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hajimewhore · 4 years ago

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Million Reasons ⛅ (Matsukawa Issei/Reader) on [Ao3] ➸Rated E, fem!Reader, 7k+words ➷Part 2 of the Haikyuu Song Fic Collection ➷Angst, depression, fluff, this one is pwp ➷Left in Matsukawa’s wake, you find yourself struggling to come to terms with your break up. Everything reminds you of him. From the sheets that smell like him, to something as simple as coffee.

After everything, you know you should let him go, but you can’t help but search for reasons to stay.

[Masterlist] [part 1]

A/N:

Here’s part two for my song fic collection, as promised! Highly recommend reading part one, linked above.

This one is Million Reasons, Lady Gaga. Despite it endlessly being played on the radio in the car and at work, I can always jam to it. I think it’s a nice follow up to Harry Styles’ Falling!

It had been a long week, and you found yourself mindlessly going through your days.

You rely entirely on muscle memory to carry you through daily tasks and basic human needs, but barely have an appetite to finish meals or the energy to leave the house.

You haven’t seen Matsukawa or heard from him since your ‘break up’, you’d only gotten confirmation from Hanamaki that he ended up staying at his place.

After the first day, you noticed Matsukawa had picked up some of his things when you came back from work.

The closet you shared was emptier, stray coat hangers and missing sweaters and tees. You’re ashamed to admit that you slept in one of his tee shirts that night.

Wrapped up in his scent between his shirt and the sheets, you were able to wake up the next morning in your sleepy haze, believing that it never happened. That Matsukawa hadn’t said any of it.

If only you said more, told him all the things that he needed to hear. But any words of encouragement went out of his head, and no amount of I love you’s would get through to him.

And as the week progressed with radio silence, the intrusive thoughts in your head began to convince you that he might have meant everything he said.

You told yourself otherwise, that he just needs a break to sort everything out himself. He just wasn’t in the right state of mind when he snapped at you, he hadn’t been for months. Matsukawa struggled to love himself as much as he did you, and though you tried to support him, he wouldn’t accept it.

You lay back in the empty sheets, lonely sigh bouncing off the walls into white noise.

You already miss being wrapped up in the sheets with him, whispering in each other’s ears and laughing about nothing. You’ve missed it for awhile now, but now that he’s not here the longing sits heavier on your chest.

You’d noticed the signs, Matsukawa had started to lack affection and his depressive episodes became more frequent. You thought you were acknowledging them, but every time he brushed you aside, you stepped down so easily.

Every time he interrupted your concerns with a subject change, you accepted it. You’d confront him later, you always told yourself.

Curling into your side, arms aching to wrap around him, you fret yourself over things you should’ve and could’ve done.

After tossing and turning, you’re finally able to drift to sleep, caught in the dream of a memory.

“Welcome home!”

You cheer, when Matsukawa arrives home from work.

You’d been used to serving food at the restaurant, but not cooking it. You’re grateful Matsukawa at least knew his way around a kitchen, you mostly aided him to the best of your abilities. But tonight, you wanted to make sure a meal was sitting at the table when he arrived.

Despite your underwhelming talents in the kitchen, you’d researched recipes to prepare his favorite hamburg steak.

Admittedly, you played the recipe video back about six times after every direction to make sure you were doing it right.

But you’re pretty confident how it turned out, and you repeated the process with several other dishes he liked, all in time for his arrival home.

You’d even spent the day cleaning and organizing. Even though it wasn’t your designated cleaning day, you wanted him to come home to a brighter apartment.

You’d decorated the walls with photographs that the printing place finished earlier. High school photos from Hanamaki line the wall, mostly of their volleyball team, as well as photos of you and Matsukawa together.

You got caught up sorting through the old pictures of Matsukawa, excitedly giggling at his younger face, his hair style then, how lanky he was, same thick eyebrows.

You almost thought you hadn’t given yourself enough time to prepare the food.

When the front door swings open, you set off a party popper, just for the sake of being extra. Simultaneously, you scare the living shit out of Matsukawa.

“Woah! What is all this?”

Overcoming the initial surprise, his eyes flick around the room. His arms outstretched, you accept the hug eagerly as he peers at you with curiosity.

“It’s not our anniversary. Or my birthday. Or your birthday. What’s going on babe? Are you pregnant—“

He mentally ticks off important dates, before his eyes blow wide at his own assumption.

“No, no. Nothing like that, silly. You’ve been working so hard at your new job, I figured I’d reward you for it!”

You slide your hands up to link behind his neck, attempting to tug him closer as you straighten your posture.

He laughs, leaning down to meet your awaiting kiss. Your lips feel warm against his, and you can feel him unable to resist smiling into the kiss.

Matsukawa’s hands move to caress your hair, he separates momentarily to read your expression.

You open your eyes and peek through your lashes to see his warm gaze.

Ever since he had to work at the funeral home for his father, his mood had plummeted.

It was completely understandable, his goals and aspirations were put on the back burner.

And when he was told he needed to take over the business entirely, the dreams he worked tirelessly for were completely out of his reach.

Needless to say, he’d been despondent. For awhile, nothing you could say could pull him out of it.

But day by day, he grew accustomed to it, even told you things he started to like about the seemingly grim business.

Even though he managed to find a silver lining, it never brought him back to his usual self.

So seeing the light in his eyes and his rosy cheeks made you beam with pure, unadulterated, joy.

“I’m so proud of you, Issei.”

You mumble, words dancing across his lips, and he thanks you with a contented expression, running his thumb softly across your cheekbone.

He reconnects your lips into another gentle kiss, and you easily find yourself lost in it.

Despite complaining about how cold he is all the time, he radiates warmth, and it encompasses you wholly.

He trails his hand down your cheek, slotting his thumb and fingers to either side of your jaw.

When you feel the soft pressure of his fingers, you open your mouth at the gesture, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his tongue against yours.

Threading your fingers through his curls, you hear the softest moan of satisfaction from him. As your hot tongues slick together, you drag your nails from his hair, down his neck, broad shoulders, to his chest.

You pop open the buttons of his collar with relative ease, but as your excitement grows the difficulty of the task increases.

Matsukawa’s arm wraps around your middle, pressing you close to his body. He rests his free hand to the back of your neck, and to accommodate your tight proximity you tilt your head back.

Bodies now flushed together, you feel the heat exchanging and rising between the two of you, and he hasn’t stopped attacking your mouth for a moment.

Matsukawa bites your bottom lip softly, teasingly, and his mouth covers the gasp that threatens to escape your lips.

He presses a knee between your legs, and you stagger back.

“Ah,”

You separate momentarily,

“Fuck,”

He grunts out as your bottom hits the edge of the dining table. His palm quickly flattens against the surface of it while using his other arm to maintain your balance.

“Sorry, I got a little excited there.”

He mutters close to your face, but the clatter of the plates at the table echoes in your ears. The noise winds up bringing you out of your haze, back to your senses.

“Ahhhh! The food is getting cold!”

You press your hands to his chest, and he lets you push him off with minor hesitation.

“Mmm, and we were getting to the good part.”

He sighs, running his hand through his dark hair.

“We can get to the good part later! We need to eat before all the food dies!”

You settle at one end of the table, and he smiles taking his seat across you.

“This part is just as good too...”

He comments, making you flush as he helps himself, his eyes practically glitter at the meal you worked so hard to prepare.

“I can’t fuck you as good if I’m running on empty, anyways.”

You sputter at his brazen comment, and by the look on his face you can tell he feels zero shame.

“Issei!”

Your cheeks brighten, and he holds a piece of steak up to your lips as a peace offering.

“Kidding.”

You know he’s absolutely not kidding, but you accept it nonetheless, laughing with a blush after getting over the initial shock value.

You banter and laugh through the meal, blushing at all the praise he gives you for your cooking. It leaves you satisfied that your efforts payed off and he enjoyed everything.

When you clean up the table, you try to convince him to let you do the dishes yourself.

“I’ll take care of it! Don’t worry,”

You collect the plates on your arms with practiced ease, despite not working at the restaurant anymore you can still balance everything perfectly.

“You cooked, I should clean.”

Matsukawa insists, of course, and he’s much stronger than you so you don’t resist (much) when he takes the plates from your hands.

In the end, due to your excessive pouting and puppy eyes, you compromise by cleaning the dishes like you two normally do. Side by side at the sink together, elbows brushing occasionally.

The domesticity of doing a regular household chore together with Matsukawa makes your heart feel full.

When you leave the kitchen, you catch him staring fondly at the photos of the both of you, newly framed and hung.

“I like how this one came out.”

You point out your favorite one. You were a brand new couple then, eager to impress each other and afraid to mess things up.

Matsukawa wraps his arms around you, pressing his front to your back. He rests his chin at the top of your head, and you hold his hands softly and lean back into the touch.

You take the next opportunity to roast the fuck out of Hanamaki’s haircut in high school, pointing at the old Seijou volleyball team photos.

“Maybe that’s why he put up a fight when I asked for them.”

You snicker, he didn’t look... bad. But it was certainly a contrast to his K-Pop reminiscent hair style now.

“How’d you manage to convince him?”

“I told him I’d just ask Oikawa for pictures instead, and Hanamaki immediately said he could find some for me.”

Matsukawa snorts at your response, knowing exactly what your play was,

“You’re pretty evil. I’m positive Oikawa has a stockpile of team photos where he’s the only one that looks good.”

“Really? Should I text him now for some?”

“Please don’t.”

“Mmmm, I’ll let it slide. But only for tonight.”

You tease, and you feel the laughter rumble from his chest.

When you make your way to the bedroom, the both of you make good on your promise before dinner.

Matsukawa is quick to press you into the mattress, lips back against yours.

Before you get too excited, you make sure to finish unbuttoning the rest of his dress shirt this time.

You don’t trust yourself enough to be able to do the job right later, especially now that his hot breath is trailing past your jawline down to your neck.

The feeling combined with his tongue now laving at the junction between your neck and shoulder sends a shockwave down your spine.

You arch into him, just barely muffling the noises behind your lips shut tight.

“I wanna hear it all, baby,”

Matsukawa whispers against your neck, sliding his hand up to grab your chin. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, and you open your mouth obediently.

He’s careful not to leave any marks behind, despite how badly he wants to. But recalling how you scolded him fairly recently for the discolored bruises in obvious places, during the summertime no less (where it’s impossible to wear scarves or turtlenecks, apparently), made him think twice.

The feel of his hot breath ghosting across your neck makes you sigh with pleasure. You make a noise of upset when he pulls away, lips turning down into a pout.

Your disappointment doesn’t last for long, when you see him shrugging his dress shirt the rest of the way off.

Your eyes catch his broad shoulders, traveling down to his abdomen, and you thank god for high school volleyball for giving him a routine as you trail your hands across his chest to his abs.

“You’re so hot it hurts.”

You whine out, pouting as he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s gonna hurt for sure.”

You know he’s just teasing, and you roll your eyes.

Matsukawa wouldn’t hurt you if he could help it, you’d have to beg for it before he did anything remotely close to harming you.

“You’re full of it.”

“Hey, I’ve got a big dick and the attitude to back it up.”

He shrugs, slipping his fingers under the bottom of your shirt.

You laugh at the route your conversation turned.

At least he didn’t say something like ‘You’re about to be full’.

You aid him tugging your shirt overhead,

“You really do though.”

And you can feel said ‘big dick’ pressing against you when he leans back down to kiss you.

The first time you saw it, released from the confines of his unbuckled pants, you thought instantly that it wasn’t going to fit. His briefs and pants dropped to the floor along with your jaw.

And you’d never thought something so ridiculous before, but that was how big Matsukawa’s dick was.

But he took things slow, let you grow accustomed to him, and only fucked you hard into the mattress when you cried for it.

Matsukawa is proud of it to this day, and you’ve never told another soul, but he wound up putting you out of commission the next day.

You had to call in a favor for Iwasaki to cover your shift because there was no way you’d be getting in thousands of steps at work after the night you had.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, you moan against Matsukawa’s mouth when he grinds against your lower half.

The two of you have gained a lot of experience in the bedroom over the course of your relationship, attuned to everything the other likes and dislikes, and what feels best for the other.

And Matsukawa is able to find the right spot and angle to grind his hips into you, and he does so with practiced ease.

As much as you love the feeling of his hard on pressing through his slacks and your shorts, the friction and pressure driving you wild,

“You’re wearing to much.”

You break the kiss with a whine.

“You’re wearing just as much as me.”

He laughs, but doesn’t wait another moment longer to pull your shorts down.

You raise your knees to make the task easier, and he tosses the garment aside carelessly. It falls to the floor to join your previously discarded shirt,

“Hey, I worked hard to clean today you know,”

You tease, as he makes quick work of his belt and his own pants.

“I’m sorry, babe. Do you want me to fold it as I go?”

He laughs lightly, pulling his slacks down.

You wonder in the mean time how he’s able to get undressed in bed without looking awkward.

He actually starts to fold them, and you snatch the fabric from his hands with a laugh, tossing it to join the rest of the clothes.

“I was kidding, just hurry up and kiss me!”

You pull him back to meet you in another searing kiss, and he laughs against your lips, pressing you back into the sheets.

Your banter is quickly forgotten, in favor of hot mouths and tongues getting reacquainted.

He snaps your bra and you meet his satisfied smirk with a glare, but the bite is lacking due to your lust addled state. He unclasps the hooks easier than you can yourself, but before you can feel jealous of his skill he’s slipping the lingerie off.

He’s sure to give your breasts the same attention your mouth received, licking and biting gently.

Matsukawa’s fingers trail down your side, the touch so light it’s almost nonexistent, until his hand is slipping past your panties to the wet heat behind them.

“Issei,”

You gasp, body tensing on reflex at the touch, and he tucks his face back into your neck with calming words of reassurance.

You sigh contently when his fingers slip inside, giving a few slow thrusts.

Your hips arch into his hand, and he bites your neck, causing you to moan out his name once more.

“You’re so wet baby. Were you waiting all night for this?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod with a hum, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Hm? You’re usually so good with your words,”

He clicks his tongue, pumping his fingers at a slow and teasing pace,

“Slow, or faster? Use your words baby.”

There’s that hot breath against your neck that sends shivers throughout you, and the pet name that warms your body in an instant.

“F-Faster, please!”

He smiles against your skin, kissing up to your jaw.

“You even said please, good girl.”

He praises, increasing his pace. The sounds become embarrassingly loud, and you can hear what he’s doing to you as well as feel it to your core.

You gasp out when he presses his thumb to your clit, hands dropping to find purchase on his back. The bundle of nerves so suddenly abused sends your back arching off the mattress.

“I-Issei, please, I think I’m ready—“

And with that, he slips his hands out and tugs the flimsy garment down your legs.

Your body misses the feeling of his long and slender fingers deep inside you, but you know very well that his cock can reach the places his fingers can’t.

And though you love the way the dark under armour briefs look hugging his thighs, barely concealing his hard on, you’re way more excited to see them coming off.

You let out a gasp when he hikes your leg up his shoulder, and you’re physically brought back into the moment when he lines up his erection against your slick folds.

He rocks his hips gently against them, cock sliding just outside your heat. His voice sounds thick with anticipation and lust,

“Ready?”

You love how even now he’s still looking to you for permission, and you nod eagerly,

“God yes, just do it, Issei.”

And with that he slowly pushes his cock inside you with a low moan. Your jaw slackens, and your eyes screw shut with a moan of your own.

You swear, every time it feels like he’s splitting you open. But his fingers and care from earlier certainly helps, and you feel your walls accommodating the width of his girth as he slowly pushes in.

It’s tight, it always is with him, but you love the feeling of being so full of him.

He pauses when he’s nearly fully in, and you peek up to catch his hesitant expression.

“Keep going, babe,”

You instruct with a pant, your raised leg and hips shaking despite your wishes.

He smooths his hand over your thigh up to your knee, waiting for it to subside while he gently pets caresses your skin.

When your body arches for more contact, he decides to push all the way in.

You’re panting, and it’s barely started. Sweat drops down Matsukawa’s brow in concentration, and you internally praise him for his willpower to not absolutely plow you when you know he really wants to.

“How are you feeling?”

His other hand traces at your hip, thumb brushing gentle circles.

“I’m good, how are you?”

Your lidded eyes catch his and he laughs at the mundane response.

“Ready for me to absolutely rail you?”

If you could muster any excess energy, you might even roll your eyes at him,

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the sweetness of the action contrasting heavily with the indecent things he’s about to do to you.

He quickly busies himself with the task of ‘shutting up’ and ‘fucking you’, though with the rough moans slipping out of his mouth he’s not sure he could even tease you properly.

He feels a surge of pride at the delighted noises coming from your pretty lips, and he eats them up with a kiss.

You keen when the leg you have hooked on his shoulder presses to your chest to accommodate the kiss, his pace not faltering as he thrusts his hips to yours.

“I-Issei!”

And you can tell by the way he speeds up he loves the way you call his name so impassioned, and despite his increased tempo he remains attentive.

It’s when you feel his fingers back to abuse your clit in tight circles that you immediately start meeting his thrusts sloppily, not quite aligning with his rhythm.

Your mind (and body) is so full of Matsukawa, you don’t think you can concentration on matching his pace properly, but your sloppy thrusts at least give you a shred of the satisfaction your body is desperately craving.

Various iterations of his name spill out of your mouth, alongside other blissful noises.

In your hazy vision you take in the the man before you. The sheen of sweat covering his neck, his chest, abs, catching the dim lighting.

Every part of your body is practically bouncing as he pushes you harder into the mattress, his thrusts unforgiving and unrelenting.

Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you cry at a few consecutive thrusts where his cock hit deep, but you glance back so you can catch his expression.

His brows are knit tight in concentration, eyes fixed shut, lips parted occasionally for every curse and moan that escapes him.

And when it all becomes too much for you, his cock pushed as far as it can go, if not farther, his fingers keeping up their mission to stimulate your overly sensitive clit, his other hand gripping your hip tightly, your nails raking across his back, every sound filling your ears whether it’s from his lips or your bodies, you throw your head back with a cry.

“Come with me baby—“

Matsukawa voice is rough and hot, he thrusts deeper than you thought possible. Your name falls from his lips, soft flesh red from biting.

He presses his palm beside your head, creating an indent to the mattress. In the process, he catches your hair as he grips the sheets, balancing himself on a shaking arm.

You arch into him, hot skin pressing to hot skin.

White hot flashes over you when you feel his body shaking, painting practically your guts with his release as he pants and moans above you.

And it throws you headfirst into your own euphoric release.

And against better judgement, you cry out,

“Mattsun!”

Matsukawa’s dark eyes, hazy with lust and the satisfaction of release, immediately blow wide with momentary confusion.

“What the fuck—”

He scrambles off of you in a disoriented haste, and the bed dips when he presses his knees beside you on the mattress.

“What the fuck was that?”

He growls out, but it sounds more like a cry, or maybe a whine.

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, stifling it behind your palm as you will your aching body to sit upright,

“I-I’m sorry!”

You’re still laughing, and his glare eases when he sees your rosy cheeks, watching your shoulders shake with mirth.

“Thanks, my dick is completely soft now.”

“You wanted to go again? You have work early tomorrow.”

“I might’ve stayed up for another round. But now we’ll never know, because of that stunt you just pulled.”

He pinches your nose, and you have the audacity to giggle as he grabs a stray towel to clean you up.

Pitching it with a perfect arc into a bin across the room, he lays back beside you grumbling something about your aforementioned audacity.

Even though he was mildly distressed by the prank you pulled in the throes of passion, he still made sure to clean you himself.

You turn on your side with a wide, blushing smile, wrapping your arm around his middle.

“I can’t believe you’d use that nickname. And while I’m cumming, too.”

He complains again, grudgingly slinging his arm around you.

“Oikawa always calls you that, and you never let me use it when we first met. I thought it would be funny to try it then.”

“Right. As much as I’d love to talk about Oikawa in the afterglow of our mind blowing sex—“

“You would?”

You snort, and he rolls his eyes,

“No. Honestly, I wish I could convey to you how much I don’t want to do that.”

The sour look he sends you makes another laugh bubble up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Issei. You just... have seemed so down lately. I wanted to do something special for you, and make you laugh.”

“You thought something special would be using one of that guy’s crappy nicknames during hot sex?”

You slap his chest lightly when he raises a skeptical brow, deciding to ignore for now how he verbally sidestepped your concerns with a jest.

“No, I meant the dinner, and the pictures. That was just so you could look back and laugh!”

You pout, feeling the rumbling from his chest as a laugh escapes his lips.

“Ahh, now I can look back on the night my beautiful girlfriend made a special dinner, and decorated our apartment with lovely photos. And when I had sex with her she called out the terrible nickname one of my best friends gave me.”

“Issei!”

You drag out each syllable of his name with a cry, of course when he says it like that it sounds more like a bad idea.

“I know, I’m just teasing. I’m very, very grateful for tonight. You really surprised me, in a good way.”

He gives you a soft expression that makes your chest warm up.

“...but I’m letting you know now, I’m not telling anyone how it ended. Not even Hanamaki,”

He pinches your thigh and you yelp, grabbing for his wrist as he continues,

“And you better not tell anyone either.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t! Just don’t start tickling me!”

He flattens his palm against your thigh, leaning over to kiss your pink cheek.

“Good girl.”

The pet name sends butterflies stirring in your stomach, and you pull him closer to cuddle.

Matsukawa pulls the covers to settle comfortably over the both of you, tangling your legs together and wrapping a strong arm over you. He settles snug against you, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Issei. So much.”

“I love you too,”

He whispers your name affectionately, kissing your nose this time, as you both let sleep overtake you.

“I don’t think this relationship is working out.”

“I cheated on you.”

“You’re in denial.”

“Stop looking for excuses!”

“—I don’t love you anymore!”

Matsukawa’s last words to you rattle your sleep addled brain, and you blink awake, the haze of your pleasant memories forgotten.

Tears sting at your eyes, and you wipe furiously at them as they start to pool.

Regretting the nap, and your next actions, you pull your phone from the covers to call him.

You don’t end up building the courage to press the call button in the end, and hastily settle for a text reading ‘I miss you’.

And god, you miss him so much.

But the immediate silence that follows puts that pit right back in your stomach.

You spend the rest of the day, periodically checking your phone for any updates.

Your hand constantly itches to grab for it in your pocket, and you resist the urge to check less often than you’d hope.

Each time you’re met with an empty notification screen, your lock screen ready to shove a photo of you and Matsukawa in your face.

But the wound is too fresh to replace it, and you ache to see his face even if it’s through a screen or a photograph on the wall.

You slip your phone back into your pocket for the millionth time, returning to your tablet to get some work done.

Every time your stylus meets the screen, you can’t come up with the ideas or muster the creativity to produce anything.

You miss when Matsukawa would have you snug in his lap, and you could lay your head on his shoulder while sketching away.

Those moments were second nature to you, you’d grown so accustomed to his company and comfort. You never thought once that something as simple as cuddling on the couch with Matsukawa during downtime wouldn’t be an possibility anymore.

You never contemplated losing the encouraging words whispered against your ear. About what colors he liked, what a good job you were doing, or even the silly doodles he laughed at when you were getting sidetracked.

Your head gets stuck in the same cycle you’ve gone through every day since Matsukawa left.

What could you have said? What could you have done?

You miss his voice, his warmth, his touch, his face, you miss him.

You look off and stare out the window, resting your chin against your palm.

Is this really it?

It feels like your breathing cuts off then, and you feel numb as your chest tightens.

Despite it all, you feel completely aware, as the thought sits heavy on your mind. Do you really have to let him go?

It’s nearing a month now, and since that moment in your apartment it didn’t take long for your thoughts to go into disarray again.

You desperately want to believe in Matsukawa, give him the space he clearly needs, but the radio silence ends up driving you crazy.

You’re left with your heartbreak, your intrusive thoughts, the devil on your shoulder constantly telling you he meant everything he said.

You’re clinging to anything that’ll convince you Matsukawa loves you, that he wouldn’t leave you like this, but the distance between you two has diminished anything to hold on to.

All you have to keep you sane are memories of I love you’s.

But he hadn’t said it in a long time, and he hasn’t been here to give you any semblance of closure, or a reason that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit.

He’s giving you a million reasons to let him go, but you keep hanging on.

Normally, you’d be curled up in your sheets letting your emotions run wild, the memory of that night playing back in your head as if it were a big screening of a drama.

Your friends convinced you to get outside, anything to make the worst seem a little better. You told them you would heed their advice.

Instead of lying in sorrow at your apartment, you’re at yours and Matsukawa’s favorite cafe.

Getting out of the apartment was a good idea, your friends were right about that. It never truly felt like yours alone.

It was yours and Matsukawa’s, everything belonged to the both of you. It was decided together, down to the furniture and the kitchenwares.

Getting fresh air was healthy for you, your friends weren’t wrong, but coming to this cafe was the worst idea possible.

You’d been a frequent customer prior to the incident, but you’ve since ghosted the place. You thought it would be fine, just one latte to bring your spirits up.

But you only managed to satisfy the sick, subconscious urge to feel sorry for yourself in the place you and Matsukawa made memories in together.

Your favorite drink overdosed with sugars tastes bittersweet on your tongue.

And it doesn’t help that the smells and images of the cafe are attached to memories that are starting to feel even more bittersweet.

“...Mm... It tastes great...!”

You struggle to keep your lips from turning down, and even more to swallow down the bitter black coffee. Nonetheless, you flash a smile Matsukawa’s way.

After Matsukawa had given you his number, your conversations flowed with ease. It was surprisingly natural texting him, and even more so conversing with him over the phone or in person.

After a few dates, you found yourself at a local cafe with him.

It seemed to be climbing in popularity, and you’d known Matsukawa was passionate about his coffee.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it.”

He laughs, eyeing the look on your face.

Your extreme distaste must have been more obvious than you thought, or maybe he’s just more perceptive than he lets on.

“Okay, you’re right. It’s actually pretty disgusting. How do you drink it like this?!”

You gently slide his coffee cup over, and try not to think too hard and combust when his fingers brush over yours to take it back.

You also try to convince yourself that the burning heat on your fingers is from the heat seeping from the to-go cup, and not from Matsukawa’s brief touch.

Taking a swig of your own coffee, you attempt to wash away his coffee’s aftertaste.

“How do you drink it like that?”

He points his finger at your drink.

“...Fair. I just like coffee with milk and sugar! It’s common.”

“You like your milk and sugar with coffee.”

He teases, expression straight and neutral. You smile thinking that you’re beginning to understand Matsukawa’s sense of humor.

You poke your tongue out at his deadpan correction, and his eyes flash with amusement.

“It’s better with flavor, and sugar makes almost anything taste good! You’re just drinking bean juice, but plain and without all the extra stuff.”

“If anything, you’re just drinking bean juice with sugar in it, and that doesn’t sound much better.”

He points out, and you hum at his wit.

“....I think we’ve reached a stalemate, Matsukawa.”

You pout. He laughs, and it sounds so charming to your ears.

You hold your hand out to him, and he cuts himself short to peer at it in confusion.

“Truce. I won’t make fun of your plain bean juice as long as you don’t make fun of my sugary bean juice.”

“I accept. But only if we stop saying bean juice.”

“Deal.”

You accept his hand into a firm shake with a bright smile, and a pink hue creeps up your cheeks when you notice how much bigger his palm is compared to yours.

You blink when you attempt to pull your hand back and he doesn’t let go.

“Come on, we’ve got a movie to catch. Don’t wanna miss making fun of the trailers.”

He stands from his seat, pulling you up to your feet.

Your brain short circuits then. Does he want to hold your hand?

How are the two of you going to hold right hands while walking?

Would it be too awkward to just let go and try to hold his other hand? But he’s holding his coffee in it!

You don’t have to think much longer on it, Matsukawa’s already swapping his coffee with his other hand, placing his newly freed one into your palm.

It’s warm from the heat of the coffee, and your heart swells when you come to the realization that he was in fact trying to hold your hand.

“Ready?”

You glance up to see his expression, and your heart practically skips a beat at the shy look on his face.

He’s looking for any distraction, sipping at his coffee as he waits for your reaction.

When he risks a glance at you, he catches the eager smile that spreads across your cheeks.

You lace your fingers with his, holding his hand tightly,

“Mm. Let’s go!”

After that memory, you start to feel sick.

You can’t even stomach the coffee anymore, and you toss it in the trash in a rush, ignoring the questioning looks sent your way by the customers and employees. You pull your coat tighter to your body, before hurrying out of the cafe.

Pacing down the street, you decide to head back to the apartment.

Anywhere else is just another memory.

The park, the theatre, restaurants, bars, you can’t even see Hanamaki, and you don’t want to bother your other friends.

It’s better to wallow in your misery at home than in the public eye, anyways. You can’t stand the looks of confusion or pity being sent your way.

You kick off your shoes at the door, freezing when you notice the pair that wasn’t there before.

Is your mind playing tricks on you?

No, Matsukawa took these before he left, you’re almost positive.

Your knees shake as you take the first step forward, scanning the living room, but there’s no sight of him there.

When you open the bedroom door, you find him sitting at the edge of the bed.

The bed you shared together, that you’d slept in alone for a month now.

When he perks up at the sound of the door swinging open, he’s at a loss for words when he catches your shocked stare.

Your name leaves his lips, and it’s almost a whisper, so easy to miss, but it’s what you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks now.

“...here to collect the rest of your things?”

Your voice is shaky at best, lacking nerve.

“No, no. I... really wanted to talk to you—”

“Now you wanna talk?!”

For the briefest of moments, you felt happy to hear he wasn’t back to grab his things and leave you again, but it’s quickly replaced by your pent up emotions.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“I get you needed space. I didn’t try to call you, I didn’t go to Hanamaki’s. I was happy to give you time, but what the fuck Issei? You ghosted me! I kept convincing myself that it was my fault, that I should’ve been better, or I should’ve done more for you. And you left me completely alone and heartbroken!”

You’re panting after the outburst, but there’s still so much more you want to say,

“You told me you wanted to break up, you lied to my face, and then you keep me in the dark! Did I not deserve at least a small explanation? Fuck, Issei, you’re giving me a million reasons to walk away!”

You don’t want to, of course, but the words spill out with everything that had remained unspoken in his absence.

Your lips purse shut, and your heart aches when you see his jaw clenched tight and his watery expression.

“Issei... I just need one good one to stay.”

You finish with a sigh, gazing up at him hopefully. You desperately want to reach out and hold his hands, but you clench your fists at your sides and keep yourself back.

The silence is deafening, the tension and dread in the air thick as you swallow tightly.

“...I love you. I don’t think I could live without you.”

Matsukawa finally says, staring at you resolutely. He immediately panics at the statement though,

“Fuck, I shouldn’t talk like that. I meant to say, I want to... keep living my life with you, or something like that.”

He runs a hand through his hair nervously before clicking his tongue,

“Shit, that sounded dumb. Ahhh... I’ve actually been seeing someone...”

His eyes widen at his own words, and he quickly waves his hands as if to wipe the words out of existence,

“N-Not like that though! You were right, actually, I lied about... cheating on you. I talked to Hanamaki, I’ve actually been getting therapy now. I haven’t had many sessions yet but...”

He trails off, fidgeting and wringing his hands together as your brain catches up with all the information he’s dumped on you.

Your eyes water as you lunge forward to pull him into a tight hug,

“That’s all I needed to hear!”

You cry into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, petting your head softly, he missed holding you like this,

“That I got a therapist?”

“Not that silly,”

You whine, pulling away to peer up at him through teary-eyed lashes,

“That you love me. I haven’t heard it in awhile. I’m sorry I forgot... I just really wanted to hear it.”

He stares at you with a regretful expression, brushing your tears away. It only makes you cry harder, strange happiness filling you that he’s finally here in person to wipe your tears away.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I had a hard time believing someone like you could love someone like me. I know you were always there to support me and love me with everything you have, but I kept thinking you deserved better,”

He tucks his chin on top of your head and pulls you back in, close to his chest,

“And that was selfish of me to decide for you. I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You can hear how shaky his voice is, and press your face to his sweater. Your tears drip down and catch the soft fabric, and you think about how hard it must’ve been for him to come to terms with himself.

“But you really do deserve better,”

You pull away to scold him for that but he’s quick to interrupt,

“And I’ll be better for you if you’ll let me. I’ll work hard on handling these thoughts and anxieties.”

“Issei...”

You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, and it’s your turn to wipe the tears brimming at his eyes,

“Only if you accept that I can do better for you, and let me support you every step of the way.”

“Deal.”

You slide your hands around the back of his neck and lean in close.

At your gesture, he instinctively brings his hands to your sides, and tilts his face towards yours.

Your lips catch his in a kiss, filled with all the bitter and sweet emotions. Your longing and heartache fades away with your growing promise to each other.

“I love you, I love you.”

He says between each kiss, and you can’t help but smile into it each time.

“I love you too.”

A/N:

sorry for the absolute ANGST of the first part and a majority of this part, but I thrive in chaos. I made it better right? :’)

[Masterlist]

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x y/n #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei/reader #matsukawa issei x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic

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mtnkat3 · 4 years ago

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Update..

I am cancer free!

Oh what an absolute blessing it is to be able to say that phrase! I do not have ovarian cancer.

[The cysts & mass benign.] I did however have ovarian torsion [x6!, literally..in pictures it looked like a rotini pasta!] It unfortunately caused my doctor to have to take the drastic steps of removing it altogether.

As of last Thursday 1.7.2021 I am slowly back to moving again. [Even laparoscopic surgery can be difficult to recover from.]

[Oh what an emotional roller coaster.. this is the tail end of my year of hell.]

And... My doctor's utter shock that I was able to endure the excruciating pain. I'll never know how long it went on but when I went to the emergency room w.10.28.2020 I was at the end of my rope.

[The er with monster was an utter nightmare. I pray no one else to suffer such.]

I think I am pretty dead on that I'll never feel a drug dependency as I had to use biofeedback to calm myself enough for morphine to have any effect on me.

[I have had complex headaches/migraines since a teen & nothing has been able to do more than take the sharp edge off I have taken every level of pain med known to man. Nothing has been it for me.]

Anyways.. I say all this because.. ladies & gents.. ovarian [or testicular] torsion is no joke. It can be a life or death thing. And causes a lot of e.r. visits. I am sure the nurses & all here can attest to this. People we care about writhing in agony is not fun for anyone.

[And though mine was..weird. I am also blessed that mine was not necrotic, but actually still had good blood flow!]

Some things.. well.. there was no way to keep it from happening again.

So I have had to go thru a lot of "soul searching" one might say. I think a lot of prayer, listening & talking with my Creator to be able to handle this.

Let's face it, I am in my late 40s, find myself working to break loose the noose of a narcissistic misgynogist bully &...never gifted with children.

As painful as it is to write/admit this.

I just want others to know.. you are not alone.

Not every person is to be a parent.

What's ironic about this.. [other than the overpopulation of the Earth. Don't get me started.] both animals & little kids come to me like Mrs Santa Claus. I have literally been sitting & having kids [& animals!] clambering all over me.

Now I have to look at this like it's my gift to spread my heart to all those people I am so blessed with the gift to know. Whether that be lifelong friends, or smiling at little kids with sidewalk chalk. I am so very blessed by every moment of my life.

Life is so full & rich with moments.. lessons too. May we all.. appreciate & see every single one as for what they are meant to be.

Even in the midst of my pain & sorrowful heart.. I know there are reasons.. for pain, heartache, loss, loves..vanished.., lost opportunities.. as well as moments of pure unadulterated joy.

When a bird builds a nest in the tree outside my bedroom window & all the noise they make.. it's still a blessing to behold. Life.

Even when I have loved & lost.. it makes me look within & sit quietly. Listen. There is a gift in every moment.. every circumstance. Be calm & open to them all.

May we all...

As I pray & contemplate over my own trials & life journey, I also pray for everyone I know & encounter. That this world can calm from the frantic, & find joy in the small to the mighty.. that every cat, bird, butterfly, doe, buck,.. every creature that crawls.. swims.. or soars.. finds joy in every moment.

May we all..

..find our hearts deepest desires as this new year dawns.

..peace within & with our fellow man.

May we all.. know our blessings.

~Tijgeress Kat Phoenix.

Tu.1.12.2021

👩👩‍⚕️👩‍🔬🙏🕯

#personal note #thoughts

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johnny-and-dora · 5 years ago

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how sweet the taste of certainty

Finally, she doesn’t have to wonder if their love is doomed to be some quiet, fragile thing. It’s not some fickle flickering candle at all, but rather something as bright and as certain and as inevitable as the sunrise. Something beautiful and familiar that, in earnest, is only just beginning.

or, amy tells her parents the shining, golden reason why she can't marry teddy. (a missing scene of my royalty au)

read on ao3 / read the original -

The morning after she asks Jake to marry her, Amy stops a couple steps short of the heavy dining room doors, heart in her mouth, feet suddenly and brutally rooted to the ground. The eloquent and respectful speech she spent all night planning has seemingly evaporated, leaving her less of a person and more a pile of nervous mush.

“Are you ready?” Rosa meets her gaze, her armour glinting in the summer morning sunshine.

“No.” Amy admits, smiling nervously, calculating the nearest escape route and how long she could survive in the forest based on her existing hunting and foraging skills. “Do you think this is a bad idea?”

Rosa considers it for a beat. “No. I think it’s crazy, and it might blow up in your face, but I think it’s a good thing. For everyone.”

She can’t help but feel reassured by her best friend’s trademark bluntness, smoothing down her dress and fixing her hair again almost compulsively. It’s just breakfast. A breakfast that may as well be taking place in the middle of a minefield, but still just breakfast. She can handle breakfast.

Amy takes a deep breath, nods at Rosa, and pushes the doors open.

She’s greeted by the tail-end of an idyllic Santiago family meal; her parents sit at the head of the table, looking stoic and serious as usual. Three of her brothers are also dotted around, Julian in the middle of shoving an entire croissant in his mouth as he waves at her. David is mercifully absent. Silver linings. She definitely doesn’t need the golden child around today.

“Amelia – good, we were starting to worry…” Her mom trails off, a weight behind her words that instantly sends an unpleasant lick of irritation down her spine. She clenches her fists, resisting the urge to tell her just how much she really needs to be worried about. Just how close she was to smuggling herself and Jake over the border last night and never looking back.

Amy knows this won’t work unless she’s calm, firm and collected – she needs this to go perfectly, the stakes for this particular conversation so far past the roof they’re practically up in the stratosphere (Jake’s words, not hers). So, instead of letting out all the latent anger kicking around in her chest, she takes a deep breath and smiles politely, the one usually reserved for dukes that condescendingly call her “sweetheart” and then drop their jaws when she can recite state law from memory.

“You guys said you wanted to see me?”

“Prince Theodore has been asking after you. He’s waiting at the West Wing gate.”

“Good. I need to talk to him.” Amy says, forcefully enough that her mother sharply raises an eyebrow, sucking all the air out of the room in the process. “I need to talk to you, too.”

Her mom and dad share a quick, loaded glance. Everyone falls quiet, Tony and Simon no longer squabbling over who gets the last bread roll, Julian letting a blob of jam fall on his shirt without noticing. All eyes are on her as Victor gestures for her to continue – ideally, she’d do this with as little of an audience as possible, but she confesses to Jake later that she couldn’t help but revel slightly in the drama of it all.

She’s Amy Santiago – she’s fluent in five languages, director of the royal art collection, ambassador for human rights and one of the best trade negotiators in the seven kingdoms. She is capable of anything. She can do this. She’d barely last a week in the forest anyway.

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“Amelia…” Her mother sighs disapprovingly – it drills into Amy’s soul, but she stands her ground, making peace with her portrait being one step further away from the mantel. Her father eyes her warily as if he was expecting this.

“No, I know. I know you think it’s what’s best for me. I know a marriage like that worked for you two, and I know that it would benefit the kingdom and that’s great. But I can’t marry someone I don’t love, and you can’t force me to.”

“Accepting his proposal may seem like a risk, but a one worth taking.” Her father says. “He’s good for you, Amy – his reputation, his influence, it could really help you build something. You two are perfectly matched.”

Amy chews her bottom lip, a nervous tic she just can’t shake, gathering her courage. “Maybe in a different situation, Teddy and I would have worked. I see what you see in him. But it’s more than just on principle. I physically can’t marry him.”

“Why not?”

“Because - “Amy says, voice shaking a little, but eyes alight, “-I’m engaged to someone else.”

And, well, there it is. Her whole life changed by a single sentence.

It has the intended effect, increased tenfold thanks to a truly magnificent spit take from Julian as he chokes on his orange juice. Her parents stare at her in stunned disbelief – a wide-eyed Tony pats Julian on the back as his coughing dissolves into laughter. Best of all though, Amy can see Rosa smiling wide and proud in the corner of her eye, and it’s all she needs to feel newly emboldened, heart thumping in a way that makes her feel powerful instead of helpless.

“My God, Amy. I thought I had it with the whole one-night-stand with the Prince of Arabia thing, but you officially just won most dramatic family announcement. Well played.” Julian laughs, uproarious and bright. She’s glad he’s here.

“I…don’t understand. You are…already engaged?” Her mother asks weakly.

“As of last night, yes.” Amy tries to remain as neutral and matter-of-fact as possible, but she can’t help softening at the fresh memory of Jake saying yes over and over again, punctuating each affirmation with a kiss as she laughed, buoyant and alive with unadulterated joy. It’s all still very surreal, especially considering she hasn’t slept since; but if it is all a dream, it’s one she never intends to wake up from.

“I don’t see a ring,” Julian says, a bright grin plastered on his face that Amy ever so slightly mirrors, unable to completely tamp down her happiness any longer. “Isn’t there supposed to be a ring?”

“There is, but he has it. I proposed to him.”

“Oh, of course you did.” Julian shakes his head in a perfect marriage of awe and amusement.

“How…what…who…” Tony stammers – having graciously passed the point of no return, Amy decides to throw all her caution and concern to the wind and dive headfirst into the unknown.

“His name is Jake Peralta and he is the absolute love of my life. I have never been surer about anything than I am about that fact.” She consciously pours every ounce of conviction she has into her words, and it tastes like honey on her tongue, fresh air in her lungs. “He’s a baker and he helps out in the kitchen with Charles and he is the kindest, most loyal, most wonderful person I have ever met.”

There are so many ways to describe him – completely unexpected, completely full of warmth and laughter and more love than she thought any human being was capable of containing. Loving Jake is endlessly surprising, but it’s also the easiest thing she’s ever done.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d never approve of me being with someone who didn’t have ‘reputation’, but the truth is that Jake is good for me in a way that Teddy could never be. He is unconditionally supportive and thoughtful, and he sees me for me, not just as a status symbol or some idealised fairy-tale. I love him and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.”

She says her piece, affection flowing from her almost of its own accord. As she does, she’s flooded with memories – throwing grapes at each other at the picnic they shared in the wildflower meadows beyond the gates. Jake smuggling cupcakes to her to cheer her up on bad days. Him clumsily risking his life climbing through her bedroom window just to help her rehearse her big address at a formal dinner, planting a kiss on her forehead every time she got through a cue card.

Their walks around the castle grounds, laughing at stupid inside jokes. Playing cards in the kitchens with Charles, Terry and Rosa. Teaching him how to paint and sketching him in increasingly ridiculous poses. Having dinner with his mom. Stealing away moments behind the stables and on staircases. Most vividly, their countless private rendezvous in the forest, free of all façades and responsibilities and reputations to uphold.

Amy refuses to hide any of it anymore – he is, openly and unashamedly, the man she loves.

No-one speaks, for a little while; she lets her honesty sink in. Her mother is wearing a look of abject horror – her dad’s expression is stony and unreadable, and it startles her when he is the first one to break the silence, directly addressing Rosa standing guard by the door.

“Diaz. Is all of this true?” Rosa glances at Amy, who gives her an encouraging nod. She knows her father has always valued Rosa’s directness as much as Amy does.

“Yes, sir.” She pauses. “And for the record, I’ve known both of these people a long time, and this is the happiest I’ve seen either of them. It’s kind of sickening, actually.”

Her parents exchange glances, a silent conversation Amy isn’t privy too – she’s too busy feeling her heart swell with further affection, this time for her best friend. She and Jake owe so much to Rosa helping them out, relaying messages back and forth and covering for them. When this is all over, Amy’s definitely embroidering a thank you pillow for her to punch.

“I see. Will you please bring this Jake Peralta here for me?” His tone is even and calm, almost unnervingly so. Rosa nods, quickly disappearing. She knows exactly where Jake will be; in the kitchens, probably stress eating day-old pastry and getting a last-minute pep talk from Charles (which is guaranteed to be largely unhelpful and delivered through hysterical tears).

She’d warned him that they’d probably want to meet him; he’d expressed anxiety about it last night, but Amy had quickly reassured him that no-one else’s opinion mattered to her about this. They’re getting married, whether her parents approve or not.

Obviously, she wants them to like him. She’s dedicated a lot of time to making sure he knows he is loved and accepted, and she’s willing to work even harder to wax lyrical about how wonderful he is for the rest of their lives if she has to. For now, though, she just has to focus on not getting them both exiled.

Her dad calmly asks her brothers to leave the table – Julian mutters in protest as he exits, only stopping to brightly clap Amy on the shoulder and earnestly congratulate her with an enthusiastic high five.

“He sounds great, mimi. I can’t wait to meet him.” For once, her older brother is completely sincere, save perhaps for the suggestive wink he gives her, and it’s a touching gesture that eases some of the relentless anxiety building in her gut. Amy dreads to think how insufferable the pair will be when they do finally meet. She can’t wait either.

Part of her is absolutely fucking terrified to be left alone with her parents with her open defiance and violation of their wishes hanging so ominously in the air – Amy Santiago has never been a rule breaker. She’s always worn the stupid fancy dresses even when she’s dying for something more practical and let Gina give her more and more complicated and ridiculous hairstyles and politely mingled with the endless line of boring high-status bachelors as her parents watched on hopefully. She’s always played the role of the only princess to perfection.

But then she thinks of little six-year-old Amy demanding that she be taught the same combat training as her brothers and twelve-year-old Amy petitioning to allow female members into the Royal Guard and, well. They really should have seen this coming from a mile away.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before Rosa strides back in, a clearly nervous Jake hurrying forward in her wake. For a moment, her original plan of whisking him away to start a simple life together swims into her head, a powerful urge to protect him surging over her.

But then their eyes meet, and he waves, a small nervous smile on his face. And then she notices, as it catches the sunlight streaming in through the window and glitters as if enchanted, the engagement ring hung proudly around his neck. And she just knows, as sure as the sun will rise, that they can handle anything.

“I understand that you are engaged to my Amy.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake rocks on his heels slightly, nervously fidgeting the way he always does when he’s anxious. “I’m very lucky to know her and I love her very much.” It’s not the most eloquent speech ever performed in this great hall, but it’s by far her favourite.

“How do I know you are good enough for my only daughter?”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m good enough for Amy. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met and the best thing that’s happened to me.” He steps closer to her, silently taking and squeezing her hand as he speaks. “But she still chose me, and I promise you that I will spend every moment of the rest of my life trying to be someone worthy of being loved by her.”

She wants to scream from the top of her lungs that he is completely and utterly good enough, and she wants to hurt anyone who has ever made him feel otherwise. Instead, she squeezes back, and mouths I love you while her parents exchange another hushed conversation.

“Well then - it appears there’s nothing we can do to stop you. Nor do I think we should try.” It could be a trick of the light, but she swears that she sees a glimmer of pride in her father’s eye. Her mom clears her throat, clearly still struggling to comprehend the situation.

“Mija, what we want most for you is for you to be happy. Does he make you happy?” She asks – Amy glances at the man beside her and finds her best friend, her fiancé, her favourite person. Easiest solve in the world.

“More than anything.”

“Then that settles that. You two have our blessing.” Her father says, as simply as if he was commenting on the weather. Amy blinks once, then again, her grip on Jake’s hand getting tighter.

“We…we do?”

“Yes, you do. We clearly have much to discuss, but I must first inform Prince Theodore that other arrangements need to be made.”

“I…wow. Thank you. Thank you, so much, I…” Her brain appears to be malfunctioning, so she does the only thing that feels right; she hugs her parents, whispering another strangled thank you, and then hastily pulls a stunned Jake out of the room, now squeezing his hand so tightly it’s probably cutting off all the circulation. If it does hurt, he doesn’t say anything – then again, in the moment neither of them seems able to speak.

She drags him into the nearest room; Holt’s classroom which, blessedly, is currently empty. Heart pounding, she finally meets Jakes gaze. He looks like he’s just found the end of a rainbow.

“Did they just…”

“Yeah. Yes. I think they did.”

“So, we’re…”

“Getting married. Yep. That is a thing that is officially happening.”

There’s a single moment before they’re both collapsing into shocked, near-hysterical laughter, an amalgamation of relief, disbelief, exhaustion and above all else, joy. Amy practically throws herself around him, performing some kind of strangled hybrid of laughing and crying as she buries herself into his shirt.

They stay like that for a while, completely wrapped up in each other. It could be seconds or minutes or maybe even hours – she doesn’t care. Time has ruled their life together for so long; now, it’s an insignificant enemy, no longer precious, unpredictable or finite. It’s bliss.

“Hey, listen. Rosa told me, uh, what you said. To your parents. About me being the love of your life and all that.” Jake says, suddenly adorably shy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She said it with a disgusted look on her face, but I think she’s secretly rooting for us.”

Amy hums in contentment, making a note to call her a secret sap and then hug her the next time she sees her. Jake clears his throat nervously, calling her attention back to him, all soft and warm honey gaze.

“You’re mine too, by the way.” He says sheepishly. “Just in case…I mean I hope you that know by now, but-“ She smothers his nervous ramblings with a firm kiss, finally. Finally, the abstract brush-strokes and subtle hues of the future they could have together come into sharp focus, vivid and prismatic.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, future wife.” He grins, kissing her again. She’s sure, now, as her lips meld to his that he is the person she was always meant to come home to, to find a home in.

Amy feels a wave of exhaustion overwhelm her; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the unfortunate side-effects of not sleeping for almost twenty-four hours rapidly take hold. She barely suppresses a yawn, scrunching up her nose as Jake looks at her fondly.

“You wanna go back to bed? I happen to know an excellent nap partner.”

“Oh, great, me too. I’ll see if Hitchcock’s available.” She says, laughing when Jake pouts in offence, draping her arms around him, leaning up so that their noses are almost touching.

“It’s our first day together as an engaged couple. I want to do something special.”

“Ames, we have the rest of our lives to do something special.” He says, gazing down at her with so much undiluted affection that her resolve completely melts away. The rest of their lives. She really likes the sound of that.

“Okay, napping sounds pretty good right now too.”

“Good, because we have about five minutes until I collapse from twelve hours straight of nervous hysteria. Would you mind carrying me to your bedroom?”

She rolls her eyes and shoves him, but also offers him her hand. They soon collapse into Amy’s four-poster bed, quickly pulling the covers over their heads, wriggling around and fighting for space while they giggle like little kids. Amy sleepily leans into him when they’re all settled in, and she’s never felt safer than she does now, being lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“We’re getting married.” She whispers reverently, eyelids heavy – she feels his lips gently ghost against the top of her head in response, perhaps subconsciously as if he were made to do it. They drift off, and the last of her anxiety ebbs and flows away as if merely a bad memory.

It’s the best sleep either of them has had for months.

#b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #my writing #we love a passion project #listen i haven't stopped thinking about this au for MONTHS. so here you go. welcome to my twisted mind #if you do decide to read thank you very much for indulging me :')#shut up sian #oh and also happy trying eve everyone! thought i'd get this out before we all die

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harry-sussex · 5 years ago

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A Note... and A Big Thank You

Gather ‘round, my friends. This is going to be a long post, so please bear with me as I write all of this out. I’d appreciate it if you would read until the end, if you’re interested.

It’s been a few weeks now, and I’ve had time to settle my thoughts and almost come to terms with what’s happened with the British Royal Family over the past month or so. It was difficult for me in a very, very real way. I don’t know The Duke and Duchess of Sussex or their son, and they will never know me, but I care for them in a way I can’t really describe. I can only hope that you all know what the feeling is like, as lovers of royalty yourselves. It’s hard enough to explain to people in the real world. I’m glad I won’t have to explain to you that the feelings - of affection, of pride, and of disappointment - are very real, very tangible... even with respect to complete strangers who live thousands of miles away, working for a country in which you do not live, with privilege and a lifestyle you could only imagine... the feelings are very real.

On January 8th, I was at work. Typing away, doing my thing, more or less minding my own business. I saw the Instagram notification - SussexRoyal made a post - and when I saw the little thumbnail image next to the notification of their engagement photocall, I literally thought oh my God, Meghan is pregnant. I clicked that notification faster than I’ve clicked anything in my life.

As you all know, that’s not even close to what they were saying. Ultimate high to ultimate low in a second flat. I remember my stomach dropping. And I remember the panic. Or at least my sheer, unadulterated panic because let me tell you - I was panicking. In a very real, heart pounding, head spinning, caps lock, oh my God no this isn’t happening way. My Harry was leaving and taking with him some of the best parts of who he is - a wife and child we’ve only just gotten to know, with whom we’d already fallen so in love, after waiting so long for them to appear in his life - and I. was. panicking.

Once we had a few moments as a fandom to wrap our heads around the Sussexes’ proposal as outlined on SussexRoyal.com, to develop some semblance of understanding, the second bomb dropped - HM was unaware of their decision to go public. Charles and William weren’t in on it, either. The discussions were preliminary and were far from adequate enough for the public’s questioning and demanding gaze. Harry did what Harry has always been prone to doing... he didn’t like the way things had to be, so he made his own rules.

It didn’t look good for my Harry, who I’ve always loved, always defended, even when the worst parts of his personality overshadowed the best. And for the first time in all the years I’ve been following him, I had nothing to defend him with. Nothing. He was wrong in my eyes - plain as day, he was a stubborn, spoiled, petulant brat who didn’t get his way immediately, and retaliated. He had his reasons, sure, and they were (and are) legitimate. But I couldn’t find a single way to defend the way he went about making it happen. And let me tell you guys - that was not easy for me to wrap my head around. I’d always found room in my thoughts to understand Harry’s relatively infrequent grand lapses of judgment. This time, I had nothing. My Harry was wrong. Wrong.

Not only was he wrong, but he seemed so lost, so desperate to get out. It was absolutely heartbreaking imagining my Harry - my strong, cheery, dedicated Harry - feeling so desperate for the sake of the safety of his wife and child that he went to this extreme. Abandoning the only life he’d ever know for a chance at peace. The only reason for such a move was sheer desperation. As infuriating as it was... it was equivalently, if not more, heartbreaking. He sought peace in the only way he thought he could, blindly fearful of the same forces that took his mother, now coming for his wife and son, clawing his way out so he could finally rest... heartbreaking. I don’t know this about him, but just imagining it was enough for me to feel sick to my stomach. My poor Harry. My poor, stubborn Harry.

Within minutes, this place was at absolute war. A war that has been building for several years finally hit its breaking point. I saw people turn on each other, turn on the royals, change their points of view. I saw language I’ve never seen in all of my years here. The blame game, finger pointing, complete dissolution of real relationships, friendships breaking, two factions violently clashing with every new piece of information released... it was awful. It was like a train wreck, or a dumpster fire. I’ve seen a lot happen in this fandom over the past six years, but I’ve never seen anything like January 8th. Never. I couldn’t sit around and watch it happen but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I had to be involved for the sake of this blog and for the sake of William, Kate, Harry, Meghan, the kids, and the rest of the British Royal Family, but I hated my involvement. It was an awful feeling. Combined with how awful I was feeling already about the idea of the split alone... I felt terrible for days. Weeks, even. Even now, just thinking about it, seeing photos of Harry and Meghan plastered all over every media source... even seeing William and Kate out and about, still doing their royal duties... I still feel absolutely awful about the whole thing. Lost, and sad, and lonely... just awful.

I was losing and gaining followers every minute. Some people I thought were friends vanished in the blink of an eye, because they didn’t like what I had to say. Some - violently so. My inbox and messages blew up - some agreeing with me, more screaming at me, and even more asking what the hell was going on. It’s been more than four weeks, and I still haven’t gotten through even a third of the messages. My head was spinning in the worst way, and I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t believe it. All of these years of loving my Harry, waiting for him to find his partner, watching him find her, fall in love with her, propose to her, bring her into this unique world of his... traveling 3,500 miles to see the wedding in person, falling in love with Meghan for the simple reason that he loved her, crying for their pregnancy, and falling in love with the bump that became Bubba that became Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor... just for it to all get ripped out from under my feet not two years later. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t handle it. I was heartbroken and completely blindsided and lost and so, so immeasurably sad. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do.

People were coming at me in droves, mocking my longtime defense of the Cambridges and my omnipresent denial of the feud. Screaming about William, about how I’m awful for caring for him and his family after what he’s done to his only brother... screaming about the Royal Family and how I’m terrible for loving them despite what they did to Harry and Meghan... telling me to go focus on my “perfect” future King/Queen and leave the Sussexes out of my life, calling me the worst names for having the audacity to open my heart to more than Harry/Meghan/Archie... and worse. Much, much worse. My inbox was absolutely atrocious after this whole thing first happened. A lot of the messages have been since deleted, but just reading them once was more than enough for me.

I was so ashamed, knowing that this place that I often love so much has eroded to this. Violence, cruelty, arguing, slinging real insults, cursing the existence of some of my favorite people on the planet, cursing each other... it was so awful. So awful. There are no words to describe how it felt for me - a William girl, a Kate girl, a Harry girl, and a Meghan girl, through and through - to be a part of this fandom during these past few weeks. But mostly, it was absolutely, heartbreakingly awful. I’m strong enough to know that this stuff doesn’t matter, not really... but it does, in its own way. It does.

When the split was finalized with a quick, heartfelt, and ultimately quite succinct message from The Queen, I genuinely cried. Real tears, real heartbreak. That was it - the end of something many of us waited years and years for, gone after not even two. Never in my wildest dreams did I even entertain such an idea. The end of six years of following my Harry... done. Harry was one of the highlights of my day for so long and now... that’s it. It’s over. I was not ready for it, not even remotely prepared for even the idea of it (a split never once even crossed my mind as a possibility to begin with), and now... it’s over. And it hurts now, just as it did on January 8th and every day of every announcement since then. It hurts, in a very real way. It hurts. And Harry’s last speech sealed the deal. In ten minutes, he seemed to confirm the sheer desperation with which he acted. He reminded the world of his reasons for doing what he did - ultimately, to protect that which he holds most dear. He promised that he wasn’t bailing, but he couldn’t live this way anymore... I’ll admit, I bawled while I was reading it. I still haven’t listened to the audio; I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. It broke me completely. Shattered me. My Harry, the light of my life, broke my heart that day and I honestly believe things will never be the same for me with him. I’m heartbroken. Truly, honestly, even after all of these weeks... utterly heartbroken.

I’ve been called extra, dramatic, pathetic... both here and in my real life. I can live with that; that doesn’t bother me. The feelings are real. The pride, the disappointment, the heartbreak, the panic, the fury, the excitement, the joy... even though we don’t know these royals, the feelings are real. I’ll go to my grave saying that. Most of you guys understand that, I know you do. Dramatic? Maybe. But the way I felt, and feel, about this situation is very, very, agonizingly real.

I’m not sure if it’s apparent, but I’ve taken a bit of a break around here since the last statement dropped. I’ve been online, sure - occasionally reblogging, chatting, liking, commenting, and whatnot - but I haven’t been nearly as active as I tend to be. There’s a big hole in this place that the Sussexes left behind when they split from the Royal Family and it’s taken some adjusting for me to grow accustomed to their absence on my dashboard. I love William and Kate with my whole heart, you guys know that, but there’s just something missing right now. A little bit of spark, a little bit of my Harry magic is missing, and his absence from my day-to-day blogging dims the allure of this place significantly for me.

I’m still not sure what’s going to happen with this blog. A blog called Harry-Sussex is hard to keep up if there’s no more Harry Sussex to follow, you know? I’m not sure how to cover Their Royal Highnesses the future King and Queen alongside Mr. and Mrs. Sussex, regular people. This blog has been and always will be about royalty... what do you do when half of the royals you cover and care about decide they don’t want to be royal anymore?

I’ve been here for almost six years and I don’t really want to leave just yet. I think there’s a lot left to see, a lot left to say. I always wanted to stick around as long as I could, until William’s investiture as Prince of Wales at the very least, but the Sussex split has made that idea much less appealing. Maybe it’d be easier to follow these people I love so much from afar, instead of so closely. Maybe I could return to the blissful ignorance of the days before I had this blog, when I got excited over outfits and babies and tiaras instead of getting frustrated over finances and security and engagements. I’m not sure. What I do know is that this isn’t as fun for me as it used to be, and truly, I never thought I’d say that. But in all honesty, this... this has been different. Way different than anything in my wildest dreams.

I’m not leaving - please don’t mistake that. I’m not leaving, not yet, but I just want you all to know that my heart truly isn’t in this right now, and I want you to understand why. The Sussexes took most of it with them, and whatever’s left has been completely shattered by the way this fandom, this place turned on itself and absolutely imploded... destruction, violence, and cruelty, shattering it from the inside out. This place is fractured, it is damaged, perhaps irreparably. And it is very, very real. It may be an online space, but behind each blog is a real person with real feelings towards these very real royals, and the words one says and actions in which one partakes can have very real consequences.

That being said... the consequences do not always have to be negative. There are some truly wonderful people involved in this fandom, without whom I’m not sure how I would have made it through. It was hard, it still is hard, navigating this new “blog normal.”

There are quite a few people that I have met or interacted with over the years, and particularly since the split, who have made navigating this new normal much easier. It was so hard, I was so upset that I cannot adequately vocalize the feeling... but there are some people who went out of their way to cheer me up, however inadvertently. Through a quick message, chatting, sheer knowledge, or just making me laugh... I really struggled with this place for a bit. I wasn’t sure if I was going to bow out or not. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the malice, the negativity from the fandom compounded with missing Harry and Meghan more than I could stand.

I’m not, at least not now, and I truly believe I owe that to these people. In the weeks between the first statement and the last, the worst parts of this place were on full display for the world - and me - to see. I almost let it get to me; I almost let it win. The best parts, though - nearly overcome by the sheer magnitude of what was happening - revealed themselves to me in a time when I really, really needed it. My feelings regarding the split were tangible. The help these wonderful people provided to me was equivalently real, equivalently tangible.

So, with that, I’d like to name and thank more than a few people publicly who really, really made this place a place worth staying in during and in the immediate aftermath of the Sussex split:

@acaffeinateduniverse - Someone I’ve never spoken to before the split. You saw my posts about how heartbroken I was and sent me the absolute sweetest message, understanding and empathizing and generally just being very, very sweet. For worrying, and for understanding the reality of these feelings. You are a surprise bright spot in a place that can so often be dark and the world is better because you are in it. I’m so sorry that you’re equivalently upset by this new arrangement, but we will make it through together. You’re an absolute angel, thank you for being you.

@avidroyalfan - We’ve been through a lot on this website together, haven’t we, Debby? Thank you for always bringing it back down to Earth and for always coming out swinging - especially when anons are involved. For always caring about what I have to say. Sometimes I feel like I’m screaming into the void, but never if you’re around. Seeing your name always brightens my day. Thank you.

@cambridgemadness - We have almost nothing in common from a royal-watching standpoint and yet you took time out of your day to message me in the peak of this mess. We don’t even follow each other but you saw what was going on and put aside our differences and dissimilar preferences to reach out a hand. This place needs more of that. The problem here isn’t dissenting opinions; it’s the malice often associated with finding out someone feels differently than you do. You never did that - not with me - and I really appreciate it more than I can put into words. Thank you, Vanessa, for reaching out to a complete stranger so kindly. Seriously. Thank you.

@catherineandmeghans - What can I possibly say, Rach? We’ve been through a lot together over the years and there’s nobody out there who handles the ins and outs of this hellhole better than you do. For always being a bright spot in anyone’s day and for always speaking with understanding, level-headedness, and a (figurative) smile. For knowing when to take a step back. You are an angel.

@claireofluxembourg - It’s a rare thing when someone is a fan and a critic of the same royal, given the development and preeminence of stan culture - especially in this fandom. For not letting your love of Henry cloud your judgment. For always being hilarious (hello, Henry’s bald spot) and for always, always owning your shit. For never being afraid to speak your mind. For reaching out and understanding (even when I’m being dramatic) and for everything. You know, friend. You know. I love you so much ♡

@crownprincesses - For a rational brain, the sweetest disposition, and equal-opportunity-representation of everyone’s favorite royals. For understanding what was happening and responding so calmly. For never letting it get to you. I could learn a thing or two about that from you, Chiara. Thank you for it.

@defend-mm - For your passion, dedication, and availability. For your involvement. For the regular positivity in my notifications that I regretfully have taken for granted in the past. For your openness and enthusiasm and eagerness to defend. For your engagement with the broader community. We should all enjoy passion and excitement the way you do.

@duchessofostergotlands - The Queen herself. For knowing everything and never balking at sharing your knowledge. For being the most rational and thorough person I know. For level-headed understanding and never, ever judging - even and especially when I deserve it. For your openness and willingness to talk. For never letting your preferences get in the way of what others are feeling. For your understanding and patience. For RuPawl. I could go on, but I think you know. Thank you, Jessica.

@gloriousglorianas - One of the most level-headed people I know. Cece, I don’t know where this place would be without your calm, forgiving, and rational insight, but I’m glad I’ll never have to know. You are a steadfast pillar of rationality mixed with a heavy dose of excitement and passion and I appreciate it so much. Thank you for reaching out as kindly as you have and thank you for sticking through the mess and coming out stronger on the other side. For your nuanced understanding of anything and everything.

@grandmotherofeurope - Thank you for understanding, for loving him and knowing the heartbreak that came with the split. You reached out - again, without knowing me from a hole in the wall - without judging and with understanding and compassion and I’m forever grateful for it. I’m truly so, so sorry that you’re so hurt by what’s happened. I sympathize, and I understand. You’ll get through it, I promise. Thank you for being so sweet.

@harryandmeghansussex - My best girl. Becky, I don’t know how we made it through, but we did. It’s going to be an adjustment but if anyone’s going to be alright, it’s you. Harry and Meghan would be thrilled to know they have someone like you out there in their corner. These days, they need it. For the positivity, all of the challenges, and never letting the negativity get through. For the updates and the pictures and always keeping me (and everyone else) in the loop. I wouldn’t have known anything about the Sussexes beyond what was posted on Instagram without you. Thank you for keeping on top of it when the rest of us can’t. For understanding and valuing my points of view without bailing on a friendship because we differ. Another valuable commodity, a true rarity around here. Thank you.

@hollylite - The very first person to reach out when I was in the middle of having a nervous breakdown. Thank you for your consistent reassurances, your sweet demeanor, and for your understanding. Our conversation reminds me of the very best this place has to offer; you are most certainly a part of that. Thank you.

@hrhatbat - Morgan... Morgan Morgan Morgan. I swear you’re like a Texas-living, design-savvy, stylist clone of myself. We have so much in common it literally scares me, but I love it. Thank you for keeping things bright and airy around here. It felt so dark for a few weeks, but you never let that get to you or through you, and you never let it get past you to everyone else. Thanks for never judging and always having something else to talk about.

@lizisaroyalist - You know how much I adore you, but it needs to be in writing. For always making me laugh and for always coming out swinging. For the best insults (”cold slice of ham”) and for never taking yourself (or anyone else) too seriously. For always being in my corner. For laughing at the ridiculous messages I get, especially now. I could go on for hours. There aren’t enough words, but I think you know. Thank you for being you, Liz. I love you so so so much ♡ It’s come to my attention that you’ve chosen to leave since I started writing this, which is okay. We’ll be here if you ever want to come back. I hope you see this. You deserve to know how wonderful you are and how thankful I am for your friendship.

@lorising - Lo. What can I say that hasn’t already been said about you? For the love, the positivity, and the understanding. For defending anyone and everyone - royal or not. For the laughter, and the incredibly unique and invaluable optimism and enthusiasm. For reaching out with a hug and for being so warm and inviting to anyone and everyone. For your “infinite support.” We could all learn a thing or two from you.

@meghanscatherines - For being so willing to start new communities within this larger community. For your positivity and optimism. For being as sweet as pie. For understanding, empathizing, and being so compassionate. You’re a sweetheart, Bia. Thank you.

@middletonmarkle - The sweetest girl. Mackinley, seeing you in my notifications and on my dashboard always puts a smile on my face. For bringing me back down to earth with the smallest, sweetest comment. It’s the little things. Also, for being on the “William is attractive as all hell” train. I respect that - you know I do.

@mrmrswales - Our resident genius. I have no idea how someone like me and someone like you get along so well, but I’m thankful that we do. For always being willing to share your information. For the sheer breadth of knowledge and expertise you bring to the table. For being willing to have a conversation, even when that conversation involves someone you categorically cannot stand. For your drive, ambition, your attitude, and for always playing the Devil’s advocate. I wouldn’t know half of the things I do without you. May we all love and appreciate and take pride in our favorites the way you do yours.

@princeh3nry - The other fandom OG Harry girl. For understanding what it’s like to love him and for understanding what it’s like to love the rest of them, too. For never letting the atmosphere cloud your judgment. For years of Harry content. For (inadvertently) dragging me into the mess that is following Prince Harry all those years ago. For a nuanced and established point of view. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one still in this thing for Harry. Thank you for making me feel a lot less alone - especially now.

@princessanneftw - A seriously underrated person around here who never gets involved in the drama (and who seriously makes me laugh with every post). Thank you so much for reaching out when I was about to lose my mind. I know I haven’t answered your message (I’m terrible at that, notoriously) but I do go back and read it over and over when I get overwhelmed with this situation, which, even now, weeks later, is still quite often. It was so sweet and I am so grateful that you took the time to write it. You are an angel. You always crack me up - seriously, all the time - and that’s such a valuable commodity in this community. Thank you for your kindness and for your sense of humor.

@princesscatherinemiddleton - Our resident positivity guru, Duchess of Cambridge extraordinaire, fashion Queen. Grace, every community - online or not - deserves a person like you. From making it your personal mission to spread positivity among the darkness, to your calculated and fervent dedication to The Duchess of Cambridge, to welcoming The Duchess of Sussex with open arms... I don’t know what to say. It takes a special kind of person to willingly do what you do around here. I hope you never leave - we could use someone like you. Thank you for doing what you do and for reaching out directly. For understanding the bigger picture. So much love to you, my friend.

@queensonjas - I feel like you always understand what I’m trying to say even if it makes zero sense. Thank you for making me feel like a little bit less of a lunatic. Thank you for always including anyone and everyone. This place can be so ostracizing - thank you for never letting that happen, especially during this mess. I appreciate it more than I can say.

@riffraffrouge - I intentionally left this one last to write because I didn’t know how to put it into words, but I’ll try. Melissa, if I am grateful for anything that came from this disaster of a place, it’s you and your friendship. I had no idea that anyone on Earth loved both the Yankees and the Duchess of Cambridge the way I do... let alone someone who lives less than an hour away. When I made this blog six years ago, I didn’t think I’d get anything in my real life out of it. Fortunately, I was wrong. Thank you for everything you are and everything you do. For your kindness and for reaching out to anyone and everyone who needs a friend. For your enthusiasm (in everything) and for your willingness to speak, engage, learn, and teach. For freaking out with me when we signed Gerrit Cole and Brett Gardner. For laughing at the future of the Houston Astros and the Boston Red Sox. For never, ever, ever judging, especially for my hysterics during the split. Generally, for being the sweetest person on the face of the planet. There are no words, but I think (hope) you know. I’m so thankful that you’re you. Let’s get brunch again soon. I love you so so so so so much ♡

@rosegirl1416 - Another person I’ve never spoken to until the split. Your comments have not gone unnoticed, dear. Thank you for your patience and understanding. For your positivity and for the light you bring to this community. I’ll never forget your reply to one of my posts, telling me to breathe and take my time with getting back to everyone when I was in the middle of an outright breakdown. I needed to hear it. I really appreciate your kindness and generosity and humanity. This place lacks that kind of substance a lot of the time, but you don’t.

@will-make-more-mistakes-tomorrow - Your presence has not gone unnoticed, my friend. I see you day in and day out and I appreciate you so much. Thank you for your involvement, your generosity, your interest. It is rare to feel so seen and heard but you make it effortless. We all need someone like you in our corner. Thank you.

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I’m not sure when my activity level will pick back up again. Writing this whole thing over the past week has been extremely therapeutic, so maybe it’ll be sooner rather than later. I know I have a ton of unanswered messages, both in my inbox and in my personal messages. I know I owe answers, especially to many of you tagged above, and I promise they will come. I’m still feeling so overwhelmed with this place and with the new status quo of following and loving the British Royal Family. I’m still furious at the situation and I’m still so, so, so damn sad.

I still care for them, and I always will, but the allure and luster of following the royals has dulled significantly for me now that half the people I care about aren’t working for the family anymore. I’ve tried to get into other families, other royals, and I just can’t. It’s William, Kate, Harry, and Meghan for me, is and will always be. With half of them on the other side of the globe... what else am I supposed to do, you know? How do I keep this thing going? I’m not sure, but right now, the hole is just too big for me to actively work through it. Maybe the weight will lessen as the new norm becomes old news, but for now... the absence is just too big. It still hurts too much. I can’t bring myself to get excited over the future for them right now because it just hurts way too much. Ultimately, I’m happy for them, but I’m not happy about it. I’m not excited to see what the future holds because it isn’t what it used to be. I still adore them both, but right now, the excitement that many Sussex fans are feeling about the prospect of future projects is foreign to me. I hope that changes, but for now... I’m just not into it anymore. I’m just not. Not the way I used to be. It breaks my heart, but it’s the truth. It just doesn’t hold the same magic for me anymore.

What was the point of me writing this mammoth essay? A few reasons, I guess. I first wanted to acknowledge my comparatively lackluster activity since the final statement was released. I wanted to acknowledge that I know I owe many of you answers, and I wanted to promise that they are coming - because they are. I wanted to acknowledge specifically the people who reached out to me during the events and days leading up to the final statement when I made it loud and clear that I was not coping well. I wanted to be perfectly honest about what I’ve been feeling, about the heartbreak and disappointment and feeling lost and alone. I wanted to recognize my reasons for taking a step back and the reasons for my diminishing interest in covering the royals... despite the fact that I’d never thought that day would come.

Mostly, though, I wanted to acknowledge the completely toxic culture that is associated with this fandom. Many people have written pieces about how our little niche of the Internet is the worst one to be in, and on January 8th, for the first time, I really felt it. The way people treated each other was not right. Period. We’re all culprits, but most people make an effort. Some people do not, and it infiltrates the entire place. There are real people with real feelings - yes, even about these royals that we do not and never will know - behind these blogs. If you’re not thinking about how what you’re writing would come off if you were saying it out loud instead, then you’re not doing it right. We can differ without being cruel. We can have a conversation without slinging accusations. We can be civil in the face of differences. The mute, block, and blacklist functions are there for a reason. Use them. If you don’t like what someone has to say, then make sure it can’t come across your dashboard. If you’re going to react, do it fairly. Things are difficult enough in this world without having a space that’s supposed to be fun and interesting become a dark cloud over your day. If this isn’t fun for you anymore, then maybe think about why. And do whatever you can to change it. This is your space. You and you alone have to make sure that it stays positive, or else it won’t.

I’ve unfollowed 16 blogs since the split. 97 to 81. My blocked list is double that. I’m not thrilled about it, but this needs to be about me, just like your space has to be about you. I truly believe that’s the only way to keep this fun for everyone. This isn’t enormously fun for me anymore, but it doesn’t need to be that way for everyone. If you don’t like reading something, make sure you can’t read it. It’s really that simple.

Anyway... I’m sorry for the long post. I really am. If you’ve stuck around this long, then I seriously applaud you. Thank you for caring about what I have to say and the way I’ve been feeling. It really helped to get this all out in writing. I’m hoping I’ll be back to normal soon. I love you guys, you know that. I really do. And I love them still - aggravating as they may be. I’m hoping this feeling doesn’t last forever, because I’m not done here just yet. I’m not ready to throw in the towel on six years. But it might be a little bit before things go back to normal around here for me. Thank you for understanding, and thank you for caring about them, and about me. I love you guys endlessly ♡

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cyberrat · 5 years ago

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35th Batch Of Fics: 6th Fill

Lúcio/Gabriel/Akande – cont B33F1 – semigod!Lúcio; strategist!Gabriel; warrior!Akande; gore; blood; animalistic – when the Lord Strategist has to pitch into battle he goes in a blood frenzy that Lúcio enjoys very much.

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Lúcio had been overseeing the battle from start to finish. Sitting leaned back in his throne, overlooking the carnage, he had felt nothing but unadulterated joy watching the rare treat of his Lord Strategist and Lord Warrior working together decapitating enemy hoards and stomping them to pieces.

Akande is a common occurrence, of course, but Gabriel is… especially delicious. The fight had not exactly gone as they had wanted until the Lord Strategist had felt the need to intervene, and by the time he rips the last little creature apart with his bare hands, he has devolved into a bloody rage that Lúcio enjoys immensely.

Gabriel always likes to pretend he is above everything else, but when he gets angry, it is a… vision. An absolute treat.

Lúcio stands abruptly, his short skirt swishing against his thighs. Akande’s and Gabriel’s heads turn like hounds, looking towards him unerringly, as if scenting his excitement even through the blood and gore strewn over the wide field.

Lúcio is grinning broadly, and extending his arms to both sides, slowly making his way down the steps leading up to the seat he had taken to watch the spectacle. Their army dissolves before them as the two Lords start to move towards their God. He can feel their eyes like touches on his body, and he shudders in eager anticipation.

Gabriel is almost on all fours as he runs, fingers dragging against the ground, eyes burning with some kind of Hellflame. When he sweeps Lúcio up, he can feel the slick glide of his gore splattered fingers against his skin.

It’s rough and desperate, and all Lúcio ever wants, really. He doesn’t mind that Gabriel stinks of the sweat he’s worked up mowing through enemy lines, or that he is almost beyond words as he drags Lúcio down into the dirt and makes their God kneel there.

Akande is there as well, less feral but just as greedy and eager. He is rounding them like a panther, his wide chest heaving with the breath he is taking as Gabriel slots himself behind Lúcio and ruts, letting him feel his erection through the layers of fabric and armor separating them.

It’s good. It’s feral and right from the heart and just as Lúcio loves it. He digs his fingers into the dirt, just to feel the wet soil against his fingertips. He can’t remember the last time he lowered himself to the ground like this, and it is exciting.

He lifts his ass into Gabriel’s hips, listening to the clinking of the armor and the understated little growl that is continuously vibrating through the Lord Strategist’s chest.

Akande’s circles are drawing tighter around them. He is radiating impatience as he watches, but something holds him back from grabbing Lúcio or just pushing Gabriel away. Maybe he feels that Gabriel is especially agitated right now. Maybe he feels that Gabriel is so deep in his bloodlust he would not hesitate to try and maul Akande if he were to interfere right now.

They both know how much Lúcio detests fighting amongst his favorite men.

Gabriel is usually rather charming with his silver tongue, but this time he only grunts softly as he fights to push his armor out of the way and pull his cock out. Lúcio can already imagine it; fat and swollen, veins bulging along the sides. He closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, pushing against the pressure when his Lord Strategist begins to try and squeeze his way inside.

Akande is coming closer now. He is huge and packed with muscles but dances like a colt. The front of his heavy armor skirt is lifted by the strength of his cock. They are virile and frenzied and just for him in the middle of the carnage.

Lúcio enjoys peace and happiness, but goodness this is… perfect as well. He groans when Gabriel’s crown finally pops inside.

Akande falls to his knees in front of him with a thud, trembling, blood smeared fingers grasping Lúcio’s chin and lifting his head gently.

The Lord Warrior’s eyes are dark and needy, but… soft. As the rush of fighting has made Gabriel greedy to pump out his last energy into their god, Akande has become more eager to ask for permission, it seems.

He lifts the front of his heavy armored skirt and shows Lúcio the massive cock he’s been hiding more-or-less.

Lúcio grins, lips trembling from having Gabriel force fuck his way inside of him while his arms are clamped around his hips. He is almost going cross eyed from the sensations firing through his body and ending tingling and delicious in the tips of his fingers.

His mouth drops open for Akande. Like this, the stench of blood and gore surrounding them is invading his senses intensely, his heart pumping faster. Gabriel fucks him like a bull from behind, and Akande lets him force Lúcio forward and onto his cock. He just taps the dribbling tip against the soft cushion of their god’s tongue, and waits for Lúcio to get forced forward by the insistent pushes from behind.

Gabriel ruts forward, and Lúcio’s belly goes hot when the fat breeder balls slap against him as a result. His insides feel liquid. Molten. He shuffles his knees farther apart and feels them slip-slide on the blood soaked ground. As Akande’s swollen tip pushes in and makes him practically dislocate his jaw, the first drops of rain begin to fall from above.

The drizzle is just that; light but insistent, and taking with it the stench all around them, cooling their bodies as both Lords radiate heat like furnaces.

Looking up at Akande, Lúcio can see steam lazily curling up from his shoulders as the rain hits his hot skin. It is a good look.

Lúcio tries to keep watching him as he gets nudged further and further on the thick cock. By the time Gabriel gets fed up with him slip-sliding away through the mud, and drags him roughly back, they are all drenched with rain and Lúcio’s jaw is aching in the most delicious way. He does not feel like he can close it any time soon, tongue hanging out wet and greedy, lips feeling raw from Akande’s fat cock splitting him open while Gabriel is doing the same from behind.

Gabriel pulls back until Lúcio is gaping and empty, a cry of protest half-uttered before he is being turned on his back, his two Lords ranging over him like mountains, pressing in on him on both sides, their eyes wide and a bit shell shocked looking when the realization hits that they are dragging their God through the mud.

Lúcio does not want them to have second thoughts. He wants Gabriel’s rough thrusts without any finesse, and he wants Akande’s cock splitting his jaw open while his balls drag over his face.

He squirms, grabbing for both their cocks, and demanding with a broken voice just that.

“Fuck me.”

And, like the good subjects that they are, they obey; in the middle of the battlefield.

#cyberratting writes stuff #akande/lucio/gabriel #spit roasting

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nobodyeverasked · 5 years ago

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cookies + cream; bang chan

(2250 words) - medium

Summary: Chocolate chips and velvety lips.

Chan stuffed his phone back into his pocket, a hushed chuckle easing from his thin smile as he could feel the panic that laced his best friend - Y/N’s - voice. Knowing the younger man, half of his apartment would be withered by flames already, which let an amalgamation of both amusement and worry wash throughout Chan’s mind.

Y/N was baking cookies - or trying to at least - and as soon as things started to turn out not as planned, he whipped his phone out and dialed the one person in his contact list who was actually in possession of at least half of a brain cell. The shrieks of dropping pans and the ear-piercing shrieks of a jammed egg-beater burst through their phones as soon as Chan answered the call, his shoes already halfway on and his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

He would be an absolute fool to say no to his best friend, how could he? With those eyes that sparkled with such innocence, and a smile so bright that was kindred to the canopies of stars that would watch over them on their late-night walks or bi-nightly convenience store raids. Those new stories that Y/N managed to think of every time they were together made Chan’s head spin and his laugh rang with a joyfulness that was so pure and authentic that it felt like the skies parted above them and a chorus of angels belted in the younger’s chest.

Chan trotted out the door, welcoming the evening breezes that lodged into his sweater and swept across his skin. The sky, the warm hues of coral and pink fading into one another, and dying the clouds that drifted among them, capturing his gaze as he skipped along the sidewalk, the images of Y/N’s sheepish smile and flour-caked apron projecting in his mind.

The moments that he spent with Y/N - even the crazy ones - were when he could finally let everything go and become himself, the boundaries of his social life being pushed away by the warmth and comfort that always effortless shone off of Y/N’s sweet grin. His heart would burn every time their stares locked, and his gaze would always fall upon the younger’s face they would encounter their brief moments of peace.

With Y/N he felt whole, he did not have a better way to put it.

In just a few moments, he reached Y/N’s door, his hand already flicking up to the doorknob to let himself in with a spare key in his sweatpants pocket - a gift for sticking together through highschool - and scampered through the threshold. He soaked in the air that was tainted with the char of burnt metal, and the thick haze of flour that convulsed to the garbled coughs that stumbled from the kitchen.

Yep, this was Y/N, his best friend.

He could not be prouder.

He chuckled to himself when a young man dragged himself out of the kitchen, the sound of the door closing slipping through the distorted cacophonies that coiled Y/N’s head. He had flour embellishing his sweater and apron in thick patches - almost swathing the thick blush of embarrassment that clawed up his neck - and held a whisk dejectedly in his hand, bare of any batter.

“This is why I order Postmates…” Y/N scratched the back of his ear, a puff of flour sheathing one last cough all Chan could do was stare at Y/N with a fond smile, a playful eyebrow arched on his tanned skin. A giggle almost burst through Chan’s simper, but he held it in, thinking that Y/N has been through more than enough first-hand embarrassment for the day.

“And this is why I keep you away from anything that doesn’t say 10 and under on the box.” Chan frayed Y/N’s hair, disregarding the huff that pushed past the younger’s pout. “So what step are you on?”

“I just finished laying everything out.” Y/N hummed as they both trotted into the kitchen, a sheath of white covering most of the granite countertops.

“Let’s get this started.” Chan tried to hide his laughter when Y/N’s lips still jutted out, a pout etched on his features and the embers of embarrassment convulsing under his skin. He barely held back a grin when Y/N leaned his head on his shoulder, the memories of their late nights and study sessions shining in his mind, and their conversations about absolutely nothing playing back in his head with the symphonies of bliss and devotion.

Y/N resting his head on Chan’s shoulder was his tiny habit, and the older’s guilty pleasure. How his calm breaths dissipated into the air of comfort clinging to them, or how his eyelashes would strum faint melodies of grace whenever his eyes fluttered in his sleep. Every night they spent together, Chan would always whisper sweet nothings to the four walls of Y/N’s room, mantras of words that he wished he could say to the person beside him that helped him realize what it meant to love someone - whether they notice it or not. If the walls could live, their hearts would melt from the euphonies of Chan’s unadulterated affection.

“So we’re gonna do the dry stuff first, okay?”

“Alright.” Y/N nodded, such an innocent smile on his face that fueled the flames of ardency that writhed around them.

With Chan’s help, and thanks to his possession of something called intelligence, they were able to get through baking ‘kind of’ smoothly, and not burn down anything in the process.

“Y/N!!! THE SUGAR NOT THE SALT!”

“WHY DO THEY LOOK THE SAME!?”

Emphasis on ‘kind of’...

With an exasperated slam of the oven door, they sighed and leaned against the kitchen island, now marred with stray drops of batter and some chocolate chips that Y/N dropped while sneak-eating them. They shared an easing breath together, chuckles lining their lips and happiness pulsing in their chests.

“Yay! We’re done!” Chan picked up a batter-covered whisk that laid beside him, a mischievous glint intermixing with the sparks of joy dancing in his dark, entrancing eyes. “So what do I get for not letting you die for the millionth time?” He whipped around to Y/N, who jumped up onto the kitchen counter, his legs swaying softly to the arias of their harmonizing heartbeats, a laugh stifled into his sweater sleeves.

“You get to pick which side of the couch you sit on.” Y/N tilted his head to the side with a playful smirk, jerking back when Chan taps him on the nose with the whisk, surprise clouding his senses. “You know what? Imma choose Infinity War just so I can see you wallow in pain.” Y/N trailed off with a giggle, his crossed eyes following the line Chan drew from the bridge of his nose down to the tip, a thick line of batter adorning his skin. “Stop it!”

Flurries of laughter took off within the kitchen, bouncing off the tan walls as Y/N lunged for the whisk, nothing on his mind except revenge. He tried his best to swipe at the whisk clutched loosely in Chan’s hand, but the older was significantly taller and way too strong for him. With one soft shove, Y/N was sent stumbling back-first to the fridge, the gelid metal searing into his palms and clawing into his back.

“No fair…” Y/N crossed his arms with a huff, a pout engraved onto his lips. His eyes followed Chan’s hand as he set the whisk down on the counter beside them. The older’s own gaze, though, never left Y/N’s eyes - and how the warm ivory of the kitchen light was caught in them, the sparks of joy still writhing happily. The same ones that danced in his stare the first time they met, the first time they hung out, and the first time they traveled beyond the horizon of their small town together. Y/N never changed, and neither did the force that drew Chan to the embodiment of everything that made his cheeks burn and his heart blaze with an uncontrollable fury: the young man trapped between his arms.

With the silence draped over their bodies and seeping into their breaths, Chan had the thoughts of his boundless love sent careening to the front of his mind, nothing else to distract him from the untold truth beating at his skull for the past four years. He threw his head back with a sigh, the fingers resting on his wrist loosening his tongue for the words that hung on the tip of it.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” The younger cocked his head to the side, a curious smile gracing his features, the smell of flour caking his skin and embedding into his clothes blocked out by the euphoric haze clouding his senses.

“I…” Chan took a deep breath, fishing out the feelings that welled deep within his ocean. “I like you… Like a lot. It’s just everything about you - even the little things. Like how you smile in the face of every single thing that comes your way, or the way you light up whenever we hang out. The way you don’t change for a single person and are so, so, so special, in every way…” The whole house suddenly rose degrees hotter, the floors under them bursting up in flames of devotion, and the heat surging beneath their cheeks making the silence between them combust into choruses of their adoration. “I-”

Y/N hushed Chan with the whisk that was laying on the counter beside them, his face inching closer when he tossed it onto the floor, ignoring everything except for his best friend’s lustrous, dark eyes and his magnetic grin.

Their lips interlocked into a seamless knot of devotion, their fingers slowly curling into each other’s skin when the pulses between their mouths grew faster. A crescendo of their low hums of elation and their deep breaths of absolute contentment burying into the back of their throats. Chan was waiting for this moment forever, the desire to feel the touch of his best friend wander along his skin for more than just a brief moment, and for the sweet flavour of Y/N’s lips to amalgamate with his, the secrets that were clenched tightly to his chest to wither away in the radiant presence of a new type of love with limitless bounds.

Their lips moved together in a languid harmony, tender and unrushed, and as Chan tightened his arms around Y/N’s waist and brought their chests closer, the firestorm of admiration writhing between them seeped into their hearts - burning brighter with every velvety touch spread among their bodies and burying under their clothes.

They both pull back, a reluctance lingering through the desperate grips they had on each other. Chan’s hands absentmindedly meandered across Y/N’s hips and submerged under the waves of fabric swathing his torso, his yearning fingertips trailing up his back. Pools of molten amity were forged under their passionate touches, hands weighing heavy on their air, and their breath caressing their red-margined smiles.

Words did not need to be said, the light forged from their loving gazes telling them all they need to know - all they want to know. That was until Chan leaned in again, his lips on the brink of melding with the younger’s, and his tongue on the threshold between his teeth.

“Wh-” Y/N tried to stifle a laugh when Chan instantly raised his head to the younger’s nose, tracing small pecks all the way down the bridge - kissing away the batter lingering on his skin. “Netflix?” Y/N nodded towards the couch in the other room, thoughts of the man whose arms were entangled around his body tainting his head.

“Netflix…” Chan sighed in relief when arms draped around his neck, a radiant smile adorning his best friend's lips.

They stumbled toward the couch, fingers loosely intertwined together - as if they would lose each other in the galaxies of their gazes if they were to let go.

Moments into the movie, they already started drifting off to each other, Y/N enveloped in Chan’s limbs, and the blanket that once covered their intertwined legs had fallen to the ground, laying forlornly in the torrid presence of the admiration that finally dislodged themselves from the crevices of their thoughts.

“Somehow, this feels more natural than before…” Chan let a sigh of comfort roll amply off his tongue, his breath kneading into Y/N’s shoulder as his lips tenderly traced Y/N’s skin.

“Maybe because we kissed for like, a solid ten minutes.” Y/N eased further into the embrace wound around him. “Wanna make it even easier?” He tilted his head back, his grin instantly met with a pair of lips yearning for the sweetness that always lined his tongue. Fingers traced his jawline, and slack palms fell to his chest - cherishing touches cradling the flames of adoration festering beneath their skin. “Feel better?”

“Much better…” Chan whispered through their parting lips. “I-”

“Do you smell toast?” Both of their heads shot up to Y/N’s question, the fumes of dying flames burning their senses.

“What- THE COOKIES!”

“Oh, SHIT!”

They scramble off the couch and bolt towards the kitchen, love-struck gazes reluctantly ripped from one another, and raked to an ashen stream of smoke billowing from the oven.

‘Guess cuddles have to wait.

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ikesenrambles · 5 years ago

Note

hello! could I please request headcanons for a deaf MC who asks if she can teach her partner some sign language in order to communicate better, with Shingen, Kenshin, and Mitsunari? I adore your writing and thank you so much!

Sophie!! Thank you so much for sending in this request. Thank you for supporting me on Ko-Fi and for your endlessly kind words. Writing for you is such a pleasure, and I absolutely loved learning about your OC. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! (｡’▽’｡)♡

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡

Shingen

How could he refuse to learn the language of his goddess? Shingen is more than willing to become your studious pupil, to have you guide him as his teacher, to have the opportunity to spend more time with you. In the early morning, you rest your head on his shoulder out on the veranda, teaching him how to properly sign. He watches you thoughtfully, observing the delicate motion of your fingers, his own hands moving in his lap as he attempts to mimic your movements.

These moments you spend together in the quiet recluse of his chambers are perhaps the only times when he isn’t extravagantly flirting with you. Shingen is completely committed to learning sign language, so he gives you his undivided attention, saving the shameless romancing for another time.

As his fluency in sign language improves, however, he starts begins to flirt with you in sign language as well. The only difference now is that Yukimura won’t understand what he’s saying, so Shingen can lavishly flatter you in the middle of dinner without Yukimura making a fuss about it.

Each time that he manages to flawlessly sign back what you demonstrated, your face lights up as you beam at him brightly, wearing a cheerful smile playing on your lips. His heart flutters inside of his chest and he looks at you, slightly startled by your unanticipated praise, before he relaxes beside you once again. Sunlight streams in gently through the shoji windows, illuminating your face in the most perfect way, casting a gentle glow on your hands as you sign to him. It’s not long before you catch him gazing at you with that tender look in his eyes. Your cheeks burn pink with a bashful blush. You sign, “Don’t look at me like that,” shyly stifling a giggle.

He only smirks in response, signing back, “But you have the most lovely smile, my goddess.” This only makes your face flush even more; you bury your face in the crook of his neck and he holds you closer to him, then tilts your chin upward so that you meet his gaze once more.

Kenshin

Kenshin would be all for learning sign language if it meant that he could deepen his connection with you. Something the two of you being the only ones who understand this language is so personal, so intimate. If you choose not to teach the others, it would be a lie to say it didn’t satisfy his own selfish desire to keep you all to himself, to possess something so special it’s shared only between you and him.

Of course, he will put his heart into learning sign language - anything to make you happy, to make that beautiful smile appear on your face, to spend more time with you. Kenshin dedicates time every day just to learn with you. These moments spent sitting on the tatami mat in his chambers are precious to him. Anyone who dares to interrupt your peaceful, private time would be a fool - he’ll have their head!

He badly wants to succeed, to impress you, to gain your admiration. He can be quite ill-tempered and easily dissuaded, and these sessions with you are a true test of his patience. With each mistake, he’ll criticize himself immensely. Still, the way your gentle laughter fills the air when he incorrectly signs is enough to dissipate any thoughts of quitting, to ease any frustration in his heart. You lean in close to brush your lips against his cheekbone; the familiar touch comforts him and, with a quiet sigh, his face softens into a soft smile as he takes your hands in his, vowing to try and try again for you.

He prefers spending nights with you, the two of you just sipping sake in the stillness of the night under a breathtaking blanket of stars, to the rowdy ruckus of Kasaguyama’s celebratory feasts. He’ll attend but quickly bow out, opting for a quiet get together with you in his arms. The nighttime is silent except for the chirp of cicadas and the distant hum of music coming from the castle, but the two of you are anything but, enthusiastically engaged in a private conversation out in the garden as you watch the flicker of fireflies under the silver moon.

Mitsunari

There’s a glowing adoration in his eyes as he watches the way your fingers dance, studying the language of your hands intently. Something about the delicate grace of your fingers has always enthralled him, but now learning that you can express yourself through them amazes him beyond belief. He’s more than committed to studying sign language, to learning how to better communicate with you. Carefully, he observes the movement of your hands.

Between the two of you is a scroll and an inkwell, where the motion of your hands are translated into words on paper. He watches you write curiously, admiring the elegance of each stroke, his eyes widened with awe as you transcribe for him.

When signing, Mitsunari is clumsy, inept, his fingers just barely matching what you’ve demonstrated in front of him. You shake your head, a smile playing on your lips as he dedicates himself completely to learning. His face flushes pink with embarrassment, but his lips purse into a determined look as he studies you once again, this time even more scrupulously.

By the end of your session, he’s still as inelegant as when he first started. Anyone else would have been discouraged, perhaps even given up, but Mitsunari only grins at you wholeheartedly with pure and unadulterated devotion in his eyes. You offer him a reassuring nod of the head and turn to leave, writing on the scroll that you two can continue tomorrow before translating the same sentence into sign language. Before you go, he taps you gently on the shoulder and signs, “I love you.”

“Good,” you sign back at him, proud of the progress he’s made, however meager. “I love you, too.” He brings your fingertips to his lips in a loving kiss, lacing his fingers with yours before the two of you head out together.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

If there’s anything that I can work on or anything that was inaccurate, please let me know! I would love to hear your feedback, so that I can continue to grow and improve as not only a writer but also a person!

If you would like to be tagged in the next fic, please let me know! Also, please specify if you’d prefer to be tagged in NSFW fics, SFW fics, or both~ ^^

#ikesen shingen #ikemen shingen #ikesen kenshin #ikemen kenshin #ikesen mitsunari #ikemen mitsunari #ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfic #ikesen headcanon #headcanon

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jimlingss · 6 years ago

Text

Chess of Ice

Read the Sequel

Read the Final Instalment

➜ Words: 13.5k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Sports!AU

➜ Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a rising star, aka. hockey captain of a team heading for the Olympics. The last thing he expects is to begin a whole ‘nother sport, holding a broomstick in his hand, sweeping the ice and throwing dumb stones towards a target. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his love life is about to turn into a game of chess as well....and you’re his opponent.

➜ Warnings: Swearing.

➜ Notes: I’ve always wanted to write a sports!au, so here we go!

The cheers from the stands keep him going. The roars pierce through his muffled hearing, the audience going wild as he glides past. He can’t feel anything, not his fingers or the tip of his nose. Sweat drips from his skin, dousing his jersey as he pushes his left foot back zigzagging faster and faster without friction. He keeps his knees bent, alternating his strides and slipping right through his opponents. The adrenaline pulsates through his veins and he keeps steady. It feels like he’s floating. Jungkook lives for this. His breath halts. The puck comes into sight, skimming right in front of him like the stars aligning. The corner of his mouth tugs, and he swings back his hand, gripping the stick tightly...and before his opponents can even blink, Jungkook shoots. The crowd goes absolutely berserk, immediately standing from their spots, howling into the arena. And from the movement, shoving his body forward for the shot, Jungkook collides and falls. His teammates are cheering, roaring out as they launch on each other in bear hugs. There are applauses and screams coming from all directions and Jungkook rolls on his back, vision blinded by the sparkling fluorescent lights, and he giggles in pure, unadulterated joy. This is the place where he was born and raised. This is the place where he thrives. Jeon Jungkook lives and breathes to be on the ice. But as one of his teammates drags his lifeless body upwards to embrace the boy who brought them victory, his left ankle thumps...thumps...thumps...and yet, he can’t seem to care. // “Well, you should care.” Doctor Shin rolls forward on her office chair. “You tore a ligament.” His teammates are just outside this room, making a huge ruckus in the hospital hallway. Jungkook is buzzing with excitement, unable to wait for the celebration. Coach already promised to pay for drinks and all the guys already made a vow to get shit-faced— “Ow!” He winces when the doctor presses on a certain spot and she mumbles before putting his swollen ankle down while throwing in an apology and moving to take a look at the x-ray again. It’s the size of a baseball now, looking like a nasty boil hanging off of his leg, still being iced to prevent it from getting as large as a football. “How long is it going to take to heal, doc?” Coach Kang plops down in the chair next to the upright hospital bed. “We gotta start training for the next championships soon. At this rate, we might make it to the Olympics any day now. There’s no time to waste.” “Already?” Jungkook chides, pretending to roll his eyes. “Shouldn’t we at least take a break?” His coach laughs heartily. “There are no breaks for winners.” But the doctor is not amused. She rolls her chair until she faces him again. “You sprained it yesterday, didn’t you, Jungkook?” “Uhhhh…….” “It’s been hurting for a while, hasn’t it?” She hits bullseye with a simple question and his coach turns to him in surprise. Jungkook grits his teeth, not wanting to admit that he had actually sprained his ankle yesterday on a last practice run and purposely didn’t say anything. He endured the pain to play the game. He couldn’t afford to be taken off last minute for a stupid injury. Everyone counted on him. “It’s a miracle you made it so long. The adrenaline rush must’ve done wonders if you weren’t screaming every step you took.” “How long is it going to take to heal?” Jungkook repeats in a quieter volume, looking up past his still damp bangs. Suddenly, his palms feel sweaty and he’s more nervous than he was a few hours ago. “Well, you tore a ligament. You completely tore it. It’s ruptured,” Doctor Shin sighs. It’s much more serious than he thought it was. “It’s severe. And my guess….it’ll take around twelve weeks to heal.” “Twelve weeks?!” Jungkook sits up straighter, nearly launching off the bed and when his ankle shifts, he holds back a shout, flinching hard instead. “I can’t go that long!” His coach puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “You’ll be up before you know it, Kook.” “You’ll need rehabilitation,” the doctor continues, “but by the looks of it, you have a more than high probability of being able to walk again.” “Wait….what?” He blinks, wholly confused. “Walk?” The doctor looks at him, an emotion of sympathy he does not want. Every word that is carefully spoken, hesitant, “Jungkook. You won’t be able to—” White noise. All he hears is white noise. And just like that, the career that never even began is broken in shambles. // The door slides open, room deathly silent. His teammates came to visit for the past two weeks, trying to cheer up the somber mood with their boisterous laughter but like anyone else who had a life outside the white walls, they slowly but surely stopped coming. Now only his parents and older brother dropped by every other day; a sign of their presence by the flowers on the stand withering in the vase. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window is blinding and Jungkook keeps staring at it even when it burns his eye sockets. It’s better than glancing down to see his ankle still wrapped up like a Christmas gift. He feels sick every time he even steals a glimpse of it. His coach stands at the end of the bed, watching the star player who fell from his place. He can feel the waves of disappointment come off of the older man and he holds himself back from crying, the underneath of his eyes already reddened and swollen from sobbing so much. “Jungkook.” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “I know, sport.” He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and there’s an extended moment of peaceful silence. The dust particles drift in the air in sunlight beams, the clock handles moving without a tick-tock-tick-tock rhythm. “You’re good, Jungkook.” For a man who used to scream from the stands, command every player with strict rules, he sounds too soft and gentle. Jungkook doesn’t like it. “You’re really good at everything you do. You have exceptional abilities in whatever you try. You’re a fast learner. I’ve been your coach for the past seven years, so trust me when I say that.” He continues and Jungkook turns his head away, trying to ignore the older. But the two of them know he’s still listening, hanging on to every word and syllable like it’s his life jacket. “This isn't the end. There are a lot more things you can do.” “Then tell me…..” His voice is broken. “What should I do?” He is desperately pleading. Jungkook is lost. “Don’t let the public forget your name.” His coach’s eyes are blazing, but instead of the thirst to win, it’s full of hope of a limitless future. “Don’t lose your sponsors. You’re still the star. Everyone loves you. They still go wild when someone says your name.” “And how am I supposed to not let them forget me?” The older man softly smiles. “There are a lot more sports out there, Jungkook.”

Music plays in the background, not booming but loud enough to fill the small arena. The cold air wafts in the atmosphere, icy breeze deepening his cheeks to rosy hue. The ice rink has a smooth surface, yet to be marred by blades lacing patterns made by skates. But here, the glossy layer might never be embroidered with designs.

It’s unfamiliar to him. There are lines drawn on the ice, marking every lane and at the end, there are targets. He stays seated, quietly observing and observing…. “Harder! Harder!” A girl with a black bob haircut is shrieking at another person. “Harder, you motherfucker! Is that all you can do?! Harder!” Yeah… Jungkook will never get used to this. “Hurry hard,” she continues. “Yup. Woah! Woah! WOAH!” The stone finally stops sliding on the ice. It stops right outside the last ring of the target and the person at the end of the rink goes pale. The girl throws up her arms, groaning and yelling, “are you fucking deaf?! Did you not hear what I said?! You screwed it up, you stupid fuck!” “Yoonji!” The female coach spins around in absolute horror. “Language! What did we talk about?” The short girl with all too much sass scoffs openly. “I’m sorry I play with idiots!” “Don’t make me bench you,” the coach is unyielding, stubborn as well and she speaks her threat in a menacing, lower tone. The girl with the bob-cut narrows her eyes. “You wouldn’t…” The coach crosses her arms. “Apologize!” This is stupid as fuck. Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s doing here, wasting away his time, his talents and gifts. All the members are so hardcore over such a dumb sport, screaming and yelling at each other. A sport that requires no brain cell use. A sport meant for janitors. It’s boring. It’s absurd. “Alright team, gather up! We have a few new recruits that are joining our team this season.” The male coach claps his hands together and the others put away their equipment, slowly making their way over. Jungkook is at the ledge, starting a second too long at the ice that’s a few inches away. But he’s soon distracted by the handful of girls in the back who are murmuring and giggling to each other, taking one too many glances at him. “Everyone give a warm welcome to the new rookies of our Curling Team!” There’s a warm applause and he continues, “I am Coach Kim Namjoon, but you can just call me Namjoon and my vice here is…” “I’m Adora.” The female coach smiles, brown ponytail swinging when she turns to each new recruit. “I run the women’s curling team while Namjoon runs the men’s. But we often work together so there’s no real distinction.” One by one, the new individuals introduce themselves. Alongside Jungkook is a mom whose kids have gone off to college, an older gentleman who’s soon to retire and another woman who’s in her mid-thirties, a professional who’s looking for another hobby. Jungkook notices he’s one of the younger individuals on the team. As he scans the group, someone catches his eye— “And this is Jeon Jungkook.” A hand slaps his back suddenly and he flinches, startled. “I know what you’re thinking and yes, we finally poached the best hockey player for our team!” He awkwardly smiles. “Hello.” Namjoon has a dimple pressing into each side of his cheek, and he nods, fluffy blonde strands bobbing up and down with the movement. “He’s been playing for a few months now and has quite a knack for it. Everyone give him a warm welcome.” There are more applauses and as the introduction is complete, females and males alike begin to bombard the poor boy. “Are you really the Jeon Jungkook?!” The crowd gathers, soft smiles and eager eyes, unable to believe that he’s gracing them with his mere presence. His introverted nature makes him take a step back and he laughs in a tense manner. “You were the captain of the hockey team, right?! You were number ninety-seven, right?!” His neck knocks downwards in a single nod. “Y-yeah…” “Oh my god.” Their eyes are sparkling in admiration and he’s taken back, a bit overwhelmed with their energy. “Can I get your autograph?” — “Can you sign my hockey jersey?” — “Ooh, me too!” — “Can I please take a selfie with me?” — “Is it alright if I take a picture of you? — “You should add me on instagram!” He’s swamped by his own fans, trying his best to fulfill each of their wishes and show his own appreciation for their kindness. But by the time the coaches peel people off of him and tell them to get lost, he’s finally able to catch his breath. The two coaches give the four new recruits a few run downs, reviewing the basics to make sure everyone’s on the same playing field and know what’s going on. It’s not hard to grasp and with time, understanding only deepens. Compared to hockey, Jungkook almost finds the change in difficulty insulting to his intelligence. Yet, before he leaves the arena for the day, he decides to check out the locker room. After all, this is what he’ll be doing for the next little while. He might as well become acquainted with the place. But before he can even make it to the men’s locker room, his arm is pulled and in the blink of an eye, he’s being roughly shoved against the wall…. By the same girl who was screaming earlier. “Uhhh…” “I know who you are, Jeon Jungkook.” The girl grips his white tee tight in her fists, permanently wrinkling the fabric. Her black bob and bangs brushes against his skin from how close she’s standing and he visibly gulps. She hisses at him, “And I know what you think.” His rounded doe eyes stare back like a deer in headlights. “Who are you?” She ignores him. The girl is much shorter than he is, probably around four feet eleven inches but she’s fearsome. Her pointed glare is beyond intimidating and his knees quake, feeling an instinct to bow down. Jungkook wets himself a little. “You think this game is fucking dumb. You think this is some kind of joke, sitting on your high horse and looking down on us. I know your type. You’re just an arrogant, cocky asshole. I know when I see it. But if you sabotage any of us….I swear to god, I will rip your head straight off your neck. You better watch—” “Yoonji.” The girl is interrupted by a soft, sweet voice. It’s a vivid contrast to the venom that was just being spat on him and his ears perk at the melodic timbre. Both necks whip over to another head that’s peering from the corner of the entryway. You blink twice, never once sparing a single glance towards Jungkook. “Are we going to eat?” “Yeah, just give me a second.” Yoonji looks back at Jungkook, grip firming up after loosening. “I’m almost done here—” “But I’m hungry. Can we go now?” “Fine.” She releases Jungkook, shooting a last glare at him that makes his spine turn to jelly in the worst ways. He’s still stunned but when he turns to look at his saviour, you’re gone.

The next following weeks come and go without as many difficulties. Jungkook adjusts well, getting lessons from the coach and watching the games on the sidelines when he’s not brushing up on his own mediocre skills. He learns more of the details of the sport, studying special techniques that he didn’t catch when he was trying to learn on his own with videos online and borrowed library books. His teammates simmer down too, less excited to see him but still pleasant and warm. Everyone’s friendly and welcoming, except for Yoonji who still shoots him a suspicious look once in a while. But aside from that, Jungkook and the three other new recruits become a part of the team quite easily, integrating with the others like there are no differences between years of age or experience. Jungkook has almost learnt everyone’s names at this point. He’s exchanged conversations with most, except for you...who seems timid and quiet, and always brushing past him when he approaches. “Yoonji. Y/N. Taehyung,” Adora calls out at the end of the practice session, pacing back and forth while she reads the names off of her clipboard. “And Jungkook. Could the four of you come here for a quick moment?” Slowly, the four of you gather along with Namjoon. Yoonji puts away her brush, Taehyung stopping from his practice of throwing stones down the center of the target, also known as the button. You bid goodbye to one of your teammates and Jungkook comes off from the bench. He’s still unfamiliar with his curling shoes, one of the soles called the slider and the other, gripper. It’s the only way no one’s falling over on the slippery ice. It’s different from skating, that’s one thing for sure. But at this point, Jungkook’s just happy to be on the ice, even by unconventional means. “First off, I want to congratulate the four of you.” Adora smiles at each of you, towards Yoonji’s raised brow, Taehyung’s bewilderment and both you and Jungkook’s blank expressions. “Namjoon and I have discussed this for a few weeks now and the four of you have been chosen because of your stellar performances.” “What is it for?” Yoonji cuts to the chase, deciding not to comment that Taehyung throws like he has two left hands, how she’s been swearing up a storm and not exactly demonstrating good sportsmanship, and how Jungkook is literally the worst player she’s ever seen. “You’ll be representing us in an upcoming competition,” Namjoon announces officially. “The four of you will be our first co-ed team!” “What?!” There’s an uproar between Yoonji and Taehyung while you remain silent and Jungkook wholly confused. “I thought mixed doubles was only two people?” — “Since when did we ever do co-ed?” — “But I’ve been training with the women’s team?!” — “Why us?!” “Shut it, shut it.” Adora waves her left hand and her right is preoccupied with pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to not get a headache from the two loud kids in front of her. “Listen, we got four new recruits. Two females and two males. That makes our team twelve people total and since one team is four people….that leaves four people extra, so Namjoon and I decided we would just form a new team. Now we can compete in both men’s, women’s, and mixed.” As she speaks, she seems to agree with the idea more and more, even nodding along. Namjoon stands straight with his hands behind his back, proud of coming up with such an ingenious suggestion. But the rest of you aren’t as amused. “I can’t believe this.” Yoonji scoffs, turning to you as if waiting for you to agree how ridiculous this all is. “I thought those newbies would just be subs or something. But they’re actually here to steal our spot?” “No one’s stealing anything,” Taehyung chides, throwing an arm around the short girl until she literally hurls his appendage off of herself, nearly tugging the arm out of its socket. “Chill!” “No,” she spits. “Fuck you.” “Yoonji.” Adora warns her, appearing unimpressed with her attitude and hostility. “Okay, fine, I get it. I’m pulled off the women’s team that I’ve been playing with for the past, I don’t know, three years. For what? Mixed. That’s cool. It’s different. It’s a nice change.” The girl in the blue jacket with the team’s logo hitches her thumb towards Jungkook. “But why him? That’s one thing I don’t fucking get.” “Uhhh….” Jungkook blinks, not knowing how to defend himself and not even sure if he wants to. Taehyung grins, his signature boxy smile spreading into his cheeks. He’s wearing sweatpants and an oversized long-sleeve shirt, oddly not affected by the frigid air. On the outside, he could pass as a farmer from the countryside. “Why not Jungkook?” The brunette boy is a friendly acquaintance of Jungkook, who’s a bit too friendly. Taehyung’s been rather touchy towards him more so than the others, constantly grabbing him for a hug or throwing an arm around his shoulders. If someone looked at them, they’d think Taehyung and Jungkook were best friends that shared the same cradle together. “Because he literally started less than a month ago.” She crosses her arms. “I think there are other people who are far more deserving of the position than him. People with more experience. People who have been with us longer. Like....Minsik.” She glances at the elder who’s slumped on the bench and slowly drinking from his water bottle, probably taking his afternoon pills as well. “We’re trying to win, right? Well, he’s been curling for like...thirty years...I think he would better suit the team.” “No.” Namjoon clears his throat. “We’ve decided on you four.” Yoonji narrows her eyes, still unconvinced, and she takes a good look at your team. After considering for one minute, she realizes there’s one main similarity between all of you — you’re on the younger side. “Is it because Minsik is old? What...you think he’s going to die before he can get onto the curling sheet?” “Well, let’s be honest.” Taehyung banters with her, “He’ll probably shatter a hip if he goes too hard.” Adora sighs, headache getting worse by the second. “We picked you four for a number of reasons. Aside from assessing your different skills and weaknesses and trying to balance that, aside from looking at your...bold personalities...aside from all this...yes, we did consider your age. Good observation, Yoonji.” She glares at the older woman, not liking her sarcasm and then Namjoon decides to step in, clarifying the situation to avoid misunderstandings. “We intend this team to go long term. If this team does well, then we want you guys to represent us in mixed doubles or co-ed games for the next few years. Adora and I want you to become good enough with enough experience that you can become mentors for future mixed double teams. So yes...it would be helpful if you don’t die or go senile on us.” “Oh my god. Why don’t you just plan the next ten years of my life without telling me?!” “It’s technically already planned,” Taehyung quips mischievously. “You’ll have twenty cats by the end of 2038 and by 2060, if we’re not all dead by global warming, you’ll probably build an army of cats and teach them how to curl—” “Shut the fuck up, you annoying piece of shit.” Yoonji rolls her eyes. “You’re not even funny or clever—” “Enough!” Adora limit in hearing the children bicker back and forth is reached. She takes a look at Yoonji, Taehyung, Jungkook before settling on you. “You four will work together. The competition is in four months. No but’s.” The coach stomps off before stopping meters away. She swiftly turns on her toes, comes sprinting back and then grabbing Namjoon and dragging him with her. When both coaches are out of earshot distance, Taehyung makes some snarky comment that you don’t pay much attention to, but Yoonji stomps her foot directly on his. The sassy girl shoots yet another glare towards an unsuspecting Jungkook and then she takes your hand. “Let’s go.” She walks off with you and calms down with every step she takes and increasing the distance with the stupid boys. You haven’t said much of a word and she sighs, knowing how you didn’t put up a single fight. “Are you really okay with this?” You shrug, taking a glance back to the two males who seem lost in the tiny space. “It’ll be fun, I guess.” // To say it was tense is an understatement. The atmosphere was not only awkward but full of hostility, mostly coming from the short girl who could not stop glaring at him. It baffles him. Jungkook’s not sure how this team is supposed to function when Yoonji didn’t want to cooperate, when you stayed completely silent like a mime, and Taehyung had his head literally in the clouds. Even standing next to each other was suffocating, he can’t imagine what playing a game would feel like. “We should assign roles,” Yoonji begins, trying to get a move on and keep things somewhat professional. As much as she hated this, the prospect of winning was much more important. “Taehyung, you’ll be second.” “Why should I?” He decides to purposely give her a hard time, a twinkle of playfulness glimmering in his deep brown irises. “You’re a strong sweeper,” she says without wasting a second breath. Taehyung wiggles his brows up and down. “So you’ve been watching me? For how long?” Yoonji ignores him and Jungkook decides to take a step forward. After all, if he’s going to be a part of this team, then he wants to make sure his voice is heard. “Who’s going to be skip?” He assumes it’s Yoonji since she’s already taken on the role of leader, designating roles to everyone and her personality is rather dominating. But against Jungkook’s expectations, she answers differently and without a note of doubt in her voice. “Obviously, Y/N.” You? The quiet one of all people is in charge of strategizing. You — as the team captain? “It’s fine if I’m not,” you mutter softly but Yoonji doesn’t even debate it. “The problem is, I don’t know what the fuck you should do. You have the least experience out of all of us,” Yoonji addresses Jungkook and groans. “What can you even do?” “Um...I can throw...and sweep...I think I’m better at throwing.” “Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that.” Adora approaches with a clipboard in hand. Today, she’s wearing the team’s official blue zip up track jacket. Her hair’s still in a ponytail, as if permanently gathered to be at the crown of her head but at least her dark circles look better. “What’s going on?” “We’re designating roles,” Taehyung chirps cheerfully. “I’m second.” “Who’s even supposed to be our coach?” Yoonji asks and raises a brow. “Or are we our own democracy?” “More like a dictatorship…” The tall brunette mumbles, hands digging into his grey sweatpants pockets, and she glares at him. Adora looks at her clipboard and hums. “Namjoon and I are both coaches for this team. Believe it or not, we have enough time and attention to manage two teams at the same time.” She inhales a breath and looks up. “With that being said, I will be designating roles now. Jungkook will take the role of third.” All at once, there’s a reaction. Taehyung’s thick eyebrows shoot upwards comically. Yoonji is already scoffing and even you tilt your head ever so slightly. Third, also called vice or mate, it requires him to throw draw shots and to...strategize with the skip. It’s an important role. “What the f—” “If you didn’t know, in mixed, one male must sweep with one female. Two males can’t be sweeping or throwing, vice versa.” “Okay.” Yoonji nods. “Then Taehyung should be lead and I’ll be third—” “No.” The coach won’t have any of it. She’s already made up her mind. “Taehyung’s good at sweeping. You’re good at throwing and sweeping.” “Oh. My. God.” The bob-cut girl has her head knocked back, whining like a petulant child and rather than being intimidated or wanting to piss his pants, Jungkook’s slightly amused and annoyed. “This is going to be a disaster.” “Yoonji. If you keep complaining, I’m going to make you do running drills. Don’t test me.” “.....” Finally, there’s silence. // After one or two more arguments and details being sorted, the four of them are dismissed for the day before extensive training will begin. “You know what?” The shorter girl speaks up as the four of you are walking towards the locker rooms. “I finally get it.” Taehyung smiles. “What?” “The only reason, he’s on the team—” Yoonji narrows her eyes on Jungkook. “—is because he brings in publicity. It’s a media stunt.” “That's a good conspiracy theory. Tell me when you figure out the rest of your theory. Maybe the government's involved.” Taehyung laughs and she ignores him, stopping to directly address the boy she’s prosecuting. “There are a lot more people who better qualify for your position, so you better not fuck shit up.” “Oooh,” Taehyung makes an obnoxious sound, making the atmosphere less hostile. You blink, unfazed, before dragging Yoonji away without saying a single word. The two boys enter the locker room, the other males already finished changing and they’ve left since their practice session ended sooner. Taehyung opens up his tiny locker, changing back into casual clothes despite his athletic wear already looking like regular attire, or pajamas. It’s amusing and even if Taehyung is a bit overbearing, Jungkook’s taken quite a liking to him. “Don’t let her bother you,” Tae speaks up, stripping his pants in one sweep brazenly and instead of changing into his regular pants, he rips off his shirt, nearly fully nude but thankfully with his underwear still intact. “Yoonji’s always like that but she’s warming up to you...kind of.” Jungkook makes a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat. While Yoonji’s frightening, he’s starting to become immune to her antics. When someone threatens you every other day, at some point it becomes white noise. He’s not really bothered that much anymore, deciding to roll it off his shoulder. But there is something that’s bothering Jungkook. Or rather than bothered, he’s curious. “Hey, Taehyung, can I ask you a question?” “Of course, Kookie.” His eyes light up with enthusiasm and he turns to Jungkook, giving him his full attention while the other doesn’t mind the bizarre nickname. “I’m just curious but...why is Y/N the skip?” He doesn’t mean to offend anyone or question your skills but— “She doesn’t seem like the type to strategize...or yell...or be the leader.” “Right?” Taehyung quirks his head to the side, agreeing with Jungkook. “But believe it or not, Y/N takes it more seriously than Yoonji. And that’s saying something.” He shivers and Jungkook’s not sure if it’s because his skin is exposed to the cold air. “If you think Yoonji is scary, you should meet her older brother, Yoongi. I almost pissed myself.” Jungkook quickly exchanges his shirt before Taehyung can comment how ripped he is and how he’s got a hot-bod and the brunette seems distracted anyways. “But yeah, Y/N is the most intense person on the team. Not only that, but she’s one of the people who’s been playing for the longest. I think she’s been playing since elementary or something. So she has a lot of experience.” “Oh.” Jungkook finds himself stopping and listening. “Also, she’s three time winner of the WJCC. World Junior Curling Championships. And she’s part of the Kilsyth Curling Club which is pretty crazy. And oh yeah, she was skip of the women’s team too.” Jungkook turns away. It’s odd. His curiosity still isn’t satisfied. // “Hey, Y/N?” Jungkook struggles to keep up, practically jogging at this point. You walk at an incredible speed and he’s already out of breath. Your bag is held by your side while his is slung over his shoulder, the extra weight making your strides even more amazing. Jungkook runs a hand through his long black strands, keeping them from pricking his eyes, and you slow down for a second when you notice him. “Hi.” “Ummm….you’re not with Yoonji?” You keep your eyes trained forward, never once looking at him directly. “Family stuff. Went home first.” “Oh.” He walks alongside you, matching your steps. “I was thinking of going home too, but you...uh...wanna grab a bite to eat?” Your voice is quiet, timid, and he barely catches what you’re saying. “I already have food at home.” “...oh...okay.” He tries his best not to let the rejection deter him, but it’s difficult when he’s already a stuttering mess. “I..uh...just never really talked to you before and since we’re on the same team…” This is absolutely excruciating. You don’t respond to him and only awkward silence lingers. Jungkook’s already out of his comfort zone by approaching you and being the first to strike a conversation. If he ever survives this, he’s going to crawl back into the cave he came from and never come out again. “I thought we could get to know each other better.” You answer — “sure.” Maybe you were an introvert like him. Maybe you were even more shy than he was, to the point where it’s painfully timid. Maybe it’s not his fault. But somehow, Jungkook doubts this. If you managed to befriend Yoonji, then there’s no way you’re an easy pushover. And Taehyung said you were the most intense one on the team. But even if you were shy, at the very least, you should look at him. “I heard you’re a three time championship of the junior competition. That’s really impressive.” He swallows hard when you say nothing. “And you’re part of the K...Kil…” “Kilsyth Curling Club,” you finally say something more than one word and Jungkook is way too excited, eyes lighting up and taking a step closer. It’s an improvement. “Yeah. Isn’t that one of the oldest clubs around?” You hum, not uttering another word. Jungkook is defeated. Taehyung is overly friendly to him, Yoonji is hostile, but you...you are just apathetic. And it’s all too unsettling to him. There’s nothing he can do to drive this conversation forward when it was dead in the first place. The tension was killing him inside. “Do you hate me?” God. Jungkook groans, wondering why such a childish question spilled from his mouth. He feels an urge to slam his forehead into his hand, hard enough that it’ll hopefully break his face and he’ll be put out of his misery once and for all. “No.” “Then….” He releases a heavy sigh, unable to understand the reason for your brutal cold shoulder. “Do you want to know why?” You finally look at him and all Jungkook manages is a grimace. Everyone’s asked him why. Why he joined the curling team. Why he dropped hockey. What exactly happened. His high school acquaintances that he hadn’t spoken to in years had even contacted him to ask. Relatives. Journalists. Opposing members. Strangers. Their own curiosity causing them to pry into his life. Taehyung’s asked, even the coaches have. Yet, each and every time, he’s simply brushed them off. Jungkook provided some excuse, that he wanted to try something new, that he was getting bored of the same game…..and he said them over and over again even if it was all lies. “Do you want to know why I quit hockey?” “No.” You break away from his gaze. “I don’t really care.” Jungkook frowns, wholly confused at your nonchalance. “Then—” “I know you don’t care about curling,” you tell him bluntly and without the bite that Yoonji often brings to her words. The way you speak is calm and composed, mellow even. You have a blank expression, casual like you’re commenting on the nice weather. It’s as if you don’t give a damn about his existence. You don’t care if he’s a famous hockey player or a team member with less than a month of experience. You don’t care if he’s just another boy off the street trying to chat. You are fearsomely indifferent to him. And while Jungkook is blinking, reeling from your interesting apathy, you continue, “But I hope you gain enough respect for the sport so you won’t drag us down.” His lips part, not sure what he would even say when he’s stunned speechless. But you beat him to the punch, taking a look across the street and glancing at him quickly. “I have to catch the bus. See you tomorrow.” He should be put-off by your personality, right? Any normal boy would find your aloofness boring and they’d back off. You haven’t spoken much to him, you’ve expressed disinterest in him completely — you don’t give a fuck if he were to join the circus tomorrow. He doesn’t even think you’re putting on a coy act or playing ‘hard to get’, if that’s even a thing anymore. And he’s never been into that type in the first place. It’s not that you’re unobtainable and that makes Jungkook interested. Simply, you just seem more preoccupied with the colour of the sky, if there’s gum on the ground, when the bus will turn the corner and come down the street. And somehow...that makes you so attractive. “Oh…yeah...see you tomorrow.” You’ve run off before he’s even finished bidding you goodbye.

There are a lot of intense sports out there. Sports that require lifetimes of training to perfect. He’s seen it all, been in it. He’s witnessed severe diets, portions of food smaller than the size of his palm. Jungkook’s personally been on strict weight control monitoring. He’s witnessed people work out for ten hours a day. He’s exercised as much as a bodybuilder. He’s seen people on the rink for nineteen hours a day. People who live and breathe the sport, not knowing anything else in life, so entirely absorbed that everything else fades into the background. After all, Jungkook himself doesn’t know anything else other than the ice. And yet, curling proves to be something he doesn’t know. It’s both intense and not. While he isn’t being monitored for his weight or what junk he puts into his mouth, while his every move isn’t being watched by his coaches, the practice isn’t trivial or easy. For one, it requires a lot more strategy than he’s used to. “You know the types of shots, right?” You don’t talk to Jungkook much, except when it’s about curling. He almost gets whiplash to how different you are, from being completely silent to commanding the members on the sheet. “Guard, draws, and takeout.” “Good. So this is the fifth end. What you want to do is a draw shot. So, try to reach the house.” Jungkook looks off to where you’re pointing, imagining a direct line to where the stone needs to go. “But shouldn’t I try to hit that rock right there? I think I can bump it to the house.” “No.” You shake your head. “You might bump that other rock and accidentally do a takeout. It’s too risky. Plus, you have to set up my shots too.” “Alright.” Jungkook gets into position, squatting down and limbs moving a bit stiffly, still trying to get used to it all. He puts his sliding foot in front of the hack foot, not having a lot of pressure on his left ankle. He keeps his hips and shoulders square and steady, inhaling a breath before throwing the stone. His arm gives it an extra push and he releases it cleanly. The stone curls on the sheet, bending slightly towards the target, known as the house. You lower yourself, right beside him. Immediately, Jungkook’s breathing halts. It occurs to him how close you are. Your hair nearly skims the skin of his cheek and your scent tickles his nose in a pleasant way. He swallows hard before turning his head slightly to meet your eyes— “YUP! Right up!” You scream at the two individuals holding the brooms, startling Jungkook from your ear-bleeding volume and the entire arena turns to stare. “Hurry hard! Hard! Hard! HARD!” The stone begins to curl less and less and it goes for longer as Yoonij and Taehyung continue working hard, using their muscle power into the handle of the curling brush. “Sweep, motherfucker!” Yoonji shouts to the person across from her. “I am sweeping!” Taehyung shrieks in exasperation. “Sweep harder!” “It hurts my arms!” “I don’t care, harder!” The girl grunts. “That all you got, Kim?” “Fuck.” He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down and sweat dripping off his skin from the constant movement. “WOAH!” You shout and they stop sweeping at once, slowly watching as the stone slows and makes it close to the button. Once it’s stopped completely, they turn and you nod before looking over to Jungkook. “Not bad. You might want to give it more of a push when you release it, but aside from that, not shabby for the first one. You still have the sixth end and then it’s my turn.” “Okay.” Throughout the rest of the game, Jungkook is given more advice and learns strategies that only someone experienced would know. It’s a bit overwhelming since there’s more to it than he would expect. He’s used to using his body more than his brain, but he doesn’t mind the change at all. By the end of it, he’s gotten a good grasp and the four of you gather up again. “That was good but still not enough,” Yoonji sighs, turning to look at the final placement of all the stones. “I think we did pretty well for our first practice. We’ll probably win at this rate,” Taehyung voices his own opinion but the short bob-cut girl hits the back of his head which causes him to wince. “We’re not trying to be just good, dumbass. The goal isn’t to win the championships. We have to make it to the Olympics.” There seems to be mutual agreement over the statement. Before Jungkook can turn to you and talk, you’ve all returned to your positions, doing it all over again. // An entire month passes of more practice and extensive training. Adora often conducts the exercises and curling drills, even showing stretches that will help strengthen core muscles. On the other hand, Namjoon watches the actual practice games and gives tips on the strategy as well as everyone’s techniques. Aside from that, the four of you also go against the women’s and men’s teams in friendly rounds to practice. Usually you all win. Jungkook receives a set of blue uniforms — a track jacket, a sweater, a shirt and some pants, all imprinted with the logo — and it makes him officially part of the team. “You know…” Taehyung is fooling around with the broom and he puts it in between his legs. “If I wasn’t curling, I’d probably be part of muggle quidditch.” The guy begins running around on the sheet, pretending to fly and Jungkook grins while watching him. When Taehyung lifts up his gripper shoe and begins to slip around with his slider shoe like a figure skater, he eventually loses traction and collides to the ground. Luckily enough, he doesn’t sustain any injuries but the end of the broom hits on his...goods and he cries out. “Holy shit!” Taehyung grabs his crotch, wailing out as tears accumulate in his eyes. “My future kids!” Jungkook kneels over in laughter, having to look away to calm down. “You better not break that broom or else I’m sure Yoonji would rip your balls off anyhow.” Taehyung rolls all over the ice, still trying to recover. “You’re all so cruel. What’s more important, my pickle or the equipment?” “The equipment,” Jungkook barks out another stream of laughter and Taehyung stops rolling, instead settling on his back and staring at the ceiling and the bright lights. “I need a drink or two.” “You don’t even like alcohol.” “Yeah. It’s bitter.” “You spat out the shot I gave you.” Jungkook crosses his arms, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as he reminds the brunette of the memory. “You spat it all over my lap.” Taehyung gives a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. You looked like you pissed yourself after. I totally ruined your chances with that cute waitress.” “Nah, she wasn’t that into me anyways and you were a terrible wingman.” His hockey teammates have slowly cut contact with him, having no reasons to continue communicating and even when it was painful, Jungkook never expected to make a new best friend here. “Hey, Tae, can I ask you something?” The guy shifts to lay on his side, propping up his elbow and resting his head in his hand, flashing a sexy pose. “Depends. If you’re going to ask for a threesome, me, you and Yoonji, we have to ask if Yoonji’s down and that might take a bit of….convincing.” Jungkook hums. “I can kind of understand why Yoonji always sucker punches you now.” “Wow, rude.” He puts a hand over his chest. “I don’t deserve her harsh punishments, even if it’s kind of hot. It still hurts, y’know.” The younger scoffs and sits down, the chills running through his bones. His hand skims along the smooth ice, welcoming the frigid temperature that seems to cool down the rest of his body. He doesn’t look at his friend, too transfixed over the ice. “It’s about Y/N.” “What about her?” Tae wiggles his brows up and down. “You interested?” “No, it’s not like that. I’m just curious. Is she always like that?” “Always like what?” He chooses the first few words that come to mind. “Calm. Collected. Apathetic.” Taehyung makes a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat and frowns, considering the question seriously before he shakes his head. “No, not really. I actually don’t think Y/N is apathetic at all.” “Really?” Jungkook is surprised. “Because she doesn’t give a shit about me. I mean, she doesn’t even talk to me if it doesn’t have to do with curling. And when I try to talk, she answers me with one word.” “Wow.” There’s a twinkle of amusement sparkling in the boy’s irises. “Does she hate you or something?” “She said she doesn't.” When Taehyung gives him a look of ‘how can you be so sure’, Jungkook adds on, “I asked.” “Y/N’s a bit timid, I guess.” He folds his arms behind his head, resting. “She’s actually pretty clingy and affectionate and talkative when she gets into it. Reminds me of my younger sister. Yoonji’s so close to her because Y/N practically latched onto her. Plus, Y/N awakens a protective instinct in a lot of people. But she can be annoying. Don’t tell her I said that.” Taehyung laughs, his words holding no malice and spoken all in good fun, as if he was talking about his own sibling, slightly endeared if anything. “Maybe it’s better if you keep a distance, then you don’t have to suffer from her rants.” Jungkook is absolutely shocked. He hangs onto every syllable that his friend speaks and it’s almost like he’s talking about a completely different person. He looks away, fingernails skimming on the ice as he unknowingly pouts. “Maybe she really does hate me.” “Probably not. Y/N’s not the type. She’d only hate you if you hated curling or something.” Taehyung giggles and gets up to his feet, stretching out his arms. “But that’s probably not it. She’ll warm up to you eventually. Give it some time. But anyways, you wanna go grab some fast food? I’m starving.” Unfortunately, Jungkook doesn’t hear his friend. He’s too preoccupied, or rather, being driven insane. The more and more he hears about you, the more curious he becomes.

The pressure is on. With only so much time left, it was really hitting you like a ton of bricks. You have to do well. Especially since you carried such a big role on your shoulders. You are the captain, the leader of the team. The last two shots are yours and if you don’t do well, you’ll let the rest of them down. These thoughts echo in the recesses of your mind and you get down into position. The arena is quiet, lights only shining on the ice, the smooth surface shimmering, and you hold your breath. With one swift motion, you throw the stone towards the house at the end of the sheet, trying to reach the center. It travels close, but not close enough. And you throw another one. And another one. And another one. You keep throwing until all ten are gone and then you walk to the end, collecting them again and starting the entire process over. You can’t feel anything, not your fingers or the tip of your nose. Sweat drips from your skin, all you see is the stone and the house. All you want is to win. Everything else fades into the background. “You should drink something.” Your concentration is shattered when something cold presses against your cheek. When you look up, blinking past the bright fluorescent lights to the shadow looming over you, you find Jungkook holding a water bottle. “Thanks.” You’re breathless and you sit down properly, letting your legs rest as you twist the cap of the bottle open, downing half of the liquid and quenching your thirst. Jungkook sits too, but he maintains a good distance to not make you feel uncomfortable. “I..uh..came to practice too and I saw you. How long have you been here for?” You lightly shrug. “Time?” He’s learnt to read your own worded answers and glances at his phone. “Eight.” “Oh.” It’s later than you expected. “Twelve hours.” “You were here since eight am?!” Jungkook’s doe eyes are double in size, his mouth hanging open. You don’t pay any attention to him, stretching your arms and wincing a little. “That’s...impressive. Have you eaten anything yet?” You shake your head and he clears his throat. “Do you want to go grab something together? I mean...I haven’t had dinner yet either and only if you want to. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfor—” “Sure.” Jungkook’s surprised you actually agreed and he doesn’t want to admit how happy it makes him. The both of you end up walking down two blocks to the twenty-four hour convenience store. At this time of night, there’s no one except for you and him, some college student, and a bored high schooler cashier. The sound of the fridges whirl in the back and your apathy is replaced with interest as you lean forward, studying the rows and rows of food carefully. Jungkook shifts to stand beside you, considering the products as well. “What are you getting?” “Ramen.” A ghost of a smile appears on your face for a split of a second and you grab two of them. Before heading to the counter, you pick up candy and snacks like you’re trick-or-treating and you turn to Jungkook with another idea. “You want drinks?” Holding cup noodles of his own, his eyes light up. “Sure.” The pair of you gather outside to eat. You’re waiting for your noodles to cook in the boiling water, the cup sitting on the square plastic table while you’re settled in the white plastic chair. The street is quiet; the only noise is the muted buzz of the lamppost above you, casting a yellow glow down and bleeding together with the warm light coming from inside the store. After a moment, Jungkook comes out after pouring water into his own cup noodle but he has something else in hand. You jump when something cold presses on your left shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he mumbles when you take the ice pack, looking at it, and he settles into the seat across from you. “Your left shoulder hurts, right?” The coldness soothes the aching muscle and you lose tension in your body. “Thanks.” You’re surprised that he noticed. You didn’t even realize yourself, having accidentally overexerted your body during practice. Jungkook sits back and opens a bag of honey chips, throwing a few in his mouth, the snack crunching as he chews. There’s a moment of silence before he breaks it. “We work in a team.” You meet his eyes and he smiles gently. “It’s okay if you rely on us.” “I know,” you murmur. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.” “You won’t. If we win, we win together. If we lose, we lose together. That’s why I like team sports the best.” Jungkook grins and a small sigh of contentment leaves the seams of his lips. “You’re never alone.” You stare at him. Jungkook takes another handful of chips before setting it down, continuing to mumble as he chews in his cheek, “Anyways, you should keep an eye on that shoulder. Tell me if it worsens. If it doesn’t get better by tomorrow, we can go down to the clinic.” “Thank you.” “No problem.” Jungkook mixes his noodles, looking to see if it’s ready yet. He sets it down, letting it cook for another few minutes as he cracks open the bottle and takes a small sip. “I forced myself to play through an injury once.” He stares down at the label, rotating the bottle in his hand and letting the liquid slosh around inside. “I thought the entire team was counting on me. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone and I had worked so hard to be there that day. I didn’t want to give it up. But if I didn’t play that day…..” It’s not difficult to put two and two together. “You wouldn’t be here right now.” Jungkook raises his head and locks his gaze with yours. Your stare is powerful, like you’re really looking at him, maybe even straight through his skin, and he becomes nervous. Still, he prefers this over you purposely avoiding eye contact. “Yeah...maybe not..” Suddenly his appetite is lost but he shakes off the feeling, taking the noodles and forcing himself to eat it. He shrugs. “I’m just happy I can be on the ice.” You mix your own noodles, stirring before blowing on them thoughtfully. There’s some awkward silence before you take the leap, deciding to reveal a secret of yours in exchange for his. “....I was supposed to be a figure skater.” You’re not sure where it’s coming from but you’re in a reminiscent mood and the memory comes stumbling to the forefront of your mind. Jungkook looks up and you continue, “I wasn’t good at making friends. So when I was in elementary, my mom signed me up for a sport so I could get to know people.” There’s a slight smile on your face and you open the bottle, taking a sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly down your throat and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “She was supposed to sign me up for figure skating, but she signed the wrong form and I joined curling instead.” Jungkook can’t help but laugh, especially when you’re sighing and pouting. It’s tragically funny. He’s baffled considering how curling and figure skating are two very different things and you were now in this sport all because of an accident. He wonders if he would’ve met you if the circumstances were different — if he had continued with hockey and you were a figure skater. Maybe you would’ve run into each other at the Olympics or some other competition. “What happened after that?” “I went out on the ice for the first few weeks and nine-year old me thought we were doing exercises before they gave us skates. You know...so we can get used to the ice. But eventually when they never gave me skates and handed me a broomstick instead, I knew something was wrong.” He’s chewing a mouthful in his cheek, reminiscent to a squirrel and he’s unable to repress his grin. “And you never switched to skating?” “No.” The corners of your lips are meekly upturned. “I found out I really like curling. The coaches were nice, I made friends, it kind of felt like a family. So, I stuck with it and here I am.” Jungkook hums, agreeing with you. His hockey team felt more like a frat house, which he didn’t mind. But there was something different about the curling team that was so much warmer. The atmosphere was vastly different, almost like everyone actually cared for one another. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if my mom signed me up for something else and not curling,” you say after swallowing some noodles down and taking a sip of the drink. It can be pretty fun thinking about the endless possibilities. “I could’ve done anything...like become a clown.” “I think you’d be better as a mime,” he snickers and you narrow your eyes. “I would not.” “Yeah, you would,” he lightheartedly teases. “If I passed by, I’d make sure to spare you a few coins.” “Psh.” All you manage is a scoff and Jungkook laughs, having rendered you completely speechless.

“Can you believe we’re here?” Taehyung whispers in absolute amazement, mesmerized by the building in front of him. All four of you have your heads knocked back, staring up at the arena that seems to tower in the sky. It’s massive and looking at the top makes your necks hurt. This isn’t like the small arena where your team practices at. It isn’t those small community centers or a tiny indoor area or a puny stadium, but a legitimate, massive arena. “Well considering we were just on a five hour bus...yeah…” Yoonji hums, her butt cheeks still aching from sitting on the stiff seats and being knocked around every other minute from the bumpy road. “I can believe that.” Namjoon and Adora stand behind you and the former man presses a hand to Jungkook’s shoulder and the other to Taehyung’s who are both standing on different ends of the group. “Alright kids, don’t get too comfortable. I know our opponents are nice as all hell and they invited us to have dinner with them, but the championship is still in two days. We gotta get that blood pumping.” “When are the others coming?” Yoonji asks, already wanting to get a move on. The coaches got special permission to try out the sheet. Every place was a bit different and it was best to get a good feel for the arena before the actual competition starts. An advantage to the team being split into men’s, women’s, and mixed, was that you could all compete in friendly rounds together and not have to go out of your way to invite an opposing team to play. This would be the last practice round before resting fully tomorrow for the actual games. “They’re still getting settled in at the hostel.” Adora checks her watch. “They should be here in less than twenty minutes.” “You know what’s my favourite part of this job? The paperwork.” Namjoon sighs in exhaustion, running a hand over his face and probably clogging his pores as he does so. “We have to figure some stuff out. So, go inside first and stay there. And don’t cause any trouble.” At the word ‘trouble’, Yoonji feels something on the side of her face, a strong force, and when she turns her head, she glares at her coach. “Why are you staring at me?” “No reason.” There’s a tight-lipped smile that comes from Adora. No amount of staring or glaring can help. The four you are lost causes, troublemakers from the start. But things go well when you enter. It’s nice and all you manage to do is marvel at the architecture, the high ceilings and white pillars that hold the infrastructure. If the entrance is this lovely, you can’t imagine what the rest looks like. For one, you know there are multiple rinks in here, not just sheets for curling, but also for skating, hockey, and all other kinds of ice games. As you wait — Taehyung bothering Yoonji for his own amusement while you and Jungkook make small talk — the peace is disrupted by loud, boisterous noise coming from a cluster of hockey members exiting from a door. They’re dressed in red jerseys, hair wet with sweat, brand name duffle bags slung on their shoulders. Before you look away and mind your own business, one of them nudges the other. “Hey….isn’t that Jungkook?” Not being discreet at all, they point right to where you are. Beside you, Jungkook seems to stiffen, eyes downcasted. He recognizes the group as a team he used to compete with. “Jeon Jungkook?” The taller one snorts. “Nah, can't be. What are they anyways?” “Oh, isn’t there something going on this weekend?” Someone else butts into the conversation. “What?” “Can’t remember.” “It’s curling, dumbass.” Another calls out from the back of the group with a bark of a laugh. But the shorter one frowns in confusion. “What’s curling?” “It’s the cleaning sport. They mop. The sweeping thing.” The taller one literally facepalms when the other guy is still blank. “You know...the one where they’re always screaming.” “Oh. That.” He’s not that enlightened by the revelation. “How is that even a sport?” “Beats me. Doesn’t need any skills or talent. Bet my two year old nephew could play it.” “Guys, guys, you’re so uncultured.” The other guy laughs. “It’s the sport for women. They’re competing with their scrubbing skills, duh.” Another one of the members chortles. “More like a sport for janitors.” The entire team tunes into the conversation, laughing and openly insulting you four as if you’re not even standing right there. “Janitors got bored and wanted to make a sport for themselves.” But if there’s one person who won’t allow themselves to be made a mockery, it’s Min Yoonji. The girl stands up to her feet in one fluid motion, her voice loud and dripping of venom. “Hey! If you got something to say then say it to our fucking faces, you pathetic cowards.” The taller one puts his palms up. “Woah there, the cat bites.” The entire group laughs boisterously, acting like high school assholes that never grew up. “You should save that passion for your little game, sweetheart.” “You must be really good at cleaning,” another pipes up with a dumb joke that they think is so funny. “How much to hire?” A muscle twitches in her cheek. Her jaw clenches hard enough for her teeth to shatter and she balls up her fist, nails sinking into her skin while she takes a step forward, ready to throw punches and scratch faces. But Taehyung’s own hand is faster, moving up to grip at her shoulder to stop the girl from making any mistake. “Yoonji...” “Don’t touch me,” she hisses out and shakes him off. Jungkook’s been over the rules tens of times before, especially when Namjoon’s lecture on the ins and outs of championships was an hour long and Yoonji, herself, reminded him not to fuck shit up for the rest of them. If there’s violence, the entire team can be disqualified from participating. Everything you worked so hard for will go down the drain. “Stop it.” You stand on your feet before Jungkook can step up. And like always, you are calm and collected, seemingly unaffected by the other’s outrageous and disgusting comments. “Hey,” some guy whispers from the group while you’re trying to compose Yoonji, but Jungkook notices and catches wind of what he says. “That girl’s kind of cute. How much do you wanna bet I can bend her over tonight on my kitchen counter.” The other snickers, “Be careful, she might start cleaning it.” Had anyone aside from Jungkook heard it, there would be blood shedding on the floor and scalps ripped off of heads. Yoonji is already physically shaking, angry to the brink of tears and it’s less because of what they said and more to do with the fact that she can’t do anything about it. People like them will always step on what you love most. “Awww, looks like the little maid is all talk. Got no strength in those arms of yours, honey?” Someone aggravates Yoonji on purpose, too entertained with how you and Taehyung are trying to placate her and force her to walk away. What they don’t know is that they’re not just poking a bear with a stick, but an entire team of rabid, fucking bees. Bees are always scarier than bears. Yoonji spins on her heel to face them, this time a vein in her forehead bursting in her skin. “Shut the fuck up, you piece of literal dog shit. Your mom should’ve swallowed you when she had the chance or was it your dad that had a weak pull out game? Stop talking before you overexert your last brain cell.” “What the fu—” Jungkook snorts, and he slides himself to stand in front of you. “If you guys have so much time as to stand around and insult us, then maybe your time is better spent practicing.” A few brows raise and others nudge each other. There’s a murmur over the group of eleven, some comments made from disbelief and others in hilarity. “Oh my god.”— “No fucking way.” — “It is him.” — “It’s Jungkook.” He cocks his head to one side. “If this is what you’re doing all season, it’s no wonder you lose every game you play.” “Wha—” “What was it again?” Jungkook pretends to think before he leans forward like he’s unsure of himself. “Didn’t we win seven to zero last season? I think you broke a record, huh? I guess that’s the only record you’ll ever be breaking.” Taehyung giggles hysterically, stomach aching as it squeezes and he has to physically wipe his eyes from tears of happiness. “No way, seven to zero?! Oh my god!” Jungkook laughs too, turning to his best friend. “No one ever loses that badly. It’s actually kind of impressive how bad they can be. But it was honestly really sad to play against. I felt bad.” They’re embarrassed and humiliated, a handful of them turning away and others clicking their tongue and muttering ‘whatever, man’, unable to refute the truths that come from him. But the taller guy can’t handle it. “Jeon, you better watch that mouth of yours!” “Or what? You’re going to score into my net?” Taehyung is brought into another fit of laughter. The corner of Yoonji’s lip draws upwards, arms crossed and taunting them while the guy is left red-faced, ashamed at the memory. His jaw ticks and he shouts, “Jeon!” “If there’s any cleaning to do, then it’s your team that needs it.” Jungkook smirks, channeling his inner arrogance, playing the role of the frat house fuckboy, a facade he had perfected when he was part of the hockey team. “Also, you shouldn’t be so disrespectful to janitors considering your dad is one, Joshua.” They’re left completely baffled. // The four of you are walking off, to god knows where but that’s not the point. There’s a surge of satisfaction and confidence that boils in everyone’s veins and it feels badass to walk together like this, as if telling the rest of the world that you guys can’t be fucked with. “Ugh, I should’ve just punched them.” Yoonji throws her fist in the air, alternating both arms, and Jungkook can hear how the wind whistles with her swiftness. She should’ve tried boxing instead or the MMA. Jungkook’s certain she’d do well in those areas. “Or we could’ve waited until it was night and then jump them in a back alley,” Taehyung jokes around even though it looks like Yoonji’s legitimately considering it. “But honestly, Jungkook burned them so hard. Did you see the looks on their faces?” He’s still laughing. “Like I thought they were gonna piss themselves from Yoonji’s savage insult but after Jungkook, goddamn, they looked like they were gonna cry.” “Yeah. Not too bad, Kook.” Yoonji smirks in satisfaction, giving him her seal of approval. “You’re a pretty good asshole when you want to be. Not bad at all.” “Uh, thanks?” “But I’m still pissed.” “Just ignore them.” Out of the four, you’re the most apathetic to the whole experience. Sure, you can’t find words to describe how cruel they were and had you been alone, you probably would’ve filed an official complaint, but it was all so childish. Ultimately, you’d rather not waste your energy on such useless things. “Don’t let them have that power over you. At the end of the day, what they think and do has no effect on us.” Yoonji leans on you, throwing her arm over your shoulder. “You’re such an angel.” “No. I just think winning is more important.” “Touché. Let’s win this.”

If there’s one thing Jungkook might never get used to is celebrating before the competition. But here you all were, the entire curling team of twelve people and two coaches surrounding a giant table in a fried chicken restaurant, having drinks and eating away like it’s a wedding celebration. Taehyung told him that this was one of the few traditions your team had and Jungkook had to admit, it was more than nice. Before any games, the hockey players would play up their performance through arrogance and mask any inch of nervousness. Jungkook would always have to hide his shaking hands deep within his pockets. But he didn’t need to put on any tough act here and strangely enough, he didn’t even feel any rush of anxiety. Jungkook feels calm, assured, especially when Namjoon was toasting that no matter what happens, everyone’s already happy to have made it this far. “I really like curling,” Jungkook comments thoughtfully after sipping on some beer. It’s kind of gross and bitter, but he thinks in the future, he’ll become nostalgic drinking it again. Yoonji raises a brow and Taehyung giggles, a bit tipsy. But tonight, he can drink to his heart’s content since tomorrow will be dedicated to recovering from hangovers. “Really? That’s great, Kookie!” “Yes, because we oh-so need Jeon Jungkook to like curling when the match is in two days.” Yoonji rolls her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tone and she bites into her chicken drumstick like a wild animal before pointing the bone at him. “Why did you even join us if you didn’t like it in the first place?” He laughs, feeling light and happy from the alcohol. “That’s not it. I’m just saying that I really appreciate it now...the sport, the team, the atmosphere of it all.” “We’re known for our good sportsmanship!” Taehyung chirps while fist pumping the air. “It’s the Spirit of Curling!” “Oh my god.” Yoonji groans. “I hate this shit so bad.” “But that’s the fun of it, Yoonji!” The brunette pouts, jutting out his bottom lip and fluttering his lashes. “When our opponent does well, we congratulate them. When we do well, they congratulate us. Isn’t that so nice? We never cheer for mistakes, there’s never negative comments, the winners even buy the losers drinks, we can even end a match if we think we’re gonna lose and that’s okay! Isn’t that so, so, so, so, so, so nice?!” “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” She grumbles, moving onto a fried chicken wing and double fisting with another drum. In the meanwhile, Taehyung has tears accumulated in his eyes, becoming overly sentimental over the game. “Do you think I can marry curling?” “At this rate, the only thing you’ll be able to marry is your anime girl body pillow.” Taehyung puts a hand over his chest, gasping dramatically at his teammate. “You know about Hariki?” Jungkook laughs and then he hears something else, something soft and sweet, a tinkling sound and his ears perk. When he looks over, he realizes that it’s you who’s laughing at something else. But your cheeks are puffed out, eyes slightly crinkled and a noise he’s never heard before leaves your throat. You’re obviously drunk, giggling with the others, and Jungkook can’t find it in himself to look away. Yoonji removes herself from Taehyung’s conversation, rolling her eyes and completely done with him. She looks across from her to the boy who’s suddenly become quiet and when she follows Jungkook’s line of sight, it lands straight on you. Her brow raises and within one blink of a second, she understands exactly what’s going on. “Looks like our little Kookie has a little crush.” She’s leaning forward with a sinister expression, whispering lowly so no one else can hear, at least not when Taehyung’s bothering someone else and his obnoxious later echoes throughout the room. On the simple word ‘crush’, it has Jungkook turning back, nearly breaking his neck from the whiplash. His doe eyes double, cheeks deepening in its pink hue and the glow isn’t from the alcohol. “W-what?” Yoonji smirks and she grabs the nearest bottle by the neck, pouring him a shot, thankfully something other than beer. But still, he watches her warily and she pours her own drink, holding it before motioning for him to do the same. She clinks the glass together and the two of them down it in one go. A satisfied sound escapes from her mouth when it burns her throat pleasantly. “That’s for our alliance. I want to shank you less these days.” “Thanks?” “You’re welcome.” Her smirk expands eerily and he’s reminded why he wanted to piss his pants when he first met her. She is one scary, scary, petrifying lady. “But you’re treading on some dangerous territory, Jeon.” Yoonji steals a discreet glance at you before staring him right in the eyeball. “Make a wrong move and I’ll rip off your ballsack.” “Uhhh….yes, ma’am.” “Good.” Another smile appears as if she didn’t just threaten him and the bob-cut girl leans back, increasing her volume, joining back into the regular conversation. “Who poured a drink for Y/N?! You know she’s a lightweight!” “It’s fine!” You wave your hand, giggling before latching onto one of the older ladies beside you, hugging her arm to your chest. She doesn’t seem to mind, if anything she’s endeared and reminded of her own kids that grew up too fast. “I’m fine….” “Jackson—” “I didn’t.” The older man holds up his palms, laughing in good nature next to his fiancée. “I can’t believe I’m being wrongly accused!” The drinks and chicken-eating continues into the night. After tomorrow, the games will begin and Jungkook can sincerely say he’s excited for it. There’s no pressure on him, no heavy weight laid upon his shoulders, no cold sweats dripping off his skin. He’s not completely relaxed but he’s looking forward to it, ready to try his hand at the sport and try to win. The breeze is cool outside, carding through his hair and making his skin even more flushed. Jungkook digs his hands into his black coat pockets, looking out at the mosaic of city lights. It’s a strange emotion that overcomes him. He thought he lost everything after the injury, lost his friends, his career, the reason he even lived. But here he was, having started over again, and even more content and happy than he thought he could ever be. “Oh my gosh! Look who it is! It’s my favourite person on the whole planet!” The front door is barely held open by Yoonji’s foot as she carries your deadweight, but the moment your eyes lay on Jungkook, you’re giggling and running over to him. He lets out an ‘oof’ when you suddenly embrace him, engulfing his larger frame with your smaller arms, surprisingly affectionate. Yoonji sighs, not even trying to peel you off. “Jungkook, can you watch her for a second? I don’t know where Taehyung went and the last thing we need is for him to wander into the women’s washroom again.” “Again?” “Again.” She exhales in exhaustion. “God, these people are lightweights and drink like they aren’t. Watch her, I’ll be right back. No funny business!” A lot of the team members had returned to the hostels early since their regular bedtime was eight, something Jungkook can’t wrap his mind around. It was only ten right now and he can remember being out past midnight. But a lot of the members were older and couldn’t last as long on a night out which was completely understandable. A few others were in the washroom and the two coaches were paying, splitting the bill and treating the team. So, it was only you and Jungkook waiting outside the restaurant. “You’re so cute, Jungkook.” You’re still hanging onto him, your back arching when you look up at him, smiling sheepishly and searching his face. He swallows hard, looking straight ahead. “I...think you’re cuter.” “Awwwww….” You release him a bit, batting at his arm. “That’s so sweet. See? You’re so nice and kind and soft….” “Soft?” He raises his brows while laughing and you nod enthusiastically. If there’s one word he would never use to describe himself it would be that word. All the other girls he knows would call him hot or muscular or manly or sexy….not that he was tooting his own horn...he’s just never heard someone call him soft before. And as if to reaffirm your belief, you move your palms up, squishing his cheeks together with a squeaky giggle. His lips press together and he flinches, finally looking at you. “See? Squishy! You look like a fish.” “Do I?” His words are muffled and his face is beginning to hurt from smiling so much. For a mere millisecond, his eyes flicker down to your lips that look so captivating, from the dip of your cupid’s bow to the upturned corners, every line and inch. “Yeah..but I hate fishes. I had one when I was ten. It was a yellow goldfish and my best friend and I had it in a glass bow and I brought it around with me everywhere. Once, I remember running and the fish fell out of the bowl and I screamed, but dad put it back in. But then I had to flush it down the toilet when it died.” You finally release his rounded cheeks, suddenly sad but still continuing on your rant, “are you ever scared that the dead fishes will appear in your toilet bowl? Like what if it doesn’t flush all the way down? Imagine all the flushed fishes of the world appearing in your toilet when you’re trying to pee.” “I never really thought about it before,” he says honestly, eyes twinkling in amusement as he watches you. Your skin is glowing underneath the lamp posts’ light and he can genuinely admit you look stunning, even when you’re drunk out of your mind. “Do you wanna sleep with me, Kook?” He chokes. The black-haired boy goes pale as he hacks on his saliva unattractively, the air in his lungs ripped in away in utter shock. “w-..what?!” “You look like you’d be nice to cuddle with.” Your arms return around his abdomen, hugging him. “Like a stuffed bunny. I had a rabbit when I was a kid...but I had to flush it down the toilet too.” Jungkook’s next overwhelming emotion is horror and you laugh. “Kidding!” Part of him wants to just throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, tired of all your shenanigans and how you’re playing his feelings like a fiddle. But being oblivious to his turmoil, you continue with slurred words, “mom never let me have a bunny...or a horse...or a dog…” He can understand why you never got any pets if you couldn’t even keep a fish alive. Jungkook looks down at you and visible gulps. Your tongue runs on the seams of your lips, barely poking out to wet them and Jungkook feels an urge to pull you in by your waist and kiss you silent. He wants to press his mouth on yours and taste what kind of chapstick you use, see if they’re as soft as they look. And yet, he doesn’t. He doesn’t kiss you because he’s a damn coward. He’s a fool. He doesn’t kiss you because he would want you to remember it. And maybe….maybe if you win the competition in two days, he’ll muster up the courage to. “I used to watch you play games, y’know.” You break his train of thought, snapping him out of his trance and his eyes flicker to meet yours again. You’re trying to whisper again, “I’m a fan.” Apparently you like to spill secrets when you’re wasted. “You are?” “Yeah. You’re good at everything you do. The best! The golden player!” You flash a thumbs up, still giggling, and Jungkook is so happy, he could combust into flames right now and be lowered into his grave with a stupid grin. “I like you a lot, Kook.” “Thanks.” His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and the next thing he says, he means it wholeheartedly, “I like you too.” “You know what would be really funny?” You’re already laughing, giddy and crumbling your fingers into small fists, trembling with excitement. Jungkook grins, too curious for his own good. “What?” You cup your hand over your mouth like you're about to exchange yet another secret, but you’re still laughing like crazy and your voice is loud — “Let’s run away from Yoonji.” “Wait. What?!” His eyes double. “No, that’s a terrible, terrible idea.” Before Jungkook can do anything, you’ve suddenly grabbed onto his hand, dashing off. He stumbles forward, right behind you, nearly tripping and falling flat on his face. Jungkook can barely catch a breath and you’re cackling euphorically, running off into the night and dragging him with you.

The cheers from the stands keep him going. The cold air wafts in the atmosphere, icy breeze deepening his cheeks to rosy hue. The ice rink has a smooth surface, never to be marred by lines embroidered by skates. He steps out on the sheet, ice beneath his feet and the accumulated crowd on the stands cheer, holding the country’s flag up high. The four of you look onward. Jungkook stands beside you, Yoonji on your side and Taehyung on his other side. Each of you brace yourselves before exchanging looks. “Ready?” You smile, feeling at ease. “Let’s do this.”

#bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts scenarios #jungkook sports!au #bts sports!au #CURLING IS A SPORT GODDAMMIT!

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