#literally shut up i’ve been on a breakdown my whole shift | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ddaengtae · 5 years ago

Text

a bit much || myg

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: college, enemies? to lovers, a wee bit of angst, smut

word count: 16.9k (lmao sorry)

summary: it’s your senior year of college. after surviving three years, nothing could surprise you, right? wrong. you can’t seem to catch a minute of peace from the moment the beautiful, yet utterly obnoxious min yoongi decides to sit in the seat next to you in one of your lectures and takes every opportunity he can get to pester you. he’s just doing this to piss you off, right? (or maybe he’s an awkward idiot).

a/n: i’ve written for quite a few other fandoms in the past, but this is my first bts piece i’ve actually decided to publish here after transitioning this blog into bts trash. this has been a work in progress since yoongi decided to hit us with that daechwita video and give me all the feels. would love to hear your feedback. sorry if there’s any typos but enjoy!!!

Senior year of college was here. The last first day of classes you would ever experience was upon you. The fact that you had made it this far felt almost close to miraculous; taking into account all of the late-night library mental breakdowns, near-death drunk experiences, and relationship drama, it was shocking that you had made it this far in one piece. Yet here you were, seated in a familiar, large lecture hall preparing for the first day of a history gen-ed class. Why hadn’t you listened to everyone else and gotten all of your gen-eds out of the way freshman year? That would have been the smart thing to do, leaving you to take all fun classes for your final year. The class was probably going to be full of freshmen, too eager to befriend a lonesome senior such as yourself with the hopes of coercing you to buy them alcohol or invite them to upperclassmen parties. Cringe. And yet here you were.

As you spread your neatly-labeled notebook and color-coordinated pens out in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel someone’s eyes burning into the side of your head. Oh no. Had the freshmen already scoped you out as obviously older than them and an easy target? Class hadn’t even started yet. Chewing on your lower lip, you tilted your head to the side slightly and allowed your eyes to meet those of the unknown source. Immediately, your breath hitched in your throat.

There before you stood Min Yoongi. Although the two of you had never met before, you were aware of his existence through mutual friends and word of mouth. The boy was gorgeous; even with his dark, piercing eyes intimidating you nearly to death, you felt as if you were going to melt into the ground as you took in the features of his face. A thick red headband pushed his bleached blonde hair out of his face, allowing you to take in more of his perfectly sculpted features. The plump of his cheeks and lips seemed to contrast the rest of his frightening yet gorgeous attributes, giving the appearance of a sort of twisted innocence.

“Is somebody sitting here?” the boy interrupted your fantasies in a deep, low voice, motioning to the empty seat to your right.

Blinking a few times to snap back into reality, you shook your head and turned back to your belongings, cheeks tinted pink. “No, you can have it.”

With a loud slam of his backpack onto the table, he sank into the seat beside you. As you stared down at your notebook and began to nervously jot down the date and any other unimportant details you could think of, you were quite conscious of the feeling of Yoongi’s eyes studying you.

“Is this history gen-ed or do I have the wrong room?” he tried to question genuinely, but you could hear an amused glimmer in the tone of his voice. “This whole elaborate set-up you have going on has me thinking this is an art class or something. It’s a bit much.”

Just as your cheeks had finally started to cool down, the color rushed to them yet again. The judgement in his voice suddenly had you embarrassed of the organizational skills that you usually took pride in, your instincts making you put your arms up on either side of your notebook and pens in an attempt to block them from his view. As the judgement settled in, it slowly morphed into a deeper feeling of annoyance. Sure he was hot, but who did this complete stranger think he was making fun of you?

“Tell that to my grades,” you simply muttered back, the sound of the professor’s voice at the front of the lecture hall cutting you off from indulging further in your irritated thoughts. Rolling your eyes to yourself, you shifted your body to face the front of the room and clicked down on one of your favorite pens, ready for the start of the new semester.

As you were now occupied with learning the layout of the new course, you missed the way Yoongi’s eyes scanned up and down the side of your face and his lips fell into a lop-sided grin.

The happenings of the first day of class proved to be the beginning of a pattern. Although the chances of Yoongi coming to class were a hit or miss, whenever he did happen to show up, his behavior was the same.

One day about two weeks into the semester, the boy in question showed up approximately thirty seconds before class was set to begin. Rather than rush into his seat and shovel out his things, he remained standing for a few moments too long, his eyes traveling up and down your appearance.

“A dress and heels?” Yoongi interrogated, a quiet chuckle slipping through his lips as he finally plopped down into his seat. His dark eyes searched yours as he raised an eyebrow. “A bit much for class, don’t you think?”

Sighing to yourself, you smoothed the floral skirt of your yellow sundress out over your thighs. Couldn’t he ever just let you exist in peace? “They’re wedges,” you corrected, digging the heel of your shoe into the carpet beneath you to let out some of your frustration. Feeling a bit braver today than during your first few interactions, you allowed your eyes to rake up and down his body slowly, faking a judgmental look on your face. The corner of your lips quirked upward slightly as you noticed the way he seemed to freeze in place at your actions. “Some of us actually enjoy putting a little bit of effort into our appearance, you know.” A white lie of course, but a necessary one. Even in his joggers and oversized hoodie, the blonde boy managed to look like a model beside you.

Yoongi’s eyes widened just the slightest bit in surprise at your fighting words, but nonetheless, an amused laugh bubbled through his body. “Didn’t take you for the feisty type…” he trailed off, tapping the edge of his pen against the table in front of him. “You loo–”

His voice cut off abruptly as the professor’s voice boomed through the lecture hall, signaling the beginning of class. Rather than finish his mysterious statement, Yoongi turned to face the front of the room, smiling to himself as he jotted down the date in the corner of his notebook.

Three weeks into the semester, friendship or even acquaintanceship seemed out of the question for you and Yoongi. Although he was physically still the beautiful boy you had daydreamed about prior to having met him, his personality destroyed any fantasies you had about him being a quiet, misunderstood boy. It seemed as if though he refused to let you catch a break in class.

As the professor finally dismissed class after what felt like an eternity, you shut your notebook and picked it up off of the table, ready to rush back to your room and indulge in a much-needed nap. Before you could shove your belongings into your backpack and rush out of the room, Yoongi’s voice cut you off.

“Hey, do you have the notes from last class?” he asked, folding his hands together as he offered you a small smile. “I was, uh, sick.”

Although his half-assed excuse was clearly complete bullshit, you weren’t exactly in the mood to cause a scene and knew you were more likely to get out of the room faster if you just caved in and let him have at it rather than force him to beg. “Yeah, sure,” you muttered, opening your notebook to your notes from the previous class and plopping it down in front of him. “Knock yourself out.” You wished he literally would.

Digging his phone out of his pocket and opening the camera, Yoongi glanced down at the notes before side-eyeing you with what initially appeared to be an authentic smile spreading across his plump lips. “You know, I saw something earlier that I think might interest you.”

Was Min Yoongi actually trying to start a genuine conversation with you? Intriguing, to say the least. Crossing your arms over your chest, you raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? What was it?”

His eyes flickered back down to your notes, the once seemingly genuine smile on his lips morphing into a devious smirk. “I saw a flyer earlier about an art contest happening on campus,” he replied a bit too casually, beginning to take pictures of your notes. “I’m sure they’d be extremely interested in the artistry and precision of your history gen-ed notes. Truly a masterpiece.”

Any momentary hope you had of Yoongi not being an asshole diminished in that instant, your hands immediately reaching down to rip your notebook out of the view of his phone camera and slamming it shut. “You’re a dick,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you stormed past him. “Get the notes from someone else.”

As you rushed out of the now empty classroom, you missed the way Yoongi’s once amused expression changed into a frown, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in frustration at himself.

On a Wednesday one month into the semester, you were having arguably one of the worst days of the year. As syllabus week was long over, the workload in your classes had increased exponentially overnight and you were left feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. Having gotten into an unwarranted fight with one of your more difficult housemates the night before, you had gone to bed frustrated and forgot to set an alarm. While this would not have been an issue on a regular Wednesday, you had forgotten that you had an interview scheduled with a potential employer for a job after your senior year would inevitably come to an end. Having apparently been in desperate need of some extra sleep, you didn’t become conscious until approximately 11:45am, fifteen minutes before your history lecture and long after the interview that had been set for 9:00am.

Tears threatened to sting your eyes as you rushed out of bed, quickly becoming aware of the weight of the situation you had fallen into. How could you be so irresponsible and miss the opportunity to get hired for a position in your field? So many seniors already had jobs secured for the summer even though it was only October of the fall semester. You were a mess.

These negative thoughts only became louder as you rushed across campus toward the lecture hall, glancing down for a moment to take in your appearance. You were sporting a pair of black joggers and an oversized hoodie that belonged to your best friend, Kim Taehyung. In addition to this already rather unpleasant sight, you hadn’t had the time to do your skincare routine or makeup, and your bedhead was thrown into a messy bun on the top of your head, threatening to fall out of the elastic at any moment. As someone who usually was well put together, you were extremely uncomfortable with roaming the campus with your current appearance. The lethal combination of your messy appearance and the chaotic night and morning you had experienced had you feeling quite insecure as you finally rushed into your lecture hall with twenty seconds to spare, sinking down into your seat with your eyes low.

Just as you thought the morning couldn’t get any worse, the presence beside you just had to make himself known. “All dressed up for me?” Yoongi asked sarcastically, smirking as he looked you up and down. “I thought ‘some of us enjoy putting effort into our appearance.’”

While on any regular day Yoongi’s sarcastic comments were enough to get under your skin, today they proved to be unbearable. Slamming your notebook down on the table in front of you, you twisted your whole body to face the amused boy. “Can you just leave me the fuck alone? For once?” you snapped a bit too loudly, noticing the way that a few of your classmates turned to look at the pair of you. Before you could wish for the ground to swallow you up in that instant, your professor started to speak to begin class, snapping everyone’s attention away from you. Swallowing to yourself, you turned to face forward, keeping your head low as you stared down at your notebook.

With your eyes averted, you didn’t notice the way that Yoongi’s expression fell and he stared at the side of your face with such deep concern that you weren’t even aware he was capable of feeling, wondering what he had done to make you that upset. Was he really that intolerable?

About fifteen minutes into class, the sound of your phone vibrating next to your books snapped you out of your daze. As your eyes scanned over the screen, your heart sank down to your stomach.

mom (12:16pm): Hey honey, how’d the interview go? Bet you crushed it xo :)

The tears you had managed to hold back on your way to class were now stinging at the corners of your eyes. Fucking up your own life was one thing, but disappointing your parents who had such high expectations of you and often talked about you with so much pride was another whole ballpark. The thought of having to break the news to your sweet mother that you had fucked up yet again made you feel sick to your stomach.

As the first tears escaped your eyes and slid down your cheeks into visibility, you quickly shut your notebook and shuffled to your feet on shaky legs, not even bothering to shove your belongings into your backpack. Ignoring the puzzled looks you were receiving from your classmates, especially Yoongi, you stormed out of the lecture hall and didn’t stop moving until you pushed your way into the nearest bathroom. The moment the door of the single-stall closed shut, you slid down the side of the door and put your face in your hands.

Of course you knew this would all pass. Of course you would figure things out with your housemate. Of course you could try to reschedule the interview, or even just apply to other jobs if that didn’t work out. Of course you could just explain things to your mom. But college had a funny way of throwing so many things at you at once that sometimes it was hard to think straight and see things clearly. Sometimes you just had to cry for a little bit to let out some of the stress. So that was precisely what you did.

When you finally were able to compose yourself at least a bit, you fished your phone out of your pocket, immediately dialing the number of the only person you felt comfortable talking to at the moment. There was no way you were going back into that lecture hall after the scene you had caused.

“Hey, what’s up?” Taehyung’s deep voice sounded through the speaker, the low tone immediately sending a sense of comfort through your body.

Inhaling deeply, you rose to your feet and wiped the last of the tears from the corners of your eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie that happened to belong to the boy on the other end of the phone. “Hey, can I come over?” you asked, sniffling quietly. “Your place is closer than mine and I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” he asked, genuine concern laced in his voice. He sensed your apprehension in discussing your problems over the phone and decided to speak up again. “Actually, you don’t need to answer that right now. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.” You could hear him shuffling around on the other end. “I was actually just about to text you. I finally cleaned my place and found some of your clothes from when we used to, you know… Do the dirty.”

For the first time that day, a giggle forced itself through your lips. What an absurd way to refer to your past attempts at a friends with benefit situation with Taehyung. The two of you had been friends since freshman year of college, or even before that if you wanted to be specific. Having been in the same orientation group the summer before starting college, the boy with the boxy grin was an immediate standout to you. After being placed together by your orientation leader in a partner activity, you discovered that you had a lot of the same interests and the same, twisted sense of humor. From that moment on, the two of you vowed to stick together through the ups and downs of college. Apart from sticking together academically by taking most of the same literature classes together, you acted as each other’s emotional support system. Whether it be a bad grade on an assignment, a painful breakup, or even a miserable hangover, you were there for each other. Sometime during the beginning of your sophomore year when both of you were going through breakups and wanted to get laid without catching feelings for someone else, you struck up a friends with benefits deal that lasted all the way through the middle of your junior year. The deal served its purpose well; the sex was good and there were no feelings involved, despite the concerns of some of your friends. It was mutually ended when you both decided that you were ready to put yourselves out there romantically again. There was no awkwardness for either of you. The friendship remained as strong as ever and you were grateful to have someone as supportive as Taehyung in your life.

“Good, I could use a change of clothes right now,” you responded, finally working up the nerve to exit the bathroom and make your way out of the building. “You’re the best. I’ll be there in 10.”

As always, Taehyung knew just how to cheer you up. Immediately upon your arrival, he insisted you take a hot shower to allow yourself to calm down alone for a bit. To your delight, he had discovered one of your cute black t-shirts and a pair of ripped mom jeans you had been looking for forever while cleaning his room, allowing you to change out of the dreadful outfit you had been wearing earlier. After combing your hair and putting the emergency makeup in your backpack to use, you were back to looking like a presentable human being and returned to Taehyung, plopping down beside him on his bed and resting your head comfortably on his chest.

Taehyung knew how to calm you down unlike anyone else in your life. He allowed you to rant for nearly an hour, only chiming in when you asked for his advice or to offer words of comfort and encouragement. By the end of the conversation, you were left feeling much more relaxed and acknowledged that none of the issues that you found yourself in were irreparable.

Glancing down at your phone, you sat up straight as you noticed the time. “Shit, I have class in twenty minutes. I should get going in a few.”

Taehyung sat up beside you, reaching his arms overhead to stretch with a loud yawn. It had become quite clear to you that he had skipped all of his classes today by his disheveled hair and his boxer-clad body. “Are you feeling better now?”

Nodding, you flashed him a small smile as you rose to your feet and took the opportunity to stretch out your own body. “Yes, much. Thanks, Tae,” you praised, glancing at yourself in the mirror and fixing a few messy strands of hair. “Honestly, I think I would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for that asshole Yoongi.”

“Yoongi? As in Min Yoongi?” Taehyung questioned, authentic interest laced into his voice.

“Mhmm, that’s the one.”

“Hmm, interesting. Namjoon’s been hanging out with him a bit now that he’s gotten closer to Hoseok. I think they’re doing some sort of music thing together. He’s brought him around here a few times recently,” the boy informed you, finally rising to his feet to stand beside you. “He seemed cool, but if he’s an asshole to you I won’t hesitate to kick his ass.”

Hmm. Now that was some interesting information. Namjoon was one of Taehyung’s two roommates, Jimin being the other one. Seokjin had lived with them in previous years, but his room was left vacant after he had graduated the previous year. Still living nearby and remaining close to all of you, he often visited on the weekends to fill the void.

That wasn’t your concern though. Namjoon was Taehyung’s sweet, clumsy dork of a roommate that you had also grown close to over the years. After meeting Hoseok the previous semester through Namjoon, their friendship made sense. Hoseok was loud, bubbly, and impossible to hate. The boy didn’t have a bad bone in his body. How the fuck did Yoongi fit into the mix?

Snapping back into reality, you giggled to yourself and pulled your concerned best friend into a tight hug. “Don’t worry about it, Tae. He just says stupid shit to get under my skin and today I was extra vulnerable. Nothing major,” you reassured, giving him a squeeze. “Thanks again for listening to me. I’ll text you after class to get dinner or something.”

“If you say sooooo,” Taehyung drawled, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of your head. “Of course. I’ll see you later.”

Flashing him one last grateful smile, you turned on your heel and pushed open the door of his bedroom, quietly closing it behind you. The peaceful scenery of Taehyung’s bedroom was greatly contrasted with what was occurring in the common area, and nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to face.

“Y/N! I thought I heard you show up earlier,” Namjoon shouted out to you from behind the kitchen counter, offering you a warm, dimpled smile.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Joon,” you replied sincerely, returning the smile. As you approached the kitchen, your eyes took in the faces of the familiar figures before you. Namjoon… Jimin… Hoseok… No.

No fucking way. It was as if Taehyung’s comment about Namjoon’s new friendship just moments prior had been a warning to you, because there before you stood Min fucking Yoongi right beside Hoseok. It was evident by the look on his face that he had spotted you before you noticed his presence. Rather than sporting his signature smirk, his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were wide with what could only be shock. If you had allowed your gaze to remain on him a bit longer, maybe you would have noticed the genuine concern and sympathy in his eyes as he stared back at you.

“It’s because Tae hogs her and barely lets us have any time with her,” Jimin commented, chuckling as he glanced down at his phone for a moment. “Oh, before I forget, Y/N… Jungkook needs a model for his photography project and told me to ask you for him because he’s too nervous to ask you himself.”

Namjoon laughed to himself, shaking his head. “I see Jungkook is still trying to live out his noona kink.”

Giggling to yourself, you rolled your eyes as you fully entered the kitchen and grabbed your backpack off of the stool where you had left it earlier. Your friends were referring to Jeon Jungkook, a current sophomore who had found his way into your circle of friends early on in his freshman year after taking a few classes with Namjoon and Jimin. The two of you weren’t particularly close as you typically only saw him on the weekends and in passing, but he was a friendly addition to the group. Despite hearing about how popular he was with the sophomore girls, you found it hard to believe. Every time Jungkook was around you, he seemed to turn into a nervous, stuttering mess, much to the rest of the boys’ enjoyment.

“Leave my little Kookie alone. He’s an angel,” you responded, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “Tell him of course I’ll do it.”

“Phew, I think he’d pass out if I told him you referred to him as your Kookie,” Namjoon pestered on, nosily glancing over Jimin’s shoulder in amusement as the shorter boy typed out the news to Jungkook.

“I will be leaving that part out for now.” Jimin chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before his eyes met yours again. “Oh, I don’t know if Tae told you yet, but we’re planning on throwing a little party Friday night. You should come, Y/N.” Little party. Whenever Jimin claimed he was just throwing a “little party,” it was often anything but little.

Taehyung had not told you yet, but you weren’t exactly surprised as he was a bit of a scatter brain when it came to remembering minute details. Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms over your chest. “We’ll see.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, moving closer to shove his shoulder against yours. “We all know that’s your way of trying to appease us momentarily and then end up not showing up. Come on, Y/N.”

Jimin stuck out his lower lip, clasping his hands together to plead. “Pleaaase, Y/N. You never party with us anymore like you used to. We miss you.”

“If not for us, do it for Tae,” Namjoon argued, poking your cheek. “Or even for your little Kookie.”

Dramatically shaking your head, you shoved Namjoon back as you rolled your eyes. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Hmm, you better.”

A moment of silence fell upon the group before you were forced back into the reality of the current situation that you were trying to avoid.

“Oh shit, sorry Y/N. I’m being rude,” Hoseok interrupted from the other side of the counter, offering you a sheepish smile. “This is my friend Yoongi. I’ve finally been managing to drag him out to hang out with some of my friends. Quite the antisocial one here.”

Ah. How could you forget he was here? Also, antisocial? Hilarious. The boy in question never kept his big mouth shut around you. The look of pure discomfort that spread across Yoongi’s face when Hoseok brought the silent boy to your attention caused you to feel nothing but pure joy.

“Oh, no worries at all, Hobi,” you replied sweetly, flashing the boy an all-too-pleasant smile. “Yoongi and I have actually already had the pleasure of meeting. Isn’t that right, Yoongi?”

Nothing pleased you more than witnessing the look of sheer panic plastered across Yoongi’s face as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. His typical overly confident persona was gone; he was now putty in your hands and you loved the feeling of being in control for once. If only this moment could last forever.

“Uh, yeah we have,” Yoongi muttered, attempting to appease Hoseok’s confused face with a not-so-convincing smile. “We have history class together this semester.”

“History?” Hoseok’s eyes glanced back and forth between the two of you, as if trying to process something. At last, they settled on Yoongi. “Weren’t you just telling me you made some girl cry in history class today?”

If Yoongi hadn’t been mortified before, he surely was now. It almost seemed as if his face was frozen, his eyes and mouth all wide in the shape of an ‘o.’ Just as you thought this interaction could not possibly get any more uncomfortable for Yoongi, his eyes flickered away from yours to move behind you. Whatever it was that he saw left him looking even more disoriented, earning an amused smirk from you.

At last the sight Yoongi had observed made his presence known to you, Taehyung’s voice causing you to spin around on your heel to face him. “Guys, let Y/N go to class in peace. She’s had a rough day.”

You had to bite down on your tongue to avoid the laughter that was threatening to force its way through your lips. As your eyes raked up and down Taehyung’s body, you were quite aware of why Yoongi had looked so stunned just moments before. Taehyung stood before the group just as he had beside you in his bedroom a few minutes ago, hair a complete mess and sporting nothing but a pair of tight boxers. Although the sight was nothing unusual to you and most of the boys, you knew by Yoongi’s expression that he had assumed that you and Taehyung had been hooking up before you emerged into the kitchen. Even though it was false, you found yourself enjoying the current situation immensely. You were well aware by the way Yoongi usually teased and belittled you in class that he perceived you as the quiet, innocent type, and you knew this scene would cause him to question everything. How good it felt to be the one making Yoongi feel like shit for once.

“Tae, don’t worry about it. We were just talking,” you assured him, reaching up to ruffle his messy hair. While this act of affection was typical for the two of you, you knew it would be perceived differently in Yoongi’s eyes. “But I do actually have to go to class now. I’ll see you guys around, okay?”

The sound of various “goodbyes” and “we better see you at the party” filled your ears as you turned on your heel, but not before taking one last glance at Yoongi, knowing this was likely the last time you would have the pleasure of seeing the confident boy looking so distraught. His eyebrows were knit together as he frantically looked you up and down, almost as if he was trying to search for the quiet, jittery girl he was used to seeing in class. Although you knew this newfound confidence you were feeling surrounded by your group of close friends probably wouldn’t last when you saw him alone in class on Friday, you allowed yourself to indulge in this little victory where he was the one looking like the fool.

Directing one last small smirk at the confused boy, you finally approached the door and slipped out. The moment you exited the building and walked toward the academic quad, you couldn’t hold back the laughter you had been keeping in for what felt like an eternity. The unfortunate events of the morning had been long forgotten; you had achieved your first victory of the day and it was a big one for you.

When you finally slipped into your classroom with five minutes to spare, you took a moment to retrieve your phone out of your bag, blinking in confusion at all of the texts you had received in just a few minutes.

kookie (2:49pm): thanks for agreeing to help me w my project!!! :)

kookie (2:49pm): i promise it won’t be too much work for you

kookie (2:50pm): sorry for being a loser and not asking you myself

kookie (2:50pm): hopefully i’ll see you friday night? :)

Aw. What a cutie. Now onto the rest of your texts.

tae tae (2:51pm): yoongi will not stop asking us questions about you

tae tae (2:51pm): he asked if me and you were dating and then got confused when we all laughed

tae tae (2:52pm): also suspiciously curious about who jungkook is

tae tae (2:52pm): now he’s asking all about how long we’ve been friends for. wtf is he trying to get at

tae tae (2:55pm): ya know i think he has a crush on you or something

You let out an exasperated gasp as you read the last text, barely believing your eyes. Yoongi, the boy who managed to make every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at noon unbearable for you without fail for the past month, having a crush on you? The thought was laughable.

Before you could type out an adequate response to such absurdity, your phone buzzed again.

jiminie (2:56pm): so what’s the deal w you and yoongi? seems ~steamy~ 👀

jiminie (2:56pm): i feel like he somehow knows i’m texting about him

jiminie (2:56pm): he’s glaring at me

jiminie (2:57pm): didn’t take you as one to go for the intimidating ones hmm

jimine (2:57pm): i’ll let kookie know he has to be scarier

It was understandable for Taehyung to have such irrational ideas, but now Jimin too? If your friends saw the way he talked to you in class, they would be laughing at themselves too. Someone grab these boys their clown suits.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you locked your phone without responding to either of your friends. That would be an issue for a later time.

The next two days rolled by rather smoothly. Your housemate had apologized to you after realizing that she had overreacted for yelling at you for leaving your dishes in the sink when you were busy with homework, you had managed to get the missed interview rescheduled, and you had explained the situation to your understanding mother. Most importantly, it was now Friday and you were more than ready for the weekend. Things seemed to be finally falling back into order.

After getting an early lunch with one of your friends before your class at noon, you found yourself with fifteen minutes to spare before your class and it didn’t seem worthwhile to try to go back to your house or even the library. It wouldn’t hurt to be a bit early for class.

When you finally entered the lecture hall from the back, the sight before you caused you to come to an immediate halt. As it was still quite early, the class was empty all except for one person who you could identify even from behind due to his bright, bleached blonde hair. What the fuck was Min Yoongi doing fifteen minutes early to class? It was generous to even expect him to show up a whole minute before start time. This was unprecedented.

You momentarily considered turning on your heel and leaving the room until right before noon, but it would be too much of a hassle to find somewhere to sit outside and the sound of the door closing behind you had already notified him that someone else was in the room. As you accepted your fate and began to walk down the aisle, your eyes stopped on the space in front of your usual seat. There in front of your seat sat a large coffee. Had somebody already taken your seat? Was Yoongi saving your seat for someone else to avoid you after your last interaction on Wednesday?

Working up the nerve, you continued to walk closer, only stopping once you were right in front of Yoongi. The confidence you had found around your friends on Wednesday had seemed to diminish. Before you could even allow yourself to take in the nervous expression on his face, you forced yourself to speak. “Hey, did somebody take my seat?”

Yoongi blinked a couple times in confusion before his eyes wandered over to the coffee in front of your seat, a sense of comprehension taking over his features. The calm expression on his face didn’t last. Suddenly, the same anxious Yoongi you had experienced in Taehyung’s kitchen was back, his cheeks heating up and his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. You had noticed that was a nervous habit of his. Clearing his throat, he shook his head before finally attempting to clear up the confusion. “Uh, no…” His eyes darted around the area, moving anywhere but to your own. “It’s for you… The coffee.”

The confusion certainly was not cleared up by his answer, and you were left feeling even more puzzled. Why had Yoongi bought you a coffee? And why did he seem so nervous about it? Glancing down at the venti cup in front of you, you picked it up and examined the label on the side. Venti iced caramel latte with almond milk and less ice, it read. Wait a minute. How did he know your exact order, down to the less ice?

Furrowing your brow, you crossed your arms over your chest and continued to glare at the clearly uncomfortable Yoongi, much to his dismay. “How do you know my exact coffee order?”

Yoongi’s cheeks flushed darker, his hands reaching down as he grabbed his backpack off of the ground and attempted to distract himself by zipping it open and looking for his notebook for a bit too long. “I zone out in class a lot and have happened to zone out on your coffee a few times so I happened to remember.” When you stood your ground and refused to assume your seat next to his, his eyes finally met yours. It seemed as if though he was trying to put on an irritated front, but you could see right through it. “Just sit down and drink it, okay?”

After standing still and staring at him for a few moments longer just to further his discomfort, you finally let your arms fall to your sides and walked behind him to plop down in your seat. Jabbing the straw into the top of the unexpected cup of coffee, you took a long sip. Ah, the sweet sensation of caffeine flowing through your veins. Almost as sweet as the feeling of a highly uncomfortable Yoongi sitting beside you.

You were well aware that he was waiting for you to speak first. He was most definitely waiting for you to ask him why he got you the coffee. He was also likely wishing you’d bring up Wednesday before he had to. However, the knowledge of his discomfort made you hold off. If he wanted to talk about it, he would have to initiate the conversation. You were enjoying this role reversal just a bit too much.

After a few more moments in silence, Yoongi finally let out a defeated sigh and fully turned his body to face yours. It was quite apparent by the distressed expression on his face that he had been having a battle with himself in his head to work up the courage to speak. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I got you coffee?” Ah, the male species was so predictable.

Taking another long sip from the coffee just to make him wait a bit longer, you quirked an eyebrow at him, feigning innocence. “Am I supposed to?”

“Well, I mean, yeah. I would expect you to be curious.” Running a hand through his hair, he allowed his eyes to scan over your face. When he realized you weren’t budging, he let out yet another sigh. Poor guy. “It’s an apology, okay? I wanted to say I’m sorry for Wednesday. You know, when you, um… Cried. I was just joking around and had no idea I would upset you so much and I felt like a complete asshole. I followed you when you ran out and tried to find you to see if you were okay, but you really disappeared. I just… I know I’m not good with this kind of thing but I’m sorry.”

Clasping your hands together over your drink, you allowed yourself a moment to process all that was just thrown at you. Not only was Yoongi apologizing to you, but did he just admit that he chased after you to try to comfort you after he saw you cry? That seemed all too out of character for someone who was known for being overly confident and priding himself in his ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ attitude.

Gnawing on your lower lip, you allowed yourself to take in his current state. As he had told you, he clearly wasn’t very good at whatever “this” was. What was “this” exactly? Was it him having to apologize? Or simply him having to not be a complete dick to you for more than thirty seconds? Regardless, it was evident that he was being genuine. His hand continued to rake through his hair, causing it to stick up in various directions. Although his eyes were finally fixated on yours, the expression on his face communicated to you that he wished the ground would swallow him up at any moment. It was strange seeing him this stressed for so long, but it was a welcomed change. You knew all too well what it felt like to be so on edge, so you found yourself starting to feel a bit bad for him. Maybe you could take it easy on him. You had already felt the satisfaction of seeing him lose his ego for at least a little while, and that was enough for you.

Sighing to yourself, you shook your head and offered him a small smile. “It’s fine, really. Wasn’t even really your fault,” you assured him, reaching down into your backpack and fishing out your notebook as you noticed some of the other students finally started to file into the lecture hall. “I had a lot going on and you just happened to be the one to set me off.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi’s eyes trailed up and down your face as if he was trying to speculate if you were telling the truth or not. Why did he suddenly care so much about your feelings? “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, why you were so upset and all…”

Furrowing your brow, you opened your notebook to a fresh sheet of paper. “Uh, no. Not really. Talking like that isn’t exactly something we do,” you answered, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. It almost felt like he was trying to pry into your life, and you weren’t sure why. As your relationship– if you could even call it that– was strictly limited to unwanted banter and insults from Yoongi, you didn’t exactly feel comfortable opening up to him about your problems. A pity coffee wasn’t enough to convince you otherwise. “I already had the chance to rant about it anyway.”

Yoongi was silent for a moment as he copied your actions, opening his own notebook and distracting himself by flipping through various scantily-covered pages. “Ah, with Taehyung?”

You sensed a tinge of judgment in his voice, causing you to recollect the events of Wednesday. It was clear that your perception had been correct; the tone of Yoongi’s voice insinuated that he believed something was going on between you and Taehyung. Apparently whatever Taeyung and the other boys had told him after you had left wasn’t enough to change his mind. His judgment was a valid one, even expected, but his apparent need to ask you about it was not. What did it matter to him?

“Yes, with Tae,” you replied simply, watching the way he doodled in the margins of his notebook. “He is my best friend, afterall.”

“Oh, my bad. Wasn’t aware he was ‘Tae’ to you,” Yoongi spoke up quickly, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “I think we have different definitions of what a ‘best friend’ is, though.” Ah, there he was. The insolent Yoongi you had come to know and despise.

Rolling your eyes, you unknowingly pushed the coffee he had bought you further away, almost as if to symbolize that he was becoming repulsive to you yet again. “I’m not quite convinced anyone would want to be your best friend anyway,” you snapped back, clicking open your pen. “So was the coffee really an apology or just an excuse to pry into my life?”

“No, no. It really was an apology,” he answered right away, pushing the coffee closer to you again in response. “I’m just curious. I guess my initial impression of you wasn’t entirely right.”

Now that was enough to get your full attention again. Yoongi sure seemed to have a lot to think and say about you. Raising an eyebrow, you hesitantly took another sip from your coffee. “I wasn’t aware you had any impression of me to begin with.”

Yoongi chuckled to himself and shook his head, almost as if in disbelief of what you had just said. “Oh, I have had a lot of thoughts about you. I’ll keep them to myself, for your sake.” If you hadn’t blinked, you would’ve noticed the way his eyes momentarily flickered down to your lips as they wrapped around the straw of your coffee. “However, don’t worry. I had it right that you’re a nerd who’s always going out of her way to do a bit much, and I stand by that.”

Scoffing to yourself, you slammed your drink down yet again. “And you’re still an incessant asshole who pries into my life for absolutely no reason.” Your eyes flickered to the front of the room as your professor took his place behind the podium. “And I stand by that.”

Yoongi laughed a bit louder this time, clearly unbothered as he nodded his head at you as he turned his body to face the front of the class. “Fair enough.”

Class seemed to fly by in a breeze, the majority of the lecture taken up by your professor outlining the content that would be on your first exam in the following week. It was a lot of information, but you were confident that it wouldn’t be too challenging if you gave yourself enough time to study. However, that was a problem for next week. This weekend had to be about unwinding and giving yourself the proper amount of time to let go and relax.

Shoving your contents into your backpack, you were snapped out of your post-class daze by the sound of Yoongi’s low voice. “Any fun plans this weekend?”

Blinking a few times to wake yourself back up, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and eyed the boy in front of you. It was very unlike him to attempt to start a casual conversation with you, especially after class (that is, unless he was asking you for your notes). His odd behavior was continuing to surprise you. “Uh, not sure…” you answered, taking a moment to push in your chair. “Might need to make an appearance at a party tonight so my friends don’t kill me, but that’s about it.”

“Ah, the life of the party here.” Yoongi snickered, flashing you a lop-sided smirk before raising his hand slightly to give you a lackluster wave. “See you around.” With that, he spun around and quickly disappeared out of the lecture hall.

What an odd afternoon.

And you sure did see him around. Much sooner than you would have liked, if you were being perfectly honest.

To your dismay, your lame excuses of “I’m sick” and “I have other plans” did not work on your friends, and they left you feeling guilty for trying to get out of going to their party. Along with that, none of your housemates were particularly in the mood to go out, conceding that they’d much rather just stay in and watch a movie after such a chaotic week.

So that was precisely how you found yourself alone in the back of an Uber on the way to Taehyung’s house, discreetly trying to take shots out of a plastic water bottle filled with some old raspberry-flavored vodka that tasted closer to nail polish remover. As painful as it was trying to hold in your gags so your Uber driver didn’t notice, you knew you couldn’t show up to the function sober. Your friends were probably already ten rounds in.

As if on cue, your phone started to vibrate against your thigh, gladly distracting you from having to take another shot of poison.

joon (10:01pm): you better get your ass over here rn

joon (10:01pm): it’s still just all of us pregaming together and we want you here before everyone else shows up

joon (10:02pm): jimin is already absolutely plastered

jiminie (10:02pm): um nit thst drink theyre bing mwan to me

jiminie (10:02pm): cum here niw nd guv me s hug ;(

jiminie (10:03pm): o uiongi ia here too

Laughing to yourself as you didn’t even try to decipher the complete nonsense Jimin sent you, you glanced out the window as the car slowed to a stop in front of your destination. After thanking your driver and sliding out of the car, you rose to your feet and smoothed out your lace top and black leather skirt. It had been a while since you had allowed yourself to get all dressed up like this. As you approached the door, you couldn’t help but notice the warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach and the head rush you felt from standing up so quickly. Ah, the lovely effects of alcohol.

Before you could even ring the doorbell or text one of the boys that you had arrived, the door was swung open aggressively, revealing a grinning Seokjin holding a half-empty bottle of tequila in his free hand. “Y/N! I almost didn’t believe them when they said you were coming,” he cheered, pulling you inside and engulfing you in a tight hug. Pulling back a bit to look at you, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “And I can tell you already started drinking. The old Y/N is back!”

“Hey, I knew I had to have a few shots beforehand if I was going to be able to tolerate all of you,” you joked, playfully shoving his chest. Your eyes wandered upward as he held the bottle of tequila up as an offering over your mouth, quirking a challenging eyebrow at you. Rolling your eyes, you leaned down and opened your mouth beneath the bottle, allowing him to pour a generous amount of the potent liquid into your mouth. As you swallowed, you noted how it went down without much misery. That was usually a good sign that you were tipsy.

“Taking it like a champ!” Seokjin chanted, draping an arm over your shoulders as he took another long swig from the bottle. “We should probably head in there before the guys get mad at me for keeping you to myself.”

“Good idea.” You giggled, affectionately wrapping an arm around his waist for support.

Before the two of you could even round the corner, you were stopped by a stumbling Jimin who practically threw himself onto your body, curling his arms around your waist and burying his face in your hair. “Y/N, you’re finally here,” he slurred out, his fingers digging into the skin on your lower back. Seokjin gave you an apologetic look before chuckling to himself and leaving the two of you alone. “Did you get my texts?” He kept his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled back a bit to meet your eyes, flashing you a huge grin with half-lidded eyes. God he was plastered, but you were just tipsy enough to enjoy his affection.

“Yes, and I see you’ve already claimed your hug,” you greeted with a giggle, poking one of his dimples. “That was about all I could make out from the complete nonsense you were sending me.”

Jimin’s eyes widened as he grabbed your hand from his face, messily intertwining his fingers with yours. Leaning in, his lips brushed against your ears. “You got my text that Yoongi is here, right?” he attempted a whisper, but his voice came out quite a bit louder than that.

It took a moment for your buzzed brain to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words. Once they finally sunk in, your eyes widened. Sure Yoongi was close with Namjoon and was beginning to bond with the other boys, but what exactly was he doing here? Wouldn’t he have brought it up earlier when you told him you were probably going to be stopping by the party? Why couldn’t this guy make sense for once?

When your thoughts finally subsided and the shot you had taken just a couple minutes before started to set in, you simply decided to squeeze Jimin’s hand and offer him a warm smile. “It’s fine, Jimin. We’re fine.”

“Nooo, you don’t understaaaand,” Jimin drawled out, completely giving up on trying to whisper this time. The music was loud enough anyway that there was likely no need to worry. “He told Hoseok and Namjoon last weekend that there was absolutely no chance he’d show up to our party. He hates parties,” he explained, reaching down to grab your other hand as well. “Now all of a sudden this afternoon he decided he was on board. Me, Namjoon, and Tae have a conspiracy theory that he’s only here because he found out you’re gonna be here.” Jimin’s eyes closed shut for a few moments and he stumbled back slightly, catching his balance at the last moment. “Woooow, I’m drunk.”

You weren’t going to overthink this. You were not going to let Min Yoongi ruin your one night to relax and have a good time. Sure he did find out that you were likely going to be here when you told him this afternoon, but that was obviously a mere coincidence. Perhaps he had just decided to not be a stick in the mud for once in his life and try to let go. That was definitely it. Wrapping an arm around Jimin’s waist to steady him, you began to walk towards the chaos that was likely occurring in the next room over. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s go have some fun and get you some water before you’re puking all over everything before people even start showing up.”

“Water.” Jimin chuckled to himself as he unsteadily followed by your side, leaning much of his weight into you. “That’s cute. You’re cute.”

Rolling your eyes, you guided the two of you into the kitchen, immediately being met with a parade of loud cheers from the six other guys who had been waiting for you (probably five cheering voices, since you weren’t exactly convinced Yoongi was involved). Speaking of Yoongi, although you refused to meet his eyes just yet, you could feel his eyes burning through you. While this action would usually make you quite uneasy and jittery, the alcohol was doing you another favor by allowing you to brush it off.

“It’s about time.” Taehyung flashed you his signature boxy grin and draped an arm over your shoulders. “What was going on over there? Were you and Jimin having a secret meeting or something?”

Reaching up to ruffle his hair, you nodded and smirked. “Yeah, actually we were…” you trailed off, your eyes setting on the various handles of liquor spread across the counter. “We were actually discussing how you’re a bitch if you don’t take a shot with me right now.”

There was an uproar of “ohhhh’s” from most of the boys that echoed throughout the whole room, followed by Taehyung’s booming laughter. “Wow, I forgot how much I love feisty, drunk Y/N,” he commented, lining up two shot glasses on the counter and filling them with what was either silver tequila or another random flavored vodka. God you were going to hate yourself in the morning for mixing so many different types of alcohol if you didn’t slow down soon. After handing one of the glasses to you, he clinked his against yours. “Cheers to you.”

Giggling to yourself, you downed the shot, noting how it went down even easier than the one before. You were in trouble if you kept moving at this pace. However, you were aware that the house would be filling up with people outside of your immediate friend group shortly and that was enough reason to keep drinking. As was Min Yoongi’s burning presence.

“I still haven’t forgotten about that party last time when you and Jimin beat me by one cup in beer pong,” Namjoon directed at you, chuckling to himself as he shook his head. “Rematch now. I’m taking Hoseok this time.”

“Ah, sore loser,” you retorted, sticking your tongue out at him. Your eyes wandered over to Jimin who was leaning against the refrigerator with his eyes closed, no glass of water in sight. He clearly was not beer pong partner material at the moment. Continuing to weigh your options, you noticed the way that Yoongi stared at you with his arms crossed over his chest and a raised eyebrow, almost as if he was challenging you to choose him. You were too into this whole barely acknowledging his presence game to pick that route. Finally, your eyes settled on an oblivious (or maybe nervous) Jungkook who was nursing a cup of beer in one hand and mindlessly staring down at his phone in the other. Perfect. Walking around Taehyung, you approached the younger boy and poked your finger into his side. “Kookie, let’s kick some ass.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the way Yoongi’s eyes remained on you, but they became colder the moment those last words left your mouth.

“How daaaare you pick another partner?” Jimin scoffed, his eyes still closed as he wobbled to the side, catching his balance on the counter. Oh boy. God help whoever was stuck taking care of him tonight.

Jungkook’s eyes widened and his mouth fell into an ‘o’ as his eyes finally met yours, his fingers fumbling around his phone and almost causing it to fall. “M-Me?” he questioned, his cheeks becoming rosier by the second. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” You smiled and wrapped your arm around his waist, resting your head against his arm fondly. “I help you with your photography project, you help me maintain my pride.”

“O-Okay…” Jungkook’s arm stiffened in surprise at first, but he forced the nerves away and smiled warmly at you and hesitantly draped his arm over your shoulders. As Namjoon and Hoseok led the way into the other room with the beer pong table, the younger boy guided the two of you behind them. “Anything for you.”

Not only did the music drown out the sound of Jimin hurling into the kitchen sink, it also did a good job at masking the sound of Yoongi’s scoff and the way he immediately downed his full drink.

Despite Namjoon’s cocky attitude, you and Jungkook proved to be an unstoppable match, beating the other pair three games in a row. The party proved to be a lot more fun than you had expected and would ever dare to give your friends credit for. Shortly after you had started your first game of beer pong, the other friends and acquaintances of the boys started to file in. It seemed like the guests never stopped arriving and those who came never wanted to leave. Even after nearly three hours, the house was still quite full. Although still quite tipsy, you found yourself hungry and tired, longing for your bed and a box of pizza. Taehyung had suggested you just stay the night to avoid ubering back by yourself so late at night, but you were sick of the noise and mess. Your social battery was quickly running out.

Sighing to yourself, you closed the front door of the house behind you and sat down on one of the front steps. Staring off into the darkness, you started to plot your escape. You didn’t want Taehyung or any of the other boys to worry about you too much, but you knew that they would immediately notice if you were gone for too long.

Before you could think too much, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing yet again. Instead of watching the backs of another group of guests leaving, you felt somebody plop down beside you on the step. As you looked to the side, your breath hitched in your throat. “You good?” Yoongi asked, tired eyes searching your face.

God, if your social battery was already on low, you couldn’t even imagine how long ago Yoongi’s had run out. You were shocked he had stayed nearly this long. His tired eyes pleaded with yours, perhaps begging you to not make a fuss and just be civil with him for once. Biting your lip, you nodded your head. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, looking off to stare into the street lights again. “Just exhausted and in desperate need of some quiet and some food.”

“God, I feel you. I think I’m going to have an eternal headache.” Yoongi chuckled to himself, letting out a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. He seemed so… Calm. So… Normal. It was a bit jarring, but comforting at the same time. “I don’t think you’re going to find any restaurant open right now, but I ordered pizza for dinner and have a lot left over at my place that I’m willing to share. It’s also definitely quiet there.” The words seemed to roll off of his lips so casually, as if this was something common for the two of you when it was anything but that.

Turning your head to look at him, you raised an eyebrow. As you scanned his face, you couldn’t find any traces of disingenuity; it seemed as if he really intended to invite you over his place to hang out as if you were friends. While this would have been intriguing on any normal day, it was extra intriguing with the bit of alcohol’s effects remaining in your body and your deep desire to leave the party. Finally, you asked, “What’s the catch?”

“Hmm…” The corner of Yoongi’s lips perked up the slightest bit, his teeth digging into his tongue to prevent himself from laughing. “The catch is you have to spend time with me. I can see how that might be difficult for you, especially after you’ve spent the whole night avoiding me.”

Your eyes widened as you looked away, warmth flooding your cheeks. You hadn’t actually expected him to notice the little game you were playing, at least in your head. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you immediately shot back, refusing to meet his eyes. “I was just… Busy.”

“Ah, I know. Very busy. Crazy how you just seemed to disappear every time I tried to approach you,” Yoongi teased with a smirk playing at his lips, rising to his feet. After stretching his arms over his head briefly, he turned to face you and extended his hand. “So are you coming or not? It’s only a five minute walk up the road, and I’d recommend you decide quickly before I rescind my offer.”

After staring at his offering hand for a moment, you sighed before grabbing onto it and allowing him to pull you up. “Only for the pizza,” you retorted, although the small smile on your lips informed the both of you that that was far from true.

Despite being perfectly capable of walking on your own, Yoongi’s hand remained wrapped around your own. While you initially had some concerns that it would be awkward between the two of you, the conversation flowed naturally the entirety of the walk to his place. Whether it be laughing about the random guy at the party who attempted to get with every single girl there or even poking fun at some of the freshmen in your history lecture, you had plenty to talk about. Maybe it was the alcohol, but there seemed to be something deeper there.

After arriving at his place and noting the surprising cleanliness of it, the pair of you found yourselves sprawled out on his couch in the living room with two slices of heated up pizza a piece. It was beyond relieving to finally have some peace and quiet, and the taste of the pizza was immaculate. This was exactly what you needed.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Yoongi raised an eyebrow at you. “Aren’t your boyfriends probably worried that you disappeared?”

Taking a big bite out of your crust, you rolled your eyes at the boy beside you and nudged his thigh with your foot. “They’re not my boyfriends, and I already told them I left.”

“Hmm, interesting.” Yoongi smirked to himself and pushed your foot away from him. “What about your little Kookie?”

“You’re awfully interested in my relationships with my friends,” you teased, leaning back further against one of the pillows and draping your feet over the armrest. “We’re just friends.”

“Okay, okay.” Yoongi chuckled and leaned forward to place his empty plate on the table in front of the couch. Once he fell back against the couch, his eyes scanned your face. A long silence fell upon you as he chewed on his lower lip, almost as if he was contemplating saying something. When you opted to sit up straight again and positioned yourself a bit closer, he finally broke the silence. “You know I never mean to hurt your feelings or offend you or anything like that, right?”

Swallowing the nervous lump that had formed in your throat, you stalled by busying yourself with putting your plate on top of his, wiping your hands against each other. “I mean, I can see that now,” you admitted, allowing your eyes to meet his. “But I never really know what to make of it all.”

Yoongi sighed to himself, looking down as he fiddled with his fingers. You were glad to see that you weren’t the only nervous one here. What had begun as a surprisingly fun and carefree hangout seemed to be morphing into something else very quickly. If there hadn’t been any alcohol remaining in your system, you likely would’ve run from the tension. Yet here you were, watching as Yoongi poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “I’m just really bad at flirting, I guess.”

Your eyes widened as you allowed yourself to process what he had just admitted, staring at him as he attempted to look anywhere that wasn’t at you. All of those little jabs and insults had been flirting? Sure, you were aware that a lot of people used teasing to flirt, but that was usually after you had established some sort of foundation and it was made clear that that was the intention. Either you had been overreacting all along, or he was right– he was really bad at this. A jittery feeling filled your stomach as you looked down, occupying yourself by playing with the ends of a strand of your hair. You hated yourself for still being so intrigued with him, but you couldn’t help it. He truly was an enigma. “You were… flirting?”

“Trying to, at least.” Yoongi let out an emotionless laugh, sounding rather disappointed in himself and likely a bit embarrassed. After another moment, his eyes found yours. Rather than look away, his eyes remained fixed on yours and a mesmerized look took over his face. It was rather unclear whether it was a genuine newfound sense of confidence that spoke up next, or if it was the alcohol talking. At that moment, something in him snapped. “I just… You’re so fucking adorable and it really frustrates me because I just don’t know how to act around you for some reason. I’d noticed you around campus before this semester but never really knew how to approach you. When I saw you were in my class, I thought I finally had a shot, but I clearly fucked that up from day one. Still don’t think I’ve even fully forgiven myself for making you cry.” Letting out a huff, he leaned his head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “Everything you do is just so fucking… Ugh. How much a perfectionist you are, the short sundresses, the way you don’t even kind of realize the effect you have on people, it’s all just… Fuck. I’m so used to just getting my way with people so easily, but it’s such a challenge with you. I can’t decide if it’s more frustrating or alluring, but it doesn’t even matter. You’re all I fucking think about these days.”

Swallowing thickly, your eyes scanned his face to search for any sign that he might be lying, but you found nothing. Instead, he leaned back against the couch with his eyes closed, a hand raking itself through his hair. He looked so… Frustrated. Defeated. You did this to the typically unbothered, confident Min Yoongi? Biting your lip, your eyes trailed along his jawline and up to his lips. Not only did he look discouraged, he looking so fucking… Good. The apprehensive feeling that had taken over your stomach morphed into a pool of heat, slowly sinking lower and lower. This was the Min Yoongi you had always imagined; a vulnerable, introspective boy who also happened to have a face that looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. And here he was, confessing to you that you basically had him wrapped around your finger and at his will. While this twist was certainly exciting, the feeling of dominance that came along with it had you feeling turned on. You might not be good at words, but you certainly were good at communicating physically.

You hadn’t realized that you had completely zoned out until Yoongi was sitting up straight, panic in his eyes as he rapidly shook his head. “I can’t believe I just said all of that… Forget it. I’m sorry and I understand if you want to leave.”

Blinking a few times to snap yourself out of your daze, you shook your head at him. Unable to find the right words, you rose to your knees and lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and slamming your lips into his. Instead of being met with the warmth and rhythm of his lips that you so craved, he pulled back a bit.

“Wait, are you sure?” he questioned genuinely, but his eyes became dark as they trailed down to your lips, longing to taste them again. “I don’t want you to do something you might regret.”

“Yes, I’m sure about this and I’m also sure that you’re talking a whole lot. It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” you teased, mocking the phrase he always used whenever he’d make fun of you in class. Moving your hands up a bit, you tangled your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. “You know, you probably should’ve led with some of that nicer stuff instead of being such an asshole. Would’ve worked wonders for you much sooner.”

Yoongi’s entire demeanor seemed to shift as your words, a sense of relief washing over his face. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he finally wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “I would’ve if you didn’t frustrate me so much. Don’t know how to act around you.” Finding his statement efficient enough for now, he at last closed the gap between the two of you, his lips slamming back onto yours. His fingers slid up the back of your shirt and dug into your back, causing you to moan into his mouth. The parting of your lips allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth, the taste of him overwhelming you. The pool of heat and desire in your stomach continued to sink down lower, becoming evident in the wetness in your panties that was soon going to become noticeable if your short skirt kept rising up. Shifting yourself to straddle one of his thighs, you grinded down against it in an attempt to find some relief.

A groan from Yoongi caused you to pull back, taking a moment to catch your breath before you began to pepper wet kisses down his jawline. You were too far in at this point and there was no turning back now. As his hands slid down from your back to cup your ass, your lips found their way to his ear. “How can I make it up to you? You know, for frustrating you so much and all.”

Yoongi clenched his thigh in response to words, eliciting a moan out of you as the fabric of his jeans created friction against your wet panties. “You’re playing a dangerous game asking questions like that.”

“Mmm, I think that’s what I’m trying to do,” you cooed, pecking his lips a couple times before kissing your way down to his neck.

“Bedroom. Now.” Before you could continue, he lifted you off of his lap and placed you on your feet on the ground. He rose up beside you and wrapped his arm around your waist, quickly leading you out of the room and down the hall. The moment he dragged you into his room, one of his hands departed from your body to slam the door shut and roughly press your body against the back of the door. His lips roamed the skin on your neck for a few moments before his wandering hands abruptly tugged your shirt up and over your head, ignoring the way he forced your arms to twist. Once the piece of clothing was discarded on the floor, his eyes fell upon your exposed skin, widening when he realized you had not been wearing a bra. He took a step back, a combination of lust and what almost appeared to be admiration filling his eyes. “God, are you trying to fucking kill me?”

Biting on your lower lip in an attempt to hide your growing smirk, you raised an eyebrow at him. You could feel your ego being boosted and it was in that moment, just like that time a few days before during your run-in with him at Taehyung’s place, that you realized again just how much it got you off to feel in control over him. After having dealt with him making fun of you and watching you unravel under his gaze so many times, it felt incredible to have him like putty in your hands. It was clear by the dazed look in his eyes that he was at your command now, and this was finally a situation you felt comfortable taking control over. “Don’t tell me you’re going to die on me already. I haven’t even gotten started with you yet,” you teased, tracing your finger down his jawline at a tantalizingly slow pace. “Take off your shirt.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he obliged to your command, quickly pulling his oversized t-shirt over his head and throwing it in a pile on top of yours. It was obvious he had become accustomed to being the one holding power over you, and this shift had caught him off guard. “A little bossy, don’t you think?”

“Get used to it.” Eyeing his bare chest and stomach slowly, you planted one last wet kiss onto his lips before dropping to your knees in front of him. You ignored the way his eyes were practically bulging out of his head as you unhurriedly undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, dragging them down his legs and making sure to keep his boxers in place on his lips. Despite his surprise, he eagerly stepped out of his jeans and kicked them to the side, a hand moving to rest on the top of your head. Your mouth watered as you eyed the hardening bulge through his tight boxers that were already stained with pre-cum, leaning forward to just barely press your lips against the tip of his cock through the fabric.

Yoongi’s fingers threaded through your hair as a suffocated groan escaped his lips. “Y-You know, I had planned on going down on you first. It’s the least I could do.”

Ah, of course. He was just as predictable as every other man you had slept with, and the point had been affirmed by all of your female friends you had discussed it with as well. Let them go down on you first, they always said, knowing that if they did the job well, you would be a begging, submissive mess, hanging onto their every command for the rest of the night. While there was nothing wrong with submitting sometimes, it just didn’t get you off quite as much as taking control did. The stakes were even higher when the other person was Min Yoongi, who had just so graciously admitted to you earlier that he was so used to getting his way with people and feeling in control. Despite your arousal, you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet, at least.

“Mmm, no thanks,” you hummed nonchalantly, keeping your eyes on his as you used your teeth to grip onto the waistband of his boxers and slowly drag them down his legs. Once you reached his ankles, you pulled back and took a moment to admire his fully hardened cock pressed against his stomach. It was not the longest you had ever seen, but the girth of it had you clenching your thighs together at the thought of what it would feel like inside of you later. Licking your lips, you grasped a hand around the base of his length and leaned forward, grazing your tongue against the head to lick up the pre-cum.

“Fuck,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, his other hand moving to tangle into your hair as well. “I wouldn’t recommend too much teasing, sweetheart. You’ll regret it later.”

Ah, already making threats in an attempt to feel in control. This was going to be too easy. You wanted him to beg, though. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you locked eyes with him as you flattened your tongue against the back of the base of his cock, slowly licking your way up along the protruding vein until you reached the top again. “Oh, no,” you teased, beginning to pump your hand up and down. When your hand reached the top, you brushed your thumb back and forth over his sensitive tip. “I’m so scared.”

Whimpering softly, Yoongi’s eyes screwed shut as he craned his neck back. “Please, Y/N,” he groaned, giving your hair a rough tug. “Need your mouth. Now. Please.”

There it was, the begging you had been waiting for. All it took was a bit of teasing for the cocky Min Yoongi to lose all sense of pride. “Well, I guess, since you asked so nicely.” Smirking at your victory, you leaned forward and wrapped your mouth around the head of his cock. Once you had hollowed out your cheeks enough to accommodate for his girth, you began to bob your head up and down and use one hand to pump the rest of his length that wasn’t in your mouth.

“F-Fuck, babe, just like that,” Yoongi groaned out from above you, trying his best to keep his eyes open despite the immense pleasure surging throughout his body. Once you had adopted a rhythm after a couple of minutes, you removed your hand from the base of his shaft. Yoongi immediately noticed its absence and moved a hand to the back of your head, slowly beginning to urge you forward further down his length. “Fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Your eyes remained on his as you allowed him to slowly fuck your face, watering as you fought against the urge to gag. The sound of his quiet moans of your name encouraged you further. When you could tell he couldn’t take much more, you leaned forward to take the rest of his length in your mouth, bottoming out as your nose touched the skin on the bottom of his stomach. Sucking in a deep breath through your nose, you swallowed gently around him, allowing his cock to feel the tightening of the muscles of your throat around it.

Yoongi released his loudest groan yet, eyes screwing shut as he shook his head. “F-Fuck, stop, stop,” he whimpered out, letting go of the back of your head. “Don’t wanna cum before I even get to be inside of you.”

Fighting back the urge to smirk yet again, you slowly worked your mouth backwards until you released the tip of his cock with a loud ‘pop.’ Using the back of your hand to wipe the string of saliva that was hanging out of your mouth, you slowly rose to your feet to meet a flushed Yoongi.

Clearing his throat, he raised an expecting eyebrow at you. “You know, I would like to return the favor first.”

“Hmm.” You couldn’t deny that your core was throbbing at this point, begging for any sort of release. Still, your ego had you wanting to maintain the dominance you currently had over him. Pressing a peck to his lips, you reached down to unbutton your skirt, shimmying it down your legs along with your soaked panties. “Think I could sit on your face?”

For the umpteenth time that night, Yoongi’s eyes enlarged to the size of saucers as he looked you up and down. It felt like an eternity that he stood there frozen and you could practically see a bubble above his head that read ‘Yoongi.exe has stopped working.’ When he at last realized his distraught state, he blinked rapidly and cursed beneath his breath before nodding. “Uh, yeah… That works.” God, he really was speechless.

You failed to suppress an amused laugh as he quickly made his way over to his unmade bed and laid on his back, his short-term flustered demeanor quickly being overtaken with a cocky smirk. While this shift left you wanting to take control again, you couldn’t wait any longer at this point. Sauntering over to the bed, you made your way onto your knees over his face as you faced his stomach, slowly lowering down until you hovered just above him.

Yoongi let out an amused chuckle, the release of warm air from his nose making your wet pussy throb. “God, babe, you’re already soaked,” he mused, reaching his hands around and gripping them tightly around each of your thighs. “You really got off that much just from sucking my cock, hmm?”

His words had you whimpering above him, gasping as he urged your body lower and barely ghosted his lips over your clit. The need for power was gone for now. You needed him to do something. “P-Please.”

Another laugh had you clenching your thighs around his head, begging for any sort of friction. “Come on, babe. I bet you were feeling pretty good about yourself thinking you were in control, hmm?” His nails roughly dug down into the skin of your thighs. “Please what?”

Letting out a frustrated huff, you closed your eyes tightly as you moved your hands up your body, wrapping around your breasts. You knew you had to give in. “Please fuck me with your tongue. Anything, please,” you moaned out, pinching at your sensitive nipples to feel any sort of pleasure as you waited.

“Was that so difficult? That’s all I needed to hear, babe,” he hummed from beneath you, reaching up to grab your hips and urge your body down lower under your pussy rested gently over his mouth. Once he adjusted to the new position, he opened his mouth and slowly began to run his tongue along your folds. It wasn’t until he received a few satisfactory moans from you that his tongue began to gently circle your clit, somehow hitting the spot right where you needed him.

“F-Fuck, Yoongi. Right there,” you moaned out loudly, absentmindedly lowering yourself down a bit more to increase the friction. Your eyes closed shut in pleasure as he replaced the circling motion with a soft sucking, a string of profanities leaving your mouth as you pinched your nipples harder. God, it hadn’t even been long and you could already feel the knot in the pit of your stomach building, dying for that beautiful release.

After a few more moments, Yoongi urged your body up a bit so he could speak coherently. “Come on, babe. Be a good girl and fuck yourself on my tongue.”

A whimper escaped your mouth as you lowered yourself back down onto his now-flattened tongue. Once you had applied the right amount of pressure, you slowly began to rock your hips back and forth. At the top of each motion, his tongue managed to hit that perfect spot on your sensitive bud, bringing you closer to your orgasm with every jolt. Yoongi could sense that you were getting close as your movements became sloppier, encouraging his nails to dig deeper into your thighs and hum against the lips of your pussy to increase the sense of friction. This proved to be all too much for you and the pool of heat in your abdomen snapped moments later, your orgasm overtaking your body as you loudly moaned out Yoongi’s name. The high was almost too much to handle; you were left seeing stars as Yoongi continued to fuck you with his tongue until you couldn’t take it anymore and moved off of his face with shaky thighs to collapse behind him.

Yoongi sat up quickly moments later, refusing to wipe your release off of his face as he marveled at your breathless form before him. “Holy shit, that was so fucking hot,” he breathed out, and you swore you could see his cock twitch against his stomach.

When you finally fully came down from your high, you propped yourself up on your elbows to observe the wide-eyed man staring down at you. “Glad we were finally able to find something that mouth is good for.” Your tongue poked out to skate over your lower lip as you admired the glistening of your release shamelessly left around his mouth and the head of his cock glowing an angry shade of red, just begging to experience the same release. The mouth-watering sight had you aroused again at an embarrassingly fast pace, and it was only moments before you gripped onto his arm and roughly pulled his body on top of yours.

Yoongi’s mouth eagerly met yours, bringing you into a messy battle of teeth and tongues. As he felt you attempt to buck your hips up into his, he began leaving a wet trail of kisses up your jawline until he was barely an inch from your ear. “Think you’re ready to take my cock already? God, you really are a needy, dirty slut, huh?”

His words had your clit throbbing and your body without any patience left. You’re perceptive enough to know that he had been waiting even longer than you and likely couldn’t take waiting any longer either. Reaching down between your bodies, you wrapped a hand around his shaft and guided it toward you, slowly rubbing the tip up and down your wet folds.

“F-Fuck,” Yoongi groaned out, eyes looking down to admire his cock against your clit before meeting your own. “Want me to grab a condom first?”

Whimpering at the feeling of his tip brushing against your sensitive bud, you bit your lip. “I’m clean and I’m on the pill. It’s fine as long as you’re clean.”

“I’m clean too.” Yoongi nodded his head rapidly, reaching down to replace your hand with his own around his cock. “Such a dirty slut wanting me to fuck you raw.” Without any further warning, he placed the tip of his cock at your entrance and bucked his hips forward, slowly filling you with his length.

The sudden stretching of your walls caught you off guard, a loud gasp breezing through your lips as your head fell back against the pillow. The initial shock of overstimulation washed away in an instant, a feeling of deep pleasure in the pit of your stomach replacing it as he slid all the way in. When you realized he was remaining still, you opened your eyes and dug your nails into the skin on his back. “Y-Yoongi, move. Please.”

“G-God, so fucking tight and wet for me.” His forehead fell upon yours and he pressed a shockingly gentle kiss to your lips before propping himself up and beginning to thrust in and out of you at a rapid pace. “Taking my cock so well.”

Whimpering quietly, you moved your legs to wrap around his lower waist and hoist your body closer to his, attempting to match his movements and feel him even deeper inside of you. At the new angle, it wasn’t long until he adjusted his hips so the tip of his cock was pounding against your g-spot with every single thrust. You knew you were not going to last long. Without even realizing, you clenched your walls around him. “F-Fuck, you feel so good.”

Yoongi let out a loud groan as he buried his face into your neck, his teeth clamping down on the exposed skin. “Fuck, babe. I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

It was almost as if his desperate words reignited the same fire for dominance you had been feeling earlier, suddenly recognizing the power you held over him. Despite feeling quite close to orgasm yourself and enjoying the position you were in, you knew you’d get off even faster if you were to take control of the situation. Tightening your legs around his waist, you used all of your strength to flip your body over so you were on top of him. Pressing your hands against his chest, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, moaning loudly as his cock was able to fill you up even deeper in the new position. “Mmm, that’s better.”

Yoongi initially looked at you in shock, but the moment that you sunk down his length, he threw his head back in pleasure. “Fuck, what’s with you needing to be in control?” The clear implication of the question was that he was used to being the dominant one, and this switch was catching him off guard. Regardless, he maintained his composure and propped his head up on the pillow, placing his hands on your hips as you began to bounce up and down. “Yeah? You like getting off by fucking yourself on my cock?”

Throwing your head back, you dragged your nails down his chest as you began to grind your hips in figure-eights, feeling that all-too-familiar warmth quickly building up in your stomach. The sound of your skin slapping against his and echoing throughout the room only intensified your arousal, your hand moving to your clit in an attempt to reach your release sooner. “I-I’m close.”

“I’ve got it, babe,” Yoongi murmured, wetting his fingers against his tongue before pressing two of them against your clit and beginning to rub the sensitive area in small circles. His breathing was quickly becoming as jagged as yours, his groans more frequent. “C-Close, too. W-Where?”

Although his question was quite vague and your mind was clouded from your orgasm that was quickly approaching, you understood what he was asking you. Opening your eyes to meet his, you ground your hips against his harder. “I-Inside me. Please.”

“Fuck, that’s hot. O-Okay.”

Yoongi’s fingers quickened in pace against your clit, his own hips lifting up off of the mattress to meet your thrusts. The new sensation of fullness triggered your second orgasm, your eyes slamming shut as your walls pulsed and convulsed around his cock. The feeling was even stronger than the first one, and although your mind was quite foggy, you’re sure that you were left practically screaming out his name as you desperately gripped onto his arms for any source of stability while you rode out your high.

After witnessing the euphoric look on your face and the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock, Yoongi’s orgasm followed just moments later. A loud groan escaped his lips as he sat up straight and wrapped his arms around you, his forehead resting against yours as the feeling of ecstasy flowed throughout his body. The incoherent noises leaving his mouth continued as he pulsed hot streams of cum inside of you, filling you up completely as he tiredly lifted his hips a few more times to fuck it deeper inside of you.

When you were finally able to catch your breath and the tingling sensation left your body, you opened your eyes and were surprised with his closeness when you realized that his forehead was resting against yours. Something about the position felt so intimate to you, and despite having just been fucked senselessly by the man in front of you, you were left suddenly feeling a bit… Shy. Maybe it was the last remnants of the alcohol wearing off or maybe it was the fact that you had just come crashing down from one of the best orgasms you had ever experienced, but you suddenly felt so vulnerable in front of no one other than Min Yoongi. Chewing on your bottom lip, you slowly lifted your weight off of him and collapsed down beside him, throwing an arm over your eyes as you let out an exhausted yawn. You knew you were good at sex. What you were not so good at was what usually came after it; the uncomfortable conversations and trying to figure out whether or not the other person wanted you to stay or go. The tension that had existed between the two of you before all of this had occurred left you even more on edge.

Yoongi fell back next to you moments later, a huff escaping his lips as his head hit the pillow. Although your arm was covering your eyes, you could feel his eyes glued to your face. “Wow, what the fuck was that? Not what I had imagined you being like,” he exhaled, and you could feel his weight shifting closer to your body. “I’m so used to being in complete control… Didn’t expect to like it so much when it’s not like that.”

Smiling to yourself at your victory, you allowed your arm to fall away from your face, opening your eyes to meet his. “You live and you learn.”

A shockingly warm smile overtook Yoongi’s features as his eyes trailed down your body, stopping when they reached your thighs. Suddenly, he sat up straight before pushing himself off of the bed and getting onto his feet. “Fuck, sorry. I’m gonna get you a towel to clean up.”

“No worries.” You offered him a reassuring smile, sitting up as you watched him disappear out of the room. Once he was gone, you exhaled a deep breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. His question was valid: What the fuck was that? Your mind wandered back to the heated conversation you were having before throwing yourselves at each other, trying to recall the confession he had made to you. The post-sex dreariness was setting in and you were finding it difficult to recollect just what he had said and what the implications behind it were. You remembered him saying something about how you were all he could think about, but that likely just meant he was physically attracted to you, right? Had you wanted him to mean more than that? The pit growing in your stomach suggested that perhaps you did, and perhaps you should get out of there before you got too upset about it. It would make sense if it was only for sex to him, especially since you were aware of his past and how he was used to getting his way with girls. You needed to get out of there before it became more than just sex to you too.

Your eyes wandered over the edge of the bed, spotting your top within reaching distance from where you were. Right as you were about to reach down to grab it, Yoongi barged back into the room. He was now clothed in an oversized t-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers.

“Sorry for the wait, but I got you a towel fresh out of the dryer.” He lingered in the doorway for a moment, eyeing you curiously for a moment before shutting the door behind him. “Also brought you some sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in. A hoodie, too. Wasn’t really sure what you’d want so I kind of brought a little bit of everything.” His eyes avoided yours as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “You can also shower if you want, but I figured you’d be tired and could just do it in the morning.”

You blinked a few times as you studied his oddly nervous demeanor, taking in the meaning behind his words. He had wanted you to stay? Was he just being respectful, or did he really want you there? Reaching forward to grab the towel he left on the edge of the bed, you looked down as you started to clean yourself up. “Oh, I didn’t know you wanted me to stay…”

Yoongi remained silent for a few moments, his eyes finally falling upon your face as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Huh? Why wouldn’t I want that?” There was genuine confusion laced into his voice as he anxiously tapped his hands against his lap. “Wait, I did tell you I was interested in you earlier, right? I… I was nervous so I wouldn’t be surprised if it came out the wrong way. I tend to do that a lot around you, apparently.” A jittery chuckle escaped his lips as he looked down at his lap.

An excited rush burst throughout your stomach, a smile threatening to spread across your lips as you finally allowed yourself to look at his distraught form. You were feeling hopeful, but you needed to make sure. “I mean, you said something along the lines of being attracted to me and wanting to get to know me, or something like that…” You were well aware that such probing was only going to make him more nervous, but you needed to hear him say it.

“Ah, right. I’m seeing now how that’s kind of vague.” His cheeks were flushed bright red, but he finally allowed his eyes to meet yours. It was like the cocky, vocal Yoongi you had just experienced fifteen minutes prior and the smol bean hunched over beside you were two completely different people. Offering you a shy smile, he rested a gentle hand on top of your thigh. “I like you. I really do want to get to know you better. I’m sorry we did this, uh, kind of backwards.” His free hand reached up to rake through his disheveled hair. “But I was thinking that maybe tomorrow we could study for our history test during the day and after that, there’s this nice new restaurant that just opened down the street that I was, uh, thinking about taking you to. You know, only if you want, though.”

It was nice to see Yoongi let his guard down, and it was even nicer to know that you were the cause of it. Smiling to yourself, you grabbed the sweatpants and hoodie he had left on the edge of the bed, moving the dirty towel to the side as you began to dress yourself in his clothes. Your head lingered for a few moments in the hoodie before pulling it over your head, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent and cologne. While you did appreciate his openness and his confession left you feeling quite jumpy, you knew you couldn’t turn down an opportunity to tease him even further. “Oh, so now you’re just using me for my notes, huh?”

Yoongi’s face fell as you spoke, but the moment he noticed the teasing smirk spread across your lips, he rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder. “Just because I’m not as neat doesn’t mean I’m not as diligent.” Scooching his body over until he was beside you, he shook his head as he pulled a blanket over both of your laps. “You know, I don’t appreciate the teasing when I’m trying to be vulnerable here.”

Giggling to yourself, you leaned back until your head hit the pillow. Pulling him down beside you, you rested a hand on his cheek. “I can agree to all of your plans under one condition.”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Yoongi moved his body closer to yours and draped a leg over both of yours. It was clear he was quickly becoming comfortable again. “And what might that be?”

Running your finger along his jawline, a small smirk stretched across your lips. “We go for round two first thing tomorrow morning.”

Yoongi appeared to be caught off guard at first, but it wasn’t long until he was laughing along with you. “God, you really are a bit much.” His tongue swiped over his lower lip as he appeared to think to himself. “I can also agree to that under one condition.”

Your finger stopped moving along his face as you tilted your head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?”

Smirking at you, Yoongi’s hand trailed down your back before he gave your ass a playful squeeze. “Before the semester ends, you promise me that we break into our lecture hall one night and you let me fuck you over the table while you wear that yellow sundress.”

“God, how long have you been fantasizing that one for?” The mischievous look spread across his face told you all you needed to know. Laughing loudly as you closed your eyes, you snuggled your face into his chest, quickly becoming accustomed to viewing his warmth as a source of comfort.

“Deal.”

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi imagines #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi fic #college au #bts college au #suga fanfic #ddaengtae #shamelesslyimagining

2K notes · View notes

hangovercurse · 4 years ago

Text

Stay With You ii

You get the call after Rook’s accident and go to the hospital to take care of him.

Requests: “ Could you maybe write another Rook story about where you get the call after his accident that he’s in the hospital and just always staying there with him and when his dad shows up he sees you leaning on the bed sleeping holding Rooks hand or something and he knows you’ll take care of him? I just really love Rook “ “ I was wondering if you know what happened to rook and if you could write something cute like taking care of him after being worried at first about him. I had a mental breakdown when we got the news I'm hoping he gets well soon “

JP “Rook” Cappelletty X Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of the accident (violence, broken bones, etc.), angst

A/N: I needed something happy to come out of this situation so... I wrote it.

Word Count: 2372

part i

You woke up a few hours later to Rook moving under you, your eyes finding his instantly. “Hey baby, how are you feeling?” You asked as you sat up, a smile on your face as you saw that the bruising on his face was fading. He had clearly just woken up as well, sleep still in his eyes.

“Better, I think. Awake.” You nodded, moving the pillow from his lap.

“Your dad’s here.” You said softly, nodding your head towards the man who was sleeping in the chair against the wall. You giggled at the sight and Rook let out a chuckle.

“I’m hungry” He whined and you frowned, remembering what the anesthesiologist told you about no food 8 hours before surgery. He was scheduled to go in at 10 am, and it was currently 5 am.

“I’m sorry, babe. The doctor said no food until after the surgery. I can see if they’ll let you eat jello if you want.” He frowned and you reached up to rub his face. You could tell this was going to be a long 8 weeks.

Truth be told, Rook was a baby when he got sick. He would lay in bed and whine until you agreed to cuddle with him. And if he wanted something, he would pout until he got it. But you kind of loved it. “I’ll be right back.” You whispered, standing up to go find a nurse.

He smiled at you, “can you hand me my phone?” He asked. You moved to the other side of his bed where his phone lay on a table and handed it to him. “I’m gonna see if Colson’s still up.”

You nodded, happy that the two boys were so close. You put your mask on and left the room, flagging down one of the nurses working the night shift.

When you got back into the room with 2 cups of lemon-flavored jello, Johnny was up and the father and son were having a light conversation. You set the cups on the tray and moved it so it was in front of Rook. He tried to raise his hands but you could tell he was struggling. He let out a sigh and looked at you, embarrassment in his eyes.

You smiled lightly, trying not to giggle at his helplessness. “Do you want me to help you?” You asked and he gave a nod, pouting. You adjusted his bed so he was sitting up fully.

“Can you sit next to me?” Johnny let out a laugh as you rolled your eyes a little bit.

Rook tried to shift over in the bed, but you could tell it was hurting him. “Baby stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” You sighed.

“I want you to sit on the bed with me.”

You looked at his dad, an exasperated look in your eyes. He just chuckled and turned back to his phone. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You frowned, taking notice of the fact that there was very little room on the bed to begin with.

He squinted his eyes at you, still pouting. “You won’t hurt me.” You raised your eyebrow and moved to sit halfway on the bed, your right thigh resting on the mattress but the majority of your weight still on your left foot on the ground. “Not good enough.”

You rolled your eyes, scooting closer so that your back was against the back of the bed, turned on your side. He smiled, reaching his arm up slowly to try and wrap it around your shoulders. You glared at him, but he shot you a “My hand is broken, not my arm.”

You sighed, sitting up and leaning onto his chest, where you knew he wanted you. You pulled your other leg onto the bed, careful not to put any pressure against his. You leaned up slightly, putting weight on your right hand as your left grabbed the jello cup beside the bed. He opened his mouth and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t like how much you’re enjoying this.”

You placed a small spoonful of the yellow food into his mouth, making him smile. “In a few years, its gonna be you in this bed and I’ll be feeding you jello.” You tilted your head at his words, furrowing your eyebrows. “Y’know, when you’re giving birth to our kid.”

You blushed, a smile making its way to your face. You knew JP wanted kids at some point, and you did too. But you guys had never really talked about it. And now he was bringing it up so casually. Before you could respond, the door opened, and in walked Colson with a backpack full of what he called “everything Rook will ever need,” which you assumed to mean weed and tequila.

Rook smiled, “Yo, dude, what’s up?” Colson threw the bag onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed from you.

“How are you, man?” Colson asked, throwing himself onto the chair next to it.

Rook shrugged, “I’ve been better.” He chuckled and you rolled your eyes, a small giggle coming from you. “Y/N’s feeding me, so it’s not too bad.”

His dad spoke up, “You’re forcing Y/N to feed you jello, you mean?” You laughed at that as Rook’s shoulders fell. “Nice to see you, Kelly.”

“You too, Johnny. I like the new hair.” Colson smiled at the older man, who thanked him. “So, what did the doctors say?”

Rook gave him the rundown, one surgery today, Wednesday, and another on Friday. Casts on his hands for 6 weeks and on his legs for longer. The four of you spoke for a while afterwards and then Colson pulled out a game of connect four (which you raised your eyebrows at but Rook seemed excited about it).

Eventually the Anesthesiologist, Dr. Stenson, came in with a few nurses to take Rook to surgery. You had to climb off the bed, much to Rook’s dismay. “I can’t go into surgery with you, dummy.” But part of you wished you could stay with him because you did not like the way those nurses were looking at him. Colson noticed your distaste and chuckled, causing you to send him a glare.

“He’s going to be very drowsy when he comes back once the anesthesia wears off.” Dr. Stenson said, and you smiled at the thought of Rook on anesthesia, which he claimed would be “just like being high.” Dr. Stenson shook his head at that.

Before he was wheeled out of the room on his bed, he made grabby hands at you as best as he could. You leaned closer to him, pressing your lips against his quickly. “I love you, Y/N” He said, quietly. He didn’t mind anyone else hearing, but he wanted these words to be only for you.

“I love you too.” You said, just as quietly. He leaned back up to kiss you again, making you smile. You were starting to love helpless Rook; it was just endless attention and neediness.

The nurses took him off to surgery, leaving you, Johnny, and Colson alone in the room together. You collapsed onto the chair you had slept in, letting out a sigh as Colson chuckled at you. “Shut up.” You scrunched your nose at him, curling into the chair and bringing the pillow under your head.

“You guys are cute, what?” He asked, defensively, but the smile on his face was anything but.

You pouted, trying to push yourself further into the chair to find some comfort, but you knew your attempts to sleep were futile. You groaned, sitting up and throwing your head down towards your chest. “I’m so tired.” You mumbled, causing the two men to laugh.

“This is your life for the next 2 months.” Johnny chuckled. “If he doesn’t marry you after this then you need to leave his ass.”

You chuckled, the irony of his dad telling you that made it even funnier. “I can’t believe he still hasn’t proposed.” Colson shook his head in disappointment.

A laugh fell from your mouth. “It’s funny how everyone is more impatient than I am for my own proposal.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so patient! I’ve barely been with Megan a whole year and I already wanna marry her.” Colson threw his head back against the back of his chair.

“I mean it’s not like I’m worried it’s not gonna happen. We were just talking about kids. He just doesn’t feel the rush, I guess. I don’t either, what’s the big deal with getting married anyways?”

Colson tilted his head at you, “It’s like, this huge proclamation of your love. Like you’re telling the whole world that you’re gonna love each other for the rest of your lives.”

You shrugged, looking down at your nails. “I mean, we don’t really need big proclamations. It’s in the little things. I love him, he loves me.”

You could feel both men’s eyes on yours and heat ran to your cheeks as you thought about the idea of a white dress. “But you do wanna get married, right?” Johnny asked and you smiled.

“Of course, I just don’t want to push him into something like that. He’ll ask when he’s ready.”

Colson shook his head as you looked back up, “He is one lucky motherfucker. Literally every other person would’ve kicked his ass by now.” You chuckled, not saying anything. “Wait you guys were talking about kids?”

You nodded, “right before you got here, actually.”

Colson furrowed his eyebrows, “I never saw him as the type, honestly.”

You smiled widely, “He brought it up.” Colson shrugged, a hum coming from his mouth. “I think it’d be kinda nice. I don’t know how it would work with him being on tour all the time, but that’s a discussion for another day.”

“I seriously can’t imagine Rook being a dad.”

“Can you imagine Rook getting married?” You giggled as Colson shook his head.

“Well I, for one, am looking forward to being a grandad, so hop on that.” Johnny said and you laughed. You spent the rest of the time while Rook was in surgery playing connect four and eating shitty hospital food, trying to keep your mind off the fact that Rook was in fucking surgery.

When he did get back, it was a sight to behold. The nurses wheeled him back into the room, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Y/NNN!” He slurred, “Look at my beautiful girlfriend.” He said to the nurses and you and Colson busted out laughing. “She’s so cool. She comes on tour with me sometimes, and we partyyy.” He made a dancing motion with his arms even though they his right was in a very large cast.

“Okay Rookie, the nurses are gonna leave now, okay?” You said, trying to hide your laughter. The nurses gave you a look of thanks and left the room after leaving you with a list of what he could and couldn’t do. Colson took his phone out and started recording, knowing that whatever Rook was gonna say next would be funny.

The surgery went well according to them, but the doctors would be in later when the medicine wore off to tell you more. “How are you feeling?” You asked, knowing he wouldn’t give a real answer.

“I feel greeeat. I’d feel better if my fiancé were laying with me right now, but other than that I am just fine.”

You cocked an eyebrow, an amused look on your face. “Your fiancé?”

“Yeahhhh.”

“When did you propose?” You giggled, looking over to his dad and Colson who were both cracking up.

A look of realization crossed Rook’s face, “Oh shit, I forgot that step, didn’t I?” You nodded, “Do you wanna get married?” You bent over in laughter at his innocent expression. He pouted at you, whining. “Why are you laughing I’m asking you to marry me?”

You tried to speak through your laughs, “I’m sorry babe.” You took a deep breath in, “I’m not laughing at you.”

“So, you don’t wanna get married?” He asked, getting very upset.

“I do, baby. I do. But you gotta get a ring.”

“Oh yeaaaah.” He looked over at Colson. “Colson, where’s the ring?” Your head snapped to Colson, whose face went red.

“Dude you didn’t get a ring.” He tried to cover it up but you could tell he was lying.

Your eyes went wide and your mouth hung open. “Yes I did, I told you to bring the ring with you when you came.” He whined.

You giggled, hand going to your mouth. “Oh wait.” He said, turning back to you. “I can’t ask you to marry me right now. I gotta get down on one knee and my legs are broken.”

Johnny had an amused look on his face when you looked over to him for help. “Okay, Rookie. I’ll forget that you proposed and then when your legs get better you can do it again, okay?”

He nodded, “But you’ll still say yes, right?”

“I’ll still say yes.” You smiled, eyes closing as you continued to laugh. “You should get some sleep, hun.” You moved his braids out of his face.

“I wanna cuddle.” He pouted.

“You just had surgery; I can’t give you cuddles.” You frowned as he looked sad.

“Why don’t you love me?”

“I do love you, Rookie. I just can’t cuddle you with your arm broken.” You could hear Colson wheezing from the opposite side of the bed. “Get some sleep and we can cuddle when you wake up.”

He groaned but leaned back into the bed anyways, slowly drifting off to sleep. You turned to Colson, eyes wide and face red. “You had a whole conversation about marriage while you had his ring in your bag?” You whisper screamed.

He raised his hands up in surrender, “I was just doing what I was told. I didn’t think he’d propose to you while he was high off his ass on anesthesia.” He chuckled.

Johnny chuckled, “at least you got it on video.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, putting your face in your hands.

“Congratulations!” Colson said, eyes swinging up in the air.

#rook #rook cappelletty #Rook Cappelletty imagine #Rook Cappelletty x reader #rook angst #rook fluff

209 notes · View notes

pigeonp0st · 4 years ago

Note

Hiii, I’m sorry I must be annoying you, but I just really enjoy your writing, so I was wondering if you could do Kara x reader, Kara gets jealous they get into a fight about it, but they make up, lots of fluff at the end?

Kara Danvers x Reader #3

Words: 1,363

Warnings: Angst, Jealousy

Notes:

First off, you aren’t annoying me at all, i’m thankful for the requests. Second off, I hope this lives up to what you wanted, I tried to make both of their sides understandable with Kara’s insecurities...and blah...hopefully neither seem to be too toxic. That’s always a fear of mine when I write jealousy. (Sorry for grammar mistakes.)

——

The fight shouldn’t have happened.

It shouldn’t have, you should have been more understanding when Kara brought the problem up, should have tried to understand why she was getting so worked up, you should have acknowledged Kara’s all consuming fear of losing the people she loves.

But you’ve been so tired lately, work has been kicking your ass, and Kara coming home passively angry all of the time hasn’t really been helping (neither has you ignoring her). Your anger at her has been building up with every bitter comment shot your way about Lucy, and hers each time you ignore and dismiss her, so really, you should have seen it coming.

“Lucy sent you flowers,” Kara mentions offhandedly while she cooks.

You keep your eyes trained on your computer, typing away.

“A note, too. All about how thankful she is to you.”

Your eyes snap up towards Kara, she’s already looking at you, waiting. “You read it?” You ask, trying to keep your voice controlled. Kara nods, tilting her head. “Kara,” you say patiently, “don’t read my stuff without my permission, okay? Don’t do that.”

Kara blinks at you, immediately going on the defensive. “Why? Why can’t I be concerned when some person you’ve been spending all of your time with starts sending you flowers. Someone you used to like no less.”

“Because,” you breathe, shutting yourself off, “because that person is the only thing keeping me from having a mental breakdown everyday.” Kara’s eyes shift, “you have done literally nothing to make things easier on me the past couple of days, and now you’re angry someone has. She’s been helping with work.”

You think you can see a flash of guilt in the murky blue of Kara’s eyes and it would have been enough to calm you down if Kara hadn’t said what she said next, “are you fucking her?”

The laugh that forces it’s way out of your throat is disbelieving and devoid of any humor. “Oh my god,” you smile in astonishment, “you’re not listening to me at all.”

“Just...please,” Kara sighs, eyebrows coming together, “answer the question and i’ll believe you.”

“Believe me?” You snort, “Kara you're pulling out accusations from your ass, you're completely disregarding what i’ve been going through without you lately, and you’ve been being passive aggressive towards me for days now, all because what? You’re insecure?”

It’s a low blow, you know, but you’re angry too. You wanted Kara there, and instead she was making your life more miserable.

“That isn’t fair, Y/N, you used to have something with her, why can’t you understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” you tell her, scowling now, “you’ve ‘had something’ with nearly all of your friends in the past, but the second I want to be friends with an engaged woman, that even you’ve had a crush on, it’s not allowed.”

The truth of your statement rings out, and Kara, much to your annoyment, remains silent.

If she’s going to be hung up on her jealousy for days, enough to brush off your frustration, then she should at least have a better argument.

You watch Kara for a long moment, while Kara glares daggers into the counter, it’s how you notice Kara’s hand bumping into the knife she used to prepare dinner and knocking it off the counter.

You forget, a lot of the time, that Kara is invulnerable, it’s still such a bizarre concept to you. The bullet proof skin. You forget that a regular knife stands no chance of cutting through her skin, it’s why, the moment you see where Kara’s knife is falling—towards her sock covered foot— you instinctively reach out to grab it, to protect her.

You think you deserve the pain that comes after when the knife digs into your skin and it ends up dropping anyways.

Kara stares at you with wide eyes, frozen from her shock while she watches you grab a kitchen cloth to put pressure on your wound.

She looks terrified, you notice, it’s why you tell her to leave, you don’t want to snap at her while she’s so vulnerable, but it probably doesn’t help as much as you think it will in the moment. “Get out, Kara. Get out,” you hiss, wincing against your pain.

“Y/N,” Kara whimpers, eyes swimming with emotion “i’m sorry I—” she’s reaching for your injury to try and help but you pull away, stumbling backwards.

“Get out. I’ll call Alex. I don’t want to hear apologies you don’t even want to give.” You tell her, already reaching for your phone.

It’s a surprise to you when Kara listens.

It’s what you asked, but as you stand alone in your kitchen with a bleeding hand, and the memory of Kara’s crestfallen face when she left— the tears fall quickly.

You don’t actually end up calling Alex. You’re sitting on the kitchen floor with your arms wrapped around yourself, sobbing, when she comes in not long after Kara left. You know Kara brought her here.

—

Kara comes home sooner than you expect. It’s only been a day since she left, and you're sitting on the couch when you hear the balcony sliding door open.

You always leave it unlocked. You’ve been double checking that it is the whole time Kara’s been gone.

Kara says nothing when she comes in, not at first, she just sits down on the floor in front of where you’re sitting on the couch, grabs your wrapped injured hand to hold against her chest, and kisses your wrist, where your pulse point is.

When you think about where you are it’s sometimes hard to believe. Supergirl, cape and all, kneeling in front of you with enough sadness to fill the room, it’s something you from five years ago wouldn’t have believed.

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispers against your wrist after nearly an hour.

“Why are you back so early?” You ask, ignoring her apology.

Kara looks down. “Because I love you,” she says, voice trembling with her fear of rejection.

“And you know I love you, Kara, that’s why i’d never cheat on you. Not even for Cat Grant, and definitely not for Lucy Lane.” You promise, your own guilt eating you up for dismissing Kara’s feelings. “Do you know why you’re sorry?”

“A lot of things,” Kara tells you, “but i’m mostly sorry for not realizing how much you’ve been struggling lately because I was too caught up on my jealousy. I promised to be there for you.”

You give Kara a hum in acknowledgment, then say, “i’m sorry, too. You were letting your frustrations cloud your judgment, but so was I. I should have been there for you too.”

“You really don’t like Lucy?” Kara asks after a pause where both of you soak up what’s been said. She grimances right after she asks.

“No, Kara, I don’t like Lucy...more than a friend, anyways.”

“She’s really smart,” Kara mumbles, “i’d understand if you did.”

You quirk an eyebrow at Kara, pulling her up onto the couch with you. “Should I be worried about you going after her?”

Kara rolls her eyes, as if even the idea is completely ludicrous. “I only want to be with you, for the rest of our lives.”

You suck in a breath, trying not to look as affected by that as you are. Kara. Forever. It’s all you feel you’ll ever really need. “My girlfriend’s talking about forever...can you believe that?” You tease.

Kara looks a strange mix of serious and timid when she asks, “do you want her for forever, also?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, then release a sigh. “Forever will never seem long enough with her.”

“She’ll see what she can do,” Kara breathes out.

You’re not able to resist pulling her into a tight hug after that and hiding your fave in her neck. “I love you,” Kara whispers, “I trust you so much, even if I haven’t reflected that lately. My anger had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me, i’ve realized.”

“Stop apologizing, I believe in us to do better in the future. For now, let’s cuddle. I’ve missed you.”

#kara danvers x reader #kara zor el imagine #kara danvers imagine #kara zor el x reader #supergirl imagine #supergirl x reader #imagine #fem reader #supergirl #lucy lane #kara danvers

392 notes · View notes

xenteaart · 4 years ago

Text

You’re a Cat, Hargreeves

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Request 1: Hello, so Five has been through a LOT in just two weeks, so can I request something where the reader and him have a bit of intimacy but are not together yet. Then something happens that is just the last drop to him and he shows up to the reader with red and glossy eyes and collapses in her arms? She just holds him (because boy, he needs it) and after a while he manages to talk about things letting his feelings for her slip in the process. Then she can just calm him down and make him feel loved.

Request 2: Could I request a fanfic where Five has a terrible day at the Commission or in the Apocalypse and at bedtime the Reader comforts him, and he suddenly becomes the little spoon for the first time? Idk I think it would be cute to see him shy and secretly liking

!!! Note: Since these two requests have a common theme of Five being stressed as fuck and having a breakdown I’ve decided to combine them. Personally I imagine this scenario in my Commission AU, HOWEVER, I intentionally didn’t make it very specific in terms of the circumstances so you can headcanon whatever u like <3 also sorry its not the exact scenario from your requests but i hope you don’t mind me taking some creative liberty.

also both Five and Reader are in their 20s here coz otherwise i’m very uncomfortable

massive thanks to @wonders-of-the-multiverse for helping me out with wording the physicality of certain things <33333

GIF: @maxiemayfield

You’ve seen Five in many different states.

You’ve seen him anxious and spiraling, you’ve seen him furious and borderline insane; depressed and distant, lost and confused. At this point, you genuinely thought you’d seen it all but, apparently, you were wrong.

“I am just so tired.” Five whispered almost inaudibly with a sigh so desperate that it made your stomach turn.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice small as you weren’t quite sure how to act yet.

He glanced at you, and you couldn’t help but notice his eyes glistening with salty wetness that was about to spill out and smear his frustration all over his cheeks.

You always loved Five’s eyes - his huge, almost puppy dog eyes that made you absolutely lose yourself in their depth. Whenever you looked into them, you saw wisdom, maturity, exhaustion and patience, dedication and passion, all at the same time. There was a whole other universe behind his blue orbs, and you admired it endlessly. Looking into his eyes right now, however, was nowhere near as exciting and pleasant. Instead, it felt like some strange and violent ache was gripping you at the very heart and squeezing it without mercy, and you winced at the sensation as worry and concern were uncontrollably blossoming inside your ribcage.

Five didn’t grant you with an answer, too busy trying to hold back his tears and clenching his teeth proudly as if there was any point at all.

You got up on your feet and approached Five slowly, careful not to freak him out as you were giving him the time to get used to your presence in his personal space. Normally, he wouldn’t mind yet you couldn’t tell if the same rules applied to scenarios like the one taking place.

“I’m here, yeah? It’s okay, you’re okay,” you kept repeating like a mantra as you pulled Five into your embrace.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck and you instantly felt your skin getting damp. In just a few seconds Five’s entire body relaxed into yours and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, finally letting go and allowing himself to have a proper cry. He hadn’t had one in years, and, by all means, he was entitled to this breakdown.

Most of the time, Five was the one protecting you - looking out for you and leading the both of you out of dangerous and potentially lethal situations. Not that it was a completely one-sided dynamic but it was true that you tended to rely on him quite a lot in times of crisis. Five was good in crisis, exceptional actually. He made decisions quickly and didn’t hesitate to do absolutely anything it took to achieve his goals, which, unfortunately, meant that he was often forced to make choices where humanity and ethics were no longer a top priority.

Despite all that, Five always seemed in control, and even when he wasn’t, you knew he’d get it back eventually. You had placed your trust in him at all times, and only now were you starting to realize that it must have felt like a huge weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Granted, he was objectively smarter and more capable due to his superpowers but he was still human.

Hearing Five’s hopeless and feverish sobbing was unnerving, and you could only imagine what was going on in his cluttered and clearly overloaded mind as he was bawling his eyes out with such raw and genuine fury. From the lack of a better idea you simply waited for Five to cry himself out, patiently holding him in your arms and whispering words of reassurance into the air, not so much out of hope he’d hear them and listen but more as a means of letting him feel you were still there.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Five finally uttered but his words rather quickly got drowned in his weeping. You still got the message, though.

“You deserve to rest, Five,” you replied, feeling your legs start to shake from the weight of Five’s entire body leaning on your form. As much as you wanted to stay like this for as long as he needed, you couldn’t exactly go against your evident physical disadvantage. Five was a heavy gentleman, after all.

“Hey, let’s move to the bed, yeah?” it was more of a statement than a question, so you stepped towards the bed suggestively, expecting him to follow you. To your relief, he didn’t resist and followed your lead right away, seemingly too exhausted to even think, let alone disobey.

Five’s body was limp from the absence of energy, all of which had presumably gone into crying, and he could barely manage to walk on his own, so you grabbed at his shoulders to steady him.

It felt like his physical self was now merely a vehicle with no pilot to steer it, and his mind was long lost someplace else.

As you sat Five down, you caressed his cheek with your thumb, wiping away the trails of his tears whilst also trying to gently break him out of the prison of his troubled and restless brain. To your disappointment, it failed to spark any sort of response.

Right in this moment, he looked almost defenseless. Sure, he wasn’t an incapable baby all of a sudden but he was relying on you, reversing your roles and putting all of his worries and pain on your shoulders, basically asking you to carry them for him because he simply couldn’t anymore.

“Fives. Fives? Look at me, please?” you called, trying to shift his attention to something on the outside because you knew it was the looking inside that pushed him to crumble.

“Focus on my voice, alright?” you tried to keep your tone as steady and stern as you possibly could because right now you were his only bridge back to reality.

You pressed your palms against Five’s shoulders and slowly climbed onto his lap, resting your weight atop of him completely and hoping the pressure of it would manage to snap him out of his almost delirious daze.

As your hand reached for Five’s, you placed it on your chest right where your heart was beating and said:

“Can you feel it? It means I’m alive, Fives. I’m a human and a consciousness just like you. And I'm never leaving your side, no matter the circumstances. You’re never going to be alone, I promise you.”

You took Five by his chin with your other hand and softly guided his gaze upwards to meet your own, noticing his red glossy eyes finally regaining some clarity. The very peak of Five’s episode had already passed, and, as he was coming down from it, he encircled your waist with his arm and let his head sink to your shoulder with his eyes closed shut.

Still sitting straddled across his lap, you brushed your fingers through his soft silky hair and began to massage his scalp in a calming manner, trying to release some of the tension and lull him further into peacefulness. As your fingers moved a little lower, you knew you’d hit the sweet spot because Five literally purred into your skin as soon as he felt your nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck.

“How many times did I say you’re a cat, Hargreeves,” you rolled your eyes at his reaction and couldn’t resist a wide smile as you buried your nose in his hair. Five hummed quietly, and it was the only response you were going to get from him, which, to be fair, was already a big improvement so you couldn't really complain.

“How about we get you into some comfier clothes, wash your face and then you can tell me all about what’s been on your mind, hm?” you proposed confidently, still holding Five close and practically enveloping him in your warmth.

Your every movement was saturated with such understanding and care that not for a split second did Five feel like his vulnerability was making him weak or unworthy. It was quite the opposite, and with each passing moment he was beginning to feel like you were only making him stronger.

He nodded at your suggestion approvingly but didn’t move an inch, and you took it as a hint that he needed a few more minutes of sitting in silence; the bridge of his nose pressed to your collarbone as he was still finding his way back into the present.

You didn’t mind at all.

#five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five x you #tua fic #The Umbrella Academy #my fic #my writing #five hargreeves #number five

316 notes · View notes

hargrove-mayfields · 3 years ago

Text

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 4/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Steve doesn’t know why he does this to himself.

It’s been, god how long has it even been since the funeral? Almost a year now according to the calendar, though in his head it’s only been weeks.

Time doesn’t really have much to do with it though. Unless they found a way to go back, Billy would still be gone, and he’d still go back to the cemetery each morning just to pretend he wasn’t, leftover alcohol in his system from the night before melding each passing day into a jumble of numbness.

And Steve, as he falls deeper into this routine of self torture, he’s becoming exhausted. Where he was once optimistic, or at least trying to stay focused on looking for the positives and back on the good times, now he's just empty.

He can’t pretend he’s not depressed anymore, and he can’t pretend things are going to be okay either.

As much as he is still hurting, Robin doesn’t let him just mope. If she knew what was making his heart ache, he thinks she might let him have a little more room to grieve, but she doesn’t know, she doesn’t even know how bad he truly gets when she’s not around, so she had made him accept the video store’s job offer they’d left for when his time as representative was finished.

Work is something to do to take his mind off of things, sure, and it’s a way to get him out of the house, but the only reason he accepted was because halfway between his house and the family video is the cemetery, and every day, whether he drives it or walks it depending on if he’s sober enough to take the car, he stops to pay his boyfriend a visit.

Most often he brings flowers, maybe blows a tearful kiss to the ground and moves on, but some days, like today, he feels a heaviness in his heart that tells him to show up hours before he’s due at his shift, ready to talk it out until he absolutely has to leave.

Maybe it’s a habit from the hospital, starting when he used to be cheerful and sit in the grass to talk about happy stories and good things that happened in his day to make Billy feel better. But a year into talking to the dirt instead of his lover had left him bitter, and he was far past that optimistic point, all that’s left now is guilt, remorse, all the feelings about the loss he’d thus far kept bottled up.

This particular morning, he’d awoken from a nightmare, what happened at the mall never leaving his memory, the flashes of sorrow and pain and death lingering behind his eyes when he tries to get even a moment's peace; everyday is hard, but when he wakes up with tears in his eyes, he knows what kind of day it’s going to be.

So he comes out to Hawkins cemetery, no gift in hand today except his company, and kneels in the muddy grass, damp from an overnight storm that contributed to his plagued rest and left him running on an hour, maybe two, of good sleep, and he just starts talking.

He starts with the basics, the generic greetings and declarations of love that he promises each morning, but his emotions quickly rise to the surface. Reaching out to trace his fingers over the indentations in the upright stone, his voice wobbles slightly, and he shifts from venting to what he came here for:

“Billy. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve been pretending things will be okay, but I know they won’t. I failed you. I wasn’t there for you and it’s my fault what happened to you. I don’t even deserve to sit here and cry with you. I know Max has but, have you forgiven me? I don’t know where you are now, but I don’t want you to hate me. I love you so much.”

The silence in response is daunting. Makes him want to scream so loud he could tear the earth apart looking for his Billy, but instead he just repeats his apologies and promises again and again until his tears slow. Eventually, when he’s run out of things to say, he stands, stray tears dripping from the end of his nose and rewetting the soil, and leaves.

Drives away to his job like nothing happened, strolling in some thirty minutes late for his shift. Because today is the premiere of some mainstream pop culture film that’s gone way over Steve’s head on video, the Family Video is packed.

“Hey, dingus. Could’ve used you at the start of your shift.” Robin shouts over the shop noise as he strolls past to his post.

Steve shrugs, an over-exaggerated gesture in case she can’t hear him over the crowd, “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t see you working. I need help restocking once those shelves are cleared out.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve does a mocking salute, the grimace on Robin's face making it clear she can see through his overdone gestures that he’s hiding something, overcompensating for the emptiness he feels.

She doesn’t have the chance to bring it up though, because the both of them get whisked off into separate duties working the over capacity video store. Only, while Robin handles it like she would any other day, with mild annoyance and enough spite to get through it alright, Steve is too fragile. All he can register is commotion, chaos: the buzzing neon lights in the ceiling, surging crowds bumping into him, chatter and bustle filling his ears, and he starts to break down.

But because he’s Steve, he tries at first to just power through. Tries to block it out and resume productivity, but he is already knee deep in a panic attack, so he pushes back through the customers, probably a little too roughly, to tell Robin with that lilt of fear and upset to his tone, “Robin, I can’t be out here.”

She barely looks up as she kindly responds, “I get it, Steve. Go take your break, I’ll handle the rush.”

That’s exactly what he does, is go straight to the back room, but instead of his standard fifteen allotted by the overheads, he stays in the back for an hour, and then another, leaving behind customers arguing over who should get the last copy of the new movie, people in line out the door, tapes knocked off of the shelves, all while people are in trying to do their normal returns and rentals. It’s again total chaos out there, only made worse by the fact that Robin is now alone at the counter.

She would also have to clean up once the rush died, and maybe even replace some tapes if people weren’t going to start watching where they’re walking, and as much as Steve wanted to feel bad for disappearing into the back room for the past hour and a half and leaving her with all of that, he can’t be bothered with coming back out, his morning at the cemetery having taken too much from his emotional threshold to be productive, or remorseful even, now.

There are two big plush chairs and a couch in the back, a much nicer room than the icebox that was the Scoops break area, but Steve sits on the floor instead, his back pressed to the door and his stained up knees drawn to his chest. From where he is, the endless noise and bustle drifts down the short hall to the break room, but he’s too in his head, thinking about nothing and everything to pay it any mind.

It takes probably another an hour and a half for all the crowd to die down, the line clearing out and Robin chasing away most of the stragglers after explaining for the hundredth time that until the already rented out copies were returned, they wouldn’t get any more in and that no, they weren’t hiding any in the back.

Steve can hear her cleaning up a little before she gets too behind, cardboard boxes being broken down and the irritating scrape of broom bristles against dusty tiled floors, followed quickly by loud boot steps toward the door that make his chest ache, pretending it was the echoes someone else instead of his best friend.

The break room is locked behind him, something that is forbidden by company policy, but Steve felt necessary, and Robin beats on it with the palm of her hand, startling him out of the half dazed, half alert state he’s been in all day, “Harrington, what are you doing in there? I just did a whole rush by myself, asshole.”

He can’t father the words to respond, tears welling up and choking anything he might say off in his throat. So Robin calls again, the door knob rattling like she’s trying to get in, her voice more concerned, “Steve? You alive in there?”

“Steve.” She tries again, more desperate, and Steve finally finds it in himself to say something, sniffling and responding weakly, “‘M’fine Rob.”

“Can you let me in?” Robin suggests, just on the side of hesitant, making Steve feel something like guilt for shutting her out, both emotionally and in the literal sense, so he stands, shaky and unbalanced, and unlocks the door for her.

He must look as bad as he feels, because Robin's pinched face of concern melts into one of sympathy as soon as she lays eyes on him.

She steps into the back room with him, after a moment of pause which Steve had come to hate, knowing that meant whoever was speaking was going to take pity on him, asking, “You doing okay in here, buddy?”

“What does it look like?” There’s sarcasm and bitterness in his tone, though it’s muffled by his tears. He doesn’t worry about offending Robin, she’s been dealing with his breakdowns for a long time now, and she knew how he could get.

Patiently, in spite of his snappiness, she asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Steve’s not sure how that’s even a question anymore.

What happened was fighting monsters at the Byers. Was getting tortured in the Starcourt mall. Was losing his Billy.

To say that those things had a huge impact on him was a gross understatement. Hell, even Robin was affected too, the both of them incredibly emotionally fragile these days with about a thousand things that could trigger them, both were plagued by nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks at random points in time. It shouldn’t be a mystery what was wrong now.

But having two hour long breakdowns in the employee lounge, Steve had to admit that was new, and Robin was obviously scared for him because of it.

So he lies, “It’s nothing, Robs. Just the same old stuf.” Steve isn’t a very good liar though, he can’t hold eye contact and his voice trails off, revealing him every time.

“Steve.” It was an attempt to appeal to him, maybe to ground him so he’d open up to her, “Please talk to me.”

An attempt, which he shuts down with, “We’re at work right now.”

Robin frowns, a crease in her eyebrow. He’s never seen her look more frustrated as she says, halfway between an insult and a joke, “No, I’m at work. You’re crying in the break room on the floor.”

But again, Steve is having it, “I’m serious, I don’t wanna talk about it here.”

He feels bad about being harsh with Robin, but his grief, this breakdown, it’s not for the general reasons she thinks, it’s specifically because of his visit to Billy’s grave this morning. The heavy realization of everything he’d vented to that cold stone that stood in place of the beaming face, the beautiful boy that always knew what to say, who he loved and still hadn’t told her about, that was what had pushed him over the emotional threshold.

“Alright, well, we’ve got like, an hour left before our shift is over, so you can just veg out back here or you can come and do some work.” Robing announces with a quick glance at her wrist watch, standing and patting the top of Steve’s head just to mess up his hair like he hated before walking out of the room.

At least she was trying.

It takes him a few minutes to find the will to follow her out, but eventually he does sidle up beside her at the front counter, his posture weak and his muddy shoes dragging on the ground, but he’s there, earning a taunting flash of Robins biggest and snarkiest grin as she slides him a stack of tapes that need rewinding.

They don’t get many customers after the initial rush of the early afternoon where he was out for, but he can tell Robin was still keeping her eye on him, just in case he needed a break, or in case he did break himself. Anymore, and much to his dismay, it doesn’t take much to get him overwhelmed, especially not if he was already upset, but he makes sure not to let that show now, putting on a mask like everything is okay, and he is managing it just fine.

Because the thing is, he isn’t managing anything, he’s still grief stricken and he’s drinking himself half to death and he has no future ahead but more sadness, but he’d be damned if he let anybody figure that out. Let anybody worry about him, when he was still living. In his eyes, it’s selfish to expect pity, when you’ve already survived the worst.

He thinks though, by the time their work is almost done, that Robin is starting to suspect something, because the second their shift is over, before the guys to cover the closing shift even show, she’s dragging him out of the store, snatching the keys for the BMW out of Steve's back pocket.

It goes without discussing anymore that on bad days, Robin doesn’t take Steve back home, which is to say, the two of them had been pretty much sharing her dinky little duplex apartment, the two of them living in the right side with a nosy older lady in the other. They both were afraid of what he could do when he was home alone, and, Robin didn’t really know this, but Steve was also afraid of what his father might say the day the dozens of rooms in that house weren’t enough to avoid him, when he realized how pathetic a state his son was in.

The living arrangement didn’t change much though. Steve still wasn’t very good at talking through his problems, and he still wouldn’t eat or shower or sleep regularly. He knew it scared Robin, because it scared him too, but he had other things to worry about.

Maybe it was true that he was so sensitive that it took practically nothing to send him over the edge, but it's not a big deal, he’ll be alright, how are you doing anyway? Robin always has to fight so hard just to get him to talk to her, his best friend who he all but lives with, because all he is worried about is other people. Something to do with losing the one person he was always caring for, trying to make up for not being able to save Billy’s life, or help him through his hardest moments. He knows that, but it doesn’t matter why he’s selfless, as long as he is, right?

Further, he reasons, so what if he’d had a concussion so bad that he still gets migraines that leave him bedridden at times? His friend is hurting and he needs to be there for her. Who cares if he has nightmares so intensely vivid he can’t sleep for weeks at a time? Robin has panic attacks in crowded places, and each time he has to fret about it for days.

It makes her worried sick all the time, knowing that Steve all but refuses to tell her if he needs something, but he doesn’t like feeling studied, can tell she is always looking for signs that something is wrong, watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. All she wants is for him to just stop bottling everything up, because she claims she had and it made everything easier for her to cope with, but he’s stubborn.

That just isn’t the way his brain works, and she’s probably sick of trying to get through to him. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he knows she’s not far from a breakthrough with him, his own coping mechanisms exhausting him to the point he might consider external help, but she doesn’t have to know that yet. For now, she sticks to what she always does in place of these tougher conversations, and that’s to make Steve tea and try to work him down to the point where he’ll talk to her. Today, it’s not going to take much convincing.

The second day he’d ever come over here, she tried to make a pot of coffee for a little chat like this, and Steve had started crying like a baby just from the way it smelled. It reminded him of his mother, of diner dates with Billy and nurses bringing him breakfast, so she had to switch to tea. He could tell it would always bother her when he wouldn’t tell her why something like that was making him so upset, but as Robin would have to come to realize the more he stayed with her, that was just the first of many things she didn’t understand about Steve Harrington.

There were endless triggers that set him off that she witnessed, and when she comforted him, he could tell she understood some of them, like when the lights would flicker when Dorothy ran her vacuum and he’d stop breathing, or when a siren would start up in the distance and he’d get so dizzy and his hands would shake so badly. But it was those overly specific things, like the smell of coffee, that she was sure had nothing to do with what they went through, and her confidence through those breakdowns would be noticeably a lot lower.

Pine tree air fresheners, the click of stilettos on tiled floors, leather car seats, the busy tone of the telephone, cigarette smoke, rose scented perfume, hairspray, crystalline ash trays. The list of things that reminded him of his parents and the utter helplessness of growing up alone and scared, and of his Billy, of everything he had lost when he died. To Robin, who didn’t have the context of his feelings, it just felt like every day there was something new that would set Steve back ten steps in the progress he’d made, and he knew it was making Robin feel so helpless and guilty.

She was getting better while he was still so thoroughly depressed, and she would take missteps on purpose to not get too far ahead of him. He was sabotaging his best friend with his own misery.

The thought draws stinging tears to his eyes, and Steve sits down at the table without saying a word to Robin, knows his composure will crack the moment he opens his mouth.

She finishes making their tea, specifically lemon flavored with two spoonfuls of honey and one of sugar, sliding him his tea in a tacky mug she’d bought him from a yard sale as a sort housewarming gift, an invitation to stay as long as he needed, and sits in the unbalanced chair across from him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Steve taps his fingers on the side of his mug, eyes trained on the paint stained and scratched surface of the table, “What do you want me to say? I freaked out at work, nothing new.”

Robin sighs shakily, and it makes Steve feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Despite her best efforts, he gets so defensive all the time anymore, the careless goof he was before Starcourt buried underneath all that was depressing him, and that he wouldn’t share with her. He was an awful friend, spending so much time with his past actions and losses, he’d forgotten how to live in the present.

“But there’s something you haven��t been telling me, Steve.” She bumps their knees together under the table to get him to look at her, “I’m not trying to be nosy or intrude, really, I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Steve raised his mug to his face, mumbling into it, “It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better, right?”

That same worried crease above her eyebrow appears, “Who told you that?”

He doesn’t answer, staring into the swirling mug before him. A sign for her that he still wasn’t ready to talk. She must decide that she would do most of the talking then, because she puts her mug down, takes a deep breath before saying, “Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want you to get better and I don’t think you should do it on your own. I haven’t, and I think it’s time I try to be there for you live you’ve been for me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve didn’t know what to say, the plastic clock Robin had taken from her grandmother’s kitchen ticking away the seconds, the minutes that passed before Steve swallows hard and looks up from the spot he’d been focusing on, trying and failing to find the right words again before he explains himself, “I just think.. I feel like everyone moved on way too fast.”

“From Starcourt?” What she meant didn’t need to be said. She didn’t need to specify the torture, the battle with an interdimensional monster, the fall out afterwards, for him to understand, but that wasn’t it, and he shakes his head no.

Confused, Robin clarifies, “Then from what?”

“All those people that day, Robs, they died and life is just supposed to go on like normal. We still have holidays and we got jobs again, but all those people, they-“ There are tears in his eyes so he cuts himself off, hoping that Robin got the point anyways.

From the look of clarity on her face, she does understand now where this is coming from. Steve had been struggling with survivor's guilt, Robin knew that because he insisted upon attending each and every funeral he could with his schedule at the hospital, and she’d reluctantly driven him to them without question, no matter how unhealthy it was for him.

He had even told her once, when he was drunk off his ass and knocking on her bedroom door in the early hours of the morning, that he didn’t think it was fair that he didn’t die, but all those other people did. She had never gotten an answer out of him when she asked why he thought he deserved to die, and he hoped she’d have forgotten it by now, but now he was cracking, and she was going to figure it out, so he keeps going.

“It’s just, how are we supposed to go back to normal when there’s so many people who can’t? They died, a-and they left behind their families and friends and partners.” He sniffles, tears starting to roll down his colorless face for the second time that day, “How can we act like nothing ever happened when it’s our fault?”

That makes Robin pause, her eyes going wide, “What?”

Steve freezes, hadn’t meant to say that, and he stays quiet until she asks him a second time, “How is it our fault, Steve?”

“Because we were so caught up with that stupid transmission that we missed our chance to help them. And for what? I was just trying to play the hero for Dustin, but I could’ve stopped it if I wasn’t so stupid.”

“What could you have stopped?” Asking so many questions made her sound like a pushy therapist, and it’s making Steve increasingly frustrated, answering harshly, “The-The shadow, Robin! The Mind-Flayer!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But Steve, I really don’t think there’s much we could have done.”

Steve just shakes his head, insists, “If I hadn’t been so-so focused on doing something I thought was important, I could’ve done something that actually mattered before it was too late. I wasted so much time in the mall. But they needed me and I-I failed them. You feeling bad for me and telling me it’s not my fault doesn’t change that.”

“Steve, if we hadn’t been down there, nobody would’ve known about the gate, and the mind flayer wouldn’t be dead now.” Robin comforts, a deep frown on her tear tracked face, “There wasn’t anything anybody could’ve done.”

It’s not what Steve needs to hear.

“Stop saying that.. I could’ve saved him, and then none of this would’ve happened.” A sob wracks through his body as soon he finishes, the gut wrenching sound echoing through Robin's tiny apartment kitchen.

“Who?” Robin asks, reaching across the table and taking his shaking hand in her own, “Steve, who could you have saved?”

Through his tears he’s able to stutter out the answer, accented with a pointed sob, “Billy. I could’ve saved Billy..”

She doesn’t say anything in turn, occupied with putting the pieces together, though she’s still missing the larger context, instead pushing her chair back on the scratched kitchen tiles, pulling Steve up out of his own chair into the tightest hug she’d probably ever given anybody. They stand like that for a long time, Steve crying into Robin’s hair and her trying to comfort him through her confusion until his tears slow, or at least the hyperventilating is under control.

When eventually he does pull away from her, he wipes at his eyes and whispers, “Can I tell you something else? It’s about him.”

“Of course.” Robin answers quickly, something like relief, an unfamiliar look on her face anymore, written behind her eyes, making Steve yet again feel a twinge of guilt for hiding so much from his best friend.

He speaks quickly, struggling to get the right words together again, “You know how I said that the only time I was ever in love was with Nancy Wheeler?”

“Yeah?” Robin frowns, and Steve can see it in her face that she’s trying to work through it, what his love life has anything to do with his grief, but it’s a lot harder for him to admit than it is even for her to understand.

“I lied.” He chews on his lip, the faint and bitter taste of blood on his tongue, “And you know how when Dustin asked if we were together, I told him that you weren’t my type and we laughed about it because I’m definitely not yours either?”

“Steve I told you-“ Contemplation is replaced with fear, but he quickly cuts her off, “No, no, it’s not like that. I-I’m not done.”

Steve takes a deep breath, “You sort of are my type, but it was always someone else with-with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles all over that I was in love with.”

“I don’t understand. Who?”

Steve’s realizing he’s come full circle in this conversation, almost identical to the one they had on the bathroom floor over a year ago now when Robin can out to him, his tone and the distress in his features softening, “Robin.”

The pieces click into place, a whole range of emotion from shock to confusion to finally, sympathy, crossing Robin's face, “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. When did you…”

“Christmas Eve last year. Night of the snowball he apologized for being an asshole, and a few weeks later he kissed me.” Six months. The time that they’d had together was now as long as he was in the hospital, and since then how long Steve had been grieving him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounds almost hurt by it, the realization that her best friend didn’t come to her with this, especially when she of all people would be understanding. But Steve doesn’t have an answer to that, he doesn’t really know why.

All he does is shrug in response, tired of talking it out anyways, so with a forced sigh Robin tells him, “Well anyways, I’m glad you told me now. You shouldn’t have been doing this on your own for so long.”

Steve smiles weakly and lies, just as he’s been lying for so long, “It’s okay Robin. I’ve been getting better.”

But it doesn’t have the effect on Robin he wants, because she insists, for the first time not just letting him stew in his guilt and bottle everything up, “I don’t think drinking your life away and breaking down more often than ever really counts as doing better.”

Of course he tries to defend himself, anyone would against that, “Come on, Rob-“

But Robin cuts him off, “No, Steve. I’m serious. You need to get help.”

“I’m not going to a therapist.”

“Okay, but you still need to come to me with this stuff.” Steve looks away, and Robin’s tobw gets more desperate, “Steve, please. You can’t do this by yourself. I understand, I’m your best friend. I just want to be there for you.”

“I’ll.. think about it.” Is the last thing he says before he turns to leave, stopping short when he hears Robin sniffle, even on her worst days almost never seeing her cry, “Shit.. Robs.”

“No, no. I’m done talking about it Steve.” Robin shakes her head, her face flushes red as she fights back tears she doesn’t want him to see, biting her knuckles, “Just.. go ahead. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Numbly, he does. He turns and goes up the stairs to the used to be closet Robin turned into a room for him when he comes over.

~~~~

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s been in this hell.

His hair is getting longer, almost down his back now. It’s a matted mess that’ll never brush out even if someday he gets back to water that runs clear and his Gee conditioner he used to slip Susan a few bucks to buy for him, but he can’t bring himself to cut it.

He does shave though. Takes a knife to his face and does his best to use broken and grimy windows and mirrors for accuracy. It seems pointless, and for the most part it is, but his dad used to grow a beard in the winter, and the very last thing he wants is to look like him. Seeing him again would be one thing, but becoming him? That’s something Billy's willing to take a few knicks from a rusty old blade to avoid.

He used to keep track of the days, measured by the patterns in the storms constantly churning overhead, with a notch in the dying bark of a tree he passed between the convenience store and his house, the two places he’d been able to call his safe haven since he found himself trapped.

But then the dogs, as he’d come to call them now, changed. They used to circle the woods, patrol the other side of town, blocking his access to the downtown areas, like the hospital, the police station, Steve’s house. Then suddenly, they started closing in on his side, and from the many encounters he’s had from strays and crossing their invisible boundaries, he knew he couldn’t stay in that place.

So he’d lost his home, the ghost of his family that had been keeping him grounded, gone as he salvages anything he can, and leaves.

For a while, it feels like relief almost. The burden of how long he’d been here and how alone he was lifted, but he knows that’s just a way of comforting himself. He’s actually devastated.

He wants to be able to sleep on his back porch and he wants to be able to look at all the damaged family photos inside the overtaken house, no matter how fake the smiles and poses are, and he just wants to be home. Not that the building means much, home is the feeling, being with the people who he cares about and who care about him. He’s not sure he ever had the sense of what that really meant, but he’d take any dysfunctional upbringing over this.

The best he had for a while was Steve’s place.

Steve is never there, in the physical sense or in that freaky, spiritual, can be heard but not seen way. Inside the mansion is somehow pristinely kept, even in all of this wreckage that destroyed the rest of Hawkins. Mrs. Harrington would be proud of the intact decor and the spotless floors. Whatever those white particles were, which were slowly making it harder and harder for Billy to breath, were the only blemish, everything coated in at least an inch of the stuff.

Outside is another story entirely. The lawn is ripped up, the chairs and lawn ornaments are mangled or missing, and the pool is completely drained, in the place of water gangly vines and more sticky decomposition than he’d seen in even the most remote areas.

He remembers Barbara Holland. He remembers Steve saying she drowned accidentally in his pool when she got brought up. He remembers the fear in his eyes when they were out at night, the way those honey browns would scan the treeline for danger, on his worst days drawing the curtains and refusing to go out back for anything.

He starts to wonder, if maybe the vines mark the victims. His house, Steve’s pool, both completely overtaken. Heather’s house is only a street over from Steve’s, but he can’t will himself to go in there and see if his theory is correct. Same goes for the steelworks, or the community pool.

But, nice as it was, Steve’s house didn't last long as a refuge. He only stays there for a couple of weeks before he again has to grab what he can and abandon it, the dogs having followed him and cut another chunk out of his territory. There was a pack of them wandering the yard, a couple breaking off to charge at the back doors, and Billy has to decide between holing himself up in that hideously wallpapered room that had come to be another definition of home, and running for his damn life.

He chose the latter, scaling the shed roof from the upstairs bathroom window just as the monsters break the glass double doors. Down the rattling drain pipes he prayed would hold his weight, and into the shed to regroup. He’d gotten out with almost nothing of Steve’s, not that polo shirts and nike shoes were great for apocalyptic survival gear, but he wished he could’ve nabbed anything more, a picture, a coat, a bag, at least something he could use.

All he made out with though was a red bandana, which, if he ever gets out of this hell, he has to ask Steve about that, no way his reformed prep was freaky enough to walk around Hawkins advertising his preference for taking it elbow deep, an empty notebook, a pair of scissors as a just in case weapon, and an old banged up Bic which was out of fluid anyways.

The bandanas alright, paisleys not his pattern of choice and he’s more of a navy blue and grey guy than red, but it’d do well enough to keep that nasty shit in the air out of his lungs. Everything else he grabbed is basically useless to him though, so he scours the shed instead, sneaking in through the back door with a sharp eye on where the dogs broke into Steve’s.

In there he gets a little better of a haul, most of it still just junk he can repurpose for tending injuries, but on the back wall, held up by a barely standing shelf, is the golden find, a machete the length of his arm. Brand new and sharpened, a little worn from the rot but clearly never used, the Harrington’s had a gardener to trim back the branches, and everything in here was just for show so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t feel emasculated by not doing any work but answering phone calls and yelling at underpaid workers anyways, so Billy grabs it, finally having more than an old mower blade and a collection of knives from decorative to army to kitchen, most of which were all too small and almost got his arm torn off.

It’s that machine he’d stumbled upon that bittersweet day that he carries now, dripping with the oozing blood of one of the dogs, slightly bent now because another got it between its teeth and more dull from cutting through rubbery skin. The damn thing has saved his life though, many times over as the territories shift again in quick, unpredictable cycles, this last time ending with him cornered in the hospital's courtyard.

He was over there raiding for bandaging and medicine, anything that might help in the long run, but of course, it would have to come in handy just a little sooner, silly Billy for thinking about the future, because the monsters find him.

Thankfully, none of them actually get him, though one is particularly disgusting, it’s head, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, basically explodes when he stabs through it, another damn pair of his jeans getting ruined by the sticky, reddish spatter. The only worry he has time for before he has to kill, or scare off in most cases, the rest of the dogs that step forward, is the damned stain.

There aren’t too many, and those whose brains aren’t dripping off of his weapon, or as annoying as it is, his clothes, run off quickly, leaving Billy himself to move on.

First Cherry Lane, then Steve’s, and now the hospital. Guess it’s time to fucking leave again.

Hawkins is deceptively big for a country bumpkins paradise. The town and its shops and the surrounding neighborhoods only make up some half of the city, even he used to live on the edges of the civilized part, the rest of town stretching on for miles and miles of rural farmland, a couple of houses here and there the deeper you get into the country.

He’d never been over that way except maybe once when Max flipped the map upside down and they got lost on the way to Cherry for the first. That wasn’t much help now, but he was otherwise out of options. It was getting lost in the woods trying to find the more hidden houses, or it was being dinner for the dogs, which he could still hear chittering somewhere nearby, regrouping for the next attack probably.

The decision isn’t hard for Billy. He grabs whatever he’s salvaged and just bolts, bandana mask around his neck, machete in the bag on his back so he doesn’t cut himself up and make all this surviving for nothing, just getting the hell out of there before they decide they want to fight him again.

Because frankly, after as long as it’s been, his energy is getting low. He doesn’t know what he’s surviving for anymore, let alone if he’s going to be able to for much longer. His lung capacity is getting lower by the day, he’s got old wounds that won’t heal. The dogs probably aren’t too far from finishing him off if he gets attacked too many more times, so he’s just not chancing it.

Billy runs and he runs, coughing up a little blood in the process, until he ends up in a neighborhood he’s never seen before. Right now, that’s good news, so he slows his pace and takes his machete back out, just in case he let his guard down too soon.

Over here it’s a little brighter, a little less destroyed maybe, but still not right. Houses still slump and there are still pulsing vines all over, the roads still dusted with toxins. But there are a lot of houses, and that’s usually good news for avoiding the monsters.

As nice an area as it is, there's still something bigger drawing Billy to this area. Immediately he thinks back to the cemetery, how he’d felt and heard Steve that day, an event he’d come to think, after so long without a repeat feeling, had been only in his head, and he panics, for just a moment.

He knows he can’t let him slip by this time. Closing his eyes, he tries to pinpoint the feeling in his chest, like an arrow that can guide him in the direction of this, a compass pointing straight to his love.

Trusting that this feeling isn’t a warning, and he’s not about to walk into a nest, he follows it, slowly at first but with more fervor when he hears two echoing voices at the same time his chest clenches. He recognizes one as a vague face in his memory, Steve’s best friend, the one Heather never had the guts to tell about the crush she had on her, Robin maybe was her name. The other voice, well, the other voice is Steve’s.

They’re coming from a rotten duplex with no doors or windows. It looks a lot like a marked house, and he wonders if Robin knows she got a discount because the owner of the house was dead, melted into a monster that has tried to kill her along with the rest.

Approaching the house, he doesn’t know what to expect, if maybe they’ll be inside, or if this is just some delusion from a lack of oxygen to his brain. It doesn’t really matter. He steps up, careful to avoid rickety spots in he steps, and goes inside.

First, he leans his machete against the mushroom wall. There’s two reasons he never brings the weapons all the way in, first being that any mess he made in the house always had to be cleaned up by his step mother, so outside of the deepest throws of teenage rebellion, he always did what he could to minimize dirt in he house, and that included bringing a machete dripping with brains inside, even if there wasn't anyone around to see it, it was a habit built by thankful glances and praise, albeit somewhat backhanded, from his parents, so it was one he continued to honor.

Second, he harbors a deep respect for the houses he’s stayed in, despite the lack of doors on this one, each and every home he’s entered, no matter if it was for five minutes to steal some food or upwards of weeks where he slept there, these buildings were his shelter, and he feels the need to respect them, so, weapons stay at the front door. So far, the dogs haven’t followed him inside.

Looking around, he can tell Steve isn’t here either. The house is definitely abandoned just like the rest, and his heart sinks just a little, until he hears it again. A vague whisper that’s just barely audible to his ear.

He knows he’s in the right place. Every inch of him aches for Steve, but he can’t see him. He tries again to call out for him, an echo of the cemetery, “Steve? Can you hear me?”

No response comes.

“I don’t understand, why can’t you hear me?”

Things have gone silent on the other side, and Billy feels hopeless. A bout of frustration turns him around, the urge to forget about his stupid rules and just tear this house apart until he finds his Steve, curbed by seeing the wall phone.

He’s not stupid. He’s been over here long enough to realize he’s not in Hawkins, not the real one anyhow, that they, Steve and his family and everyone else are instead. The how and the why are another story entirely, but he has the basic understanding that he is alone, and they are parallel to him. Coexisting in different planes.

And if that is the case and he’s not on the worst trip of his life or just completely off his rocker, him and the dogs he kills an Agave and Pentheus type situation, then he can contact the other plane, say, by telephone even.

Luckily for him, Robin is forgetful, and there’s a list of numbers taped to the wall by the phone, only slightly worn with black gooey rot. He picks up the phone and listens to the emptiness, no dial tone in his ear. His hands are shaky as he slowly, hesitantly punches in the numbers, the three and the eight buttons getting monster blood on them from his fingers.

He raises the phone to his ear, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing back in his ear as he waits for someone to answer, the line ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #robin buckley #tw blood #ej writer #story by ej!#more tags on ao3

14 notes · View notes

noona-clock · 4 years ago

Text

The Dog Walker - Part 5

Genre: Dog Walker!AU

Pairing: Hanbin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,766

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so nervous and so excited at the same time. The only event in your recent history that even came close was your first day of work a few years ago. You’d been nervous because starting a new job was always nerve-wracking, but you’d been excited because this particular job was something you genuinely enjoyed (plus, you no longer had to worry about financial stability).

But, even then, you hadn’t been this nervous and excited.

Going on a date, in general, was definitely enough to make you nervous. Add on the fact that Hanbin was your date, and that was enough to make you incredibly nervous.

I mean, he was basically your dream guy.

And not just the guy from your daydreams -- which he was.

But he was also practically perfect, at least in your eyes. Handsome, smart, witty, caring, compassionate, thoughtful.

And that was just from knowing him for a few weeks!

Imagine how much more perfect he could get if you continued seeing him for a few months. Or years.

And that was the part that made you excited for tonight. Yes, you were nervous that you would be painfully awkward and not know what to say or talk about, but when it came down to it... You were going on a date with your dream guy. The guy you’d had a secret but very intense crush on for months. The guy you’d seen through your window and only imagined meeting and talking to and dating and falling for.

Your daydreams and imaginings were now becoming real life, and what wasn’t exciting about that?!

Okay, speaking of daydreams and imaginings...

If you were ever going to tell Hanbin about the origin story of your crush on him, it should be tonight. If you waited any longer, it would feel like lying. Plus, telling him early on wouldn’t hold him back from thinking you were a weird, creepy stalker and finding another walking route so he never had to see you again. Telling him on the fifth or sixth date might reel him in just enough to make him feel guilty for walking away, and you definitely didn’t want to do that!

...Were you overthinking this?

The answer is always ‘yes,’ of course.

But you still would rather get it over with and tell him tonight.

You just needed to figure out how and when to work it into the conversation.

You shook your head quickly to get thoughts of your date out of your head for now because you were still very much on the clock; it was barely 4 PM, and you had almost two hours before you could stop thinking about work and start thinking about Hanbin.

With a soft exhale, you shifted your gaze back to your screen and turned your attention back onto your work, ready to buckle down. For the next two hours, at least.

When you finally shut down your computer for the day, you thought you would feel a sense of relief.

But you were now discovering it was the exact opposite.

You were glad to be done with work, of course, and glad you were that much closer to seeing Hanbin again... but you were that much closer to seeing Hanbin again.

In just about one hour, he would be at your door.

To pick you up.

For your date.

That was not relieving.

That was daunting.

So, you busied yourself with getting ready. You distracted your mind by focusing on what to wear, how to do your hair, what kind of makeup look to do, and by the time you were fully made up, the clock on your phone read 6:59 PM.

Just as you turned off the light in your bathroom, there was a gentle knock at your front door.

Your heart leapt up into your throat, and you quickly grabbed your bag before hurrying to answer it.

As you reached for the doorknob, turning it and pulling the door toward you with as much confidence as you could muster, you braced yourself for the most butterflies in your stomach you’d ever felt. You braced yourself to nearly keel over from anxiety because your heart would beat so quickly and erratically.

But, instead, when you saw Hanbin’s slightly nervous but very attractive and familiar face... all you could do was smile. You let out a shaky exhale, and you smiled.

“Hi,” you greeted through your grin.

Hanbin, too, was smiling widely -- more than you’d ever seen him smile -- and he said, “Hey” in reply.

In that instant, you realized that your stomach was on the verge of letting out a very loud rumble. So, instead of asking him how he was doing or what the rest of the day had been like or letting him know that he looked very handsome tonight, you said, “I am actually kind of almost starving.”

“Okay,” Hanbin chuckled, standing aside to let you out. “Let’s get going and get you some food.”

Once you closed your front door behind you and locked it, Hanbin led you out to the sidewalk and began to walk down the street.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you clutched the strap of your bag.

“I always pass by this Japanese restaurant on my walks, and I’ve been wanting to try it. It smells so good whenever I walk by.”

“Oh, I know which one you’re talking about!” you nodded. “I’ve been a couple of times, but it’s been a while.”

“Is it any good?”

“From what I remember, yes. Very,” you answered as you covertly watched your feet falling into step with his beside you.

“Okay, good,” he murmured. And, maybe it was just your imagination, but the way he said it made it sound like he was relieved he wasn’t taking you to a mediocre restaurant for your first date.

But, again, that may have just been your imagination because that was an awfully specific tone of voice, and you’d never actually heard someone else use that tone of voice and mean what you thought Hanbin meant...

Whatever.

As the two of you continued to walk down to the restaurant, Hanbin asked you how you were doing, how the rest of your day had been, and he told you that you looked very nice tonight -- all the things you’d wanted to say at your front door just a few minutes ago had you not been almost interrupted by your hungry, growling stomach.

When you arrived, the drool-worthy smells of delectable Japanese food filling the air and tempting your hunger even more, Hanbin opened the door for you and held up two fingers as the host welcomed you.

The host then led both of you over to a booth by the front window, and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself as you slid onto the bench.

“What?” Hanbin asked with amused curiosity after the host laid down two menus and left you to peruse them.

You lifted your eyebrows and your gaze, you smirk instantly dropping. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know -- it just looked like you were smiling about something.”

Wonderful. He had seen you smirking about the whole window thing.

“Oh! I, um -- Nothing. It was nothing,” you answered with an incredibly awkward chuckle. He absolutely didn’t need to know that you had been smirking because sitting by the front window had reminded you of the months you’d spent watching Hanbin walk by through your own front window.

“I definitely don’t believe you, but okay,” he replied as he lifted his menu and began to study it.

You felt your cheeks warm with embarrassment and lifted your own menu, holding it up just high enough to hide the bottom half of your face.

Maybe you would tell him later, but... not just yet.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Hanbin peered at you from over the top of his menu and asked, “What are you thinking? I mean, not -- not like, what are you thinking, in general, just -- about ordering. What do you want to order?”

Well, good. At least you weren’t the only one who was feeling nervous and awkward.

“The udon sounds really good, but I don’t think slurping noodles and soup is the best choice for a --”

...Oh, no. You hadn’t thought your comment all the way through before starting to say it, and now you were on the verge of saying ‘date’ and what if this wasn’t actually a date? What if Hanbin had just wanted to go out to dinner as friends? He hadn’t specified, and you had been too chicken to ask.

Yes, not even two hours ago, you had officially declared that this was a date. But that was to yourself! You had been back at home, and Hanbin hadn’t been around, but now he was here. Right in front of you! And you were questioning things all over again!

Thankfully, Hanbin didn’t seem to think much of the fact that you’d just stopped talking (and were now on the verge of a mental breakdown in your head) and replied with, “I clean up after dogs all day, so I think I can handle some noodle slurping.”

With a dismayed chuckle, you pushed all of your hectic thoughts to the side, set your menu down, and arched your eyebrow teasingly. “You’re comparing my eating habits to cleaning up after dogs?”

“Oh, god -- no,” he assured you without hesitation -- but with plenty of remorse. “I just meant -- no, I didn’t -- not at all. I just thought you meant you didn’t want to be, like... unattractive in front of me something, and that’s not -- you couldn’t --”

“First of all,” you interrupted gently, holding back a very amused grin. “I was joking. And second of all... you’re right. I was going to say that slurping noodles and soup isn’t the best choice for a first date.”

...Wow, did that feel good to say out loud!

Also, wow, what a roller coaster the last minute had been. You had literally just been stressing about whether or not this was a date even though you’d already decided it was, and now here you were saying the words ‘first date’ out loud. To Hanbin directly.

Maybe it didn’t make sense, but hey. Life doesn’t always make sense, now, does it?

Your words seemed to make Hanbin visibly relax, and that familiar, bashful half-smile of his appeared on his lips. “What I was trying to say was... my job is not glamorous in the least, so I’m not used to things being well-mannered or polite or even clean all the time. I would never judge you for slurping noodles in front of me. I like you too much to care about that.”

And, unsurprisingly, your breath caught in your throat hearing him say that.

You typically weren’t one to be so bold, but the words “You like me?” came tumbling out of your mouth before you even had a chance to filter them out.

Because... this was Hanbin.

This was Cute Dog Walking Guy. The guy you had never in your wildest dreams thought would even talk to you, let alone like you!

Even just a month ago, you hadn’t fathomed that Hanbin would ever know you existed.

And now. Right now. He was sitting across from you, saying that he liked you too much to care about you slurping noodles in front of him.

“Yeah,” he answered shyly, just barely meeting your eye. “Of course, I do.”

He liked you.

Of course, he liked you.

That’s what he had just told you, and now, you knew you needed to tell him. Not just that you liked him, too, but... everything.

“I like you, too,” you replied breathlessly. “And I have to tell you something.”

Hanbin’s relieved expression had softened even more upon your return of his feelings, but his brow furrowed slightly now. “Okay,” he murmured, his tone expectant and also maybe a little bit nervous.

“One day, about three months ago now, I just so happened to be taking a break from work when I heard Frankie barking outside. I went over to my window to look out, and that’s when I saw you for the first time, and I knew pretty much instantly that I had a crush on you. So, every day -- every single day -- I’ve been getting up from my desk at the same time, going over to my window at the same time, peeking through my blinds at the same time, and... watching you walk by with Frankie. And any other dog you happen to be walking that day. I’ve secretly liked you for a -- for a long time now, and literally nobody else knows, but I thought -- I knew -- I needed to tell you now just in case it changes things for you --”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hanbin interrupted. And when you pressed your lips together to keep yourself from saying anything more, he continued, “You said nobody else knows?”

You nodded.

“So... you just told me something that you’ve never told anyone before?”

You nodded again -- slowly this time.

...Where was he going with this?

Hanbin let out a short but controlled breath before leaning slightly over to your side of the table. “When you asked me earlier how I’d gotten into dog walking, and I was kind of stumbling over my words, and you asked me what I wanted to say... Right before I asked you out to dinner.”

You knit your brows together in confusion. “...Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you something that I’ve never told anyone before, but I chickened out because I don’t usually open up like that to... to anyone, really. But if you can tell me something no one else knows...”

And now your confusion had only grown.

“Wait,” you muttered with a slight shake of your head. “You -- You’re not going to say anything about what I just --”

Hanbin waved your words away dismissively and shrugged. “I really don’t care. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t change anything.”

You tried not to show just how relieved you were, though you still felt a reassured grin tugging at your lips. You then leaned forward in your seat a bit and fixed your gaze on him. “All right,” you said quietly. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Hanbin took a short but deep breath before leaning forward, as well, and tilting his head toward you. “I love dogs, I really do,” he began. “I’m not unhappy in my career at all, and I don’t plan on leaving the boutique.”

You raised your eyebrows, anticipating the ‘but...’

“...But,” Hanbin continued. “I’ve been coming up with these... songs. In my head. While I’m walking, and -- I just can’t stop thinking about them. Writing them, thinking about the melody and the lyrics and the music, the production...”

Obviously, you hadn’t known that Hanbin had any sort of musical inclination. He had never mentioned it, and you had never presumed that about him. But now that he’d told you, it somehow made sense. It was like the missing puzzle piece to him that you hadn’t even known was missing.

It was a very strange feeling, but... you loved it. You loved that you knew something about him that no one else knew and that it was something that just made sense about him.

“You should do it,” you nodded.

Hanbin’s brow furrowed immediately. “...Do what?”

“Make the song. Write it, sing it, produce it, record it. Even if you don’t do anything with it when you finish, you should still do it.”

For a few moments, Hanbin continued to look at you with a slightly confused expression. But, little by little, his features softened. The corners of his lips curved up gently.

And then he reached across the table and cautiously took your hand, holding your fingers and running his thumb over your knuckles.

Your date had barely started. The server hadn’t even come back to take your order, and you had no idea how the rest of the night would go.

Except... you did know.

Maybe it was the fact you had exchanged secrets, or maybe it was the fact he was holding your hand, or maybe it was... nothing in particular. You really had no idea.

You just felt comfortable, and you knew you had nothing to worry about.

Part 6

#kwritersworldnet #hanbin scenarios #hanbin imagines #hanbin au #hanbin fluff #hanbin fanfic #ikon scenarios #ikon imagines #ikon au #ikon fluff #ikon fanfic #ikon #kim hanbin #b.i #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic

82 notes · View notes

bullshittierlists · 4 years ago

Photo

Spoilers for DR1, obviously. I decided to remake this list because my opinions on all of the characters have changed significantly since the last time. I’m honestly not even super happy about this one.

I see no god up here other than me:

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Oh my lord, he’s perfect in every way (except for the thing, which I’ll get to). He’s funny, he doesn’t feel entirely insignificant, and he’s got a cool, sad backstory to dive into if you like him enough, but it isn’t required to do so throughout the main game. Everything about his genius/hard-working motif is brilliant. I think it’s incredible how he’s actually the opposing force to Komaeda rather than Junko, even though no one talks about it and the game doesn’t really use it that much. His whole backstory with his grandfather and father is so sad and I’m so proud of him for getting to be where he is today, even if it didn’t quite happen how he wanted it to. The one exception to this practically perfect prefect is, of course, the elephant in the room, Kiyondo Ishida. Here’s the thing: I think Kiyondo could’ve worked really well. However, as far as I know, Taka was swapped out last minute with Hiro and had to die in chapter 3. I honestly think this was the worst decision the franchise made after making Mikan... the way that she was. The only reason people hate Hiro is that he survived the first game. I’ll get to this more later, but I honestly really enjoyed his character for the first three chapters. After that, though, he got a little stale and even a bit annoying, especially the Kyoko being a ghost bit. I feel like Hiro really overstayed his welcome and his presence could’ve been more than made up for by the comedic duo of Hina and Taka. I understand that choosing the survivors of each game is difficult and a very meticulous process, but let’s just consider the interactions with other characters for now. To start with, Hiro hardly had any positive interactions with any of the other characters in the back half of the game outside of Hina calling him out for being an idiot. If we put Taka in his place, he could’ve had serious moments with Kyoko and Makoto, helping them to solve some of the mysteries. He also could’ve played off of Byakuya and Toko’s relationship in telling them that PDA is “not welcome in a school environment.” And the crowning jewel of missed opportunities, his interactions with Hina. They’ve both lost their best friends in the whole world and have no one to rely on. In canon, Hina had to do a character 180 just to keep up with Hiro’s idiocy and not break down about losing Sakura. However, if we had Taka, he could’ve helped her to get through it because he would’ve already gotten over Mondo with the help of Ishida. See? I brought it back around. If Taka had been able to resolve his issues with Ishida in chapter 3, he would’ve been able to help Hina to develop her character through the loss of Sakura in chapter 4. I think this would’ve been so much better for both of their characters and I weep for what could’ve been. But for some reason, Hiro just had to stick around.

Mondo Owada - I’m honestly surprised I talked about Taka for that long without mentioning Mondo. I don’t actually have a lot to say about Mondo that I won’t get to with Chihiro, but this is basically your warning to be ready for another rant and it also serves as a break from the last one. Mondo and Taka are perfect for each other, Mondo is the most sympathetic killer, bar none, and even though I’m not a huge fan of dogs, Chuck is so precious.

You’re the best:

Celestia Ludenberg - Pretty goth lady. That’s about it. She could’ve been better in chapter 3, but I honestly still really liked her plan and her breakdown was phenomenal. My favorite thing about her though is her execution. Her execution fits into the thin category of executions that include the element of specific despair, basically meaning that Monokuma made it specifically to make her sad apart from the fact that she was dying. She was ready and honestly excited to be burned at the stake because it would guarantee her an interesting death and therefore an interesting life. But then, she ends up just dying in another boring old car accident, many of which happen every day. It’s fun to watch her expression and demeanor change throughout her execution, it’s one of my favorites.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Oh boy, it’s the one I expect to get hate for. Buckle up, lovely people, it’s time to get personal. I personally headcanon Chihiro to be a cisgender male; however, I also believe that you can headcanon anyone to be anything you want. There is an exception and it’s when that headcanon specifically derails something the character was trying to present. In this case, it’s toxic masculinity and the importance of appearances in society. I’ll preface this whole section with a statement: I’m not trying to be transphobic. I could see Chihiro being a trans male, but cis or trans female just feels counterproductive to me. Let me explain. Chihiro’s entire existence is used to parallel Mondo’s. Chihiro has a strong will with a weak body, while Mondo has a strong body with a weak will. Mondo is seen, in canon, as a super manly character who is strong in both heart and body, but he doesn’t believe himself to be this way. The only strength he’s ever seen is through aggressive violence, and that’s how he shows his strength. This is proven in the fact that when he felt weak against Chihiro’s strong will, he killed him out of fear, which he had grown to believe was strength. However, since Chihiro had a weak body, people treated him as unmanly, even though he was strong-willed, so he believed that everything about him was weak and learned to be submissive to everyone else’s desires. This is proven in the fact that he dressed and acted the way he did specifically to please others, not himself. It’s shown in multiple free time events that he hates the way that he looks and that he hates dressing to appease other people. It’s not even necessary to turn to the FTEs to gain this information, it’s obvious from the fact that he goes to Mondo specifically to get stronger in what he thinks is both mind and body, as he’s been known to think that the two are connected. It can also be understood from his dialogue that he wasn’t trying to get physically stronger for himself, he was perfectly comfortable with his body, he wanted to get physically stronger so that other people would leave him alone. These are the effects that bullying had on him. Maybe I’m misunderstanding, but whenever I see Chihiro as female, trans or otherwise, it feels as though those people want Chihiro to subject to the bullying because it more closely fits their ideal. It just feels like evidence of toxic masculinity because since Chihiro is feminine, he must be female, even if he says otherwise. The difference to me between this and say, trans Gundham headcanons is that with Gundham, there’s nothing in his character that goes either way, so it’s fine to headcanon him however you want. But when Chihiro explicitly states that he wants to be seen as male, he’s ignored and pushed aside as “another missed opportunity for trans representation.” But he’s not a missed opportunity for representation, he’s just representing something else, toxic masculinity. It’s obvious that it goes over people’s heads because they don’t seem to understand this at all. I’m not trying to be rude, I just want people to understand that just because the representation isn’t specifically for the group you want, doesn’t mean that it isn’t good representation. I can talk about this more if anyone wants me to, but it’s almost 1 AM and I’m not sure how much longer and I can form cohesive sentences and I’m not sure this is the best argument to test that on.

Genocide Jack - Idk, she’s funny. I’ve already gotten past most of the characters I have strong opinions on. Whereas in the second game, I have strong feelings about my favorites *and* my least favorites, I really only have favorites in this game and everyone else is pretty neutral.

Byakuya Togami - He was actually originally my second favorite character, but I realized a good way into the series that I didn’t actually like him that much. He’s not as smart as he claims to be and he isn’t as well written as Komaeda or Kokichi. However, he does have one truly fantastic moment in the first game and that is during chapter 4. When it’s revealed that Sakura killed herself, he shuts down. It’s impossible for something to have happened that he didn’t predict and he truly believes that. It’s incredible to see his complete shift in character (at least for this trial) and I absolutely adore that moment. Everything else with him is still kinda meh.

Hey, I think you’re really cool, I like you a lot:

Sakura Ogami - There’s literally nothing about her that I can say that hasn’t been said already. She’s perfect and I love her for it.

Aoi Asahina - Like I said during my Taka rant, I think she would’ve been much better if she didn’t have to accommodate Hiro. The first game had a much darker tone than the second and Toko/Genocide Jack already had the comedic relief role covered. She and Taka could’ve still had their fair share of funny moments together, but I feel like she could’ve gone through Akane’s arc during the second game, but better because she would’ve been able to build off of Taka, who already went through the same thing. Either way, she’s cute and I adore her and Sakura’s friendship.

Sayaka Maizono - So I actually made this list back in January (it’s currently the middle of April) and just never got around to making it and since then, I’ve fallen in love with Sayaka. It may or may not have to do with me being cast as her in a secret project that I’ll announce later, but she has my heart regardless. Now, I’d probably put her behind Chihiro and ahead of Genocide Jack. She’s just such an interesting character and while it’s a shame that she died so early, I still think she wouldn’t have been as good if she didn’t die so soon. For the record, I think both Sayaka and Leon were morally in the wrong. However, Sayaka was doing it for her friends, while Leon could’ve stopped at any time and really only went back for himself. Sayaka is not a snake. Thank you, goodnight.

Mukuro Ikusaba - She’s definitely my neutral point. I have one of these in every DR game, even if I don’t realize it. I just don’t really have any opinions on her and it’s not even because she wasn’t in the game for very long. I just don’t know how to feel about her. I just finished Danganronpa: Zero and that boosted Junko way up in my book, but it didn’t really change my opinion on Mukuro at all.

Kyoko Kirigiri - I get the hype, I really do, but I just can’t get into her. For starters, I don’t like Naegi all that much, so of course I’m not going to like the people that hang around him all the time. The most I’ve ever liked her is while watching videos of her along with “Not So Bad A Dad” from Phineas and Ferb. Other than that, she’s extremely neutral for me.

Toko Fukawa - I’m including her appearance in Ultra Despair Girls, but it didn’t really help her much. I liked her in the first game, but it was only because I was going through a weird phase of obsessing over people and now I just think it’s weird because it is. I went into Ultra Despair Girls knowing that she got character development and then completely forgot to pay attention to it because I was so enraptured by the Warriors of Hope. So, I don’t know, she’s just kinda creepy and I didn’t really notice her (or Komaru, for that matter) in UDG.

I remember you:

Junko Enoshima - Like I mentioned during Mukuro’s segment, I just finished Danganronpa: Zero and it was a wild ride. I made this list before I had even started the book and I was mostly just confused by Junko. I didn’t understand her motivations or any of her plans, much less how she was able to achieve anything she was. But once I finished DR0, it all made sense. I won’t spoil it here, but she was incredible in that book and I wish I had caught on to everything earlier.

Makoto Naegi - I feel bad, but I have to compare him to the other protagonists. He’s just so boring, and I know that that’s the point of a protagonist, but Hajime proves that it doesn’t have to be that way. Makoto’s just kinda there all of the time. For example, in DR0, he shows up for one scene, but he literally doesn’t even do anything. He stands there, talks to Ryoko, is scared during a fight scene, and is never seen again. It’s really frustrating to know that he’s only there because he was the protagonist of the first game and it’s like “Wow, you know this character!”

Yasuhiro Hagakure - My only opinion on him is that he should’ve died in chapter 3. My only explanation for why he was so high on the original list is because I watched this one hysterical panel for DR1 and Hiro was by far the best character there. In the game itself, I liked him until he overstayed his welcome and cost Taka his shot to be memorable.

Leon Kuwata - I honestly can’t explain why I dislike him so much, I just really, genuinely do. He’s just kind of annoying, but that’s about it. Like I said before, I don’t really hate many of the characters from this game, they’re mostly all loved or neutral and he’s just the most negative neutral.

You are literally the worst. Actual scum. Leave this planet and never return:

Monokuma - You know the drill by now if you’ve seen my other DR tier lists, it’s kind of an obligation at this point.

Hifumi Yamada - Why. Why is he like this? Why is he this way? Honestly, he’s not nearly as bad as Teruteru or Kazuichi in the perv department, but I just hate him so much. I don’t understand why he is the way that he is, but I do understand that I’m happy he died in chapter 3. Honestly, I could’ve done with him dying earlier, but it is what it is.

It’s 1:15 AM and I am done writing. I’ve been putting this off for months and I figured it was finally time to get it over with and it definitely didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I can’t sleep. I hope you enjoy all of this and if you would like me to elaborate on anything, just drop me an ask and let me know. I’m always happy to explain any of my opinions and want to make sure I’m as clear as possible. Please do not spread hate about me until you’ve made sure you understand my point. Then go to town.

36 notes · View notes

make-it-mavis · 4 years ago

Text

Homesick (Entry #30)

(cw: long post, drunkenness, brief discussion of abuse, brief mention of sex) ----------- 01/16/88 12:26 AM

Hey.

If you were really reading this right now, you might question why I called this a good memory in the last entry. Well, bear with me. I think a lot of good things are made better when they’re in relief of the bad. And relief came.

It really did.

That night, we both said a lot of things we regretted. And after that, we said a lot of things I sometimes wish I could forget. If I could forget what you said, it would be easier to be mad at you. To pretend you didn’t care about me at all. Maybe then, I wouldn’t miss you near as much as I do. Maybe, somehow, I could actually want to let you go.

And, y’know, if I remembered all this when I woke up all ashy and dazed on Fix-it’s bed on the 7th, maybe I could have started blaming myself for your death a whole lot sooner and saved myself that whole breakdown at Tapper’s.

In the bathroom, I did what I could for my cut. You were low on first aid supplies, for some reason. It looked way less gnarly with the blood all wiped off, but it was definitely deep enough to need stitches, of which you had none. But there’s always a hammer back in my game for such things, so I just bandaged it up for the time being.

When I came out of the bathroom, it was near pitch black. You’d closed the blackout shutters all the way. You slipped past me for your turn in the bathroom. We didn’t even glance at each other as we passed by.

My eyes took a bit longer to adjust than usual, but that didn’t really matter. I knew your home like the back of my hand, you know. I even painted a broom and swept most of the glass shards out of the way (I have to assume I missed a few, since I was too drunk to think of painting a flashlight, or even just opening the shutters back up). But it was a quick and half-assed effort. I really just wanted to go to sleep. The thought of crawling into your bed kind of made me ill at that point, so I curled up tight on the couch, facing the back cushions so you wouldn’t see my face, not even bothering to pull the blanket down.

I listened to you in the bathroom. Not on purpose -- I was attracted to the idea of pretending you weren’t there for the rest of the evening -- but there was literally no other sound to drown you out. I’m still not sure what you did in there. I expected to hear vomiting, or at least drunk grumbling, but all I heard was the tap running uninterrupted, like you weren’t even using it, for what must have been a full ten to fifteen minutes.

I heard you open the door, turn off the light, and pass by me without stopping. Your bed creaked in alarm, like you’d just dropped yourself onto it. After that, the place fell silent.

I tried really hard to fall asleep. I kept my eyes shut tight, relaxed my body one part at a time, ran through my old songs in my head, et cetera, but nothing was working. The room was spinning, the silence was excruciating, and I just couldn’t stop hearing the things you’d said to me. They’d cut so deep and were just burrowing deeper and worming around my insides. The things I’d said to you kept me up, too. That stricken look on your face, like I’d whipped you around and stabbed you in the back. You looked the very same way I felt right then, lying there in complete disbelief that the sprite I trusted more than anyone in the world could have agreed with the cruel voices in my head.

Really, more than anything else, I was overcome with the cold question of what we’d just done to each other and how we were going to fix it.

I couldn’t tell you how much time passed before either of us moved, but it was a fair bit. I heard your blankets rustling. You were restless, tossing and turning, making the springs creak. Couldn’t say the same for me. I was still as a rock, and tensed like one, too. I was just trying to pack it all down. To shove it all in a chest and lock it. I didn’t want to think about any of it, but, as you might have guessed, I had no choice in the matter.

I heard you stand up.

I expected you to walk past me again to the bathroom, but you stopped next to me. For a few minutes, as far as I could tell, you just stood there, but then I felt the couch cushions past my feet shift kind of awkwardly, like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to sit down. Eventually, you settled for sitting on the floor, your back against the couch. You said nothing, but I heard you anxiously tugging fibers from the carpet.

I wanted to tell you to go away, but I decided to wait. I was curious as to what your deal was.

When you spoke, you spoke quietly, but it was still enough to make me jump.

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Y’know,” you paused. “Your cheek.”

I thought for a second, probably a second too long, and lied. “No.”

You kept inhaling like you were about to speak, and stopping. After a minute, you managed to say earnestly, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

I wasn’t in the mood. I grumbled, “Go to bed, T.”

“But you do know that,” you insisted, kind of urgently. “Don’t you?”

I did know that. I was just… so bitter. I was still pissed at you for the things you said to me. The cut didn’t matter to me in the slightest, so I was annoyed that you were making a big deal of it.

I sighed hard. “Well, you sure didn’t try not to, either, hotshot, but whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, actually. It kinda does.”

I said, a bit louder, “No. It doesn’t. Just go back to bed. I don’t want to talk about it.”

You matched my volume, “Well, I do.”

“Why?!” I snapped, still refusing to turn around. “Why do you want--”

You cut me off hurriedly, “Because I can’t let you think I enjoy it!”

“Enjoy what, Turbo?!”

“HURTING you!”

We both went quiet. I heard your back drop against the couch again, as if you had been twisting around towards me a moment prior. My heart was racing. It was time for me to be lost and confused again, with an overwhelming desire to hit the brakes. But, really, by your silence, I guessed that you were in just about the same boat as me. But you were trying, despite that. I supposed I owed you the same effort. So I drunkenly staggered forward in this harrowing conversation.

“Well…” I said quietly, “you used to.”

Pausing briefly, you asked, “What?”

“But I liked hurting you, too,” I said, uselessly. “That’s how we met, ain’t it? At least how we got to know each other. Let our fists and broken glass do the talking.”

You sighed roughly. “That was a long time ago. And besides, that’s not what I’m even talking about, and you know that. I’m not talking bar fights and sparring matches. I’m talking…” you trailed off in thought, but couldn’t quite find the words, “...this mess.”

I considered what you were telling me, and I was a little surprised by it. “...I know you didn’t mean to. And I know you don’t enjoy it. Obviously, I know that.”

You didn’t answer.

“T…” I continued, softer, “just how often do you think you hurt me? It’s not a lot.”

You still didn’t answer, so I kept going, carefully.

“I mean… yeah, you’re not exactly always a breeze to hang out with, but, come on, you know me. I’m not easy all the time, either, but that’s how I like things. You know that if I really thought you liked hurting me, I wouldn’t be here, right?”

I barely heard you breathe, “Yeah. I know. That’s the point.”

I asked, “What?”

You didn’t answer, so I asked again, “...T?”

Voice low, you explained slowly, “If you don’t like something, you clear out. I know. I’ve seen it happen. You’re not the type to stick around if you’re miserable. I just…” you took a deep breath, and spoke as if you were carving the words crudely out of a slab, “I want… to keep it from getting… to that point. It’s like… like what you said. I never… try to make you unhappy. I never… really want to. Y’know. But it’s not… not like I try that hard to stop it from… happening. And look what not trying did tonight. I--” you stopped for a second, and I heard you steady your breathing, “I cut… your face open… and I didn’t even notice.”

You took a deep breath, and let it hiss slowly through your lips. I felt frozen. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to have a response yet. Thankfully, you continued. “And if that ain’t enough, I mean… I… said… a whole lot. A whole lot a’ stuff I… really didn’t mean. I was mad. I was pissed at you for saying--... I think… the only reason I said what I did was because I knew it would hurt you, and I… hate… that. I really just… wish I hadn’t. That’s not… That’s not how I wanna be. I wanna--...”

Through the pounding in my ears, I heard your hand fall defeatedly against the floor. “I hate this. I just know I’m makin’ this worse, somehow. Just… don’t… don’t--... Don’t run off just yet. I don’t know what my deal is-- and, yeah, I know somethin’ ain’t right, okay-- and I’m trying-- I’m trying to figure it out, and I will, but I’m--” your voice lowered, “I’m gonna… try harder. ‘Cuz I didn't try tonight, and… if anything like this happens again, you’ll--... I just… need you to know that I don’t enjoy all this, ‘cause… I mean, it’s obvious what everyone else would think, right? They’d take one look at that cut on your cheek and say…”

I waited, and prodded tentatively, “Say... what?”

I heard fabric shift against your shoulders as you shrugged. “That… you oughtta have nothing to do with me anymore. ‘Cause I’m no good, and it’ll just happen again. Right?”

I waited for your words to sink in. They were slow moving, but soon enough, I figured it out. And, honestly, I was taken aback that you would have looked at things from that angle.

“So… what, you think this means…” I asked carefully, “you think this one stupid mistake means that I’m not safe around you?”

You replied quickly, “No. You are.”

“But you’re… You’re freaked out that it looks that way. You think this makes it look like I’m your victim, or something.”

“No--” you stammered, “I don’t know. You don’t have to say it like that.”

“How should I say it?”

“I don’t know, just…” you sighed a bit. “You know… Them lowlife scumbags who keep girls around just to use ‘em as punchin’ bags?”

At that, in a weird way I can't quite explain, I think something in my heart broke for you a little bit. Just knowing you were battling the fear of that over a dumb mistake that I easily could have made myself.

I asked softly, “Is that… what you think you're doing?”

“No,” you answered quickly, and I heard you turn. “I'm not. I swear I'm not. I’m nothin’ like those guys.”

“I know,” I said plainly, as if it had to be obvious. But I presented as gently as I could, “But it just sounds like… you think I'm gonna think you are. You think you’re gonna chase me away.”

You were quiet.

“T…” I said. “I know you better than that.”

You said quietly, “I just want you to believe me when I say this won't happen again.”

“Say it, then.”

“What?”

“Say it won't happen again.”

You paused. “I swear this won't happen again.”

“I believe you.”

You went quiet. I knew that I hadn’t quite gotten through to you, but I wasn't sure how to. There were so many things running through my head that I didn’t know how to say. Maybe I was afraid to. I don’t know.

I just kept getting tripped up by one thing. You were so, so terrified that I was going to leave you in one way or another. It’s not like I didn’t know what that felt like. I knew all too well. But the fact that you would have felt that way about me, well… that raised some questions. Ones I was not about to ask you. Some were about how you felt about me, but… I think way more were about how you felt about yourself.

One thing was for sure. I didn’t want you to be afraid for a second longer.

Fumbling in the gentlest voice I could manage, I said, “T… Tonight has sucked. Royally. I’ll give you that. But… it’s all just been a stupid mistake. I know you. You get pissed and act like a jackass. I do the exact same thing. That’s all this is. You’re talking like this happens all the time. Like I’m stuck with you and you’re constantly doing me wrong. If this were fun for you, I feel like… this would be a regular thing, but it’s not. If you enjoyed it, you’d do it all the time. When was the last time we even had a fight?”

You thought for a while. “I don’t remember.”

“Me neither.”

I hadn’t actually thought about it, but it was true. We’d gone so long without fighting that I didn’t even remember the last time anymore. It was a weird thing to think about for some reason.

“But,” you said, “there hasn’t been one this bad before, either.”

That was also true.

“Well… first time for everything.”

“And last,” you added lowly.

For a little while, we were both quiet, but I could tell you were in silent distress. I heard your feet shift a bit against the carpet and your fingers tug at the fibers again. I was a bit reluctant to ask, because I was already so emotionally spent, but, damn it all, I wanted you to feel better.

I asked, “Hey, T… you okay?”

You didn't answer right away, but after a moment, I think I heard you whisper, “I feel like I’m losin’ my mind.”

I asked for clarification, “T?”

I heard you shrug, and I heard your breath stammer, voiceless, before you said in a voice more humble than I ever would have thought possible for you…

“I just… wanna be good for you… Mav.”

My heart just about skidded to a stop, hearing exactly what I had thought about you that very same night. Remembering the way you said that and what it meant to me, just… hurts. It hurts so bad how much I miss you. Because you were good for me -- damn what anyone else might have said. You were the best thing in my life, and now you're gone.

This is one of those good things I try to forget. I try to pretend you didn't say that. I don't know if it eases the pain, but it makes it different.

Missing something good is just so unbearable for me right now.

But in that moment, while I still had something good, I was near speechless. There was only one thing I could think to say, only one thing that really made sense to say.

“...You are.”

I sort of wanted that to be the end of it, but you didn’t move. You were silent as the grave for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure you were even breathing, until I heard you inhale to speak, and pause.

“Mav…”

I just waited for you to continue.

You began to say, “Listen… about the stuff I said…”

I flinched. I was still raw from all that. I said quickly, “Whatever. It’s fine.”

You insisted, “Don’t give me that. I know it’s not.”

“‘Kay, maybe not, but it happened. We both said things that we know were crappy. So let’s just settle on that and forget about it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t make it one.”

“Mavis,” you said, clearly frustrated, “will you quit snubbing me for one second? I don’t-- I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here, but will you just let me try--”

“T. It’s fine,” I was starting to get anxious. “You didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. It’s whatever, alright? Please go back to bed.”

“No, you don’t know it,” you insisted, to my surprise. “You don’t, because it’s not true. The gamers… The gamers do love you, Mav.”

That wasn’t the first thing I’d heard you say that night that I never thought I’d hear in your voice. I was too stunned to respond.

You continued, “Y’know, in their gamer-y sort of way. I’ve always known that, and I’ve never quite got why you don’t. But I guess you don’t know nearly as much about ‘em as I do.”

I felt a prickly sort of misery weigh down on my body.

“No, they don’t, T. You don’t get it,” I grumbled into the couch. “A Good Guy could never understand.”

“Oh yeah? Well, lemme ask you this--” I felt you turn around a bit and lay your arm on the cushions, “Do gamers punch in your combo just to play as you?”

I wasn’t sure where you were going with that, but I didn’t like it. I could feel a nerve being slowly pressed. I said, “That’s my program, yeah.”

You pressed harder, “Do they smile and get all excited and call their friends over when they see you?”

I wanted you to stop. Really bad. “Yes, Turbo, but--”

“And do they sink more quarters into your game to see you again?”

“It’s-- That’s complicated--”

“Do they?”

“YES, but only--”

Your hand clapped against the couch. “That’s gamer love! And I’d know more about that than anyone else in this arcade, so now you--”

I snapped. I twisted back to fire at you, “If they LOVE ME so much, how could they THROW ME AWAY like I’m NOTHING?! If THAT’S what love is, I don’t WANT IT!”

In the dark, your eyes stared back at me, wide, still brutally honest. I waited, but you didn’t have an answer. Your gaze just fell to your hand, and then you fell back into position, back against the couch, looking away from me.

I’d screwed up again. I already told you that the gamers never loved you. In a way, I just told you again. I said that if the gamers drop you like garbage, they don’t love you. And you were so afraid that’s what they were doing to you.

I turned back to curl against the corner of the couch again, feeling like crap, feeling like I ought to have just shut up for the rest of the night. But, Devs be damned, you were actually making an effort to set things right.

You.

So, as much as I hated it, as foreign as it felt to me, I had to try to right my wrongs.

I said softly, and sadder than I intended, “Turbo.”

You barely grunted.

“I don’t think you’re being ridiculous.”

I paused, but you said nothing.

“And…” I swallowed, “I say that, because… I talk like it doesn’t matter to me anymore, when this happens to me. When the gamers… drop me. Like I’ve gotten used to it, so it all runs together and I’m just… numb to it. That’s… not true. It’s not. I mean, I’m used to it, sure. But it still hurts. It hurts every damn time. I see it coming, I know it’s going to happen, but it still stings. I can’t… imagine what it’d be like, what it’d feel like, if I…”

I didn’t want to say. I just hoped you understood. Apparently, you did, because I heard your muffled voice say, “No… you can’t.”

I said, “I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“But, well, the thing is… I’m not pissed at you. I’m pissed at them.”

I took a second, and you waited.

“Just when I think I have them figured out, when I think they’re about the worst they’re gonna get, they go and pull something like this. It doesn’t make sense. Why would they do this to you? With me, it’s-- I mean,” I sighed, my heart pounding, feeling myself begin to spill things I didn’t want to, but my drunk ass couldn’t stop. “I get it. It sucks, but I get it. I’m an Easter Egg -- it’s part of the job. No one’s supposed to want me for too long, I’m supposed to be temporary, I’m not supposed to be loved the way you are--”

I heard you cut in with a “Wait--” but I stopped you short.

“No-- No-- Don’t. It’s fine. I know it’s true. I know it, okay? I’m just not made for it, and I get that, I get that. And, yeah, sometimes it’s easier to believe that’s not true, and that the gamers don’t love anyone, which is why I said what I did. But let’s be real, here. It’s like you said. I’m the only sentient Easter Egg here, I stand alone, and it makes sense for them not to love me--”

“Wh--” your voice jumped up in pitch, “I never-- That’s not what I--”

“Yes! You did!” I snapped a bit, “And, y’know, screw you for saying that, and everything, but I know it already. I know it doesn’t make sense for them to ‘waste their love on me’ when there are more important sprites around, like you. Them loving you? That makes sense. That’s the deal. That’s the program that’s supposed to work. So then how-- how--”

I clenched my teeth and dug my nails into the couch fabric, willing myself to not start yelling again. The same ugly anger from earlier pushed up my throat again, only this time, it was not misdirected. I knew exactly who I was angry at.

“How DARE they turn around and do this to you?! A Good Guy, the arcade champion, the one sprite I never thought I’d see going through the same garbage they put me through. I hate watching you go through this, because you shouldn’t have to. It’s all just because they’re fickle and uncaring and-- and-- they’re not WORTH the sort of pain they can deal out. They’re not worth mine, and I know now more than ever that they’re not worth yours. So that’s why I-- That’s…” I sighed, slowing myself down. “...That’s why I got all pissed at you. I hated that you were giving them any time of day. That you were hurting over them for even a second longer than they deserved. I thought that you ought to know that they ain’t worth it, and I was frustrated that you didn’t. ‘Cause if you knew, then… maybe you wouldn’t be so upset. So I tried to tell you… and make you see things the way I do. But I screwed it up. I went too far and just… made it worse. I don’t… really blame you for getting upset and… biting back. I wish you didn’t say what you did, but… I get it.”

After a pause, you spoke quietly and slowly, “I was already pissed when you came back in. I’d been pissed all night. ...All week, probably. Not at you, but… having you come back in and start gettin’ in my face and shouting and sayin’ some… really crappy things, that just…. I didn’t need that, y’know.”

I felt fifty pounds heavier. “I know…”

“And that, well… you made me mad, yeah, but it was so much more than just you. Everything just… exploded. You didn’t really make the bomb, you just lit the fuse. I dunno if that makes any difference to you or not, but…”

“I guess it does. Maybe.”

“I mean, what I’m getting at here is… Yeah, you screwed up what you were trying to do. You did make things worse. But I’m already so freakin’ messed up right now, there was only so much damage you could do. Don’t… give yourself too much credit on this, y’know. Don’t convince yourself that you did more than you actually did.”

My mind was starting to float away. I felt a quiver start to grow in my bones. The emotions that had started to snowball were sticking to me like steaming tar. All the mental hits I’d taken, all the hurtful things you said, started to bleed through whatever crappy bandage I tried to cover them with.

I tried with all my might to not let it show. I answered, voice low, “...Okay.”

“And hey,” you wheezed what might have been a weak laugh, “Whatever, right? I’m a tough guy. You ain’t gonna get to me. And you’re a tough gal. Right?”

Right. ‘Right’ is what I wanted to say. It’s what I should have said, because I am a tough gal. But, Devs above, I did not feel tough when you asked me. And that fact… started to bring tears to my eyes. I should have been able to keep it together. But I was drunk. I was hurt. And I could not stop thinking about the very worst thing you’d said. ‘Wasting their love on you.’

When I didn’t answer, you prodded cautiously. “...Right, Mav?”

I couldn’t control my words anymore. My emotions just took the wheel by force. I drew in a shuddering breath, and tried to say steadily, “Yeah. Of course. I’m good. But just-- Just one--”

Against my willpower, I sniffed. I heard you turn, and felt you staring. I’m quite certain you had never seen me cry before, unless I did during a night of blackout drinking. I make a point to have as few people see me cry as possible. But there was very little I could do about it that night.

Bracing myself against the pitiful display I was plunging into, I stammered, “T-- Do-- Do you really think I’m--...”

I heard you barely breathe, “...Wha--...”

I spat out, broken up by growing sobs, “D’you-- think I’m-- I’m a waste-- A waste of--”

And I completely broke down. Full on pathetic drunk sobbing, half-muffled by my feeble attempt to hide my face in the couch corner. If I could have, I’d have shrunk down and hidden my entire body inside the couch. I’d never felt so naked in my life, but I was helpless to move. The full-body crying was incapacitating, and showed no signs of stopping.

I remember hearing you practically leap to your feet, and not move at all. You watched me for what felt like forever before I realized that you’d been muttering distressed and confused curses under your breath. Of course you didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I wanted you to do.

That’s when I felt your fingertips make contact with my shoulder, and I jumped. You pulled them back instantly, and stammered, “Ah-- No, no-- I just--” before taking some steadying breaths, and asking shakily, “Mav?”

I couldn’t answer.

You finished your question anyway. “...Can I touch you?”

I appreciated so sincerely the fact that you asked, as I always did, every time. I’m not sure what I expected you to do, but I nodded. I thought maybe you’d… rub my back, or something. I don’t know. What you actually did was… Well, I don’t know how you managed to do it so quickly.

You grabbed my arm to turn me over and yanked me right onto my feet, fully upright, so that you could just… hug me.

Really, really tight.

My arms just kind of floated at our sides while you buried your face in my shoulder. You were shaking nearly as much as I was. I was too disoriented to get what was happening right away, but when I heard your voice, and heard how it barely sounded like you with how high and cracked it was, I had to question reality for a second.

You were crying.

I never thought I’d see the day. I wasn’t even sure it was possible, honestly. I just couldn’t picture it. But there it was, literally clutching onto me. Equally hard to believe were the words spilling from your mouth.

You rambled quickly, muffled against my shoulder, “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t. I’m-- I’m sorry. I should have freakin’ said so sooner. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t think that about you, I swear I don’t. I don’t know why I said it. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Mav. Please. I’m sorry-- Devs, I’m sorry…”

Apologies. From you. Like… real ones. Not that I have the best track record with them either, but… wouldn’t you know it, you got to me.

My shock wore off, and I went back to full bawling. I finally hugged you back, so tight my arms ached, at which point you squeezed even harder than before. And it all came pouring out of me.

I sobbed grossly, “I’m sorry, too-- I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything I said. I take it all back. I take it back. I can’t believe I-- Damn it all, I’m so sorry, T!”

And we stood there, a couple of wobbling disasters, sobbing more than our stupid drunk brains could handle, slurring out apologies and clumsy comforts. We were pretty pathetic. But I think we really needed it. Everything started falling out. Apologies for this and that, regrets, bad feelings, reassurance. All the crap we had been trying to tiptoe around in our previous conversations. It just burst out like a broken dam. Then, eventually, I remember… you started stressing yourself out. Again.

You kept asking me not to leave. I tried to assure you I wouldn’t, but it seemed like the more I tried, the more you convinced yourself that I would.

You said in broken whispers, “Stay. Please. Please don’t go.”

I told you for the hundredth time, “I’m not leaving. You know I won’t.”

“Everyone else is. Everyone’s leaving me. I’m losing everything. Say I’m not losing you, too. Say I didn’t mess this up. Say it’s not over. Please.”

“T-- T, listen to me,” I said, and I managed to pry you back enough to grip your face and look you in the eye. I caught only a glimpse, but it was enough. I keep saying how I saw things in your eyes that night that I’d never seen before, but… seeing them shine with tears, full of this inconsolable, miserable, impossibly lonely fear, just… I would barely have believed I was looking at you, if I didn’t feel your code under my hands. I knew you so well, better than anybody. I saw sides of you that I know no one else ever got to see. That always made me feel… special, I guess. But I always got a sense that there was a side you kept under lock and key, even from me. And I never pressed it, because I hid mine from you, too. But that night… I’m pretty sure I met that side.

I tried my best to handle it gracefully.

My glimpse was over the moment you saw how I was looking at you. In an ashamed sort of way, you squeezed your eyes shut and bowed your head. In my attempt to be reassuring, I pushed my forehead against yours. You did not shy away from that.

I said slowly, trying to rein in my tears, “T… I’m not… leaving.”

You shivered, just barely shaking your head.

“I’m not,” I repeated. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes, and they were at once so vulnerable and so guarded, as if your misery were impenetrable. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. I could tell that you wanted to believe me, but just couldn’t make it stick.

I asked, “How can I make you believe me?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered, letting your eyes fall closed yet again.

“What if I…” I grasped at straws, hoping I’d figure it out if I held you there long enough. “What if… What if I promised? Like… big time promised?”

You gave a flat, dismissive laugh in your throat and lifted your head away from mine.

I asked, “What?”

“As if I’d believe a promise from you.”

“Excuse me?”

You looked at me again, “Look, no offense, Mav, but… I’ve seen you make a billion promises in the time I’ve known you, and I’ve never, ever seen you keep one.”

You had me there. I said, “...Okay, but, those were all little ones that didn’t matter. This one’s important.”

“If you can’t even keep little ones, what makes you think you could keep a big one?”

“Oh,” I suddenly felt offended, “you think I can’t? Like I can’t make my own choices?”

“All I’m sayin’ is you’ve always been a creature of impulse, Make-it.”

I hated how right you were. There seemed little I could say to argue against it, but I scoured my brain for anything useful. I didn’t find anything to help me win the argument, but I strayed into a train of thought that made me rethink the whole ‘promise’ idea entirely. I reminded myself of a few… unfortunate things. Reminded myself why it would be a bad idea to go making commitments that had little to no chance of being reciprocated. I wasn’t too eager to set myself up for that good ol’ pain of abandonment, not from you. I was afraid enough of that already.

So I looked down and said, “Whatever. Bad idea, I guess,” before prying myself out from your arms and walking over to your bed.

“Woah,” you staggered a bit, “hey, what--?”

“I dunno how to convince you, T, but… I think I’m too tired and drunk to think of something right now,” I said as I started to half-heartedly get undressed. “Let’s go to bed. Maybe I’ll think of something tomorrow.”

You didn’t come any closer at first. You just spoke in a suspicious voice, “You never give up that fast. You’re tellin’ me you just agree with me outta nowhere?”

“No,” I said as I tossed my belt to the floor and got frustrated with my smock for having so many damn buttons. Occupied with a stuck thread, without even a thought as to what I was saying, I told you, “I just wouldn’t want to make that promise to you unless you made it back.”

You pondered that for a second, and your voice wandered a bit closer. “‘Kay, ‘kay, seems… fair. I get it. So… what, you think I wouldn’t do it?”

I paused. “Well… I dunno. Commitment.”

“Oh… you think I wouldn’t keep it. You think I’d get bored of it, and ditch you anyway. That’s it, ain’t it?”

“Well, thats--” I fumbled, frustrated. “That’s what you think I’d do, ain’t it?”

“You’re deflecting, Mav,” you observed astutely. “We’re talkin’ about why you think that about me.”

“That’s-- It’s just--” I started to get really anxious, to the point that I tried to slip out of my smock before I finished unbuttoning, and got way too confused about why it got caught on my pants. “That’s just… That’s just how it works for me, T.”

I didn’t hear your footsteps, but… I distinctly remember feeling your heat radiating from behind me, and the way it made my bare shoulders suddenly feel so cold. You stood right behind me, and you said in a low, serious voice, “Why you…? This is… This is some more Easter Egg crap, ain't it?”

I managed to get my smock off, finally, but I held onto it. I stood still, worrying my fingers over the fabric, hoping that if I said nothing, the conversation would just fly away on its own.

Obviously, it didn’t.

You continued, “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I was listening earlier. I heard all those ‘supposed to’s you yammered out.” Impersonating me in a quiet, high voice with an exaggerated accent, you said, “‘Supposed ta this, not supposed ta that, bla bla bla.’ Look, I know I hit a sore spot earlier, but… really? I dunno where this Easter Egg rulebook is, or whatever, but… I ain’t never heard of Make-it Mavis following the rules. ‘Specially not fake ones.”

I just squeezed my smock, trying to bite back tears.

Then you said, in a voice unnaturally soft for you, “And… gag me for being so corny, but… That’s… probably what I like best about her.”

Tears came. They came hot and silent -- gentler, this time. I just shook and lowered my head, until the touch of your hands startled me upright. You just held onto my hips, ducking your thumbs under my shirt to rub my skin. I’m not sure you even realized you were doing it. But, y’know… the warmth of your hands felt so damn good. I’m not sure why that, in particular, feels so weird to say, but… here we are.

You spoke up again, your tone a bit firmer, “You said you know me, Mav. If you know me, how could you think that some made-up rule you’re all hung up over would stop me from doing literally anything? It wouldn’t stop me from walkin’ to the freakin’ fridge and drinkin’ a soda, let alone keepin’ a promise I was serious about. I’m Turbo. I’m Turbo-freakin’-tastic. I only ever do what I want.”

“By that logic,” I butt in, fighting to keep my voice steady, “You shouldn’t doubt my promise, either. I’m Make-it Mavis. You’re supposed to know me, too. You oughtta know that I only ever do what I want. It’s all I’ve ever done.”

You waited, and prompted me quietly, “And what do you want… Make-it Mavis?”

I mumbled, “I… want…”

My words started to get stuck. I realized I was about to attempt a whole heck of a lot of words that I didn’t know how to use outside of songwriting. I’d sang sappy, flowery crap before, because… whatever, it’s just music.

Saying it and meaning it… now, that threw my head for a loop. I was lost. But I gave it my best shot.

“Hopefully, the same thing you want,” I drew in a steadying breath, and exhaled, “...To stay together. To stay… with you.”

You went completely still for a second, until you whispered, “Yeah…” and squeezed my hips, “...ditto. So… you oughtta know that if I say-- if I promise that I’m not gonna leave… y’know, all I’m doing is promising to do what I want. And that, you can always trust me to do.”

Hearing everything you were saying was… surreal, I guess. We were already talking about things I never thought I’d open up to you, even just the tiny bit that I did. But on top of that, you were saying such… real things. I know you had trouble with that, even more than I did. But I think all the hits you’d been taking knocked so many layers off of you. You were so cold and afraid that you just couldn’t afford to waste time and energy faking it. Drowning yourself in root beer all night probably had a thing to do with it, too. And it’s not exactly that being real and open was coming easy to you that night -- you still stammered and stumbled, but you were trying. You were really trying. And we both know that opening up isn’t easy for me, either, but… seeing you do it just pulled me right in, and I could hardly stop myself as the night went on. It was more than a little uncomfortable. It was agonizingly wrong. But, Devs, was it incredible, too.

But as great as your words sounded… I didn’t know how to let them sink in. Everything I’d learned about my lot in life was shutting you down with an infallible counter argument. No matter what you said at first, even if you meant it, over time, you would change your mind.

I stared at your bed, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t really speaking. “...But how do you know… that’s always gonna be what you want? Like… how can you promise you’re never gonna change your mind?”

“I-- Well--” you coughed a short, stressed laugh, “I don’t know… I mean, I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

“You’re deflecting,” I told you, and I finally let my smock slip from my fingers. I was certain that I would not change my mind, but I had no idea how to say so in a way you’d believe. I wasn’t… even sure how I knew, honestly. But I did.

“Alright, fair enough,” you replied. Just then, you stepped closer to me and slipped your hands around the front of my belly, sort of rubbing and squeezing in ways that felt more distressed than affectionate. You leaned your head forward above my shoulder, and said, “If you really need an answer, then… I mean… I’m gonna plagiarize a bit here and say that I know… hopefully the same way you know.”

Your grabby hands were starting to make me jumpy, so I held them still over my shirt and breathed deeply. I said, “That’s not a real answer, T. How do you think I know… exactly?”

“Mmm-- Why… don’t… you...” you mumbled, and I saw your face turn towards me from the corner of my eye, “tell me?”

I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t freakin’ know. I got a tad frustrated at the circles we were talking around each other. So I leaned a bit to turn my head back and give you a look, but in my drunken grace, I tipped my center of balance right over your bed. I toppled right over it, and, naturally, took you down with me, knocking your head right against the wall. You yelped and cursed and whined like a princess, lying next to me and holding your forehead.

And, obviously, I burst out laughing. Which felt like a cold drink of water after everything we’d just done. You were offended, of course. Shoved my side a few times and buried me in blankets and accused me of enjoying your pain. By the time I wormed my way out of the blanket trap (which took way too long), you were leaning back against the pillows at the head of your bed. You’d finally taken your shoes off and stopped using your jumpsuit as pants, so you at least looked a bit more ready for bed, something I was mostly glad of. But you still looked anxious and pensive, folding your arms and staring at your feet. I knew we were far from done.

After taking off my shoes and jeans, I joined you at the head of the bed. I just mirrored your position, sitting next to you and looking straight ahead. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start, or if you had something else to say. But I figured that we did technically leave off on my turn.

“So…” I started awkwardly, “What do you think? Are you ready to believe me?”

You were quiet for a long time, but answered plainly, “No. Will you believe me?”

I wanted to, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. “No.”

“Great. So, what now?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I mean… Can you really prove you’re gonna keep a promise… before you actually keep it?”

You considered that. “I… dunno. Not this sort, I guess. You have to just, sorta… do it.”

“Well, let's see… I mean, the passage of time is proof,” I offered. “I think the only way you’ll be convinced that I’ll do good on my word is to just… look over one day, see I’m still there, and go, ‘Hey, it’s been long enough now, I bet she really will keep her promise.’”

You scoffed. “You? It’d take a good chunk of time to convince me of that.”

“I’m an Easter Egg, I’ve got more time than I know what to do with. BFD. We’ve been hanging out for, what, nearly five years now? I can do that again. Easy.”

“Five?” you laughed, unimpressed. “BFD. Five is nothing. Definitely not convincing.”

I looked at you, suddenly feeling like I’d been issued a challenge. You peered at me from the corner of your eye, with a look that just confirmed my suspicions.

Eyes narrow, I said, “Did I say five? I meant ten.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that really the best you can do?”

“What’s the best you can handle?”

“More’n ten, that’s for sure.”

I leaned into you. “Twenty.”

You closed your eyes. “More.”

“Thirty!”

“More.”

My brain grinded to a halt. I took a step back from the silly little game we had clumsily fallen into and thought about what I was saying. About what you were saying. It’s not in our nature to surrender to each other. We would just keep climbing higher and higher, stretching on until…

I leaned back from you and stared, a realization settling into me that stoked a painful heat in my chest. You didn’t open your eyes, even after a good long while. I got the sense that you’d stopped playing around, too. But I knew you were waiting for me to say it.

I said slowly, “It… would really take… forever to convince you, huh?”

You paused, and I saw you swallow before you cracked your eyes open a bit and said, “Yeah. It would.”

We stared at each other for a minute.

You asked quietly, “...Well? You… still think you got what it takes?”

Everything in me was still screaming to abort, to not be so monumentally stupid. But what you said about breaking the rules really stuck in my crazy head. I was determined to not let the voices in the back of my head win this one. It was a big risk, sure. But what’s my life without stupid, crazy risks?

So, like a big, dumb idiot, I breathed, “Yeah. Easy.”

I saw you take a deep breath, and you started tugging a bit at the rolls in the sheets. “Okay. Cool. Good,” you nodded, the faintest tremor in your voice. “And… what do you think? Would that convince you?”

I answered without even thinking, “I don’t know. I’ll see when we get there.”

A lone, wet laugh cut from your throat, but then you went quiet, fidgeting and looking me up and down. I wasn’t much better off, but I thought I’d go ahead and ask what you must have been thinking.

“So, now… do you wanna do this?”

You nodded once. “...Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Heart pounding, I sat back and looked forward, amazed at the strength it was taking just to raise my right hand. I did so, and I lifted my pinky finger. You did the same with your left at my side, but we didn’t hook our fingers just yet. We waited a long time before saying anything, for any number of reasons. You were the first one to speak.

Barely above a breath, you said, “Promise you won’t leave.”

I whispered back, “Promise,” and said to you, “Promise you’ll never ditch me.”

You replied, “Promise.”

I was ready to shake on it then, and even tried to hook your finger, but you pulled away a bit.

“Promise you won’t go,” you repeated, your voice starting to quiver.

I was thrown, but mostly, my heart just ached.

“Promise,” I assured you.

“Say you won’t go.”

“Turbo.”

You were stressing yourself out again. I could feel you shaking next to me. I don’t think you were crying, but I’m sure you would have started hyperventilating again if I let you keep going. You were in such rough shape, and while I had every intention of staying with you forever like we said, I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t actually take that long for you to believe I wouldn’t leave you. The thought of you living with that fear forever was just… awful. If only you could have seen inside my head and known that I was telling the truth.

I said slowly, “Get this through your head, okay? ...I promise this'll last. But you gotta promise, too.”

You took a long, steadying breath, and waited for the words to come to you. “I promise… I didn't mean all that crap I said. And I'll never… y'know, I'll never hurt you again. And I’ll stay with you. Promise.”

I clenched my jaw, affronted by how many times I'd cried that evening, and refusing to add one more to it. “‘Kay,” I half-laughed, “why'd you make yours better than mine?”

You were startled by your own chuckle. “‘Cuz I'm better than you.”

“Yeah. There he is.”

You laughed through your nose.

Heartbeat in my ears, the room starting to spin, I crossed my pinky over yours. “...Forever?”

And you hooked it. “Forever.”

I felt a chill of sweat in my palms as I stared at our intertwined pinkies, that tiny bit of physical contact, the very first safe touch I managed to hold for over a minute with you back in the days of our beginnings. The sight just threw me back, and it made me marvel at how far we had come. It all started when I humiliated you for pay. We got in a bar fight. We fought again and again and again, because I just loved messing with you. Then you messed with me back. Suddenly we’re hanging out. We’re singing, we’re dancing, we’re joking, we’re being no-good punks and kickin’ ass. Then we touched. We kissed. We made out. We had sex, for Pong’s sake. And somehow, we ended up right there, locking pinkies again, swearing that this bizarre, chaotic, spectacular ride would last forever.

When the Twins hired me to prank their insufferable Good Guy all those years ago, I never would have predicted it would lead to this.

I had no idea how lucky I was.

Just that moment, I had something to say to you. I’m gonna be honest with you, here -- I don’t remember what it was. All I remember is that when I turned my head to say it to you, your face bumped right into the bandages on my cheek, and I cursed.

I said, “Nana Litwak, Turbo, watch it!”

“Oh! Geez!” You jumped back, releasing my hand to bring your hands to my face, apparently making a drunk, knee-jerk attempt to fix your mistake. Your fingers poked onto the bandages again, and I smacked your leg.

“Well don’t freakin’ touch it!”

“Sorry! Sorry, geez,” you slurred, not quite taking your hands away. You just held onto the lower halves of my cheeks, coming in for a closer look. Well, that’s what I thought at first, anyway. I was just about to complain more when you showed me what you were trying to do the first time you bumped me.

You just… kissed me. Right on the mouth, out of nowhere.

By startle reflex, I gasped and jumped back a bit, just enough to break the kiss. You still held my face close enough that I could actually see the red irises in your wide eyes. I could tell you were a bit freaked out by my silence, thinking you’d just made an ass of yourself, but that… wasn’t it.

The second I felt you kiss me, something in my mind turned over, and all those memories I’d been reminiscing on seconds before… tilted. Just the slightest bit. And I saw them all from a new angle, one that I realized had been there the entire time. I even felt pretty stupid for not seeing it sooner. But just that tiny new angle sent a swoop of gravity in my stomach that nearly took the strength from my bones. I felt the whole world fall silent, and I got the feeling that… this was it. This was my last chance to walk away before getting in too deep. I thought I had a choice to make.

But I found something else, looking back on those memories. I saw just how many chances I had to walk away from you. How many times I could have played it safe and kept you at a distance, the same way I’d do with anybody. Each and every chance that came, I let pass by. I never took a single one. I was kidding myself that night, thinking I had a decision to make. I’d already made my decision.

I’d made it a hundred times over.

I saw you start to pull away, a look on your face that clearly spelled what you were about to do. You would try to play it off, maybe say that you were drunker than you thought, maybe suggest we forget about it and just go to sleep. Fat chance.

You started to say, “Look, I--”

But I told you, “Save it,” and pulled your face back to mine.

You jumped right back into it with this overwhelming sort of urgency, struggling to decide the best way to hold me, like your life depended on keeping me close. I couldn’t stop myself from doing the same. I felt like I wanted you all to myself, even though there was no one else to take you.

It was… weird. Weird and gross.

Which is strange in itself, because it’s not like we’d never kissed before. It was just the wrong context. We weren’t just making out for the heck of it. We weren’t fooling around. We weren’t teasing, or joking, or bored, or high. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t steamy. You did push me down against the pillows, but no hands wandered. It carried on quite a while, but it never escalated -- we just took it for what it was. And, honestly, I think we were both sort of afraid to stop and think about what the hell we just did. About what it meant. About what might have changed.

It pains me in so many ways to say this, but… again, the fact alone that we were kissing wasn’t gross. What was gross was the fact that… it was the very first kiss we had that felt… anything but platonic.

It was also our last.

And our best.

When we were done, we still held our faces close for a minute. I’m not sure how you looked, because I refused to open my eyes. I was too… nervous, I guess. About what, I’m not sure. All the same, you dropped to lie by my side, and pulled me into a firm embrace under your chin. You didn’t move after that, save for deep, shaky breaths. I could hear your heart pounding.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I shifted and got a bit more comfortable, and you pulled me back in just as tight after. I laughed awkwardly, “Sheesh, T. Clingy much?”

You said, “Just holdin’ you to your word,” muffled against my head.

“Funny,” I said, “my word feels an awful lot like your body.”

You huffed a single chuckle. “Lucky you.”

I scoffed a bit, but as the humor died down, and I was thoroughly soaked in the heat of your body, a sort of peace and anxiety settled into me at the same time. All was dark. All was warm. All was still and quiet, save for your heartbeat. If I tried, I could have easily imagined that your trailer was floating somewhere far away, so far that the drama and abuse from life in the arcade was out of earshot, out of sight, out of mind. I wanted it to stay that way. I wanted it so badly that I was worried you would let go too soon, and the moment would end.

So I wrapped an arm around you, held onto your shirt, and muttered against your chest, “Don’t… Don’t let go.”

Your fingers squeezed my shoulder, and you said quietly, “Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

It was my turn for insecurity. To need reassurance. I repeated, “Just-- just say you won’t let me go.”

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, Mav.”

“You’ll never let me go.”

“Never.”

“Like we promised.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, like we promised.”

We sure did promise.

I can’t tell you how gut-wrenchingly, heartbreakingly painful it is to look back on that, knowing you broke your promise almost immediately. Knowing how badly I wanted to believe you. Knowing how badly I wish my promise had saved you, even for just one more day.

But you were already too far gone.

If there’s anything good I can say… it’s that I’m glad our last moments were meaningful. I’m glad to have had even one night with you after I figured out how I felt.

How I feel. How I’ll feel forever.

Like I promised.

Now, unfortunately, I can’t say for sure what happened here. You see, the GC in my code really began to dig its claws deeper, and my hallucinated memory took a turn for the abstract and unreal. Lying there with you, I suddenly felt cold air blow in on me in stark contrast to your warmth. At first, I just shivered and curled tighter, but once I realized something was off, I finally opened my eyes again.

Your trailer was gone. Your game was gone. It was just you, me, and your bed, floating on a patch of ice on a calm, black ocean that stretched on forever in all directions. And up above, oh… up above was a sky full of more stars than I ever thought possible. It was like someone had spilled a bag of sugar across the night sky, and every grain glistened so brightly. There were no clouds, no moon. Just stars. Some of them started to streak across the sky and fall away into the horizon.

In my awe, a thought occurred to me. I’m not sure why it did, which really leads me to wonder… Did I really say this to you, or was it part of the hallucination?

I said, “T… all that stuff you said… about no one remembering you once you’re gone… Do you really believe that?”

You didn’t answer.

“It’s just… you know, I’ve always thought that I… when I go, there will be so many gamers who never knew me in the first place. That’s always freaked me out. But with you, I’ve always thought… Well, I look at you, your game, and your life, and it’s always been clear to me that… you’re unforgettable. You’ll go down in history, one way or another. I don’t know how to convince you of that. I sort of… thought you always knew it. You sure acted like you did. But… I know this won’t count for much, but believe me when I say… Even if somehow, everyone else forgot about you… I never would. As long as I’m alive, there will always be at least one sprite who remembers you. Even if no one remembers me, I’ll remember you. You can add that to my promise.”

I pushed my face back into your chest, and said, “I promise I’ll never forget you.”

I sure hope I said that. I hope you heard it.

I just don’t know.

Because the second the words left my mouth, you released me and sat up, holding your face with one hand and shaking. My heart nearly stopped. I was afraid it was something I said. I sat up when I heard you start sniffling.

“T? What is it?”

You just coughed wetly.

It was then that the suffocating smell of gasoline hit me like a brick wall. Eyes watering, wheezing, I covered my nose and mouth with my shirt. I didn’t understand until I looked out at the ocean again, and realized we weren’t floating in water at all anymore.

It was gasoline. Miles and miles of gasoline.

This overwhelming feeling of dread came over me, like I knew what was coming. I had to get us out of there, but my paint tools were nowhere to be seen. I reached out to you, to try to warn you, but when you turned your face towards me, I choked on a scream.

Your eyes were flickering like broken lights. One of them was throwing off sparks and cracked in like broken glass. You were crying these popping, spitting streams of black oil, and thick plumes of smoke were curling out of your mouth.

I was paralyzed, but you tried to play it off with a smile. “Hey,” you said, your voice crackling like a failing radio, “I’ll be fine. Come find me in the fire, later.”

A star fell, and the ocean went up in flames.

Then it all went black.

And I never saw you again.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #turbo #make it mavis #original character #homesick #this is the longest one lmao

7 notes · View notes

theseerasures · 4 years ago

Text

Conspicuous Media Consumption, 2020

it’s that time of year again! *saddest toot from the party horn*

for those of you just joining us: it’s a “consume a different content every week for 48 weeks of the year” challenge. for a longer explanation, check out last year’s write-up here, and as always, feel free to pop in and ask questions about any and all of this content.

(same disclaimer as last year too: content for this project ONLY here, and not certain...*looks at my billion Sad Cop Lady posts*...hyperfixations.)

(man remember when i was big into X-Men comics earlier this year? better times than these, if only because no one's discoursing about Emma Frost’s woobie/war criminal ratio anymore--her w/w, if you will)

(...i swear at one point i didn’t exclusively like platinum blondes but alas)

Bitter Root (comic, 1 issue finished 1/1/2020): still very cool on a basic concept level, but runs into the Image Comics problem of just not having enough content to keep my interest beyond that. part of that is on me, for picking it up again BEFORE the second arc rolled out, but the first five issues didn’t really follow (or resolve) any cohesive story either, so...meh.

Immortal Hulk (comic, 3 trades finished 1/17/2020): still not gonna be something i care deeply about (maybe one of Bruce’s Hulksonas dyed his hair???), but i do want to give kudos to Al Ewing for sheer consistency in terms of sustaining this level of quality storytelling month by month for more than two years now. working with the dense archive of the Hulk mythos and managing to make it interesting and thoughtful is impressive even if i personally would not expend the same effort.

Disco Elysium (game, finished 1/18/2020): honestly i should have twigged onto what this year was gonna be like when the third thing i drew from the barrel was pure uncut Eastern European flavored depression. i faintly recall people ragging on it for being pretentiously cynical, but i actually thought its core slid more towards idealism than people give it credit for. also gratified that i haven’t heard anything about Robert Kurvitz using slave labor to finish it, which is a thing we have to say about our video games now!!! fun.

Watchmen (TV, 7 episodes finished 1/27/2020): i am a fool who wants to believe in Damon Lindelof and I WAS RIGHT!!! honestly still cannot believe that he pulled off this highwire act with such deft aplomb. might be my favorite TV this year, which is a pretty high bar given how much TV i ended up watching.

On a Sunbeam (comic, finished 2/1/2020): Tillie Walden rightly deserves all the praise for inventive queer storytelling, but i will say that on reread--since i first read this as a webcomic--there ARE some issues with pacing here that clearly come from the foibles of its original intended medium. still just excellent, even if after some plot significant haircuts i was having trouble telling a few folks apart.

Lazarus (comic, 1 trade finished 2/8/2020): it’s so good and i want moooooorrrreee--though obviously Rucka and Lark have the right to take all the time they need. the newer longer issues work really well with the epic prestige drama vibes of the story! i’m into it.

The Good Place (TV, 4 seasons finished 2/18/2020): i’m gonna be super honest: i actually wasn’t a big fan of the finale, nor the last season as a whole. it felt like all of Eleanor’s flaws vanished for a majority of the season, and the Chidi-centric episode where they tried to give a legible justification for why he’s Like This was...i didn’t care for it. still, it’s so good and unique on the WHOLE that we’ll literally never get anything like this ever again, and that counts for a lot.

The Old Republic (game, finished 2/21/2020): it’s an MMO so it will never actually Be Finished so long as the servers aren’t shut down, but i caught up on the content i’d missed in the intervening months. Onslaught thus far has mostly been...kinda bland tbh; going back to Imps vs. Rebs after all the shakeups in the previous expansions feels like a waste.

High Road (album, finished 2/22/2020): someone should tell Kesha not to say that word!! otherwise i was very happy with this album, and happy FOR her even though we don’t know each other. being able to find joy again in the same genre of music you made while you were being horrifically exploited is very cool.

Young Justice (TV, 13 episodes finished 2/28/2020): given how much the middle stuff dragged--STOP KILLING YOUR HIJABI CHARACTER IN HORRIFIC WAYS--i was...actually kinda mad by how the end managed to stick the landing anyway. the day being saved by Vic’s self-acceptance and Violet’s sublime compassion was A+, and even the Brion/Tara switchup was a pleasant surprise, though it relied on me caring about Brion MUCH MORE than i actually did.

Manic (album, finished 2/29/2020): do people still care for/about Halsey? i feel like even That One Song that was on every tumblr gifset ever has kinda faded into obscurity at this point. this album was...okay. i feel like people give Halsey a pass for extremely obvious lyrical turns that they wouldn’t for other folks because of her subject material--which is fine. not really my cup of tea, but i also listened to lots of Relient K this year, so that’s probably a good thing.

Jade Empire (game, 3/10/2020): the only 3D-era Bioware game that didn’t franchise out, and for good fucking reason!!! the Orientalism and appropriation really haven’t aged well, and even beyond that the story was...standard Bioware faire. even my usual “my wife’s a bitch i love her” Bioware type didn’t do it for me, and i just ended up romancing no one. it did make me think a lot about what level of cultural borrowing is accepted nowadays, and why: people still look fondly at Avatar and talk about how ~accurate and respectful it was, for example, despite it being staffed almost entirely by white folks, and the Orientalism ALL OVER the monk class in DND is still fine for some reason.

Alif the Unseen (book, finished 3/31/2020): interesting to have read this AFTER reading The Bird King last year, because it highlights how the intervening years have shifted G. Willow Wilson’s thematic interest and improved her craft. i’m actually quite fond of how her characterization work is rougher here--Alif is extremely flawed to the point of being insufferable, but it makes his development by the end more satisfying. Dina is also just good and i love her

Baldur’s Gate (2 games, finished 5/31/2020): well, having finally finished the series i’m happy to say that it...still doesn’t really do it for me, sorry. any awesome story moments were overshadowed by the EXCRUCIATING inventory management system and the combat (i still don’t know what a THAC0 is and at this point i’m afraid to find out). these games crucially lack the Home Base that later Bioware games were so good about, and that (coupled with the huge cast of characters you can drop off and never see again) really hurts the intimacy for me. by the time we finally did get one it was the Hell Dimension in Throne of Bhaal, and i was just...trying to get through it. (yes, i did just say that about one of the most beloved expansions ever to one of the most beloved games ever.) THIS particular iteration of “my wife’s a bitch i love her” was very good, but the game wouldn’t let me romance her :(

The Underground Railroad (book, finished 6/19/2020): honestly what is there even left to say at this point! it was exactly as good as every critic on the planet said it was, even with my usual aversion to hype. draining and horrifying in turns but still insistent upon a future for Black folks.

Steven Universe (6 seasons and a mooooooviiieeee, finished 7/11/2020): yes, i DID finish the show and almost immediately begin a rewatch. this series is now one of my top five most formative things, and the amount of love and respect i have for it is incalculable. that said: i once again did not love how the central conflict of Future was resolved (just the resolution--i loved the finale just fine). for all of Steven’s breakdown was built up, resolving it with “EVERYONE HUG HIM UNTIL HE CRIES” felt...cheap, especially since up until this point the show had been so good about treating trauma and mental illness with the respect and nuance it deserves. it made me wish some of the earlier, less substantial episodes had been cut so we could spend more time at the end.

What It Is (comic, finished 8/19/2020): y’all i love Lynda Barry SO MUCH. for the longest time i was worried that One Hundred Demons was more a lightning in a bottle situation but every book of hers i pick up makes me feel obscure emotions i didn’t even realize existed. the compassionate way she’s able to describe her child self and how weird and fucked up she was (and still is) is honestly aspirational.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (TV, 5 seasons finished 9/26/2020): so here’s a reversal of what i’ve been complaining about with other shows: i was mostly lukewarm-to-warm about She-Ra, but the later seasons and the finale made me much more into it as a whole. more shows should improve in stakes and overall quality as they age tbh!! i still don’t actively love Catradora (my sole quibble with season 5 actually has to do with the way Adora kept backsliding as a character to make certain Plot/Relationship things happen), but i’m very happy for them nonetheless. i can certainly appreciate a show that will go for High Feeling over tight plot. dark horse standout moments: trees growing everywhere proving that Perfuma Was Right, and Hordak and Adora seeing each other--that weirdly intimate moment of recognition.

Fetch the Bolt Cutters (album, finished 10/7/2020): again i find myself not having much to say that no one else has said. it’s good! once again love it when an artist reclaims something they’d attached with negative affect (anxiety, depression, disordered eating) for better and brighter things.

Solutions and Other Problems (comic, finished 10/25/2020): i was very into Allie Brosh’s ambition with this book, which feels weird to say but i stand by it. it’s cool to see an artist try to make a new medium work for them instead of just sticking to what already works. not all the experimentation was 100% effective, but it was still delightful and occasionally devastating to read, so.

Legend of Zelda (3 games: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask, Link Between Worlds, finished 11/1/2020): this was the third time i’d played Ocarina of Time, which made it the nice, comforting groove i settled into before Majora’s Mask blatted me in the face. i’m not usually a completionist Zelda person because...the gameplay in Zelda is bad, do not at me it just is, but i really felt like i HAD to be one for Majora’s Mask since the whole point is to get attached to the banalities of the town. i’m sure nobody’s surprised that i loved it, even if it gave me an existential crisis about how life goes on in the game for NPCs when you’re not there to save them from it, and there’s not enough time to save them all all the time (also not a surprise to anyone: Romani and Cremia gave Personal Feelings). Link Between Worlds...bad. not like in a “this is a bad story by every measurable gauge” way, but i was already struggling with the 2D playstyle shift enough that for the whole story to end with some “yes it’s v sad that Lorule is Like This but trying to steal Hyrule’s privilege is Even Worse Actually” noblesse oblige bullshit left a VERY poor taste in my mouth, this year of all years. i did audibly gasp when Ravio took off his mask, though. i’m currently playing Breath of the Wild in cautious increments; it’s the first time i’ve enjoyed early Zelda gameplay, but if they wanted fully voiced cutscenes i wish they got voice actors who...knew what words sound like.

folklore (album, finished 11/6/2020): my belief that Taylor Swift is Just Fine continues, i’m afraid. i LIKED this album, don’t get me wrong, and respect her constant drive to innovate, but i didn’t love it substantially more or less than any other Taylor Swift album. mostly i’m just tickled by how she thinks leaning into the indie aesthetic means borrowing Vita Sackville-West’s entire wardrobe, though i will admit to feeling Something when she swore in a song. i think it was like. savage vindication?? you go ahead and swear, Taylor Swift. you deserve it.

Shore (album, finished 11/19/2020): do people still care about the Fleet Foxes? i think there was some Drama with Josh Tillman a while back but i don’t remember where the discourse landed with who was being more problematic. it was nostalgic for me to listen to their new album--made me remember being an undergrad who exclusively listened to men who mumbled and played acoustic guitar all over again.

Star Wars (3 movies: original trilogy, finished 11/27/2020): there is So Much bad Star Wars these days that every time i rewatch the original trilogy i’m afraid that they will suddenly be bad, but guess what! they’re not. i love these children and their hot mess stories, i love that Lando doesn’t know how to say his best friend’s name. what stood out to me this time was the way Obi-Wan described the Force in A New Hope, which strongly implied that ANYONE can be Force Sensitive; that obviously faded with each subsequent movie, but part of me does wish they’d kept it.

X of Swords (comics, 22 issues finished 12/5/2020): i am enjoying Hickman’s X-lines!!! not so much here for the Grand Conspiracy or whatever, but the character work and highkey weirdness is fabulous--they FEEL like X-Men, despite all the shakeups in-universe. this crossover is a nice microcosm of all that: grandiloquently all over the place, but still full of cool standout moments and genuine hilarity. ILLYANA DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SPELL MAGIC.

Fire Emblem (4 games: Sacred Stones, Path of Radiance, Radiant Dawn, Awakening, finished 12/14/2020): this was the thing that i was closest to giving up early on, but i ended up hyperfixating on it instead. that’s a credit to what the gameplay does to my lizard brain more than anything else, because the story and character writing is...insipid. it was very bizarre to witness this franchise blunder around with its animal-people racism allegory around the same time i was getting back into RWBY, and ITS animal-people racism allegory blunders. Awakening was the first time i felt anything for the franchise beyond “teehee red units disappear make exp bar go up and brain go ding,” so i’m excited for more mature storytelling in subsequent games (they MUST get better. they MUST). the child husbandry thing is...very bad tho, and Apotheosis being “challenging” entirely through the game changing all the rules is also bad.

once again no vidya games that came out this year--i’ll probably pick up Spiritfarer or Hades after the New Year, though (or maybe TLOU II! but probably not. sry Laura and Ashley). more TV and franchises this year, which made me feel In Touch with the Children but was also kinda exhausting. nothing was so egregiously terrible i dropped it without finishing! in a year like this that feels almost like an accomplishment

#conspicuous media consumption

6 notes · View notes

c-c-cherry · 5 years ago

Text

Legendary

AKA: Legend isn’t what they all cut him out to be. The constant pressure gets too much for him.

Legend is a poor distressed bean and Wild helps him out with his anxieties. A whole lotta angst and hurt/comfort. (Because that’s basically all I write)

Word Count: 1908

*Just a friendly reminder that everything I’ve been posting here is also on my AO3!*

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“You’re the most amazing person I know, Legend!”

“Your brave story is the best thing I’ve ever heard. It inspires me. It keeps me going.”

“Are you always this bold?”

“You have a heart of steel. I’ve never seen you ever succumb to weakness.”

Amazing. Brave. Snarky. Legendary. Words flew through Legend’s head as he lay next to his companions, the heroes fast asleep. Phrases, things so many people had said to him. Friends, family, citizens, the people he had saved, the people he had fought. The people he traveled with. Even Them.

Many people, well, everyone thought of him as strong, unbreakable, a savior whose walls have never crumbled. And it’s true. All the sarcasm and snarky remarks, all the bravery, the triumph, the tribulations, never once had his walls crumbled.

He should be proud of himself. He should be happy. And he was.

Then why was he shaking so much?

To be honest, he was terrified. Terrified that it’ll all come crashing down. Lately, the pressure was just too much for him. Like he would either lose control or lose everyone’s trust. Or lose the newfound friends he had made.

He had to bottle it up somehow. It’s not like he thinks of these things often, just sometimes when he can’t sleep at night. It’s not a huge problem.

Right?

Okay, maybe it was a bit of a problem. Maybe he shivered every time someone remarked on his icy personality or complimented something he did. Maybe he couldn’t sleep at night in fear of not wanting to wake up again. Maybe he was afraid that his soft self--his real self-- would poke through someday.

Maybe he was worried that he was already driving everyone away.

Unlike the other Links, no one could see his weakness, his fears. He knew they would be thrown off or unsettled if they ever found it out. Everyone thought of him as nonchalant. A bit of an asshole. Simply swaggering with self-confidence. Legend was confident. He was happy being the asshole. He was content with not letting anyone see through him. He was fine with never opening up, never growing close to anyone again.

Or so he seemed.

A quiet streak of tears streamed down his face and dribbled onto his chin, the hero’s shoulders shaking weakly as he sat upright, staring at the beautiful night sky above him.

Them. What would they say if he figured out how weak inside he really was? What would he do? He had built walls so that no one could see his weaknesses, but what if it isn’t enough anymore?

“Weak,” he whispered to himself, his breath shaky. It made him sick to his stomach. All of it did.

Breathing heavily, he clenched his fists and slowly laid back down, staring angrily at the sky, tears pooling over and blurring his vision. He opened his mouth slightly and a soft sob escaped his lips.

He was angry. At the world and at himself. He was angry that he couldn’t sleep. He was angry that he always had to be such a bully. He was angry that the goddess had chosen him of all people to carry out her tasks. A much louder sob came out of him, his hands going up to his mouth in shock.

He wanted to scream. He knew he was on the cusp of some kind of breakdown, but he knew he couldn’t. Not while everyone was asleep around him. He didn’t want to wake them up. He couldn’t wake them up.

So instead, like the coward he was, he pulled the blanket over his head and curled in on himself, tears soaking his clothes as he buried his face into the sheets. Rocking back and forth shakily, he forced his eyes shut and gripped the blanket with force.

The fire crackled next to him, and he shivered.

Weak.

He didn’t know what he was doing. The world assumed that he had a master plan, that everything was going to work out.

Well, a hero’s talent has always been the skill of putting on a convincing show for everybody.

Anxious thoughts ran through his head causing his shoulders and arms to shake even more. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t-

He froze when he felt someone shifting around in their sleeping bag next to him, causing his eyes to fly open. Being as still as he could, he waited until they grew still again.

He jumped slightly when he heard his soft voice in the still night.

“Legend?”

Wild.

He hesitated. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe if he didn’t answer, he’d think he was asleep. Swallowing thickly, he buried himself deeper under the covers.

“I know you’re awake, Legend,” he said, his voice suddenly louder and a tad more forceful. Sighing deeply, he rolled over with his back to Wild and poked his head out of the blankets. Wild couldn’t see him like this.

Weak.

“What do you want?” he whispered through his tears, trying to sound irritated. He managed to keep his voice even, which was still trembling. Thank god for the sheet of darkness covering them.

“Are you...upset about something? You seemed a bit tense going to bed tonight...and you’re still awake after we all went to bed which was forever ago.” Wild remarked softly. That soft, gentle voice sent shivers down his spine.

Clearing his throat, he sniffled and curled into an even smaller ball.

“Nothing. Just thinking. Don’t worry about it, though. I’m alright.” he managed to say, his voice noticeably higher than usual. He felt that choked feeling in his throat come back.

Something seemed to click in Wild’s head. How he managed to constantly defy the odds, Legend hadn’t a clue.

“Oh.” he said softly, “You’re feeling overwhelmed, then?”

Sniffling, Legend turned his head, tears still streaming down his face. He tried to wipe them away as quickly as he could, but he ultimately gave up, sinking his head back into his blankets. His voice sounded more like a whimper as he broke out a very unconvincing, “O-of course not...”

“Legend-” he gasped in sympathy and quite literally shock as he touched his hair, drenched in sweat. He tried to choke out something, anything as Wild stared in awe at the feat before him, but he couldn’t utter a word.

Wild, on the other hand, had never seen this form of Legend. Whether he seemed happy, sad or livid, he was still the same mysterious, legendary self. He had never cried in front of Wild, or anyone, really. Usually, it was Wild crying in someone's arms after some terrifying nightmare or a memory dump, but this feeling of reversion was foreign. He didn’t quite know how to react.

“Link...”

Legend shuddered; Wild--no--no one ever called him by his real name in their group for obvious reasons. It sounded all the more serious. He quickly tried to respond, but it just came out as another whimper.

“W-Wild--” he whined, his hands trembling as Wild inched closer to him. Before he knew it, the blonde had pulled him in close, placing his head into his chest, the hero’s tears soaking him.

“Legend...you should have told someone...”

Legend hiccupped, his eyes wide open as Wild stroked his hair, his free hand rubbing soothingly on his tense back. Shaking sobs wracked Legend, who was officially full-on ugly crying into Wild’s warm embrace.

But soon enough, tears became just pooled at his eyes, drying quickly.

After a few moments, Legend pulled away, his worried eyes looking up at the champion, who smiled sympathetically at him.

“Now, now. That was a good cry, wasn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before my entire life.” Wild chuckled softly. He squeezed Legend’s shoulders lightly and looked him in the eye. Legend blushed pink, and turned his head away, frowning slightly.

“Legend...you’re allowed to show your emotions sometimes. You don’t have to constantly put up the ‘dark, mysterious, brooding hero’ act. It’s healthy, even if you really hate doing it.” Wild said, pulling him into another hug. Legend sighed loudly and stuck his face into Wild’s chest, still breathing rather heavily.

“Now let’s talk about the elephant in the room. What’s making you so...emotional?” Wild asked softly. Legend whimpered in reply, causing Wild to worry. Was it something one of them had said? Something he did? Did something not go right in the last battle? Had a group member said something that no one picked up on?

Thoughts flooded Wild’s mind about everything that could go wrong but stopped himself from going any further. Just ask him.

“Please, tell me.”

Legend breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, and looked up at Wild.

“I’m not what everyone thinks I am.” he simply stated. Wild tilted his head, confused.

“Legend, what are you talking about?” Wild asked, a look of confusion plainly written on his face.

“I--I know” Legend breathed, laughter on the tip of his tongue, “I know, but everyone thinks that I’m some kind of cold-hearted, badass hero when in reality I’m really just a--

Legend halted his speech, regret flashing over his face.

“Wait-no-I mean-”

“What are you talking about?” Wild interrupted him, growing more confused every word Legend tried to stutter out.

“Nothing. Just forget about it.” Legend said nervously.

“Please, continue,” Wild said, not at all surprised at how defensive he was getting over talking about his feelings.

“I-it’s just that...I can’t be perfect..but everyone thinks that I am, so I have to pretend that I’m this amazing person that does no wrong and does everything perfectly. I guess the pressure is getting to me, a bit.” Legend wrung his hands nervously, sitting up in bed with Wild at his side.

“And the worst part is that I’ll disappoint everyone if I don’t live up to their expectations. How am I proving that I’m that ‘amazing person’ if all I’m doing right now is crying like a baby? I’m so fucking weak and pathetic sometimes that I can’t even stand myself.” Legend said loudly, tears burning angrily at his eyes, threatening to spill. He angrily blinked them away, leaning into Wild.

“Legend, you can’t call yourself weak for having emotions. If anything, learning to be angry and sad is what makes a person stronger. Would you call me weak for having nightmares and recovering memories and becoming a total emotional mess because of it?” Wild asked, hugging the hero close to him, feeling his rapid heartbeat.

“I--I would never.” Legend finally said, biting his lip.

“And would you call any of us weak for being in touch with our emotions time and again?” Wild asked.

“No..” he mumbled.

“Then you shouldn’t be any different. You’re allowed to feel things, Legend. You’re allowed to feel the pressure you’re under right now. That’s okay.”

Legend just leaned further into Wild’s embrace, already feeling his heart and mind get lighter.

I’m allowed to feel under pressure. I’m just a human, after all.

He forgot that, sometimes.

“Have you been awake this entire time?” Wild asked.

Legend nodded tiredly. “I suppose we should get to bed, huh?”

Wild smirked, and enveloped Legend in the warm blanket, the hero felt himself drifting off without a second thought or worry.

“Wild?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you…”

“Anytime, Legend.”

“...But if you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking murder you.”

#linked universe #wild #hero of the wild #legend of zelda #legend #hero of legend #angst #hurt/comfort #crying #anxiety #h/c #angst with a happy ending #c-c-cherry's fic

77 notes · View notes

brianandthemays · 5 years ago

Text

Movie Magic (Joe Mazzello x reader)

HELLO @killer-queen-xo This is for the #locevent!!! I’m afraid i’m not as great as a writer as I used to be but I worked super hard on this so I really hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings; Kisses, drunk dudes, cuteness?

__________________

The bar was thumping with noise. You could barely hear over the sound of the music and the loud mumble of voices overlapping. You knew you were probably indulging in a few too many drinks, but hey! You only graduate from college once. And there was only one person you’d want to be here with. The stupid goof with auburn hair and brown eyes.

You’d met Joe your first year at USC. He was in your film studies class and the two of you immediately hit it off. He’d been there for you through every breakdown, success, and drunken laugh and you for him. And somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for him. I mean how could you not? He was funny, charming, sweet, and utterly clueless to your affections.

So, now you stared at him, next to you at the table, rambling on about some story that he’d told you a million times but you still couldn’t get enough of.

“… and then he realizes it’s me and he throws his hands up and shouts ‘JOEY!’” he exclaimed a big smiled on his face. You couldn’t help but giggle, the alcohol in your system loosening your lips. “And he introduced me to George, and it was so great!”

“Haha! I remember that test. I totally bombed it,” you concurred, sipping on your cocktail.

“Yeah…” He trailed off looking over your shoulder.

You turned and saw who he was talking about. It was that girl he’d been into for months. She was blonde and fit and beautiful. And she was super nice. So, there wasn’t a reason for you to dislike other than the fact that she had all of Joe’s romantic attention. But there was literally nothing you wouldn’t do for him, so you turned back towards him.

“You should go talk to her,” you encouraged him.

“No, no, no.”

“Yes! She’s super into you and you guys would be so great!”

“No! She’s way out of my league!” He looked down at you and a warmth filled your chest. He smiled and said. “I’d rather have someone like you.”

Warm feeling gone. You furrowed your eyebrows as you struggled to understand what you said.

“What?” you questioned.

Joe’s eyes widened and he scrambled to fix his mistake. “No! Like I mean, you’re not like my type!”

You felt your heart quiver and break as he talked. You got it. He wasn’t into you. Man, you had too much to drink tonight and the bar was too loud, and this was waaay to close to home. You frowned and started to push away from him.

“(Y/N)! Wait! I’m sorry! I—"

“No, I’m just going to go get another drink! Then I think I’m going to head home.”

Then you pushed your way through the crowd, trying to get to the bar, ignoring Joe’s pleas for you to stop behind you. You weren’t actually going to get another drink. You were tired and Joe’s words were getting to you. You knew he didn’t like you; you really did. But his words really made it real.

You wanted to be happy for him. He’d probably go ask out that girl and they’d start dating and get married and have beautiful amazing children. You made it to the bar and called down the bartender to close your tab. The bar was suddenly very hot, and you were beginning to feel claustrophobic. You pressed yourself against the bar trying to avoid getting pushed and prodded.

“You looking for another drink?” a voice from next to you said. You turned and frowned as you realized he was talking to you.

“I’m not interested,” you murmured, hoping you end the conversation.

“Oh, please, cute girl like you?” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be wearing that outfit if you weren’t looking for attention.”

You felt sick. You didn’t want him looking at you, much less touching you. You shifted away from him.

“Oh, um. Not really, I just like this outfit,” you replied, tugging at your shirt. His eyes glanced down at your cleavage and you cringed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“C’mon, just one drink. Then you can decide if you want more,” he insisted, moving closer to you.

You needed to get out of this situation. And fast. But you hadn’t finished your tab and even if you did it would still be hard to get through the crowd. So, you thought. And you thought fast.

“No, thank you. I’m just waiting for my boyfriend.” The words came out of your mouth faster than you could process what you actually said. The boy frowned, his eyes narrowing.

“Your boyfriend?”

“Uh, yeah! He just… he just went to the bathroom,” you continued quickly.

“Well, then I hope he doesn’t mind me keeping you company until he comes back.”

Fuck! This dude would not give you a break. You gave him a wiry smile as you handed the bartender your credit card, hoping that maybe, the guy would just disappear or maybe… just maybe… he’d take a hint and fuck off. But not likely.

“He should be back anytime now…” you told him, cursing your big fat mouth. No one was coming. You had abandoned the one person you could always count on to keep you safe. But you weren’t sure you’d even want to see him if he were here.

You were an idiot. A complete, stupid, moronic, incredibly slow idiot. Even if Joe liked that girl, he was still your best friend. He made you laugh when you wanted to cry. He held you in his arms when you were lonely. He wanted to make you happy. The guy smirked, seeing your obvious distress, and moved even closer.

“Well, maybe he’s wandered off… but no matter I can—”

“Babe?” You let out a sigh of relief as you recognized Joe’s voice behind you. “I was looking for you everywhere!” He gave you a bright smile before wrapping his arm around you. You leaned right into his arm, feeling the warmth he was giving you.

“Joe! You took so long, I was starting to get worried,” you said, turning to look up at him. You tried to muster all the thanks and love you had for him in your voice and eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

He seemed to understand because he nodded before replying. “Sounds good.”

He sent a glare in the direction of your stalker before reaching down to grab your hand and pulling you out of the bar. It went by like a blur. Soon the heat and humidity of the bar turned into the dry, cool air of Los Angeles. Though normally, you found the stuff air of Los Angeles suffocating, right now, it was like a cool drink of water.

Then you realized you hadn’t let go of Joe’s hand. You looked down at the hand before looking up at Joe. He smiled sheepishly at you. Even that stupid shy smile made your stomach bubble. You let go of his hand, starting to put some space between you and him.

“Well, thanks… I think I’m going to head home…” you told him, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“(Y/N), wait!” He reached out to stop you, but you held up your hands.

“No! Joe it’s really okay,” you began. “Go have fun. I’m totally fine. I’m sure you and her are going to have a great time tonight and have a great weekend. I’m fine, ya know. You’re going to be so happy with her and she’ll be so happy with you and I’ll be—”

Suddenly he surged forward and pressed his lips against yours. You gasped but quickly regained your thoughts and kissed him back. It was like a symphony was going off with a full choir of the hallelujah chorus singing with it. It was that one kiss you wish for but never get. Well, here you were, getting it right now. Outside a crummy bar, in the middle of LA. He pulled back slowly, letting a soft chuckle escape from his lips.

“You’re the only person I’d like to spend time with,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to tell you all night… I just… seem to be really bad with words.” You stared at him, completely shocked as you mulled over his words.

“You’ve got this.” His bright smile was blinding as he rolled a little in front of you. Roller skating seemed like a good idea at the time, but then you realized you had no clue how to roller skate. “That’s it!” You rolled towards him, almost making it before tripping up and falling again. But you never made impact with the floor. You never even expected it. Because he was there, catching you in his arms and pulling you up. “You almost got it, let’s try it again.”

“I think this whole time, it’s been you,” he continued.

“Just one more page!” you cried, pulling the textbook back from him.

“No, no, no, you’re exhausted,” he corrected, tugging it away and shutting it with a defiant slam.

“Joooooe!”

“You’ve studied enough. You’re going to do amazing. And then we are going to get super drunk to celebrate?”

You held your pinky out to him. “Promise.

He smirked and hooked his pinky with yours. “Promise.”

“Everything has always been you, from the late nights, to the daydreams. All the failed dates.”

It was late when he trudged in the door. But his usually happy demeanor was clouded, and you could tell immediately. And you knew what that meant. So, you opened your arms and he was there. HE would cry, he would laugh and sometimes you would just sit there listening to each other breath.

“So… that did not go well.”

“And its lead me all to you…” he finished. “And I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner. Or that, you maybe don’t feel the same way--- Oh god. Did I just kiss you for no reason? I’m so sorry. This is such a mistake—”

Now it was your turn to shut him up. But this time you just laughed. You laughed and laughed until his words trailed off and a confused look came over his face.

“Joe… I have loved you since we were freshman.”

He let out a short breath of surprise, his smile returning to his face. Then he held out his pinky.

“Promise?”

You felt a smile also coming to your face. You hooked your pinky with his. “Promise.”

Then you pulled him towards you by his pinky and pressed your lips to his. Your movie magic ending, finally complete.

#locevent #loc event

22 notes · View notes

thalmor-banjo · 4 years ago

Text

This is a vent post but I have to get this off my chest.

I have ADHD, but it’s undiagnosed by medical professionals. I think it’s pretty mild, but I still have issues with schoolwork, personal projects, etc.

I stim when feeling very overwhelmed/intense feelings. Sometimes it’s happy flapping from a good fanfic or amazing scene from my favorite show. Other times it’s angry jerks. If I stim when I’m angry everyone shuts me down immediately and says I need to, “Get control of your (my) emotions.” When I was small I wouldn’t hide my stimming and no one really thought it was anything unusual, but as I grew I learned to mask it (because I was intermittently taken to therapy for years). Now I mask in public but when I’m alone, it kinda just all comes out, ya know? And it feels good and happy and oh my god do I love it. But if I do it in front of anyone else (who doesn’t know, some of my close friends do and I’m comfortable being myself in front of them), they’ll look at me like I’m fucking insane.

Another thing, I get overstimulated occasionally. Most of the time I'm ok and can slip out of the situation, but sometimes I'm really really not. (Some background, I have an autistic sister, but outside of her specific situation my family is v ableist.). During quarantine I've stopped masking as much (because it's literally impossible to keep up 24/7) and it's been...detrimental to say the least. Whenever I visibly get overstimulated, someone in my family will notice, then they'll all intensify the behavior ("Exposure therapy is the cure for being overwhelmed"-my lovely mother). I hate it so much. Like I'm obviously in discomfort, can you fuck off???

This March something happened. I'm not sure if it was some kind of breakdown or what, but I just couldn't anymore. The whole day I was on edge, but being forced to sit in the cold living room, not allowed to listen to music or have a blanket, just being forced to work, it fucked with me. My thoughts were too loud for my head. I kept trying to work and they just would shut the fuck up. I tried to explain, but no one would listen. I lost it. Started crying, begging for my headphones. My thoughts were too loud and I couldn't push them down. It wasn't like they were meaningful, I just couldn't focus. It felt like they were ballooning up into my throat, blocking the words I so desperately wanted to scream. Instead, all that came out was, "it's too loud" or something of that vein. I had reached a breaking point. I can't even describe how it felt in words. I was so panicky because my family wanted this work to be done and I was trying so hard but my thoughts were too loud and I just wanted to be in my warm bed snuggled up but I couldn't because who knows why and I had to sit in this cold chair that was sticking to my thighs. The words to describe what I was feeling just couldn't come out past the great nothingness blocking them. They (mis padres) were texting the entire time this was happening. I found out later what they were. Here's my favorites, "she's (I'm trans and they misgender me constantly omfg but that's for another day) acting like River (a character from Joss Whedon's Firefly, one of my absolute favorites. They had just shown it to me the past week. The implication being I was acting out to get out of work, that I was just faking)," "If she (ew ew ew she/her get it awayyyyyyyyy) were a dude, I would punch her (again, they're implying I'm acting out for attention and trying to skip out on work while also being incredibly ableist.).". My parents, the people who have teared me since birth, let me shatter and crunch under their unsympathetic feet. When I tried to communicate my suffering, they turned away, assuming it was all an act and none of it was real. It really stung at the time, and I still don't trust them with a lot of my real thoughts.

Probably the final thing, hyperfixations. I don't forget to eat or drink when hyperfixating (although sleep can be an issue). Not sure why, but it just works out that way. Recently I fell head over heels for the Mandalorian. Space westerns are just my thang (looking at you Firefly). Mando is this battle hardened man who's so devoted to his religion and yet a little green baby comes along and changes it all. My favorite episode is Chapter 15, spoilers ahead. I hate Mayfeld, so much like oh my god. But he makes a good point about lines we're not willing to cross until lines get blurred. It really spoke to me. SPOILER When Din is forced to take off his helmet to do the scan, my heart dropped. I've had to break promises (that I've made to myself) to keep safe (ex: coming out in 2020). But it wasn't just some throwaway vow. This was his religion, his entire way of life. And his sect says you are no longer Mandalorian after removing the helmet, that taking it off means never putting it back on. It's incredibly moving and speaks to something in me; there's a reason it's my favorite episode (so far). And also part of it is that Pedro Pascal is really fucking handsome. Like IRL I'd probably have a squish on him more than anything else, but he's still really hot. Anywayyyyyyyy, back from the tangent, I've watched it at least four, maybe five, times. Chapter 15 is a good episode and it makes me happy. A note: my family (aside from one other member) is aggressively heterosexual and cisgender. Like any time I talk about the future they're immediately like "oh yeah, you'll tell your husband and kids about this later.". It grates on my nerves so much. Like I'm not straight, never will be, and would rather adopt and help (a) kid(s) that need a home rather than bringing another human into the world. Idk if it's just me, but the way they imply I'll have a heterosexual relationship as a cis woman who fucks her husband is just weird and uncomfortable. I don't wanna talk about my sex life with them, nor 1} who I'd like to fuck 2} how I'd like to fuck 3} when I'd like to fuck. Long story short I don't want them to know that I enjoy Pedro Pascal's acting because they'll fucking hound me on it. I wish I didn't have to protect myself and not reveal my thoughts, to keep everything rolling around upstairs from falling off my lips. Then they act like I'm unreasonable for not wanting to share what I'm smiling about. How my sister (who's also ND), starting seeing memories from her past lives. I don't know enough about that kinda stuff to say anything meaningful. I know if I'd have said that my parents would have scoffed and ignored me, but when sister says it, the words are coming directly from God's lips. But when I brought up reality shifting ( something I've been attempting since October), father asked if it was somehow possible for everyone to share a hallucination across thousands of miles. I just wish they'd treat me like they treat her. Like a human bean who deserves to be believed and respected.

I just wanna be able to stim and enjoy things I love without being "normal.".

Anyway, sorry for the long rant, thanks for listening/reading, here's a gif of this absolute human cinnamon bun of a human bean (description, it's Pedro Pascal glancing to the side, raising his brows, looking back, smiling, and then opening his eyes and mouth to make a goofy face):

#undiagnosed adhd #adhd inattentive #vent #adhd vent #trauma maybe???#family is exhausting

1 note · View note

rwolf19 · 6 years ago

Text

Garden Pt. 3 — An Elucien Fic

Length: 3911

Rating: M, SFW(ish)

First | Previous | The Pull (Nessian) | Aflame

A/N: Hullo, I’m back. I have this nasty habit of sitting on finished fics until I forget about them. My bad! But also, FUCK TUMBLR IT’S NOT LIKE I’M TRYING TO POST ON MOBILE AND GOT FUCKED IN THE ASS INSTEAD STUPID ASS FUCKING APP DESIGNED TO MURDER ITS USERS FOR THE SAKE OF MONEY I’M GOING TO AO3 and I’M NOT COMING BACK I’M rWolfWrites fuck this shiiiittt it wasn’t going to be an April’s Fool shit but damn does this fucking nonsense PISS ME OFFFFFFFFFF I COPY AND PASTE THE WHOLE ASS THING AND IT TELLS ME IM OVER PARAGRAPH LIMIT WITH LITERALLY LIKE FIVE LEFT GO SUCK A DICK TUMBLR I’M FUCKING TAKING MY FICS AND LEAVING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT’S NOT PORN YOU PRUDISH FUCKS YALLST WANT JUST THE BEGINNING JUST THE END OR SOME FUCKING NONSENSE EVERY OTHER GODDAMN PARAGRAPH FUCK IM GOING TO WRITE SOME AFLAME AU WHILE IM MAD JESUS Fuck

WHY IS THERE SO MUCH DEAD SPACE JUSR LET ME POST LIKE THREE PARAGRAPHS OF THE FUCKING NONSENSE JESUS H CHRIST EAT A DICK TUMBLR

Elain liked the Day Court. She liked the way Lucien’s russet eye gleamed as his tinker-friend explained things. She liked the marble and the air and the sky. More than the Night Court, it was peaceful. Not in the same way, though. The Day Court was bustling and bursting with energy. There was always someone to help, always something to do.

And the City of the Sun—gods, she loved Solas. It was bright and full of hard-working people who yet stopped to enjoy the feel of the sun on skin or scale or carapace. Everyone wore more or less the same thing; everyone had passionate conversations of whatever fancy had recently taken their interest; everyone tried everything and spoke only of the good. Little complaining was heard because they had all been subject to terrible hardship.

“Elain, I do believe you are single-handedly going to change how people view the Night Court,” Helion said over dinner. She and Lucien always dined together, but Helion showed up only when he wanted to. They’d been given a suite of rooms with a dining and sitting area between their bedrooms. They shared a bathroom as well, though Elain was used to that. “Anyone I talk to can only say that you brighten the day.”

Elain blushed, “The people here are very welcoming. I’ve never met so many who are so purposefully happy.”

Lucien grunted in agreement and pushed his food around his plate. Helion sat at the head of the small table, and Lucien was across from Elain. She stretched out her foot carefully and nudged him. His eyes raised to hers for a moment before returning to his half-finished plate.

“Come now, Elain, don’t sell yourself short,” Helion smiled broadly. “Tell me, can you see yourself staying here?” Lucien’s head snapped up with a snarl. “Don’t.” “Lucien.” Helion only laughed and threw a grape into his mouth. He leaned back in his chair. “There was no reason for Rhysand to send both of you here unless he wants to incorporate something of his here or something of mine in the Night Court. I’m simply wondering-“ “I asked to come,” Elain said softly, her eyes never leaving Lucien. He continued to glare at the High Lord. She wanted to come to get away from Nesta. Because despite how many times Nesta had apologized, despite Feyre’s healing, Elain could not forget the moment that her sister went crazy and slammed her head into the mantle of the fireplace in Feyre’s townhouse. She couldn’t walk through the room without smelling her own blood, without seeing Lucien pleading for her to stay awake. And the roof, the roof where her garden was, it had become the place where Cassian had snapped Lucien’s leg. Elain left because her sister’s mating was negatively effecting her own. Elain left because she thought she might be more daring away from her sisters. She’d built this grand fantasy in her head around going to the Day Court and using the opportunity to be with Lucien—in every sense of the word. But Lucien, it seemed, did not want to touch her here, where he said the walls watched. He did no more than kiss her cheek before retiring to his own room every night. “Did you miss me that much?” Lucien bared his teeth in a low growl. Helion smirked, “Your mate doesn’t seem to like me.” “You’ve never given me much reason to,” Lucien answered sharply. “Lucien,” Elain warned again, softer. “Never? I hardly know you, Lucien, yet I’ve given you the best guest suite-“ “My mother has spent most my life being beaten behind closed doors,” Lucien said lowly. Helion’s smile evaporated. “I know it is punishment for something you were party to.” “Lucien-“ “You know he does it because she loved you. You know, and you’ve known from the start. And still, you do nothing. You had just gotten peace from the first War, then you were under Amarantha’s thumb. She tortured my mother, not because of me, not because of my father, but because it was the only way she knew how to hurt you, you personally, for your part in the War,” Lucien spat. Helion’s lip curled into a sneer. His eyes glowed faintly. “And my mother wasn’t worth your time or resources. She doesn’t deserve anything more than the hell she’s lived for centuries-“ “Enough,” Helion stood. Elain tried not to squeak in fright. Lucien rose just as quickly, jabbing his finger at Helion. “And you have the nerve to sit there and flirt with my mate as though anyone could want to stay with you after how you treated my mother!” “Lucien!” Elain gasped. Helion’s nostrils flared, “Been sitting on that for a while?” “Two-hundred years.” They glared at each other for a long time. Elain could not help but notice how similar their profiles were. The tone of their skin was near the same as well, though Lucien was much fairer. Even the way they were built- ‘You can’t catch me!’ A small child races away from her, hair brassy, feet tiny and pattering. She chases the child through the palace, weaving through marble pillars. She gains on the child enough to brush the soft white chiton the child wears. The child screams, running for the familiar forms of her mate and another. “Grandfather, help me!” “Elain, you shouldn’t have to run,” says Helion, lifting the child into his arms. “The little one might get upset.” Her mate kisses her lightly, touching her stomach with the other hand. “As much as I hate it when he’s right, Elain . . .” “Elain!” Lucien’s eyes were wide, very close to her. She was not sitting. She was on her back. On the floor. He was gripping her face. Relief flooded his face as she took a deep breath. He kissed her cheek and her forehead and cradled her closer. “You scared me.” “Both of us,” said Helion. He was several feet away, his hands clasped in front of him. “I don’t like to think what your sisters would do if you were hurt here.” “Shut up,” Lucien snapped. He stroked Elain’s hair gently. Elain tried to sit up, and he supported her cautiously. “Are you all right?” “I- I saw-“ “Later,” Lucien murmured, kissing her cheek again. He pressed his nose down into her neck and breathed deeply. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a little bit?” Elain asked lightly. Helion smiled and inclined his head. He left without another word. Elain pulled away from Lucien, “That was very rude.” Lucien laughed lowly. Elain twisted to see his face just as his laughter became truly hysterical. There was so much pain in his russet eye. Elain shifted so she was sitting beside him and let him rest his head on her shoulder. He laughed for a while long, then began to weep. Elain held him. —:—:—:— Lucien had planned none of it. Still, Helion did not defend his mother. There had been no regret on Helion’s face. Lucien hated Helion as much as he loved his lady mother. Watching him attempt to charm Elain was infuriating on a deeply primal level. Trying to trick her into using her gifts was despicable, as far as Lucien was concerned. Can you See yourself staying here? Lucien had never wanted to hit a male more. At least Helion hadn’t flirted with him. That would’ve unbearable on an entirely different level. The breakdown was the result of two hundred years of practicing the perfect Fuck You speech being wasted. He hadn’t said half of what he meant to. And Elain should never have had to witness that outpouring of bitter anger. Helion had been avoiding Lucien alone since they arrived, and his frustration had boiled over. “Stop,” Elain said. She’d dragged him off to a garden in the middle of Solas. The moon hung low on the horizon, and she was shivering behind him. She wove magical flowers into his hair as she carefully braided it. He could tell they were glowing. Her fingers were quick and gentle, and he tried to focus on that instead of their miserable dinner. “Stop what?” He feigned ignorance. “Stop agonizing about what happened.” “What happened when?” “Lucien.” “I’ve already completely forgotten,” he said dramatically, “You’ll have to explain.” “Lucien,” she tugged on his hair sharply. It surprised him enough to earn her a groan. She gave up chastising him to finish his braid. He could practically feel the heat of her blush. She tapped his shoulder and he passed her the leather band for it. “Stop smirking.” “I’m not,” he lied lowly. “I can hear it in your voice,” Elain complained. “I’m sat on a blanket at night with my beautiful mate in an enchanted garden and she’s embarrassed because I made a sex noise,” Lucien carefully pulled his braided hair over his shoulder. Sure enough, several of the flowers Elain had braided in were glowing silver. “What could I possibly have to smirk about?” “Lucien,” Elain grumbled. She maneuvered around to sit next to him, shivering in her chiton. The style of the Day Court suited her. He pulled her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and heating the space above the blanket. She sighed softly and nuzzled closer still. “Elain,” Lucien hummed, kissing her hair. “You’ve said my name an awful lot tonight.” “Lucien,” she said again, turning her head toward his. She kissed his jaw lightly. Blood roared through him. “Lucien.” She kissed his cheek. His arm slid from her shoulder to her waist. “Lucien.” She kissed his lips. He tugged her into his lap carefully. She hummed against him and rested her hands on his chest. He cupped her face with a hand. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth. He groaned and bit her. Elain gasped, pulling away. Lucien cursed and held up a tongue of flame so he could see. “Did I hurt you?” “I- you-“ Elain’s pink face deepened her eyes. The soft brown was nearly entirely enveloped by her pupils. “You’ve never done that before.” The rasp in her voice sent blood racing faster. Lucien touched her lip gently. He hadn’t broken the skin. And judging by her voice, he hadn’t scared her. “Do you want me to do it again?” Lucien asked. Elain watched him for a moment before nodding. Her arousal was intoxicating. He smiled and she kissed him, hungrily, waiting. An idea sparked in his mind that perhaps his mate liked things the same way he did. The next time he bit her, it was on her neck, and he pulled her hair at the same time. She cried out so loudly that he had to cover her mouth with his hand. Her face turned red as he kissed her cheeks and her nose, trying not to laugh. “Maybe we should go somewhere else, Lucien,” she said when he removed his hand. Lucien just chuckled and kissed her again. “Is this why you wanted to be a mountain range apart from Nesta?” Lucien asked. Elain pouted and clambered off him. “I’m teasing, Elain. It’s good. It’s great.” “Oh,” Elain said lightly. She settled beside him again. She picked at the threads of the blanket. “I haven’t ever . . .” “Been pleasured before?” Lucien teased. Elain’s cheek went bright, and she nodded, biting her lip. Lucien tidied her hair carefully and kissed the tip of her ear. “We’ll find someplace where you can be as loud as you want. My ego really needs it.” She pinched his side. He caught her hand and interlaced their fingers. “Somewhere Nesta won’t bother us-“ “Or Feyre,” Elain blew a tuft of hair out of her face. Lucien lifted an eyebrow. “She always says things and I . . .” “I‘ll tell her to close her fat mouth,” Lucien said. Elain gasped as he knew she would, and he smiled and kissed her lightly. “Would you rather I tell her to use it for something else?” “Lucien!” Elain pinched him with her other hand. Lucien laughed. “You’re just as bad!” “Oh?” Lucien lowered his voice and leaned into her ear. “And what should I use my mouth for?” “You are absolutely incorrigible,” Elain whispered. Lucien noted the flash of her teeth before she ducked her head. “You like it,” Lucien said bravely. Elain lifted her head, carefully not smiling. Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you?” “With these things, I’m only stumbling around in the dark,” Elain said softly. “And you’re . . . Something to follow.” “You’ve scandalized me before,” Lucien reminded her. “I didn’t think that possible,” Elain hummed. “You told me once that you bathed naked.” “Everyone does that!” “Yes,” Lucien chuckled. “But most people don’t plant the image of themselves wet and naked and-“ “Well, I was trying to seduce you,” Elain pouted. “It didn’t even work.” “You don’t need to seduce me, Elain,” Lucien breathed, kissing her. “I’m all yours.” —:—:—:— “No. . . . Elain isn’t awake yet, this can wait. . . . We are Night Courtiers, remember.” Elain lifted her head from the pillows enough to see that Lucien was no longer beside her. He had kissed her and held her through the night. She’d fallen asleep in the garden and half-woke in her bed. She knew she’d pleaded with him to stay, to touch her. He promised to stay, but he would only touch her when she was fully awake. Elain fell asleep before she could argue the point. There were voices from the next room over. Elain found her dressing gown and padded out, wrapping her arms around herself against the morning chill. The bedroom door had been left cracked open, and she pushed through it carefully. Lucien was talking with Helion. His hair was braided from the night before, though the flowers were gone. His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked none too pleased. She went over and rested her chin on his shoulder, kissing just below his ear. “Good morning, Lady Elain.” She smiled for Helion and breathed in her mate’s scent. “I came to apologize for dinner last night. Are you feeling better?” “You came to apologize but you haven’t,” Elain sighed. Lucien relaxed as she wrapped her arms around his middle. “It’s cold here.” The room instantly warmed. Elain smiled and closed her eyes. “Come back to bed.” “Just a minute, Elain,” Lucien touched her hands. His voice hardened. “Your apology means little to me.” “I cannot simply walk into Autumn,” said Helion. “Come now,” Lucien said. “With what happened between Rhysand and Tamlin-“ “Beron is not Tamlin. Your mother did not want to leave her children, Lucien, because she loves you. I would have happily taken you in, but Beron would have seen it as a threat-“ “Eris is going to take Beron’s head off by the end of the year,” Elain yawned. She slumped further into Lucien. “You’re so warm.” “Pretend you didn’t hear that,” Lucien said hastily. “We’ll join you for lunch, but as you can tell my mate is . . .” “Trying to get you back into bed,” Elain murmured. “You promised.” Lucien cleared his throat. “Enjoy your morning in,” Helion said slyly. His footsteps receded and a door opened and shut. Elain supposed he had gone. “Did you really See that?” Lucien whispered. “Months ago,” Elain nodded into his shoulder. “It shifts, but something happened a few weeks ago that made it solid.” Her visions were that way sometimes. The closer they got to coming true, the more real they seemed. Other times they were just shifting images in a fog, thoughts or words or people she couldn’t recognize. It got muddled often. Then, in all the confusion, there would be a bolt of clarity, something that would without doubt come to pass. Like that little Illyrian nephew of hers, or the child with the brassy hair. Those were certainties, even if they slid along time injudiciously. “Do you really want me to take you to bed?” Lucien murmured after a time. Elain wondered how long they had been standing there, both lost in thought. Something told her it had been long enough for Lucien to pack away what she’d said into different versions for the members of the Inner Circle. Something for Azriel, who wanted Eris dead; something for Cassian, who knew the opportunity presented to them; the truth for her sister and brother-by-law. Elain opened her eyes. Lucien was doing his best to look at her without turning and disturbing her. Elain raised a hand and gripped his hair. “Lucien.” “Yes, Elain?” “I’m all yours.” The first time was sweet and gentle. Lucien coaxed her to climax twice before carefully pushing inside her, rocking into her and kissing her and touching her. She did not bleed, nor did it hurt. It surprised her. When she whispered her fears to Lucien, he kissed her cheeks and told her those were the concerns of women fucked by human men who were inexperienced idiots or plain cruel. The next time he asked her to turn onto her stomach. He kissed her shoulder and pushed into her from behind. Then he went faster, he pulled her hair, he slammed against her. Elain liked that just as much. Lucien was panting and grinning wickedly by the time they were both spent. “I want to make you breakfast,” Elain hummed, drawing circles on his bare chest with her fingers. He stiffened, and she looked up to hold his gaze. Feyre had mentioned what food meant between mates. She kissed Lucien’s shoulder as he opened his mouth, “I know what it means, yes.” “Elain,” Lucien touched her chin, lifting her head to kiss her. “Are you sure?” “Why shouldn’t I be?” Elain murmured. “I’m the one who can See. I know.” “You know what?” Lucien breathed. “I know that our own children are fairer than our nephews,” Elain kissed him before her words could register. “I know that you never stray from me. I know that you teach me what love means, and that I never grow tired of your touch.” “Hang- Hang on,” Lucien frowned. “Our-“ “I know,” Elain said simply. He kissed her again, rolled over top of her carefully. Elain smiled against him. He leaned his forehead against hers and let his hand drift over her. “And what I don’t know, you’ll teach me.” “Damn right,” Lucien growled. —:—:—:— Rhys and Azriel looked less pleased than usual when Elain and Lucien emerged from Helion’s palace. The High Lord of Day was standing beside them with his arms crossed. Lucien nearly cursed aloud, but Elain was laughing and holding his arm and pulling him along before he could dwell on the older Faes’ expressions. She released him and greeted both Rhysand and Azriel with a kiss on the cheek. She bowed slightly to Helion and reached back for Lucien. He took her hand and she hummed slightly. “You look well,” Azriel said quietly. Rhys’s nose twitched. “Thank you,” Elain answered brightly. Lucien knew that she was perfectly aware of the tension in the air, and chose to ignore it. She looked back at him and smiled. He couldn’t help but return it. She glowed for her happiness. Lucien stepped closer and kissed her forehead. “Go home with Az,” he murmured. “I’m about to be chewed out.” “It’s probably best I talk Nesta down when she smells you on me,” Elain whispered. She kissed him before he could smile. Rhys cleared his throat. Elain stepped back and addressed him. “My sister was right about you.” She took Azriel’s arm and the Shadowsinger took her away before Rhys’s jaw could drop. Lucien laughed. She was so very excellent at keeping the last word. He blamed her Seer abilities. “Before either of you start,” Lucien held up a hand. “I don’t care.” “You’ll care when I send you to the Illyrian Camps without Cassian,” Rhys growled. Lucien spread his hands, “I was raised by Beron. You’re lucky I can claim what little manners I have.” “Lucien,” Rhysand snarled. Helion’s mouth tightened. Lucien met his gaze and felt fire spring to life in his blood. Helion’s brow dropped. Lucien felt his power searching, tried to fend it off with some of his own. Something happened that had never happened to Lucien before. Instead of fending off Helion’s attack, Lucien’s power intwined with the High Lord’s. Surprised flickered in both males’ eyes and they hauled back their power at the same time. Lucien’s heart pounded loud enough for them to hear it on the continent. His muscles tensed as he clenched his jaw. Helion kept his face carefully neutral. “Let’s go,” Lucien said, moving closer to Rhysand. “We’re not done-“ “Let him be a petulant child,” Helion waved a hand and stalked inside. “It’s not my problem.” Lucien heard the doubt. Rhysand glared at him for a moment before gripping his shoulder and winnowing them home. They landed on the roof where Cassian had broken Lucien’s leg. Lucien fell into one of the iron wrought chairs, holding his head in his hands. Rhysand started to head inside. “Is that why you sent me?” Rhysand was not fool enough to fein innocence. “Partially.” Lucien cursed violently. “Will you ever stop meddling in everyone else’s lives?” “That’s not-“ “I guess you wouldn’t,” Lucien looked over his shoulder. “Too much fun to watch everyone fall apart and have them owe you for piecing them back together.” Rhysand’s jaw ticked. Lucien raised his eyebrows. Cassian thundered up the stairs and burst onto the roof. “You’re back.” “You’re standing again,” Lucien said tersely. Cassian looked between him and his High Lord. Lucien raised his eyebrows. “Where is Elain?” “Asking where you are.” “I asked where she is, not what she’s doing,” Lucien snapped. “Oh-kay, the trip to Day did not go well I see,” Cassian held up his hands. “I’ll go find-“ “You filthy-“ Cassian caught his mate as she flew out of the house, her claws reaching for Lucien. He could’ve sworn he felt them rake down his face. Nesta hissed and thrashed like a wild beast. “Nesta!” Feyre shouted from down the steps. “Never a dull moment,” Rhysand quipped, heading inside. Lucien followed carefully, wary of the way Nesta had stilled against Cassian. He held her hands against her chest. She hissed again as he passed. Lucien stuck out his tongue. He wasn’t sure why. Not to antagonize her, surely, but to prove he would not take her abuse lying down. He could’ve mentioned the way Elain moaned for him, the way she begged for him. He could’ve said nothing. The half-rude, half-childish gesture was a sort of middle ground. He took the stairs faster than Rhysand, who paused to greet his own mate. “He’s more scared of your sister than of me.” “Only one of you stole from the Cauldron,” Lucien called over his shoulder. A bit of Feyre’s ice nipped at his fingers. He banished it with matching flames. To her, and Rhysand, he rudely gestured. Elain was at the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips, pouting. He stopped one step from the floor, blinking innocently at her, tucking his hands behind his back. She looked up at him through her lashes. He dropped that last step and kissed her. One day, she would be his High Lady. The look in her eyes confirmed it. “It gets better,” she promised, touching his cheek. “What does?” “Everything.”

#elucien fic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar fanfiction #elucien #post-acowar

26 notes · View notes