of your pie.” “Deal.” “So you admit it.” Yoongi cocks his brow, smiling. “Our pie is delicious.” “I never said it tasted bad.” You mischievously shrug. “I want a slice too,” Jungkook says as he leans over. “Or two.” Yoongi takes a choux off of your tower and grins. “Fine by me.” While Taehyung moans about how good your croquembouche tastes, the other contestants come swarming over, curious and wanting one as well. Jimin shouts from the sidelines to save him one and Jungkook hands them out. In the meanwhile, you go over with Yoongi to claim a slice of the meringue pie and get Jungkook’s before it’s all gone too. “Think you’re gonna win?” Yoongi shrugs, surprisingly not as arrogant as before. “Maybe. We’ll see.” You lightly scoff at him. “Where did that confidence go?” But the dark-haired man merely shrugs. He cuts you a piece and you don’t hesitate to dig in. Yoongi smiles when he sees you openly enjoying the pie without restraint and then his eyes travel across the room to where Jungkook is still happily handing out the pastries. “So this is what the dream team can cook up, huh?” “Dream team?” You frown. “Yeah. You and Kook,” he says it like it’s obvious. “You two are the ultimate pair. What? You’ve never heard people say that before?” “People? Who?” His shoulders bounce nonchalantly. “Classmates. Teachers. I’ve heard it a few times and it’s true. You make up for what the other person lacks and you work well together. It was easier to deal with when the two of you still hated one another, but now that the top two kids can work with each other, it sucks for the rest of us.” You burst out laughing. “You just have a lot to catch up on, Min. Don’t fall behind on me and Jeon.” “Kind of hard not to when you’re both maniacs.” Jungkook comes barrelling over for his piece of pie before you can eat it. You also try other contestants’ desserts before the judges return, making you all scramble back to your stations. “The results are in!” Miss Kang announces with a bright smile. “Everyone did exceptionally well today and it was difficult to come to a decision, but there’s a team in here today that was just exceptional and demonstrated that it’s possible to push the limits on taste, creativity, and presentation!” You look over to Jungkook and he grabs your hand, bracing for it. “Please give a round of applause to our winners—” Suddenly you’re being picked up. Jungkook has his arms wrapped around you and lifts you off your feet, swinging you around. After a second, he sets you down onto your feet again, but you’re bewildered. There are claps from the few in the audience, the contestants and teachers applauding and all staring at you and Jungkook. Aeri, Hoseok, and Jimin are on the stands cheering loudly. Yoongi is smiling while nodding in approval. Taehyung is grinning. And Jungkook places his palms to your cheeks. Your mouth forms into fish lips, face squished together, and he makes you look at him. Your dazed eyes meet his. “We won!” “We….won?” You blink. His doe eyes are glimmering like there are stars captured in his dark irises. Jungkook’s pretty — you never really thought about that before. “We. won. We won?!” You can’t believe it. But after some words of congratulations, it sinks in. “We won, you freaking idiot!” You jump on your feet and hug Jungkook again. He smells like chocolate and sugar, his apron dirty against yours, but you don’t particularly care. Not in this moment. “You’re not such an idiot, after all!” Jungkook laughs, boyish features scrunched up. You smile at him. Maybe Yoongi’s right. No. You know he is — you and Jungkook are the ultimate duo. Like two socks that make a pair, like two magnets that attach, like dumb and dumber. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey, Jungkook!” Baekhyun approaches him in between their class break, and they fist bump each other. “I heard you won that competition with Y/N. Congrats, man.” “Thanks.” “How’s it going by the way? Haven’t seen you in a while.” The two of them are not necessarily close, but they became friends in last semester’s sanitation and safety class where they both died of boredom together. “As great as it can be with exam season coming up.” “Yeah, it’s tough.” Baekhyun sympathizes with a sigh. “Business communications is destroying me. Like I need to get at least a ninety on the finals to pass the course.” Jungkook sharply inhales. “That’s rough, dude.” “But hey, after this then it’s just our internships. That’s the only thing getting me through it. That and my girlfriend. Oh yeah, you were going to do wedding cakes, right? How do you feel about it?” “I’m still not sure,” Jungkook admits and then without thinking much, says, “The only thing getting me through it is being able to hang with Y/N.” He hasn't seen you since the competition which was two days ago, but it’s still a long time. Especially when he’s used to you plopping down beside him during breakfast, lunch or dinner — when he’s used to you banging your fist on his dorm room — when he gets texts with you whining about period cramps — when you come from nowhere and pester him till the end of the world. Jungkook’s still buzzing over the victory, but it’s been tough days one after another. The only thing that gets him through it is finally being able to see you and spend some time with you. These days Jungkook prefers being with you anyway as opposed to hanging out with Yoongi, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok. They’re noisy and always worsen his headache. Sure you like to purposely egg him on and tease him, but your company is still peaceful and worthwhile. Most of the time. “So you two are finally dating?” “What? No. No, we aren’t.” Jungkook laughs it off. It’s an odd idea that still sends shivers down his spine. “Oh, okay, my bad.” Baekhyun smiles. “It’s just that I see you both hanging around together a lot and I’ve heard you talk about her a lot too.” “Yeah, we’re friends.” “So you’d be okay with it if she dated someone else?” he suddenly asks. “Uh…” Jungkook’s caught off guard, mouth opening before closing like a fish out of water. “I guess?” “You guess?” He pauses. Jungkook flashes him an odd look and Baekhyun laughs loudly, lifting his hands and backing off. “Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude or be annoying. It just reminded me of before my girlfriend and I got together.” “It was kind of hard to tell where the line of friendship and romance was and then one day I realized that friends don’t really miss each other in the way that partners do. Like when you miss them when it’s only been a short period of time, like a day or two. But anyway,” Baekhyun sing-songs, “I shouldn’t stick my nose into anywhere it belongs. I know I tend to do that and Jessica always yells at me for being rude. Oh shoot. I should get going now before I’m late. See you around?” “Y-Yeah….See you.” Baekhyun smiles and walks away, not knowing the bomb he just dropped. Jungkook’s brows furrow and he begins to dangerously wonder. He wonders if he’s supposed to miss you like this when it’s only been two full days. If he’s supposed to come to you every time something goes wrong. If he’s supposed to think of you every time there’s good news. If he’s supposed to think of you this much. Friends aren’t supposed to think about each other like this.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook baking!AU #sugar and coffee #jungkook x reader #jungkook reader insert #jungkook as a dumb dumb baker #and oc who is even more of a dumb dumb baker #which is a great irony considering theyre the best bakers lol #gOD the fluff is gonna be amped up so much y'all in the next few chapters #you're gonna be stuffed with the uwu and pass out

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michaelmyersmalewife · 4 years

Text

the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 2/?

- sephiroth/reader

- sfw

“You look like shit.” said one of your fellow 2nds - Devon - through a mouthful of food.

“Thanks.” you replied, sitting next to him like a bag of rocks.

By the time you dragged yourself out of the training room (not even bothering to hit the communal showers and heading straight for the cafeteria in an exhausted stupor), there was only pallid, unspecified meat and soggy leaves that might’ve been a salad once left in the reservoir. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either, uncomfortably sitting somewhere in the so-so region. Looking at the vaguely edible shapes in their cold, rectangular boxes, you figured they were more of an essence of whatever they labeled it as. A single piece of white bread had more flavor. You stacked your tray with what you could, and just before you left to grab a seat, you doubled back to grab a water bottle.

After finally having the chance to settle, the muscles in your arms and legs ached. Like someone had taken a hammer to your joints. It was nothing like the feeling of being a spunky 3rd just coming back from rigorous training - you had ached then, but it felt good. It felt like progress. Now you were just dead tired. You suspected with great indignation that the feeling wouldn’t subside in a good while.

You were about to shove a fork full of the essence of meat in your mouth when you couldn’t help but look up at the friend sitting across from you. He was staring at you with wide, bluer-than-the-sky eyes. His puppy stare (that you made sure never to call it that to his face).

“Vic.” you said, feinting a stern tone. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

You were dying to talk about it.

“You’re dying to talk about it.” said Victor and Devon in unison.

You groaned, hands flying to your face and tugging at your eyelids as you dragged them down. You had laid there in the training room for a good five minutes after Sephiroth left, half-expecting him to come back and further damage your ego. But he didn’t. And thankfully, no one else happened upon your battered form, for better or worse. Admittedly, you were feeling a lot less achy now that you were moving around, but where your back had collided with the floor now spouted an angry bruise in varying shades of yellow and purple.

“You sparred with Sephiroth?”

Victor - a 3rd and a few years your younger - always had at least one star in each of his eyes, but as you finished your lackluster retelling of the bout, he was twinkling like the night sky. “That’s so cool.”

“Oh yeah, real cool.” you picked at a clump of soggy leaves. “Ice cold.”

“That bad huh?” Devon said, with all the concern of wet concrete.

Slouching back down from where he was practically leaning across the entire table, Victor pouted.

“C’mon, it couldn’t have been that bad! At least you’re not stuck doing drills every day. Do you know how many of these guys would beg to be where you are?”

“At least you have someone to tell you what to do. Sephiroth just..expects me to know. It’s so - he’s so-” you punctuated with a grumble in your throat and a stab at the chalky meat on your tray, but it was so tender that it flaked away.

“He trusts you - that’s a good thing!”

You paused, taking a begrudging swig of water. “I guess..you have a point.”

You were still feeling slightly bitter, but a childish smirk played at the corners of your mouth. “Okay maybe it wasn’t completely terrible.”

They both perked up, looking at you curiously.

“I might’ve cut his hair.”

Both of their eyes shot open. “You what?”

---

It was dark by the time you and your friends dispersed, drowsily heading back to your respective quarters. But as tired as you were, you still felt like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, so with a heavy sigh you hauled yourself to the showers.

They were empty, and completely quiet save for the tap-tap-tap of a few leaky showerheads. You tried to control your shivering as you turned the squeaky knob, a paralyzing chill washing down your body as cold water hit your skin like thousands of tiny icicles. The temperature evened out after a minute or two, though it was so late in the day that the highest it was able to reach was a tepid lukewarm.

You made quick work of your hair, combing out the last of the suds with your fingers. As you washed the rest of your body, your thoughts wandered back to the bout. It had only been a few hours since the training session, and you were already feeling a little better, if a little sore. But now the bruise was the least of your worries.

Sephiroth. Trusting you. You.

You wanted to laugh. You didn’t know why the concept was so unfathomable. To you, it just seemed like he was above that sort of thing. You knew of the other 1sts - it was almost impossible to avoid them, even if you wanted to - and how they were as thick as thieves. You knew your mentor was closer to them than anyone else, recalling brief memories of seeing them roaming the halls together, laughing and being..normal. You couldn’t imagine yourself in that sphere. You’d have better luck trying to catch a cloud.

Shutting off the water, you halfheartedly dried yourself off, your hair still slightly damp on your pillow as you faded into a dreamless sleep.

---

Waking up that next morning wasn’t as much of a chore as you thought it was. You were still sore as hell, but at least you could get up without complaining. Much.

You got dressed, your back popping as you threaded your arms through your sleeveless shirt’s armholes. Then, you rolled your shoulders, taking your wrist in one hand and pulling it across your chest, stretching and popping the joints in that socket. And then the other. Sliding your suspenders over your shoulders, you spied your reflection in the mirror in your bathroom. You could fit yourself inside it, with at least a foot to spare. But that foot was reserved for the door to swing open. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve stubbed your toe while opening the thing with both hands twice over. Brushing your teeth, you poked mindlessly at the dark bags under your eyes. You hadn’t noticed when they had gotten there, nor for how long. You spit into the sink.

Fixing your hair - which had somehow knotted itself in the back, making you look like you had gotten shocked by lightning in your sleep - with your hands, you were satisfied enough to leave your room. It was still early enough in the morning that the cafeteria was closed for at least another half-hour. Feeling restless, a prickling in your bones that couldn’t be quelled by sitting alone in your room - or anywhere else for that matter - you decided to go for a run.

The base’s outside training fields (that weren’t fields at all, but rather a series of cleared pads that weren’t completely overrun with crates of ammunition and other surplus supplies that had yet to be shipped to a warehouse somewhere) were a fair walk away, but you didn’t mind.

As you reached the end of the hallway, the elevator leading to the ground floor already in sight, the door slid open, revealing a figure that you didn’t quite register at first. You awkwardly stopped, your boots slightly skidding against the linoleum as if urging you forward. Which you did anyway, like a machine that had sputtered slightly before kicking itself back into gear. Sephiroth hadn’t seen your buffer, but the sound of it drew his eyes to you almost immediately. He stepped out, jutting one shoulder out first before the rest of his body followed. Trying not to meet his eyes, you waited for him to exit the elevator.

“Morning, sir.” you muttered, leftover grogginess on your tongue.

He nodded, a cordial expression flashing across his face.

As you passed him, one foot about to land in the elevator, you paused. There was a hand on your shoulder. You took a step back, straightening your posture without thinking.

His hand was gloved, always gloved, the leather not entirely warm - like he had just put them on. He wasn’t grabbing you in place, but Sephiroth had a gravity to him that made you want to stay there. It kind of scared you, but you were too busy shaking off the last vestiges of sleep that liked to hang around in the morning to care. If anything, you were just confused.

“Um.” you didn’t mean for the sound to come out, but too much silence made you nervous. You stayed quiet, too muddled to think of anything to say.

Sephiroth himself wasn’t silent for too long, but it was long enough to put a little seed of apprehension in you. You shifted your weight on your feet.

“Was this from yesterday?” he said in a notably smaller tone than usual.

It took you a full second to notice that he was looking at your shoulder, and another second to realize what he was talking about. “Oh - oh, that?”

You twisted your neck as far as it could go, bending back slightly even though the motion was more irritating than you’d like to admit. You gave the bruise a passing glance.

“I mean..yeah.” you said. “But I’ve had worse, can hardly feel it anymore actually.” you quickly added after seeing his brows crease lower on his face.

“Hey, man, seriously I’m over it. It’s just a bruise, you didn’t like, cut my arm off.” Though for a moment, you thought he would have done exactly that.

“I tend to get carried away with that sort of thing..it was unprofessional of me,” He almost seemed to shrink into himself, but he looked more like one of the droopy willows you saw once while patrolling a small village outside Midgar. He withdrew his hand like he had just stung you. “I apologize for causing you harm.”

“You..don’t have to, Seph, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“But-”

“Honest. It was just a fall, that’s how sparring matches are.” you waved him off. His concern was sweet at first, albeit strange and just a little uncomfortable. But now you felt like you were consoling a kicked puppy. “Besides, it was fun.”

“..Fun?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not every day you get to fight, er, you.”

“I see.” he said, noticeably relaxing a bit. “So you’re sure you’re alright?”

“Positive.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in..satisfaction? Relief? Something like that. He looked like he was about to leave, but before he could fully turn his back to you he stopped, turning his head.

“Oh, if you can, meet me in the briefing room in about an hour. There’s something I’d like to speak to you about.”

You could feel your stomach actively turning into a pit. “Aren’t we talking right now?” you said, feeling more than a little thick in the head and wanting very badly to slap yourself when you saw a crease form between his brows.

“It’s important. I requested a meeting with Lazard.”

The pit in your stomach was now a sinkhole.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay, uh...cool.”

Sephiroth snorted with some degree of amusement. “Don’t be late.”

“Sure!” you said maybe a little too enthusiastically. You never were good at masking your anxiety. “Sure.” you quickly repeated in a markedly more composed tone, doing an even worse job at sounding calm.

He was already walking away - thank god. You didn’t want to see his face. As the elevator doors severed you from him, you found yourself tapping your foot against the panels of the floor, arms crossed so tight they felt stiff and weird dangling at your sides as you walked outside to the training field.

You ran laps (you weren’t counting, but it felt infinite), your brain shutting itself off without you meaning to. There was too much to think about, but it was so early in the morning you told yourself, that you deserved not thinking about any of it. Just for a couple minutes, a few more laps. The apology, the hand on your shoulder, the meeting, the apology - nope. Not thinking about it.

---

By the time you reached the cafeteria, you found that you weren’t that hungry at all.

#sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #ff7 crisis core #my fics

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