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sugalaritae · 3 years ago

Text

heat waves (jhs)

Summary: You don't normally go to parties, preferring to stay in and keep to yourself. But when your self appointed "work husband", Kim Seokjin, invites you to a party at his house filled with his friends, you decide that a night out sounds better than a night in. Jin's friends are a perfect puzzle missing only one piece - you.

pairing: dancer/choreographer!Jung Hoseok x female reader (this chapter is heavy OT7 friendship)

genre: fluff, angst, smut in later chapters

au: friends to lovers, the slowest of burns

word count: 9.4k

warnings: insecurities and alcohol

rating: 18+

author's note: this was supposed to be a oneshot for Hobi's birthday but I got seriously delayed and it has turned into a story with three parts (+ epilogue)!! This chapter is an ode to the beautiful 7 and their friendship. Thank you to@vyduan and@magicshopaholic for reading this over and giving me notes!! thank you to the wonderful@missgeniality for making the banners, listening and encouraging me since I first dropped this idea in front of her 3 months ago.

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tag list: @herecomesjoon @wwilloww @illneverrecover @xjoonchildx @miscelunaaa @sunshinerainbowsbts @starlostjimin @reliablemitten @thatlongspringnight @yoongiversal please like, reblog, comment, send an ask if you read this and enjoy it!! let me know if you would like to added to my tag list 💖 fic playlist

The party is loud around you. It's overwhelming to be in a room filled with people having conversations when you are the only one who isn't saying a word. Your ears fill with the laughter of a person with long brown hair with pink streaks; their laugh is infectious, and your muscles react to the joy that they are experiencing. You watch as they touch the arm of the person they're talking to. You watch as this second person seems to glisten with a new kind of energy, a flame starting at the point of touch.

A group of three catch your attention as they all clink their glasses together, the sound ricocheting through the room. The one with curly dark brown hair grins one of the widest smiles that you have ever seen as he slaps the back of the one with tattoos decorating the smooth skin of his arm. You watch as the tattooed one's nose pulls up in a scrunch as he matches the wide boxy smile of his friend. You wonder what he could have done to elicit such a reaction. You think of all the possibilities: new job, bought something that he has always wanted to buy and never had the courage to, cracked a joke that made the other two laugh and beam with pride. Your mind has always liked thinking about these things, the details of the stranger's lives around you, big or small. It doesn't matter if you're on the street, watching people pass you as you wait for your bus or if you're at a party that you had no intention of attending.

The group of three are joined by a fourth. His clothes scream that he is comfortable with himself, but it's his actions that scream confidence. He moves to the music that you haven't been able to hear over the static of the conversations, but which must be incredibly loud to him because as you concentrate on his movements and try hard to listen to the music, he hits each beat. You watch as he touches his shoulders, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them and shaking his hips? No, the action is deceiving; while it looks like it's coming from his hips, it's his shoulders. A comment from a youtube video suddenly pops into your head - "always watch the shoulders, if they're a dancer, the shoulders are involved." You wonder if he's a dancer or if he's just aware of his body. You haven't seen anyone move like that in a very long time. The only time you can recall seeing someone be so in control of their body was in a yoga class when you watched a person in the corner of the room slowly lower themselves muscle group by muscle group as if they were a marionette with strings being pulled by an invisible force. You couldn't believe that any human could be that in control of their own body, yet here you are witnessing it again. Each movement he makes to the music is precise, punctuated, and you wonder what he must be able to do if given a full dance studio if this is what he can do in a crowded living room. The tattooed one imitates the dance move, but something seems different… off, for he doesn't have the precise control that the other does but he's still talented - that is obvious to you. You watch the two of them together until everything seems to blur except for him. Your gaze moves to his forearms, the line of a muscle you are sure you do not have, and slowly your gaze drifts over the baggy shirt he's wearing to his neck. Suddenly you wonder if you've been really looking at the people you watch. All the people you've seen have the same muscles and organs as he does, but there is something so captivating about the way that he is using his that you can’t tear your eyes away from him. "Y/N!" Your name is shouted through the hum of busyness and several people look up from their groups and conversations in the direction of the person who has called you. "Y/N!" The voice yells again and this time you look up, and a bolt of surprise courses through your spine and pulls your head up. "You came!" Jin grins and crosses the space between the doorway to where you are sitting. "You invited me," you retort as you stand up and give him a one-armed hug, and he gives you a look. "I wasn't expecting to see you because... well, you're you," he trails off and the look intensifies. You can't help but laugh. "I know, I don't usually come to these things but what else was I going to do? Watch reruns all night long?" This makes him laugh and he nods because that is what you would normally be doing on a Friday night. You would be cozy in your new (incredibly soft) sweatpants that you bought as a treat for yourself, your newest hobby that is more like a hyperfixation that you wish was a hobby, and reruns of the show that you have watched more times than you would like to admit to any living person. Jin knows all this because, while you haven't worked together long, the connection was instant and in just four months, he knows more about you than most people. "Come on!" He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you through the crowded room. "Do you know all of these people?" You ask because you would not have suspected that he would have known this number of people. You are sure that you haven't even met that many people in your adult life. "Sort of, most of them are friends of friends," he shrugs like it's no big deal to have strangers in his home. You wish that you were that calm with being around so many people. Sure, you were enjoying watching the people, but you wouldn't be that calm if you were hosting a party. He must notice the look on your face because he chuckles and nods. "I'll introduce you to my friends later but

right now we need to get a drink, or two, in you so that you can relax just a little bit."

You take a sip of the bright orange cocktail, the bitterness hitting your tongue in a pleasant sip. There is a different sound as the reusable fruit ice cubes hit the sides of the cup. You didn't ask because like so many things in the home, they scream Jin. He had a sense of self that you admire, even envy. In the short amount of time that you have known him, you have watched him just as you watched other people, and he had his moments of insecurities, asking the people he was comfortable with whether something looked good; but those moments were rare, and he knew who he was more than you knew who you were. "Have they gotten warm yet?" A voice breaks your concentration on the plastic ice cubes and you look up in the direction of the door. "What?" "The ice cubes. Sure, they don't water down your drink, but they get weirdly warm and then they just sink. It freaks me out," the guy you had watched dance for his friends was speaking to you and you look at him and then back at the plastic cubes. You laugh a short little laugh. "We got into an argument about it once. He argued they're better for the environment," you say with a smile playing on your face, which grows as he laughs that tremendously fantastic laugh you heard earlier in the living room. He nods, stepping into the kitchen and standing across from you. The control you watched him have earlier is present with each step he takes now and how he leans against the counter. He looks so effortlessly cool that you are sure you are the exact opposite; you've seen candid pictures of yourself and they never show how confident you feel. In fact they often bring you down; but now is not the time to think of how you look. "Jung Hoseok," he introduces himself and moves one foot out to extend his hand to you and you take it with a smile as you give your name back. "How do you know Jin?" he asks before he takes a sip of his drink. "We work together," you answer and follow suit, the little plastic shapes hitting the sides of the cup with little plick plick sounds. "Oh! You're that Y/N!" His enthusiasm catches you off guard and your eyes must show it as he throws a hand in front of his mouth and laughs a short and clipped version of the louder laugh that you heard earlier. "Do you talk about me outside of work?" you ask Jin as he walks in the room suddenly, thrown off guard by the question, but quickly masking it (much better than you do) and answering with a simple nod. "He speaks very highly of you," Hoseok says with a smile before he takes another sip of his drink, and you wonder how he can manage to look so incredibly cool just by doing a simple action everyone on the planet does. You watch Jin with a bright smile plastered on your face, his eyes shut, and he shakes his head with an equally as bright and ever-so-slightly embarrassed smile. "Hoba!" Jin pushes out and you watch the other man grin, and you want to swim in the happiness that he seems to be exuding. It's intoxicating standing here in the small kitchen with the two of them. "Well, now I need to know what you're saying about me." Your eyes are wide as you look between the two of them and Jin shakes his head and answers, "The usual things that people say about their co-workers." You look over at Hoseok and he shakes his head which makes the two of you smile and you are stunned at how quickly there is a familiarity between the two of you. These kinds of connections don't happen very often, or perhaps you don't let them happen, but it ignites a little spark in your chest, and you want to follow it through until it goes out. "I don't like this." Jin looks between the two of you and if you were looking at him you would notice the small little glint in his eye and the way a corner of his mouth tugs upward as he catches the energy between you and Hoseok, but you don't, too caught up in the way that Hoseok is joking with you without using any words. "What?" Hoseok looks up at his friend and his face relaxes into a wonderful smile that is decorated with humor. You take a sip of the drink and let your gaze

fall from watching the two. You feel silly and giddy, two things that would normally make you feel embarrassed, and perhaps you would have been if you had caught Jin watching the two of you, but right now at this moment nothing but happiness clouds your brain. You're happy that you came to this party, and you don't want to get your hopes up but perhaps a love story happening to you is better than watching one unfold on a television screen. "Seokjin! Seokjin! Jin and juice!" A voice chants and your gaze snaps upward at the men who take up the doorway. Two of the three men you had watched earlier in the living room are leaning into the kitchen. The curly haired one has his arm draped over the shoulder of the one with the tattoos. The two look at you and then turn to the other two men. "We need something to drink, we're all out. Make us some?" The curly haired one asks Jin who gives him a glare that lasts only a few seconds. "Only if you continue that chant while I make it," Jin says and four of the widest smiles you've ever seen explode on the faces of the men. The chant starts slow as the two in the doorway lean in, their hands balled into fists as they pump their arms up and down cheering on their friend who has turned and started to make them cocktails. You can tell that your friend is enjoying the attention even with his back turned as his head bobs in rhythm to their chant. Even Hoseok has joined in and is now standing further away from you to make more room for Jin to make the drinks. It's a scene that feels intimate, like you shouldn't be watching this kind of happiness and connection. You're curious how they all know each other and how they met. How long did it take for them to get this comfortable with each other? To know the way that they can make each other laugh like this. Another figure in the doorway is caught in your peripheral vision and you turn to look at him. He's leaning casually against the frame, an amused and gummy smile accompanying a gaze that shows such an incredible amount of love that you feel like you shouldn't be seeing it. Almost like a gaze you can catch lovers’ exchange. He catches you looking at him and turns to you, his smile shrinks just a little and his gaze travels up and down your body, an action that makes your cheeks burn. You drop your gaze back to your drink while his lingers on you for a moment before he goes back to watching his friends. "Yoongi, want a drink?" The curly haired one breaks the chanting and nods over to the man in the doorway, who nods. "One for Yoongi!" The tattooed one calls and then there is a long-prolonged silence before they all burst into a fit of laughter. Hoseok's laughter carries and rests atop the cloud of sound and pulls you back to him. You watch as he collapses on the one with tattoos and the two of them share a look that again makes you feel like a voyeur. You wonder how Jin feels and how he is so incredibly calm as his two worlds collide. You once hosted your birthday party with all your friend groups coming together and the pressure to not let anyone go ignored was too much for you and you felt more tense than relaxed the whole evening. Though, he must be okay with it because he's also fine with his house being full of friends and friends-of-friends. The show ends, and you watch everyone drink as they let their conversation pause and look at you. "This is Y/N." Jin finally introduces you and you look around the room with a soft and shy smile. "Work Y/N!" The tattooed one says with a very wide smile, and he stuns you a little with how beautiful and youthful he is. "Jeon Jungkook," he says happily as he holds out his hand and you shake it. Your gaze falls to his shoulder as the curly haired one rests his hand there. "Kim Taehyung," he says with a little head nod and holds out his hand for you. He must moisturize because his hands are the softest. His long fingers touch your wrists, and you wonder if he can feel how nervous you are to be meeting so many new people. "Min Yoongi," the next one, the one from the doorway says with a sly

smile and you must swallow to regain your composure as you take his hand. Introductions are always awkward, and you feel strange standing there as they all stand around you. They're the ones comfortable with each other and you're the outsider and yet you want in. You want to get to know more. "How do you all know each other?" You let yourself give into your curiosity just a little. Jin smiles and looks like he's contemplating letting you into his life this much. He knows intimate parts of your life, things you haven't really told anyone else because from the moment the two of you met there was a sense that you had always known each other. He's told you the good and the bad in his own life but for some reason it looks like he's not ready to share a little hidden secret about himself. "I met these two in Hobi's dance class and Yoongi and I used to be roommates." Jin explains and your eyes go wide. "You dance?" You ask. Taehyung and Jungkook share a little laugh while Hoseok looks on with pride as Jin answers with a simple and happy "sometimes, but I'm not very good at it." "That's not true." Hoseok interjects with a very serious look on his face which elicits an amazing look on your friend's face. He looks proud of himself and perhaps a little embarrassed. It's a soft and genuine beautiful look that makes your chest fill with the emotions that are radiating from him. You have only known the Jin he presents at work, in his tailored suits and coiffed hair, making encouraging and happy comments to people in meetings, only to come to your cubicle later and gossip about how some of the ideas were horribly stupid. You like this Jin that you're seeing here, relaxed with his friends. "He's hard on himself but it's a lie. Under this bashful looking face is really an ego that would topple all of ours put together," Taehyung says, making everyone laugh a little. "Oh, I know, I've seen him check himself out in a mirror and a window." This makes the men laugh harder and you feel proud of yourself. Their laughs make you feel full of something you're sure you've been missing for a long time.

The night seems to fly by. You get to know more about the men that your friend surrounds himself with. All of you stay in the kitchen away from the rest of the people that you assume Jin has invited. It plays in a part of your brain, and you wonder how he's just fine with letting a bunch of people move about his home while he stays in one room. The conversation moves from topic to topic. Occasionally Taehyung forgets you're there and has a tendency of changing the conversation to a story or topic you have no clue about, but you don't mind. You listen to them talk, laughing and smiling along. However, as the conversation continues along an inside joke, you take the moment to excuse yourself and slip out as the conversation continues around you. The house is full of people you do not know; you recognize some from the office, but you keep to yourself there too, and aside from Jin, you aren't particularly interested in talking to anyone from work on your weekend. You slip easily out the back door. You expect to see people smoking or having quiet conversations in the small yard but as you step out into the cool night air, drink in hand, you are happy to discover you have the space completely to yourself. The sound of conversations press through the closed door and an open window close to you. You like this distance between you and the party. You have always been the kind of person who likes to be part of everything but still on the outside. You are content to keep people and parties at a safe distance, observing instead of participating. You step away from the house and settle into one of the deck chairs that is sitting on the grass near a standing fire pit. You exhale a long and deep breath. Hoseok's laughter shoots out an open window and you turn to look at the house. You can see the top of his head as he laughs. They are still in the kitchen. It has always been your favorite room in any home. It is where intimate and deep conversations happen; the types of conversations that could not happen at any time before midnight. "Need some space?" a voice breaks the silence of the night, and you look up to see Yoongi standing by the door. "I can go somewhere else if you do," he says with a little nod to the gate that is only a few feet away from him. "No, that's fine. It just got a little loud," you say, and you watch as he nods before he walks over to a chair across from you and sits down in it, crossing his legs, and it's only when you notice his boots (untied) that you realize you're not wearing anything but your socks. "That's why I came out," he says softly and picks at the label on his beer. There’s silence between the two of you. You’ve always been uncomfortable feeling like you should talk to someone when you have nothing to say. You are happy to sit by yourself in a crowded room, no one expects anything from you when it is a room full of people, but when it is one-on-one you feel pressure sitting on your chest and shoulders like the weight of a conversation equals the weight of a boulder. You wonder if it's the same for him. He had looked confident in the way that he had leaned against the doorframe, but now, as you look at him across from you gazing in the darkness, his thumb flicking the lifted corner of the label, you wonder what is going through his mind. You want to keep watching him, want to keep going through the list of possible topics he is thinking about, but you’re interrupted by a loud noise from inside the house and a burst of laughter, Hoseok's laugh crashing between you and Yoongi. He looks up and for a moment the two of you stare at the house as if the wall will fall away and expose what has just happened. Instead, the outside stays the same while the laughter grows, and Yoongi looks at you with a wide grin across his face. That fondness that you saw in the kitchen is there again. He keeps smiling to himself as he looks down at the beer bottle and then at you. It's shocking how different he looks when he's smiling. "You've known them for a long time?" You ask giving into your curiosity about

the group of men. He nods and opens his mouth; you expect him to answer you verbally but instead he licks the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, and you watch it as it disappears quickly back into his mouth and then pushes against his cheek. It's strange watching him, being out here with him and you wonder if he even likes you. He did leave the party for peace and here you are talking to him. You take a sip of your drink and contemplate either closing your eyes and disappearing into the back of your mind or pulling out your phone and disappearing into an equally void space. "Jin speaks very highly of you," he says, and it catches you off guard. You look up at him just in time to see him take a sip of his beer and then set the bottle down on the ground beside his chair. "Does he?" The question is stupid, but he's caught you so off guard that you're not sure what you're supposed to say. He nods in response and honestly you don't expect anything else. "He talks nonstop about his friends, but he doesn't really mention you all by name, I just know that he has a group of friends and other than that - " you shrug, and he gives a little chuckle because Jin is his friend more than he's yours and he knows Jin better. How Jin operates while you're still getting used to him. This is the first time that you've seen him out in the real world and not only interacting with people he works with. "It's nice to see him with all of you, it's a different side of him." You pause, and he looks at you, really looks at you and you have to take a deep breath before you continue. "It's like he's more himself, if that makes sense." He nods again but this time there is a look on his face and you're not sure what it is. Pride, perhaps? Love? So much of Yoongi is a mystery and you want more of it. You want to know more about this side of Jin you’ve now witnessed, and you want to hear Hoseok' laugh again, this time closer to you. Almost as if they can suspect you're thinking about them they come crashing out the door. Jin is the first one out, followed by Jungkook, Hoseok, and Taehyung who has his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets and looks more like he's just following the crowd than him wanting to genuinely be out here. Another insecurity crosses your mind, and you are reminded that this is why you don't come to these things. While you're comfortable in places where you spend a significant amount of time, and comfortable with people that you know well, you don't do well around new people, and you want to fall into your turtle shell of comfort. Maybe you should leave. "This is where you two are," Jin says with a smile and you look at the small group of them as they shift their gazes between you and Yoongi. You look at Hoseok and as he glances at the small space between the two of you, there is a look that quickly passes his face. You're not sure what it was but you know deep down that you don't like it.

Hoseok always enjoys spending time with his friends. Two are missing, that's fine, there will be another time when all seven are together. Hobi watches as Jin occasionally moves into the house to see how his other guests are doing, not all of them are his friends, mostly acquaintances that he's met over the years or work friends. Hoseok doesn't know if he would be here if it weren't for his friends. He would prefer it just being their circle of friends instead of the mishmash of people that are taking over Jin's home, but he has no control over it since it’s not his party, and even though part of him wants to be back in his studio the night has the added benefit of having you here. Hoseok knows you missed him noticing you as you sat in the living room watching people. Smiling at someone who caught your eye. He's heard about you. Jin has spoken about you repeatedly, and he's always been just a little curious about meeting you, and here you are, and he can't take his eyes off you. He wanted to follow you when you left the kitchen, wanted to ask you more questions, but just as he pushed himself off the counter to follow, he watched as Yoongi did instead. There's a weird sensation in his chest as he stays in the kitchen. As the four of them find the two of you sitting outside, he wonders what you've talked about. If Yoongi has been that quiet and confident version that people seem to love; it's one of the things that Hobi loves about him, but did you? Did you get to experience that wonderful side of his friend? Hobi sits across from you, Jungkook and Taehyung on either side of you as the fire roars in the small metal fire pit in the middle of the circle of chairs. He watches as you take a sip of your drink only to slap your hand over your mouth as Jungkook cracks a joke that makes you laugh; your eyes go wide as you try to keep the liquid you've just drunk inside your mouth and not spray it out over everyone. Jungkook looks proud of himself for this reaction, as he should, it's something that he's good at - making people laugh, and Hobi knows that if he looks over at Tae that there will be a subtle smile that has a bit of jealousy hidden behind it as if Jungkook is only supposed to make him laugh, but Hobi knows that there is also pride there that Tae's beautiful boyfriend has made someone else laugh as hard as he makes him laugh. He knows all his friends well. He's spent enough time with them in and out of the studio. He holds a deep love for all of them and while there are a few missing from this wonderful circle, he notes that you fit into it easily. He wasn't aware there was a space open for anyone else but there you are, occupying it and slipping into the whole group with such ease it amazes him. He joins you in your laughter but not so much at the joke itself but because you have an infectious laugh, and he wants more. He wants to make you laugh. He wishes it were just the two of you alone again, how simple the conversation had come. How wonderful it had been to make fun of the one person you both had in common. He nods as Jin excuses himself to go back into the house to say goodbye to a few people, Kookie and Tae yelling their drink orders at Jin as he opens the door, and they all laugh as Jin nods and shakes his head in a way that everyone around the circle knows is him rolling his eyes but agreeing to the thing he doesn't want to do. "I need to go and get myself a drink anyway, I'll go and get your drinks," you say with a smile as he watches you look between the two younger men and when Jungkook is about to object Tae cuts him off and thanks you for your kindness. He knows that this is his chance. He can go and be with you in that kitchen again, can get drinks with everyone but just as he's about to follow you into the house, Tae asks him a question about the studio, and he stays with a soft and subtle sigh. Your laughter interrupts the conversation and Hobi looks up at the house, at the small window that leads into the kitchen, and he sees your head fall back with laughter. Moments like this where he gets

to see an insight to your relationship with Jin. He wonders if the two of you gossip at your desks, talking shit about your coworkers. "Drinks!" Jin yells as he exits the backdoor and that feeling in his chest is back. He hears you laugh again and that is when he notices that Yoongi is gone. Yoongi is making you laugh like that. He falls back into the chair, resigned that perhaps the connection he had felt with you in the kitchen a few hours earlier had been all in his head and he had missed his chance. It has happened before. He's missed his chance because he's been just a little too late, a little too shy. He repeatedly tells himself that he’s fine with it and he'll continue telling himself because he has other things going on in his life. If anything, he hopes that you stay friends with all of them. No one else has fit so easily into that.

THREE WEEKS LATER The rain outside is heavy as you walk into the large, rather empty, darkened restaurant. The umbrella you brought from your home that morning has proven to be rather useless as it had blown inside out almost as soon as you had stepped outside of the office building on your way here to join Jin and his friends for dinner. You haven’t seen them in three weeks, though Jin has regaled you with all the stories and excitement that had come from meeting them all at his party. You haven’t seen them in three weeks and now they get to see you with damp hair and pants that are just a little wet on the fronts of your legs. There are two positives to the whole situation though - you knew about this outing the night before and so you are dressed in an outfit that you like and know you look good in, and you get to meet the missing two, Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin. A beautiful young host greets you but you’ve already been spotted by Jin who waves at you from a corner booth that is already filled with five others. You give a polite little bow to the host and walk to the table. Your heels clack against the floor, mixing with the sound from the music that is playing softly and a few conversations, it brings you joy. You are confident as you make the walk to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” you say, the eldest ones turning to smile at you. “How was working late?” Jin asks you with a smirk. You glare at him. He was supposed to stay with you to finish up a project but instead he snuck out leaving you to work with the most insufferable person in the office. The energy vampire who loves to suck away all the joy that Jin brings to the office. “You’ll be best friends soon,” he jokes and you give his shoulder a little slap before you take off your coat and hang it up on the hook beside the booth where all of their coats are. Your gaze drifts over Jin’s head to Taehyung and Jungkook who are laughing and whispering something to a third, Jimin perhaps? The way that they are all squished together makes you wonder if perhaps you read Taehyung and Jungkook wrong and they are not a couple. You didn’t ask Jin. You didn’t want to seem rude or intrusive, but now you wish you had. They’re wrapped up in whatever they’re talking about, whispers and little laughs, the third runs his hand through Taehyung’s hair and he grins a happy smile. Yoongi smiles at you and holds up his hand, a few fingers bent at the middle knuckles, and you hold up your hand in return. It’s easy to return his smile because it seems like he’s not one to give them out easily. Hoseok is on the end of the booth opposite of Jin, he grins and gives you a little nod to join him and you do with an extra little kick to your heart. You watch as he and Yoongi move over on the bench, Yoongi giving Jungkook a nudge and gestures with his chin to move over. Jungkook finally looks up and spots you as he nudges Taehyung and their third who both move closer to Jin. Jungkook’s eyes go wide as he spots you and a happy, slightly lopsided grin appears. “You’re here!” He greets you happily. “I am!” you sing back, still feeling a little awkward to be joining their time together. You try to remember that they invited you and that if they didn’t want you there they wouldn’t have said anything. Those were Jin’s words and as you slide in beside Hoseok, you catch a look on Jin’s face as if he’s reminding you of them. “Who are you?” The man you haven’t met says as his gaze drifts over your chest and face. You feel your neck heat at the look and smile, holding out your hand across the table. He leans over the table and takes it as you introduce yourself. “Park Jimin,” he introduces himself with a little smirk and you are sure that you have never met someone so forward or charming as him. He’s obvious with his looks and he doesn’t seem to have any shyness to him. You catch Yoongi smiling into his drink as you release Jimin’s hand and settle back against the leather booth. You look down at your pants running your hands over them wanting to get rid of the nerves that have made their home

in your palms and fingers. It’s then that you catch the pants that Hoseok is wearing, velour, you look at him, your gaze drifting over his outfit (and body). Black sweater and a white jean jacket. He looks so put together and comfortable, you find yourself jealous at his ability to do both. Whenever you want to wear something comfortable out in public, you always feel just a little tired and your outfit never looks as good as it does back in the comfort of your apartment. Almost as if all fashionable qualities disappear the moment a stranger’s eyes land on it. He catches you and gives you a wide smile, small dimples appearing on the sides of his cheeks. You’re not sure you noticed those before, were they there? “What do you want to drink?” Jin asks, breaking you out of Hobi-land and you turn to him just in time for him to hand over the sleek drink menu filled with cocktail names that you’ve never heard of. Thankfully they have little descriptions below each one and you look over it. It’s only a few minutes before a waiter has walked over and is taking everyone’s orders, it’s obviously their second round and only your first, and you feel the pressure of picking a drink as the Hobi orders his. You’re torn between getting your regular or something from the list and the anxiety of holding up the waiter starts to build in your chest when you hear a “helloooo” and everyone looks up at the man approaching. The man walking toward the table and standing beside the waiter seems to exude an incredible amount of confidence. You’ve experienced Jin’s confidence so much to know that the two are so different and yet so similar. Jin knows he’s handsome and cute, and he knows how to use both to his advantage; sometimes in a serious way and sometimes in a way that makes you laugh in a way that you know you’re laughing with him. This man has a more subtle confidence and you’re not entirely sure, just by looking at him, if he knows what he throws off. “Namjoon!” Jungkook calls out and scrunches his nose as he points at the man standing near you at the edge of the table. The man, Namjoon, whom you have heard so much about, winks at Jungkook and looks at the table. His eyes settle on you for a moment before he looks at the waiter. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting orders? Have we ordered food yet?” Namjoon asks. “Just drinks,” Yoongi answers and throws a nod to his friend. “Sorry,” Namjoon apologizes again, “has everyone ordered?” he asks as he glances around the table. “Y/N was just about to order,” Hoseok says with a smile as he sets a hand down in front of you on the table and then retracts it almost immediately, throwing you a look that says he’s sorry for invading your space. You smile back. “Oh, please, it will give me time to look over some drinks,” Namjoon gives you a little head bow as he steps aside and takes a drink menu that Taehyung hands him. All eyes are on you again and you can feel your face heating as a result. “I’ll have an old fashioned,” you say, picking the first cocktail that you can read on the list. “Whatever IPA you have on tap, please,” Namjoon says and is about to hand the menu to the waiter before they tell him that he can keep it and he makes a small awkward noise and movement before setting the menu back on the table. He looks down for a moment and then back up with a smile as a few of the men laugh. “How was the flight?” Jin asks and you watch Namjoon shrug, taking his coat off and hanging it up over yours. “It was fine, long,” he replies and then looks over at you. “We finally get to meet Jin’s work wife?” he asks as he holds his hand out for you to take, which you do, and you try to control your breathing as he looks at you with such kind eyes that you’re not sure you ever want to look away. You give him your name despite the sensation of all their eyes on you. “Kim Namjoon,” he says with a polite small bow. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m sorry that Jimin and I missed the party, the text chain has been on fire ever since.” You throw a look at Jin who smiles at you and gives a

little shrug, “it’s mostly been Jungkook talking about how much you liked his jokes,” he says and Jungkook throws a look at you and shakes his head making you laugh. “Like that,” Jin chuckles. “Joon, sit,” Yoongi says and before anyone else can move you press yourself closer to Hoseok who takes a moment and moves further into the booth. “Thank you,” Namjoon says as he sits down next to you and suddenly you’re aware that you are pressed between two men that intrigue you. “You’re welcome,” you give him a smile, needing to look up just a little as you do. The conversation moves easily to catching up on Namjoon’s travels and you soon learn that he’s a literary agent who has been traveling with a client for their second book tour. He tells everyone how good it feels that this time around there were people in the crowd for the readings and lining up to get their books signed. He shows sympathy for this author and how they struggled on their first tour with no fans despite the publishing company throwing advertisements at each bookstore that they went to. It’s obvious to you that Namjoon cares deeply for the work that he does and the people that he represents. “You must get to read some amazing manuscripts,” you say as you take a third sip of your drink trying desperately to find the enjoyment as the bitters hit your tongue. “Some are great,” he says with a laugh and you catch on that he’s too polite to say that some are absolute rubbish. You join him in his laugh. As Jin catches the attention of Namjoon, talking to him about something that you’ve only heard Jin mention in passing, you feel a little nudge against your arm. You’re about to turn to Hoseok when he leans in instead. “How’s your drink?” he asks in a whisper and your eyes snap to the drink that you’ve barely touched even though everyone is almost finished with theirs. “Horrible,” you whisper back with a chuckle under your breath and he smiles, a look on him that makes your knees weak despite sitting down. “Let’s get you a new one,” he says and before you can object, he’s asking Namjoon to let you both out of the booth. You slip out and the two of you walk to the bar. You miss the looks shared between Jungkook and Taehyung and the smile that spreads across Yoongi’s face before he takes the last sip of his whiskey and reaches over to move your old fashioned in front of him refusing to let it sit unenjoyed. If you had caught all of these things you might have thought that this was all planned, right down to the drink you ordered. You step up to the bar and heat rises across your skin as he places his hand on your lower back. “What is your usual order?” he asks, his hand staying where it is on your body. The heat pushes its way up your neck. “Umm..” you can’t quite think with his touch and he seems to notice this and heat rises to his own cheeks as he slips his hand off your back. “Sorry,” he mutters. “No, it’s okay. I… it was just distracting me from thinking,” you explain, looking at him and you watch as a smile grows on his face and he nods a short nod. “Oh.” “Yeah.” You turn to look at the bottles on the wall behind the bar and take a deep breath trying to compose yourself. Who knew that finally going to a party at Seokjin’s house would lead to something like this. You don’t know where it’s going to go and usually you don’t like not knowing but there is something thrilling about this situation you find yourself in with Hoseok and you want more. You want more small touches and shared moments of realization. You also want to make it last as long as you possibly can. The build up is always so much fun. The bartender walks over to two of you, and you give him your usual order with a smile as Hoseok watches you and nods as if he’s started a mental list of things you like. Hoseok orders another round for the rest of the table and the two of you walk back to the table. “You could have ordered your usual drink,” he says as you start the walk back. “I was flustered,” you laugh, your shyness hiding amongst the notes. “Why?” You turn to him and he

gives you a smile that again makes your knees weak, you wonder if you’re ever going to get used to that. “I’m still getting used to you all and I always feel a little pressure when I order a drink,” you look down at the floor for a moment as you laugh, “I wanted to impress all of you.” He shakes his head and slips his hand against your back again. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he says and stops walking. You’re close to the table now and it’s as if he wants to make sure that only you hear what he’s going to say. Letting you in on a secret. He leans in. “We all like you and we’re already impressed by you,” he whispers and his secret pulls a happy grin across your face. He steps away from you and his smile matches yours. “Okay?” he asks and you nod. “Good.” “What are you two whispering about?” Jin asks as you giggle and slip into the booth next to Namjoon, shaking your head. “Nothing,” you say. “Inside joke. You wouldn’t understand,” Hoseok explains happily to Jin as a round of oooooohs echo around the table, especially from the three beside Jin. You feel lighter as the evening goes on. A mix of alcohol and conversation. Everyone cracking jokes, filling the quiet bar with loud cacophonies of laughter. Their laughs mix perfectly with each other. Each one of them knows how to make the others laugh and you bask in this environment. Your shyness slowly slips away and you join Jin in telling stories from the office that make the rest of the group laugh and smile with interest. You share an embarrassing story from your school days and everyone, especially Jungkook seems to enjoy it. You feel like you’re fitting in. Jimin gives you a look that makes you feel heat rise to your cheeks and forehead. Taehyung and Jungkook are attentive and happy to watch the other laugh and enjoy themselves. It’s a marvel watching the two of them and how they work together. The way that Taehyung’s eyes go wide just a split second before his mouth pulls into an even wider smile as one of the others surprise him with a jab or anecdote that catches him off guard. Namjoon looks attentive every time you talk and it throws you off a little. You’re not used to having someone pay attention to you the way he does. He always watches you when you talk, turning to you and happily listening to each story you tell the table. Yoongi relaxes and you see a side of him that is so different from the quiet man that sat across from you in Jin’s backyard. Surprising you with being just as loud as everyone else and grinning just as wide as Taehyung. Jin looks happy as you watch him. This is family and you marvel at how similar he is in the office, except he’s more relaxed with these six men. More complete. The way they all react to each other is fantastic to watch and Jin looks like he’s glowing. Hoseok is the one that grabs your attention the most, though. He’s just as attentive as Namjoon and even when he’s not looking at you, you still know that he’s listening to you. Every time he laughs his head falls back and his laughter carries above the rest in a way that makes your heart beat happily. You can’t believe you forgot that laughter in three weeks and you don’t ever want to forget it. You beam with pride every time he laughs at one of your stories or with you. It’s his touches that are the most distracting. It starts with Yoongi telling a story, so deadpan and serious that you’re not sure it’s a funny story until he ends it and everyone around the table erupts and you fall against Hoseok’s shoulder in laughter. That seems to open the floodgates and a few minutes later you feel his index finger slip against your thigh. You don’t dare look down and you’re not entirely sure it wasn’t an accident until he touches your pinky and your breath holds. You don’t see how Yoongi watches the two of you. How he smiles to himself and in his drink every time one of you smiles in a way that he knows has nothing to do with the thing that is happening around the table. He watches his friend carefully, happy for him and hoping that it doesn’t end before anything

begins. Several hours later all of you are in various states of getting your coats on. Jungkook tries while he’s still in the booth and it’s an awkward drunken fight between him and his puffer coat. Taehyung is laughing with Jimin as the two of them watch. Hoseok beats you to your coat and holds it for you. You smile as you turn around and slip your arms into it. He runs his hands down one of your arms and gives your hand a little squeeze before he gets his own coat on. “We forgot to toast you,” Jin says, his eyes wide as he looks at Hoseok. “It’s okay,” Hoseok shakes his head. “I’m fine without it.” “Oh! Were we celebrating something?” you ask as you turn to look at Hoseok and then at Jin. “I told you that one of my friends got a job and he’s going away for a few months,” Jin explains and your eyes go wide, disappointment slipping through your chest and landing in your stomach. “That’s you?” you ask as you turn to look at Hoseok who takes a moment and nods. The alcohol must be getting to you because you’re feeling more disappointed than you really should be. A few touches here and there doesn’t mean anything necessarily but you were hoping that it would. The look on his face tells you he did too. “Let’s go to the 7-11 across the street and buy some drinks to sober up and toast Hobi!” Namjoon says as he slaps his hands on Hoseok’s shoulders. The eight of you leave the bar. It’s stopped raining and you’re thankful, you’re finally dry and you don’t really want to have to get home wet. Hoseok holds the door open for you. He hasn’t left your side since you left the booth, lingering closely as he fills you in on the trip, saying it loudly enough for those who are close enough to hear. “Three months being a paid choreographer, I still can’t quite believe it,” he says looking ahead. Yoongi turns his head, “I can. It’s about time someone knows your talent is worth a fucking fantastic pay check.” Hoseok smiles at his friend and you look between the two. There are friendships built into the group, you’ve noticed that. Taehyung and Jimin are close in a different way than Taehyung is with Jungkook, who also seems to have his own friendship with Jimin. Jin and Namjoon seem to be close to everyone, and from the interactions you’ve seen over the last few hours you suspect that the two are the confidants of the group. Hoseok and Yoongi are another duo that seem to read each other’s minds with simple looks. You haven’t had those kinds of friendships since leaving school and you miss them. Hoseok holds the door to the 7-11 for you and you smile at him, “thank you,” you say as you let your hand brush down his arm. The booze has broken down the usual walls that you have up. The quiet, bright store is lit up further with the conversations and laughter from the group and soon you’ve all picked out drinks and Jin is paying. He grumbles while everyone thanks him and you catch a small smile from him as he pays. You know that he’s actually happy to pay for everyone despite the grumbling. “To Hobi and the fame that is inevitably waiting for him,” Namjoon says with a smile as he holds up his bottle, the eight of you standing just outside of the store. “To Hobi,” everyone repeats and drinks. You stay quiet as everyone begins to talk. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to find another teacher,” Jungkook says though he has a smile spread across his face, there is disappointment in his eyes and you watch as Taehyung brushes his arm. Hoseok smiles and nods, “you’re going to do really well,” he says comforting the younger man. “I can’t wait to see what you learn.” “I’m not dying, just going away,” Hoseok says with a laugh and everyone nods. You love that all of these men love each other so dearly. A giant yawn and the feeling like you’re intruding just a little hits you. “I should go and get some sleep. Safe travels. I hope it’s everything you want it to be and more, Hoseok,” you say with a smile, aware that everyone is looking at the two of you. He smiles back and wraps you in a hug. “I’m going to get your number from Jin,” he

whispers in your ear and you close your eyes and nod against him. You wave a taxi down and as you open the door everyone is yelling their goodbyes and see you next times. You catch Hoseok’s eye one more time and give him a soft smile. You notice the disappointment is still lingering. Hoping that he follows through with getting your number. You settle into the backseat of the taxi and close your eyes. The next morning you wake, hungover and wrapped in your duvet. A text waiting on your phone. Unknown number [3:20]: It’s Hoseok. Now you have my number and no reason not to stay in contact. Have an amazing day.

____________

this fic also covers the square "Jung Hoseok" for the @bangtanwritingbingo

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jung hoseok fanfic #jung hoseok fic #hobi fic #hobi fanfic #hoseok fic #btsbingo2022 #btsgoldnet #btswritersclub #btswritingcafe #btshoneyhive #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x y/n #hobi x reader #jhope x reader #fic: heat waves

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enthusiasticharry · 4 years ago

Text

Second Best

summary: you and Harry meet at a party, but he seems to take more interest in your sister than in you, and you won't be Second Best.

author’s note: bonjour mes chéris!! this is the first instalment of hannah being the history/french student she is and merging all three of her worlds and creating her own little fictional one. this is based off of lousia may alcott’s little women (one of may favourite books ever) but with my own little twist on it. this is set in the 1860′s during the civil war but i haven't made it too historical at all. i have done all of the translations myself and even though i'm semi-fluent i still make mistakes so if you spot any let me know. this is so long so i'll shut up now, thanks for all the support bye!! <3

word count: 16k of good old fashioned marriage talk (there’s a lot of it, its all they spoke about tbf??), fluff, angst and a lil’ smut. there is marriage and children at the end (woo, exciting!) not proofread because my eyes are already asleep.

masterlist | speak to me about second best here!

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch. You have a tendency to do so, and these people will not tolerate it.” You sister, Lizzie, says as she pushes her arm between yours, walking you towards the fancy house in front of the two of you, “Whatever you do, don’t speak about your art at all. Nobody can stop you once you’ve started. Do speak if you’re spoken too, and if you’re asked to dance, dance.”

You shake your head, “But I don’t want to dance.”

“You will dance.” Lizzie says again, squeezing your arm slightly, “You may find yourself a husband if you act proper enough.”

“I shouldn’t have to act proper just to find a husband, Lizzie.” You scoff, shaking your head, “If they don’t love me, oil paints and all, then I don’t want them. I don’t think I’ll ever find a husband.”

“Oh shush with you.” She says, tapping your arm slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause your lips to part in shock, “How lovely would it be if father returned and you were married! It would make his life.”

“I think he’d have a heart attack.” You mutter, removing your arm from around hers as you stand outside of the door you were going to walk through in mere minutes, “I’m his little girl, you are also, Lizzie. If we were both to be married I’d think we’d kill him off.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I truly believe that would happen.” You deadpan.

She scoffs and slips her arm through yours this time, using her free hand to ring the bell. A man wearing one of the fanciest suits you’ve ever seen in your life opens the door, allowing the two of you to slip through. You help Lizzie remove her shawl, whilst she does the same to you. The man hangs them up amongst the array of other jackets. You lips part in shock at the sight of the house you were in, the first thing your eyes falling upon being the large staircase, with paintings littering the walls. For once, you were speechless, unable to control your excitement and want to gawk at the art upon the wall.

“Lizzie!” You gasp, gripping her arm tightly, “Look at the—”

“Don’t you dare say paintings!”

“Lizzie!” You groan again, pulling her arm so that she’s looking your direction, “Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” She lifts her eyes to look at the wall you were looking at, where the pieces hung with such grace and elegance, “They don’t seem too spectacular.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips, “Take that back, Lizzie! They are beautiful!

“If you say so.”

She removes you from your awe of the paintings and pulls you towards the ballroom. There’s people everywhere, the most amount of people you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You watch as they mingle with glasses of Champagne in their hands, the expensive material of their dresses sparkling in the light from the chandelier. Men stood wooing the women before them, flicking their suit jackets and inviting them to dance. The dresses the women were wearing were something out of dreams. You weren’t the biggest fan of dresses, in fact, you lived in trousers around the house, but you couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about your tattered dress. You’ve had the dress for a year or so, and the holes and rips and anything else you’d manage to do to the material could be seen in the light even if you’d fixed it.

“Lizzie!” The call comes from somebody who you don’t recognise, but Elizabeth certainly did and before the syllables of her name could escape your lips, she’s gone. You watch as your sisters whisked away with the crowd, leaving you stood there with no clue as to what to do.

Gripping the material of your dress, you slip yourself to stand by one of the doorways, away from the hustle and bustle of everyone in the room, but close enough for you to be able to watch. Lizzie stands in the middle, just as she always is, with a group of people around her. She was always the centre of attention, the one that everyone loved — you included. You were only a few years younger than her, but you were the only siblings each of you had, so you were close. You had your disagreements, that was certain, but you always came back stronger. You weren’t shocked when you noticed her spinning around holding some man’s hand, dancing away with a smile on her face that always made your insides happy. If she was happy, you were happy.

“Not one for dancing?” You eyes almost bulge out of your head as you hear a voice next to you, a male one at that.

“Oh, um, not really.” You laugh, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I’m not a very good dancer. I don’t really like dancing, to be completely honest.”

“Everyone loves dancing.” The man says, and you’re able to get a good look at him. A black suit, with a crisp-white shirt sits upon his torso. His hair was a fluffy brown, a chestnut that you found yourself in awe of. His green eyes ones of masterpieces, better than any art you could ever see upon any wall in any gallery, “I believe you are just lying.”

“I am not.” You shake you head, “My sister told me that if anyone asked me to dance I must say yes, but I have decided that I mustn’t. I have two left feet and anyone who is to ever dance with me will regret it, I know of it.”

“I highly doubt that.” He shakes his head, sipping from the glass he had in his hand, “Your sister shouldn’t force you do dance either.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, “Lizzie isn’t forcing me to dance, she just wants the best for me. Dancing is how people meet.”

“It’s how we met.” He says after a few seconds.

You let out a small chuckle, running your tongue over your lips slightly, “Sir, pardon me, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry.” He smiles, “M’names Harry.”

“Oh!” You exclaim again, “Harry Styles! You’ve just moved in next door with your father! Mother saw you the other day.”

“You must be—”

“—YN YLN.” You hold your hand out for him to shake, immediately shaking your head and pulling it back, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, Lizzie forgot to remind me to not shake hands. It’s not very ladylike, I know.”

“It’s perfectly okay.” He holds his hand out, and you bite your lip and shake it, “And please don’t call me Mr. Styles. I’m not my father. Call me Harry.”

“Harry.” The name slips from your lips, “I think Lizzie would die if she saw me talking to you.”

“If I may, would you show me Lizzie?” He asks and you nod.

You nod and turn back to the crowd, fluttering your eyes across all of the people in hopes to spot your sister. She was wearing red, the colour which suited her the most in your opinion, so she wasn’t too hard to spot. She was dancing in the middle of the room with a man with blonde hair, a suit similar to the one that Harry was wearing upon his body. She looked happy, and the sight caused a smile to flutter across your lips.

“She’s in the middle there.” You say, nodding your head in the girls direction, “The one in the red dress.”

You turn to look at Harry and once his eyes fall upon your sister, you can tell that the whole world stops around him. His lips part, his eyes widen and if you look closely you can see the reflection of the red dress in his eyes. You’re unsure how long he’s staring at her, but you’re staring at him for the exact same amount of time.

“It’s a. . .” He fumbles with his words after a few seconds, lifting his hands to scratch the back of his neck, “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“It is.” You agree, “Mother let her save up her allowance to buy the material. I should’ve done the same but I spent mine on paints.”

“You paint?” His raises his eyebrow, finally looking back at you.

You nod, “I love to.”

“Then you have every right to spend your money on paints.” He says, and you try to hide the heat that falls upon your cheeks, “You dress is perfectly swell

“It’s not beautiful though.”

“It’s swell, YN.” He reminds you again, “I’m sure you’ll get a beautiful dress at some point.”

Then you’ve lost him. You’re not surprised, though. Everyone prefers Lizzie to you, it’s just how it’s always been. You watch the back of him as he walks towards your sister, taking the world in his stride behind him as he does so. You watch as she courtesy’s for the man she has just danced with, and before Lizzie can go anywhere, she’s scooped up to dance with Harry. Maybe if you had bought the Emerald material your mother had wanted you to, Harry would be dancing with you right now instead of Lizzie. Maybe if you hadn’t been so against dancing in the first place he might’ve asked you to dance.

No, you wouldn’t stoop to that level for a man of all people. If Harry didn’t want to dance with you, ‘swell dress’ and all then you weren’t going to change yourself, no matter how much you wanted to, for a mere man.

“YN!” Lizzie delightful glee of your name came after their dance had died down. Lizzie came bouncing towards you, a just as bashful Harry following behind her, “Harry has offered to take us home in his carriage!”

“Now?” You ask, your heart hopeful that they’d both say yes.

Lizzie turns to look at Harry who shrugs his shoulders slightly, “If the two of you want to, we can.”

“Oh no.” Lizzie places her hand upon his shoulder, “We couldn’t dare take you away from the festivities. We will wait until you’re finished.”

“I’m ready to leave myself, Miss YLN.” He says to Lizzie, the same heat falling upon her cheeks as you had felt earlier.

“Please. Call me Lizzie.”

“Okay, Lizzie.” He grins, “I’ll just go fetch the carriage, see you by the front door?”

Lizzie nods, and you give him a small smile and watch as he walks towards the door. You try not to stare as he shrugs on his coat but it’s hard to, and you know that Lizzie is feeling the exact same way that you are.

“Oh YN.” She gushes, turning to you and placing her hands upon your shoulder, “He’s a perfect gentlemen.”

“Is that so?” You ask, walking towards the door also to fetch your shawl, shrugging it on your shoulders.

“It is.” She copies your actions with her own, “He asked to dance, saying that you were the one to introduce me to him. I can’t thank you enough, dear sister.”

“It’s no issue.” You shake off, turning away from her so that she can’t see the fall in your face, “He seemed to take a fancy to you once I’d pointed you out from the crowd.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” You nod your head, turning to look at her. Her shawl was scraggly thrown upon her body, probably from how distracted she was, and you lean forward to sort it for her whilst she gleams over your shoulder at nothing. You wonder if this is what it was like to meet your husband, butterflies and distractions from that moment on. It hadn’t happened yet for you, and seeing the way Lizzie was acting, you decided that you didn’t really want it happen, “Couldn’t take his eyes off you, sweet one.”

She squeals and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you slightly. You were happy that she was happy, and you wouldn’t take that away from her.

The door opened, revealing a blushed faced Harry due to the cold outside, “Ready?”

“YN!” Your mother calls from the floor below you, “Can you please come and set the table?”

You groan and remove your paintbrush from your canvas. The day prior you had been given a small sum of money from your Aunt Jemima after visiting and immediately gone to the store in town to pick up some new canvases. It was heaven to receive little amounts of money like these and you almost always spent it on canvases so you wouldn’t have to use paper, which was the cheaper alternative that you had to buy.

“I’m a little busy!” You call back, moving so that you can shout out of your door, “Can you ask Lizzie?”

“She isn’t here!” Your mother calls back and you groan. You place your palette down on the table beside you, as well as your brushes in the pot of water you had brought up with you. You wipe your hands on your apron before pulling it over your head and off your body. You drape it over your bed carefully, being careful to not get anything on the linen.

You bounce down the steps, tucking your hair that falls down in ringlets by the side of your face behind your ear. Entering the kitchen, you place a kiss to your mother’s cheek. She stands over the side, chopping some vegetables that she’s going to bring to boil for your dinner. She greets you with a smile and continues chopping.

“Is Lizzie with Harry?” You ask, placing the cutlery beside each mat on the table, noticing that there were four like there had started to be now.

“Of course she is.” Your mother shakes her head, “They’re always somewhere causing trouble.”

You had to suppress your grin. Lizzie had been the good girl of the family for so long, always doing everything that was asked of her and your were the one who tended to ignore requests so that you could continue doing whatever you wanted to. Since Lizzie had met Harry, that had been completely flipped upside down. You were the good girl of the family who did everything that was asked of you, and Lizzie was the one always getting out of doing things by sneaking off with Harry.

Since the two had met just over two months ago, they had been inseparable. When the two of you weren’t being taught how to read and write by your mother, Lizzie was always somewhere doing something with Harry. The other week he had taken her to the theatre and words couldn’t explain how jealous you were. You and Lizzie did everything together, and you always had done, but now you felt second best to someone who she hardly knew. You knew a part of you was jealous, but you would never admit that. What you did admit to yourself was that you were lonely and missing your sister.

“Is Harry staying for supper?” You ask, filling up the water jug to be placed upon the table.

“I’m guessing so.” Your mother says, moving to bend down by the fire to check on the meat, “It’s ready. Will you go get them? I think they’re by the river.”

You nod your head, moving to the front door to retrieve your shawl and boots. They were always at the river, as though it was there place. You couldn’t understand for the life of you why they’d chosen that place out of all, especially during the winter months. Snow was just around the corner and the two of them decided to spend their days moments away from catching a cold by the river.

The walk itself was five or so minutes through the woods behind your house, watching your step for fallen branches and wild animals. Lizzie was usually the one who brought you to the lake, so it was a given that you hadn’t been in a while.

Once the trees start to disperse, you stand in the middle of the opening to try and spot them. You do, quite quickly in fact. They’re stood by the water, picking up stones every now and then to skim across it, rippling the stillness with their movements. Skimming stones felt like a normal thing to see people doing, but once you watch Lizzie throw her arms around his neck, you feel like a little portion of you crumbles inside. You hadn’t seen them like this before, and you never ever wanted to see them like that again.

“Lizzie!” You call, snapping them out of their trance so that they turn to look at you. Lizzie immediately removes her arms from around Harry’s neck.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No.” You shake your head, “Mother just asked me to collect the two of you for supper.”

The two nod and move around where they were stood to collect their things but you don’t wait for them. Instead, you turn around and walk back towards the house. You can hear them laughing but you refuse to look back, because you know that you won’t be able to handle it. The temperature drops dramatically as you walk back, and you pull your shawl closer to you to help preserve some heat. You had a suspicion that at some point this evening it would start snowing, which you weren’t too unhappy about. It would give you time to finish the painting you started today, and hopefully create some more.

They aren’t close behind you as you reach the door, so you enter and immediately walk towards the table which is looking a lot fuller than it had been.

“Are they coming?” Your mother asks and you nod, sitting down at the table. They enter a few minutes later, Harry greeting your mother with a kiss on the cheek.

The three join you at the table, Harry next to you, Lizzie next to him and your mother sat next to the spare seat — where your father usually sat. You all join hands in saying grace, your hand feeling completely natural sat in his. The way his encompassed yours was something that will be etched into your brain for the rest of the day, and for the days after that. It isn’t a light hold either, it’s a prominent one, and his fingers squeeze yours tightly. You drop your eyes to your plate, unable to look up at him because you’re unsure of what his features may hold.

You don’t say anything over the dinner, you just listen to their words. It’s all about Harry’s time in London, like it usually was, and the rest about what the two had been up too. Your mother asks the dreaded question, and yet again, you ignore any word that comes out of their mouths.

It was inevitable at this point that Harry and Lizzie, at some point, were going to marry each other. You were surprised that Harry hadn’t proposed yet, if you were honest. If soulmates were a thing, no matter how much it pained you to believe, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were the example. You wouldn’t ever say anything to anyone about this, but you do think a part of you wished that was you in her place. You wished that you were the one that he smiled at, held hands with, kissed upon the cheek as she left.

After the dinner had finished, you had returned up to your room and lit your candle, leaning against the window frame to peer outside. They stood by the gate, Harry’s hand holding hers and her hand holding is. They looked as though they truly loved each other and what you expected to be a measly kiss on the cheek like it usually was, wasn’t that at all. A little part of you died inside when you saw him lean forward and place a kiss upon her lips, his hand lifting up to rest against her cheek. You managed to draw yourself away from the window after you’d watched for a while or so, slipping under your sheets and into your linen, turning so that you’re facing the wall. A few minutes or so later, you hear the door open and the rustling of clothes and you suspect Lizzie gets ready for bed. You try not cry but you can already feel the tears starting to fall down your face.

“YN.” You hear the soft whisper of your voice over the crackle of the candle that was still on in the room, “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” You manage out through the hesitation within your voice.

After a few seconds, and a slight giggles escaping her lips, “He kissed me, YN.”

“Oh.” You try not to sound like you’re upset, “Are you going to marry him?”

“He hasn’t asked me.” She’s quick to say, “But I think he might.”

A month or so later, you’re stood in front of a carriage, one that sits Lizzie inside on her way to Etiquette Lessons. Every young lady in the village had to go to them when they reached a certain age to make sure that they are properly prepared for how to look after their husbands when the day comes. You weren’t quite at the age yet, but Lizzie was.

You had given her a hug, and watched your mother kiss her cheeks and hug her, but you now found yourself watching something that you had seen so many times now. Harry and Lizzie stood by the door of the open carriage, her hands in his as they whisper and chuckle at whatever they’re talking about. You can’t hear what they say, but you can tell it’s emotional from the tears that are running down his face.

You mother wraps her arm around your shoulder, squeezing your shoulder. You wondered if she knew. You hadn’t said anything to her, but she always seemed to know what was going on in your life even if you hadn’t told her anything.

Harry helped Lizzie into the carriage, and closed the door for her before coming to stand next to you. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him for a second, but he didn’t even look anywhere near you, he was watching the carriage as it left. The love of his life was leaving in it, so I’m not surprised he did so.

“Mother.” You say quickly once the carriage had turn off the path, “Can I return and paint?”

“Of course you can.” She places a hand on one of your cheeks and a kiss to the other, “Take Harry with you. He’ll need the company.”

You turn to look at him, and he just shrugs, so you nod. You return back to the house with Harry trailing behind you, looking like a lost puppy. The way his eyes seemed to droop, as well as his hair, all hinted to the fact that he was actually upset that she was leaving. He follows you into the room, and sits on the end of Lizzie’s bed whilst you pulled your paints out of your drawer.

“I’ve only been in here once before.” He says after a few seconds, running his hand over the linen of her sheets, “You were out. Something about Aunt Jemima.”

“Oh.” You start to face place some of your paints upon your palette, “I read to her, sometimes, and she pays me so I can buy paints. I’m hoping that one day she’ll take me to Europe with her.”

“Europe?” He asks, “You want to go?”

“More than anything.” You sigh, swirling your brush in the green paint you had just placed upon your palette, “More specifically I’m hoping she takes me France. I’ll be able properly practice my art then.”

“Can you not do that here?”

You hesitate for a second, hovering your brush over the canvas slightly, “I’ll be better suited if I go there. People will care more about my work.”

“It’s beautiful work.” He says after a few seconds, “I don’t know how France would change that.”

You think for a second about how to explain this to him, “Think of it like Etiquette school. The girls go and return as better wives than if they hadn’t gone. They would’ve been good wives, but not as good without the school.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“My art is good without France, just like the wives are without Etiquette class, but they are better with it. My art will be better with France.”

You turn around to see him nod his head, “I think I understand.”

“A part of it is also me wanting to leave this town.” You say, turning back around so that you can place your paintbrush back upon your canvas.

“I cannot fault you for that.” He says, and you turn to him again, only to see that he’s laid back upon the bed, a hand over his eyes, “Sometimes I wish I could leave.”

“Why don’t you?” You ask, “If one of us had the beings necessary to leave it would be you?”

“Beings necessary?” He pushes himself up on his elbow so that he’s looking directly at you, “And what would be those necessary beings?”

“Money, for one.” You say, moving so that you’re sat on your bed, looking straight at him, “Carriages. Knowledge of the world. The furthest I’ve ever gone is the neighbouring town and that was to drop something off for my mother.”

“Why don’t you leave then?”

You chuckle, raising your eyebrows, “I plan on it.”

“Ice Skating.” Harry says as he walks through your bedroom door, holding two pairs of ice skates in your hands.

“Harry!” You exclaim, placing your hand upon your chest at the shocked sight of him, “I could’ve been indecent and you would have never known!”

“But you aren’t.” He tips his head to the side, “Ice Skating. We’re going ice skating. The lake has frozen over and it’s perfect.”

“Are we now?” You ask, placing your palette down upon the table next to your easel, “Is Mr. Styles bored of his mansion.”

“I’m going to loose my mind.” He drops down on your sisters bed, the skates clattering to the floor as he does so, “Please come ice skating with me.”

“Harry.” You sigh, pulling your painting apron off, “I don’t even know how to ice skate.”

“Then I will teach you.” He says.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you nod your head, “I’ll do it if you let me paint you.”

“Deal.”

Over the past two weeks you and Harry had grown close. Not as close as Harry and your sister, but close enough for you to class him as one of your good friends. The two of you had started to do everything together, similarly to him and Lizzie but with some barriers. You hugged each other but you certainly weren’t as touchy deeply as they were with each other. You couldn’t do it to your sister, so you avoided doing anything that would be seen as wrong.

You did feel sorry for Harry. He had told you that he had sent three letters to Lizzie during this time and she hadn’t even replied to one. You weren’t quite sure why, but that was quite despicable on her part. The poor man was making himself sick with how much he was worrying about her, and you were the one who had seen it, and been the one to try and get him out of it. One of the things that you had begged him to let you do was paint him, but he kept rejecting your proposal. Instead, he told you that he liked to enjoy watching you paint rather than having you paint him.

You were excited to say the least that he had agreed to let you paint him, and you certainly weren’t going to miss that opportunity.

“Slow down.” You call to Harry, who’s around ten strides a head of you as you waddle your way with your dress in your hands through the snow, “I can’t keep up with you.”

“Walk faster then.” He says, turning to look at you with a grin across his face.

You groan and try to pick up the pace, nearly slipping a few times on some particularly icy parts of the ground but you make it to the lake in once piece. Harry passes you the skates he had picked up for you and you thank him for passing them to you. You kick your shoes off and fasten the skates, just as he does the same.

“Stay away from the middle.” He says, “It’s thinner than the edge.”

“I think you’re forgetting something.” You say as you try to stable yourself on the blades, “I have not idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s like walking, but on ice.” He deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I’ll let you hold my hand if you want.”

He holds his hand out and without really thinking you place your hand in his, allowing him to guide you onto the ice. His hand was cold, but so was yours, but having his in yours sent little flames across the entirety of your body.

At first you were unsteady on your feet, and you’re sure that you could’ve nearly broke Harry’s hand with how tightly you were squeezing it. He chuckled and made sure that you were continuously upright. After five minutes or so, you found the swing of what you were doing, and managed to move forward without any wobbles.

“I’m letting go of you.”

“No!” You exclaim, gripping his hand tighter so that he wouldn’t be able to pull away from you, “I’ll fall.”

“You won’t fall.” He chuckles, trying to pull his hand away again. “I will.” You shake your head, “Please, don’t.”

“You’re not going to fall.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

He somehow manages to release his hand from yours and skate backwards away from you, leaving you on your own. You hold your hands out, straightening them as though that’s going to help balance you out. With the little momentum you had left, you moved forward slightly until you came to a halt, where you pick up one of your feet to push forward and move forward. You manage to do it, without falling which surprises you.

“Harry!” You exclaimed, beaming at him, “I’m doing it.”

“I told you that you would.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You smile, and the two of you continue off across the ice.

Everything seems to be going well and good until you manage to catch your blade in a slit in the ice and go tumbling forward, going over on your ankle as you do so. You drop to the ground with a thud, a throbbing immediately falling upon your ankle.

“Harry. . .” His name escapes your lips through the the hiss of pain you let out.

“Are you injured?” He’s quick to ask, skating over to you as quickly as he possible could.

“My ankle.” You say, “I think I’ve sprained it.”

“You probably have.” He’s quick to say, “Lift up slightly, I’ll carry you back home.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“What are you going to?” He laughs, “Crawl?”

“I might.”

“You wouldn’t make it home for Christmas.” He bends down, “Come here.”

You lift your hand up and wrap your hands around his neck, allowing him to place his hands underneath your knees. He looks at you with a small smile on his face and skates back to the edge of the lake, placing you on the floor for a second so that you could both remove your skates.

“How did you get so good at skating?” You ask, returning to your prior position his arms.

“Home.” He says, “In England. It’s cold year round there, and the lakes are often frozen. My mother taught me.”

“You don’t talk about you mother.”

“She died when I was young.” He says, not looking at you the way that he had been, “I don’t remember a lot about her.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head, “You were merely curious.”

You drop your eyes to the white around the two of you, “My mother says that my curiosity may get me in trouble one of these days.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He chuckles, “But that’s something that makes you, you.”

Without really thinking, you say the next few words, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.”

He shakes his head, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You nod your head, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m no Lizzie YLN.”

“No.” He shakes his head, “You aren’t Lizzie, but you are YN. This world doesn’t need anymore Lizzie’s in it.”

“I thought maybe you’d have a thousands Lizzie’s if you could.”

“I wouldn’t need a thousand if I could have the one.”

“You do have you.”

He shakes his head, “I told her before she went that there was no need for Etiquette classes because to be my wife all I wanted was her. Lizzie wanted to go to get the best experience she possibly could.”

“You respected that?”

He looks directly over you again, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“We all know what actually happens at Etiquette classes, Harry.”

Harry only nods his head once, not saying anything else. He still carries you home, one of his arms rested comfortable under his knee whilst the other rests behind your back. You hoped you hadn’t offended him, but there was no way for you to know.

Etiquette classes, as a whole, were to teach young women the proper ways of being a wife during the day, and through the night thy would attend balls and such. The balls were so the women could hopefully meet eligible, rich men who they were hopefully going to marry. If you were already meant to marry someone else, it didn’t seem like a right thing to go to this place where the people were always after one thing.

As your feelings grew for Harry, you wondered whether Lizzie’s had diminished and that was why she decided to go to the classes. You certainly shouldn’t want that, but you couldn’t lie and say that a part of you did.

“Mrs. YLN?” You mother comes running towards the two of you at Harry’s call of her name, “We’ve had a little accident.”

“What have you done now?”

“I went over on my ankle.” You deadpan.

“Harry will you get me some ice?” He nodded and moved towards the kitchen whilst you mother freed your ankle and rested it upon her knee.

He came back with ice wrapped in a cloth and passed it to your mother who placed it upon your ankle.

“Thank you for bringing her home, Harry.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I shouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “Thank you for the offer, though. But I should be returning home.”

“Pass my love onto your father.”

“I will.”

He throws you once last look, one that you can’t quite pinpoint the emotion of. After a few seconds he drops his eyes, and walks out of the door without looking back. You turn to look at your mother, who’s got a skeptical look upon her face as she looks at you.

“What is it?”

“Does he know?”

“Does he know what?”

A small smile crosses her lips, “That you love him.”

You lips part in shock before you clamp them shut, “I. . . I feel no such thing.”

“You had just lied to me, child.” She shakes her head, “I know love when I see it.”

“Mother.” You shake your head, “He loves Lizzie.”

“I know.” She places her hand upon your cheek, “You’ll be the one to pick up the pieces when she breaks his heart.”

Lizzie was due to return home today, on Christmas Eve of all days, and the house certainly looked as though it was ready for her.

You, your mother and Harry had spent quite a while this year decorating the house to be as Christmassy as possible. The thing that you still think about to this day was jumping on Harry’s back so he could lift you up to reach the star, your mother smiling as she watched the two of you.

The carriage returned at around midday. You were stood next to Harry at the end of the garden, with you mother next to him. The carriage came to a halt and the driver was the one to open the door, Lizzie immediately tumbling out and throwing her arms around your mother who had taken a few steps forward.

She didn’t look like Lizzie, in your opinion. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the dress upon her body looking more expensive than the ones that she had gone with. The material was a blushed pink colour, with fancy detailing upon the corset and a puffy skirt that was one of the biggest that you had ever seen in your life. Lizzie looks happy to see your mother to say the least, but you’re quite surprised when she moves to you next instead of Harry.

“Hello!” She throws her arms around your shoulder, placing her head on your shoulder whilst you placed yours on hers, the material of her fancy coat hitting your cheek. You hadn’t seen anything quite like it before, never mind felt anything quite like it before, “I’ve missed you so much. How are you?”

“Well, thank you.” You pull away. clearing your throat and wiping your hands upon your skirt slightly, “The same old. It’s you who I should be asking that question to.”

She smiles and pulls away, holding her small bag close to herself as she looks at the person stood next to you. Harry looks as though he’s about to cry, and so does Lizzie if you’re being brutally honest. The two of them needed to be alone, and you understood that. When your mother motioned you to follow her back into the house, you didn’t hesitate with your movements, following her back into the house.

“I feel as though dinner might be late tonight.” You mother says as she closes the door behind you, fumbling to take off her scarf, “I feel like they might be out there for a while. Why don’t you go up and finish your painting?”

You nod your head, not wanting to say anything. You remove your outdoor gear and race up the stairs. You know you shouldn’t, but you immediately run to the window to see whether you can see the two of them, but you’re unable to.

Lizzie looked like a different person, but she sounded like Lizzie when she opened her mouth. The clothes that she wore might have changed but she was still your sister, the same sister who had the man you loved following her around like a lost puppy. Lizzie was the same Lizzie as she always had been, and that meant that she probably did feel the same way about Harry as she did before she left. There was a selfish streak in you that wished that wasn’t the case, and she had completely forgot about her feelings for Harry and had met someone else, but until you properly had a conversation with the girl, you couldn’t be too sure that was the case. You couldn’t be sure either that if that had happened, Harry would want you in that way.

You found yourself unable to paint, so you dropped down upon your bed and sat with your back against the wall, watching the outside world as your thoughts danced around within your head. You found the thoughts spiralling through your head that you were still a young woman at the end of the day, one who could have a line of men wanting to marry you but you instead found yourself second best to your sister, and that shouldn’t be happening. No matter how much you loved the man, or had grown to be accustomed to his company, being second best wasn’t something that you had set your heart on being, and you wouldn’t be for him.

You were the first YLN he had met, yet he had chosen your sister first and he was going to lay in that bed now.

“YN!” You mother called from downstairs, “They’re here.”

Christmas Eve dinner, to say the least, was one that you’d never forget. Harry looked as though he was either going to burst out crying or kill someone at any moment, Lizzie looked exhausted and your mother and yourself were sat in the middle of the two of you trying to make ends meet of what had happened. Harry’s eyes caught yours once, but he was quick to flutter them away and take another forkful of vegetables and place it in his mouth.

“Lizzie, you haven’t told YN and I anything about your time away.” Your mother started, probably not the best topic of conversation but one that would split up the silence hopefully, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did.” She wipes her mouth upon her napkin, “I had an amazing time. Met some amazing people. Actually, there is one person that I’ve invited for you to meet for the new year.”

“You have?” Your mother raises her eyebrow, “How wonderful.”

“His name is Theodore.”

That’s all it takes for Harry’s fork to clatter to the plate, his chair screech across the floor and his body to stand up.

“I’m, uh, truly sorry Mrs. YLN.” He says, “The meal was lovely but I’m not feeling very well so I think it’s best that I go home.”

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.” He nods his head, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, “So sorry again, have an amazing Christmas.”

“You too, Harry.”

Once the doors closed, Lizzie’s the next person to drop her cutlery and sulk off upstairs. The slamming of the bedroom door shakes the whole house. You place another bit of potato into your mouth and slowly chew whilst looking at your mother.

She sighs, “Will you go check on your sister for me?”

“But—”

“You’ll get to see him later, don’t worry.” She says, “I’m going to plate him and his father some food. God knows they won’t eat without it, and you can take it over for me.”

You nod your head, taking a sip from your glass of water before standing up and making your way upstairs. You cam hear Lizzie’s cries before you open the door, and you know that its because of what had obviously happened before the two of them had come to lunch. You push the door open, to see her laid on her bed face down, her head deep within her pillow. You push the door closed behind you and back up until your back is directly placed upon the solid wood.

“Are you engaged to him?” You say, looking down at your shoes so that you don’t have to make eye contact with her.

You can hear the bed creek beneath her as she moves, but you still don’t look up, “To who?”

“To Theodore.”

“No.” You lift your eyes up just as she shakes her head, “I’m not.”

“But you want to be.”

“What makes you think that?”

You scoff and shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, “You forget that I’m your sister, Lizzie. I know you better than you know yourself.”

After a few seconds, she speaks again, “He’s going to propose.”

“He is?” You take a few steps forward until you’re sat upon your bed, directly across from her, “Why, Lizzie?”

“We’re in love.” She quickly says, her eyes bulging out the way that they do when she starts to get upset, “When you’re in love, you get married YN.”

“I thought you were in love with Harry.”

“I love Harry.” She says, shaking her head, “But I’m not in love with him. I love him as a best friend.”

“He loves you.”

“I know.” She shakes her head, “I just didn’t love him the way I love Theodore. He’s just so kind, and so gentle and he makes me feel things that I just haven’t felt before.”

The way that she stands up immediately makes your mind immediately fall to a place that you know isn’t where it should be. Your eyes widen and she looks at you the exact way that you know that what you thought is right.

“Lizzie.” You voice comes out as a whisper, and you shake your head, “You didn’t.”

“I love him, YN.” She shakes her head, “And he loves me.”

“We always said we’d save that until marriage.” You shake your head, “You told me that’s what you have to do.”

She sits down on the bed next to you, reaching so that her hands are placed upon both of your shoulders, “And you do. Promise me you will, YN.”

“I will.” You quickly say, “I promise, I will.”

“Good.” She sighs, dropping her hands from your shoulders, “You will not end up like me, I won’t let you.”

“How have you ended up?”

She looks at you with tears in her eyes, “I think I’m pregnant, YN.”

You were holding a basket of food that your mother had collated for Harry and his father. You had knocked upon the door once and now you were stood, waiting for someone to open the door and let you in from the cold. The temperature had certainly dropped since you had been outside earlier, but you weren’t surprised at that fact.

“Miss. YLN.” Harry’s father opens the door. You’ve only ever met him once, and from what Harry has told you, he’s quite a cold man, “May I ask why you’re here?”

“Uh, my mother sent you and Harry some food over.” You say, holding up the basket within your hands, “I just came to deliver it.”

“Please.” He says, “Come in.”

You step through the threshold of the house, entering one that was three times the size of your own but just as empty as yours.

“I’ll take that to the kitchen for you.” He says, holding his hands out so you can place the basket within them, “H is upstairs, in the library. Third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

The stairs themselves were probably bigger than your entire house, and as you ran your hand across the wood of the banister you couldn’t believe how expensive it felt beneath your fingers. You followed Mr. Styles’ instruction and walked along the grand hallway until you found the third door on the left. It was slightly ajar, so you placed your hand upon the wood and push it open, the door creaking as you did so.

Your mouth drops open at the sight of the room in front of you. When Mr. Styles said Library you thought it may have been a small room with bookshelves in it, but it wasn’t, it was a full library at the most. It was full of the most books you’ve ever seen anywhere, floor to ceiling bookshelves. You couldn’t help your want to run your fingers across every single cover.

You spot Harry sat at the window, his knees bent and a book placed open upon them. You cross your hands in front of you, taking a few steps towards Harry. The sound of your shoes against the wooden floor notifies Harry that you’re there, and he lifts his eyes to look at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, closing the book that he had open.

You take a few more steps towards him, sitting at the opposite side of windowsill to him, “I should be asking you that question.”

He chuckles, lifting his leg up again so that it’s on the windowsill, “I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe that.” You shake your head, coping him so your feet are up also and you’re facing him, “Tell me truthfully. How are you?”

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes down to his knees, “She doesn’t want to marry me.”

“You asked?”

“Today.” He nods, looking back at you again, “I had a ring.”

After a few seconds you whisper, “Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“The ring.”

He opens his jacket and fumbles around in the inside pocket, bringing out a small blue velvet box which he throws towards you. You catch it, nearly dropping it but you manage to keep it in your hands. You raise your eyebrow at him and he offers a small smile, one that you knew wasn’t the most truthful of how he’s feeling.

You open the box and see a beautiful ring in the box. The ring itself was silver, but the thing that drew your and probably Harry to it was the gem. It looked to be diamond, not a large one at that but one that was a lovely sized. The light from the window caused the diamond to glimmer slightly, a gasp escaping from your lips.

“Harry.” You shake your head, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought so too.” He says, running his thumb across his bottom lip before shrugging his shoulders, “Lizzie didn’t think so.”

“It’s not because of you, Harry.” You quickly say, “Nothing to do with you.”

“It must’ve been, YN.” He says, “You’re sister doesn’t want to marry me. Me! Not anyone else.”

“She can’t marry you, Harry.” You say, the tears starting to collect in your eyes, “I don’t know whether if situations were different she would marry you, but in this situation it isn’t your fault. I can promise you that.”

You watch a tear fall down is cheek, “Has she met someone else?”

You look away, pursing your lips and closing your eyes to try and stop the tears from falling down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Is it Theodore? Is she engaged to him?”

“She will be.” You say, standing up and moving so that you’re in front of him, placing your hand upon his knee, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“She’s my sister.”

“You’re not in charge of her.”

You reach forward and place your hand upon his cheek, using your thumb to delicately wipe the next year that falls out of his eye. His tilts his head slightly so that it’s nicely rested within your hand, and you smile at him, which his returns.

“Did she ever love me?”

“She did.” You say, nodding your head, “She loves you. She’s just not in love with you.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

You shake your head, “I don’t think anything will at this point. You just need to wait, time will heal. I’ll be here for you.”

“I think.” He says, dropping his knees so that he can move closer to you, “I think you might be able to.”

“Whatever you need, H.” You say.

He moves closer, you can feel him closer to you, but you certainly hadn’t expected for him to place his lips upon yours. The kiss at first in gentle, his lips pressed against yours so gently that at the start you couldn’t quite feel him upon you. Then it’s more urgent, with his hand placed upon your cheek, his lips moving against yours at a quick pace.

“H.” You whisper, pulling away slightly as he removes his lips from yours, using them to dance down your cheek, to your jaw and then resting against the skin of your neck.

He removed his hand from your cheek and hooking it underneath your thigh so he can manoeuvre you to be on his lap.

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed a boy, and you can’t believe that the boy of all people is Harry Styles. You hadn’t been this close to anyone before, straddled across his lap with your knees each side of his waist, your skirt bunched up at your waist. The second you were comfortable, his lips attached to your again, his hands rested upon the small of your back. A feeling brewed within you, causing your hips to involuntary buck towards his. You felt him smile against your lips, and that was when you snapped out of the daze that you were in.

Without really thinking, you pulled away and clambered off of his lap. He looked flushed as you pulled away, his hair a little messy and his lips red from the kissing.

“No.” You hold your hand out at him, shaking your head, “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” He said, standing up and taking a few steps towards you.

“Because. . . because you just can’t.” You shake your head, lifting your hands to run through your hair.

“I thought.” He looks at you quizzically, “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Maybe I did, a little bit.” You say, shaking your head, “But you didn’t want it to be me. You wanted it to be Lizzie.”

“No.” He shakes his head, holding his hand out as if to touch yours, “I didn’t want that.”

“You did, I know you Harry, and you did.” You sniffle slightly, shaking your head, “I’m not Lizzie and I’ll never be Lizzie, and I’ve accepted that. You’ll never love me like you love Lizzie, and I know that. But, Harry, I won’t be second best. I don’t deserve to be second best.”

“You aren’t second best, YN!”

You can’t help but let out a small sob at his words, “I am, Harry. From the first day that we met each other, Lizzie came first. She was the one who you couldn’t bore your eyes away from, not me. I don’t think I had a full conversation with you until Lizzie left for her classes.”

“That’s not true, YN.” He shakes his head, “I swear to you, it isn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You take a few steps back, “I won’t be second best.”

With that you turn away, leaving the house and leaving Harry. You couldn’t help the tears that fell as you walked across to your house.

You had made the decision that day that you weren’t to stay in America, that you were going to leave and you knew that Aunt Jemima was the person you knew would be able to help you with that.

Your Aunt Jemima was getting older, but before she died she wanted to go to Europe on last time, more specifically France. She had asked you years ago to be her companion on the trip, and you had agreed, but that was the last time you’d ever spoken to her about it. On Christmas day, you had been the one to bring the idea back up in conversation, dropping in little hints until Aunt Jemima picked up what you were saying. She had been the one to say that in the new year you were going and that you had to be ready to leave on January second with no complaints, not that you had any anywhere.

When Aunt Jemima’s carriage came, you said your farewell’s to your mother and you sister, and Theodore who had proposed to your sister the day prior — and left. As you sat in the carriage, you couldn’t help but look at Harry’s house, and you weren’t shocked to see him at the window watching your every move. You didn’t look away from the window until you could no longer see the house, when you turned to look straight in front of your, your gloved hands resting upon your knee.

“Forget him.” Aunt Jemima says, sighing slightly and shaking her head, “He isn’t right for you.”

“I have no idea what you are on about.” You shake your head, looking out of the small carriage window so that you don’t have to look at your Aunt.

“That Styles boy.” She says, and you immediately snap your eyes towards her, “Don’t think I don’t know about the two of you.”

“There isn’t anything to know.” You shake your head at her.

“There obviously is.” She says, “Or you wouldn’t be sulking the way that you are.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“I haven’t brought a liar with me have I ?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at you.

“You haven’t.” She shakes her head, “I am sulking, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” She says, pursing her lips, “Are you going to tell me about him, then?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re about to cry, my dear.” She flutters her eyes to you slightly, “I could sense your heartbreak from a mile away. He’s the reason you wanted to come, isn’t he?”

“I wanted to come.” You say, messing with your fingers that sat on your lap, “He just. . . gave me a reason to finally do it.”

“I think he’s the idiot in this situation.” She says after a few seconds and your lips part in shock, before you clamp them back together, “He’s the one who got involved with you and your sister. I wonder if he can even get out of bed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well. First of all your sister broke his heart by not marrying him and marrying that other man, I’ve already forgotten his name.” She shakes her head, “Then you broke his heart by doing whatever you did when you went to go see him on Christmas Eve and you’ve been depressed ever since you left.”

“Who told you that?”

“Who do you think?” Aunt Jemima clicks her tongue and shakes her head, “My daughter told me. Wouldn’t stop crying saying that you’re leaving the love of your life and her other daughters pregnant by some pretentious nobody.”

You run your hand over your forehead, scrunching your face at the fact that everyone knew, “My mother knows too much.”

“Your mother just knows you.” Aunt Jemima shakes her head, “At least you haven’t ruined your life before it’s even begun, with a child of all things.”

“You’re just saying that because you never had children.”

“Why would I want an offspring of myself and some other man?”

“It’s about love, Aunt Jemima.” You can tell that you’re about to cry, so again you turn your head, “When you love someone, that’s something to bring that love into a being.”

“I just don’t see why.” She says, curling up her nose, “But then again, that’s why I’m seventy, unmarried and childless. Don’t think about the Styles boy too much. You’re going to a different country for heavens sake, think of all of the people that you’ll meet whilst you’re there. You’ll forget him soon, my dear, and he’ll forget you. That’s what we’ll hope for anyway.”

The tears do start to fall now, in quick streams down down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them. Aunt Jemima, no matter how much you despised her sometimes, she certainly knew what she was talking about. You turned your head so that you were looking away from your aunt, looking out of the window and trying your hardest not to let any sobs fall out of your lips.

You did love Harry and if he had stopped your from getting into the carriage, your probably would. If he had asked to marry you, you probably would have said yes without any hesitation but at the same time you also felt as though you were second best, and that wasn’t a place that you ever thought you’d be.

No matter how much you loved him, and yearned to be with him, you knew for the sake of your sanity and for the sake of staying as a strong independent woman. You were taught from being young from your mother that no matter how many people try to say that all you were worth is more than just being the wife of some rich man. Your mother also said that you had a talent and that you had to use it.

France was going to be the place that you were going to use your talents, and be a better person for doing so.

Four Years Later

“Pierre.” You say, smiling at the man as he held his hand out to you, “Puis-je vous demander ce que vous faites?” May I ask what you’re doing?

“Je demande à la plus belle fille de la pièce de danser.” You can’t help the blush that falls across your cheeks. You nod your head and slip your hand into his, standing up and following him into the middle of the dance floor. I’m asking the most beautiful girl in the room to dance.

The music changes around them to one of the most popular songs in Paris to dance to. He lifts his arm up, just as you do to his, and start the movements in the same way that everyone else in the room had.

You had arrived in France with Aunt Jemima four years ago, fresh faced after the journey and ready to start your new life there. At first it took a while for you to get used to the new life that you now lived. Aunt Jemima’s French house, if it was even possible, was bigger that her house back home with more nooks and crannies to explore but more importantly, a bigger garden that you could paint every corner of. The main thing that you focused on during the first few months of your arrival was settling in and learning the language which you knew would be hard, but it was something that you needed to do.

Pierre was the person who had helped you do that.

Aunt Jemima had hired him to be your French tutor. She said that he was one of the best for you, and that he certainly was. You learnt the basics within the first few months until you were able to finally communicate with the people around you in their native language. At first, you despised Pierre and his pretentious way of making you feel small, but here you were, fours years later, dancing with him and waiting for his proposal at some point.

Aunt Jemima would be turning within her grave if she knew you were planning to marry Pierre. Even though she hired him when you first arrived to teach you, but she found him incompetent to do anything else. She could tell that you were falling for him, and told you multiple times to not settle for him but you were ignoring her.

If you listened to every one who your Aunt Jemima told you to not settle for, you’d never marry at all.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He asks, in English this time, his accent seeping through with every word that he spoke.

“Plans?” You raise your eyebrow, “To paint, yes, but I suppose I can clear my schedule.”

After learning the French language, that was when you had started your painting classes. You started taking everything in, listening to every single word the teacher said to you until you were good enough to start on your own. The first time one of your pieces was shown in an exhibit, people loved it, and you found yourself creating more and more works and creating more and more links with people around.

“Do.” He says, nodding his head, “Je veux t’emmener quelque part. Quelque part spécial.” I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere special.

You bite your lip, nodding your head whilst trying to suppress the large smile that’s ready to cross your entire face.

Pierre was a hopeless romantic, always showering you in large gestures that caused your heart to flutter within your chest. He hadn’t kissed you, and even though you knew that you knew deep down that you shouldn’t compare it, you found yourself not feeling the way that you did the last time you found yourself with a man.

At twenty-three you were late to get married, and if you ever wanted kids you would have to do so quicker than anything you had ever done in your life because you knew that your days were going to start become numbered.

“What time should I be ready?”

“I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

The song ends, your courtesy and he bows and that’s when you walk back towards the table you were sat at, picking up your glass of Champagne and taking a sip.

“YN.” You stop drinking immediately, nearly choking on the liquid that you had already started to sip. You know that voice anywhere, etched into your brain from when you were just a mere eighteen year old with a heart twice the size of the one you had now, “As I live and breathe.”

You turn around, immediately seeing a man that you had left years ago stood in front of you. He looked exactly the same as when you knew him all those years ago, except his features were a tad harder and his hair curler that it was before if it was even possible which you weren’t too sure about.

“Harry.” You swallow the lump in your throat, placing your glass down on the table and turning so that you were facing him, “It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has.” He says, lifting his own glass to his lips, “You look good. Happy.”

“I am.” You nod your head. You look at him, his eyes emptier that you had ever seen them before, not even when Lizzie refused to marry him, “I wish I could say the same for you, but. . .”

“I look exhausted.”

“You do.” You say, watching as his lips curled up into a smile as do yours, “How are you? Genuinely.”

“I’m. . .”

“Ma chérie.” You feel an arm slip around your waist, rest upon the small of it as he stands next to you, “Qui est-ce?” My darling. Who is this?

“Ah.” You brush a piece of your hair that had fallen out of place away from your face, “Pierre, this is Harry. Harry this is Pierre.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, lifting the glass to his lips to drink the rest of it. As you watch, it doesn’t seem to even hits the sides with how quickly he drinks it.

“Bonjour.” Pierre holds his hand out to Harry, “Comment allez vous?”

Harry looks at Pierre’s hand but he doesn’t shake it, and that’s when you lift your fingers to run against your forehead, “Are you two, marié?” Married.

“No.” You shake your head, stepping to the side slightly so that Pierre’s hand isn’t upon your waist anymore, “We are. . .”

“Courting.” Pierre’s quick to interject, “I think that’s what to call it.”

You watch as Harry’s eyebrows raise, and without saying anything to the two of you, he turns around and mutters, “I need another drink.”

As he walks away, you can see the slight stagger in his walk, one that many intoxicated people hold and you know that him being not himself treads deeper than just seeing you there today.

“YN.” Pierre places a hand upon your shoulder, “How do you know that man?”

“He’s someone from home.” You say, watching as Harry drinks another full glass of Champagne where he’s staggered off to, “He’s an old friend.”

He leans down until you can feel his breath at your ear, “Just a friend.”

You nod, leaning into him as he places a kiss to your neck, “Bien.” Good.

Since Pierre wasn’t picking you up until eleven, you decide that you have the time to at least start your next painting. In the garden of your Aunts house that you had inherited, you had built a gazebo with the money that you had made from selling your art pieces to exhibits that overlooked the garden and the pond from the four different directions that it had around it.

You had decided that the swans that swum in the pond were looking particularly delightful today and you decide that is the direction that you want to start your painting. You set up your easel and your canvas, as well as your paints that you brought on a palette and start figuring out the dimensions of the painting and what you wanted it to look like.

You hold up your paintbrush, closing one of your eyes as you move it from portrait to landscape and back again.

“You always were a perfectionist.” The paintbrush in your hand clatters you the ground as it slips through your fingers, due to you jumping. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here, and you certainly weren’t expecting to hear his voice.

“And you always had a tendency to shock people.” He laughs, his dress shoes hitting the decking with loud pats.

“My apologies.” He says, slipping one of his hands into the pocket of his trousers, taking another step closer to you, “I didn’t mean to shock you, love.”

You place your palette down, brushing your hands off slightly on your apron. You’d usually wear your comfortable clothes to paint in, the attire usually not even being a skirt but often trousers, but because you were meeting Pierre later, you knew that you had to dress up. It wasn’t the fanciest dress you owned, but the light blue material complimented your features in a way that you just couldn’t resist when you saw it in the shop.

“Yes you did.” You lips curl up into a smile, “You forget that I know you Harry, even after all these years.”

“Lots of things can change in four years, YN.”

“You haven’t.”

“You haven’t, either.” He smiles.

You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and take a step closer to him, clearing your throat slightly as you do so, “I want to apologise for last night. Pierre can be a little. . .”

“Intrusive.” Harry leans against the pillar nearest to him and you nod, knowing that is exactly what he is.

“I’m very sorry. I would have loved to have caught up with you.”

“I probably wouldn’t have been in the best frame of mind to do so.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “I was drunk, if you couldn’t tell.”

“I could.”

“Now.” He lifts his hand up and motions to the garden around you, “Are you going to tell me what I’ve missed in the last four years?”

“Uh.” You move so you’re stood next to him, leant against the barrier, “I moved with Aunt Jemima. This was her house but she died a year ago, if I remember correctly. She left me the house in her will, and I decided that I wanted to stay.”

“Have you been at home at all during the last four years?”

You nod your head, “I went home when Lizzie got married, that was when I met Anna for the first time. Then I went back for Aunt Jemima’s funeral because she decided she didn’t want to be buried here.”

“I must have missed you.” He says, “I spent a lot of the last four years in England with my grandparents.”

“Lizzie told me.” You say, “She said that she did invite you to the wedding but your father explained that you were in England.”

He nods his head, “I left a few months after you. I think my father was fed up of my moping.”

It shouldn’t have hurt you, but his words did. Your chest squeezed slightly at his words. Even though you knew you were doing what you were doing to benefit yourself, you couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t missed him. You had lost a friend when you left, as well as your first love.

“Are you married?” You ask, not really knowing why the words escape from your lips in the way that they do.

He shakes his head, holding his hand up to reveal his completely ring free hand, “Nope. I can’t really say that I’ve been looking.”

“I’m sure you’ve had opportunities.” You say, “You’re the perfect gentlemen, Harry. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve had women queuing to marry you.”

He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “People have tried but I haven’t been interested.”

“Why not?”

“Some may say that I’m still hung up on somebody.” His eyes flutter away from yours, and you take it as the opportunity to look down at your hands, “But that doesn’t matter. What about you and Mr. Intrusive.”

You chuckle, lifting your eyes up to look at his, “He was my French language teacher. I didn’t like him, despised him to be fair but here were are a few years later and I think he’s going to propose to me later today.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

If you were asked this question but anybody else, you probably would have immediately said yes and that was enough for you to know that you should marry him. But seeing Harry stood there, the way that he is, waiting for you to answer what should be one of the easiest questions ever, reminds you that this may have gotten a lot more confusing now with Harry’s reappearance.

“I. . .” You hesitate and drop your eyes down to the ground again, “I think so.”

“You think?” He says, “I can’t say that I believe that you do if you only think that you want to marry him.”

“I do.” You say, quickly.

Harry stands up and takes a few steps towards the opposite end of the gazebo, “Do you love him?”

This answer, so it should be another one, was easy to answer, “No.”

“Then why are you marrying him.”

“I’m twenty-three, Harry.” You say, your heels tapping the wood as you move to stand next to him, looking at the pond in front of you, “I’m certainly not getting any younger. If I returned home to mother and father without a husband and children I believe they would disown me.”

“They wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “They love you too much.”

“I’ve had three letters from them asking about grandchildren.” You deadpan, looking at him with a stoic look on their face.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t want to marry someone who you don’t love.” He says.

“If I don’t marry Pierre, who will I marry?”

After a few seconds, the smallest whispers escapes his lips, “You could marry me.”

The whole world seems to slow down around you, and you turn to look at him. He’s already looking at you, with those green eyes that you became so accustomed to all those years ago. You knew each other in all for three months, but you spent every second of every day with each other when Lizzie was away, and it certainly showed with how close you became. Marrying Harry could be the thing that you need, have always needed. You haven’t been as happy as you were when you were back him with him in a long time.

“Harry.” You say, the words coming out in a small whisper, “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” He says, quickly to say the least, “I haven’t been more sure about anything in my life before.”

“Harry—”

“Madame.” One of the groundskeepers say, walking towards the two of you, “Monsieur Perney est là.” Mr. Perney is here.

“Merci, Alfred.” You clear your throat to try and mask the uncertainty in your voice, “Ça ne prendra qu’un seconde.” Thank you, Alfred. I will only be a second.

The man nods and walks away, and you turn back to look at Harry, who has the same look on his face as you do on yours. There’s a level of defeat between the two of you.

“I need to, um, go meet with Pierre.” You say, hands gripping the material of your dress.

“Is that a no?” He takes a step towards you.

You sigh, “It’s a, I have to think about it.”

He nods, “When will you know? This is probably a good time to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow.”

That changed everything. It wasn’t as though now you had a few days to think through and make your decision, you had to make it quickly before he goes.

“Tomorrow?”

He nods, “Father’s ill. Paris was my last hooray before I go back home to be an adult.”

You take a few moments to think, “Will you be able to return back here this evening?”

“For you? Of course.” He says as though he doesn’t even have to think about it.

You nod your head and take a few steps towards him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye Harry.”

“I’ll see you later, love.”

“C’est une belle journée.” Pierre says as the two of you walk side by side around a park, the spring heat light upon your skin as you do so. It’s a beautiful day.

“It is.” You say, not being able to pull your eyes away from the ground below you.

You knew that you shouldn’t be thinking about this at all, that it wasn’t fair to Pierre, but all you could think about was Harry. You couldn’t get the look of his face out of your head as you kissed his cheek and walked away, as though he felt like that was it between the two of you. You were still unsure of the decision that you were going to make, but once you found yourself stood at the top of some steps, looking out at the park below, you knew that you were to make your decision sooner of later.

“Is something bothering you?”

“No.” You shake your head, finally lifting your eyes to look at his, “Everything is swell, thank you.”

“Good.” He takes a step closer so that his fingers are brushing yours, “YN?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” He says, and the two of you turn so that you’re facing each other, his hands gripping yours, “A very long time, and I was wondering whether I could ask you something?”

“We have.” You know what the question is before the words have left his lips, and you’re already beginning to prepare yourself for what you’re going to hear the next time he open his lips, “And you can.”

He clears his throat and fumbles within his inside pocket, drawing out what you know is a ring box. He lets go of your hand which he was still holding with his free one and drops down to his knee, using his other hand to open the small box.

“YN YLN.” He sighs, “Ma chérie. Will you marry me?”

The same feeling that you felt before overcomes you, when the whole world around you seems to be moving in slow motion. He looks so happy, his cheeks lifting in a wide grin that you can’t seem to shake from your sight. You can’t even bring yourself to look at the ring he had chosen for you, because it was at that time, seeing him on his knee, that you know what your answer is.

“I’m so sorry, Pierre.” You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, “I don’t think I can.”

“What?” His whole face drops, and guilt starts to wash over you. He immediately stands up, looking at you with wide eyes, “No?”

You shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Pierre.”

“I thought that you wanted to marry me.” He shakes his head, “Comment ai je pu être si stupide?” How could I have been so stupid?

“You haven’t. I promise you, Pierre.” You reach your hand forward to touch his arm, but he moves away from you, not wanting you to touch him you suppose, “I did want to marry you.”

“What has changed?” You look at him with sad eyes, tears threatening to spill and you watch the realisation flutter across his features, “He has.”

You drop your head, lifting your hand to wipe away the tears that had started to spill, “I’m so sorry.”

“Who is he?” His features switch to angry ones next, and his voice deepens and it shocks you to say the least, “You have never mentioned him and now you will not marry me because of him?”

“He’s an old friend from hime, like I said.” You repeat your words from the party last night, “I haven’t seen him since I moved here.”

“Do you love him?” The words are quick to leave his lips and you once again drop your head, in shame if you are completely honest, “Do you? I want to hear you say it?”

“I do.” His hostile tone scared you into answering, “I always have.”

“Did you ever love me?”

You shake your head, the little movement causing him to throw you one of the worst looks you’ve ever seen in your life and stalk away from you. Tears stream down your face, and you know that you probably look the worst you’ve ever looked in your life at this given moment but you couldn’t care less. You thought that you’d feel worse than you do, but you you feel more relieved than anything. You feel bad that you’ve had to break his heart, but the idea of going back home with Harry, seeing your family and saying that he is the man that you’re going to marry was enough for your heart to burst with excitement.

In your opinion, you couldn’t return home quick enough. The second you return to the house you’re fluttering around as quickly as possible, packing all the belongings that you’d need immediately when you returned but you knew that you could get the rest of your belongings shipped in at a later date.

The evening rolled around quicker that you had imagined it would, but you supposed time went quickly when you’re packing to go across the world with the love of your life. When you hear the knock at your door, you race to open it, not caring what people think because all you want is to see him.

You throw the door open, and there he is, stood in the exact same suit that you’d seen him in earlier. He did look tireder then he did earlier, but if you had spent the day worrying you probably would’ve looked worse than he did.

“Come in.” You open the door wider, so that he can step in, “Please.”

He takes a few seconds to look around at the entrance way to the house, his lips parting at the sheer size of it as you did when you first arrived. Aunt Jemima was an odd woman, you couldn’t lie, but she certainly knew how to pick a lovely house. You’d probably sell it now that you were going back to America.

He looked around for a while before he noticed your pile of belongings in the corner, all packed away and ready to leave.

His eyes meet yours and he looks as though he’s going to cry at any given moment, “Really?”

You nod your head, “I want to marry you, Harry. Always have.”

He takes two steps forward and places his lips on yours, his hands falling to your cheeks. It sent you back to four years ago, stood in the library after you’d just kissed him. You couldn’t believe that he was back with you, kissing your lips in the way that you had yearned for him too for so many years.

He pulls away and rests his head upon yours with a sigh, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Ever since that day. I should’ve done more.”

“It was my fault.” You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “I shouldn’t have left. I should have sulked for a while but gone back to you. I missed you so terribly.”

“I know why you did it.” He says, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I shouldn’t have proposed to your sister when it was you who made me happy. I knew that I shouldn’t have the second I said it, and I’m sorry for that.”

“We’ll start a fresh.” You whisper, resting your forehead upon his, “Forget everything that happened four years ago and start fresh. I love you, Harry. I always have.”

“I love you too.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his again, his hands resting comfortably upon your waist. It felt so familiar for you to be in his arms, his lips upon yours. He was the only person you had ever kissed, and now he’d be the only person that you’d ever kiss, and you certainly weren’t complaining about that.

“You may now kiss the bride!”

Harry smiles at you, and you beam up at him before the two of you lean forward and kiss each other. Cheers and applause erupt around the two of you, as well as confetti and flowers being thrown across the two of you as you walk down the aisle.

You had arrived a few months ago from Paris, and immediately thrown into trying to nurse Harry’s father back to health, which didn’t go to plan. It was hard on Harry, but he had you and that was the most important thing to him. His Father gave you his blessing for the marriage, saying that it was the best thing he’d heard in a while. The funeral was a few weeks later, and the two of you decided to have the wedding two months afterwards.

The two of you were moving into Harry’s house, across the road from the house that your mother and father still lived in. You had so many plans for what you wanted to do to with the place, seeing as though it was way too big for the two of you to live in on your own.

It was your wedding night, and you were walking up towards the front door of the house when you felt Harry’s arm slipping under your thighs. You squeal as he picks you up, wrapping your arms around Harry’s neck. Giggling, you lean forward and place a kiss to his cheek, causing the dimples to show within his cheeks.

“I love you, husband.” You say, smiling as he places you down in the entry way.

“I love you too.” He leans forward and places a kiss to your lips, “Wife.”

It was as though the atmosphere within the room changed the second he said that word. His hands found your hips, resting on the material of your dress. You took a step backwards, causing you to press your back against the inside of the door, your lips immediately attacked by his. Your hips involuntarily buck up to Harry’s, causing a groan to escape from his lips. After a few seconds, he pulls away, kissing down your neck.

“Harry.” You whisper, feeling a moan ready to tumble from your lips at the feeling of his teeth grazing your neck, “Take me upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” You nod your head and he’s quick to pick you up again, this time carrying you over his shoulder. You squeal and grip his shoulders to steady yourself, “Better give my wife what she wants.”

Once you were up the stairs safely, he placed you down and connected your lips again. The first thing you did once your feet touched the ground again, you gripped the edge of his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, listening to the material tumble to the ground and drop.

“Can I take your shirt off?” You mumble against his lips and he hums, allowing you to unbutton his shirt and shrugging that material off of his shoulders. This was the most you’d seen of Harry naked, and another human being at that.

“What about you?” He says, walking you both back until he’s sat on the bed, “Can I see you?”

“You’ll have to help.” You giggle, turning around. He starts to unbutton your dress, letting the material slip from your body into a pile upon the floor. He starts to unfasten your corset next, allowing that to slip from your body also. You were very exposed now, and you knew that, but the way that Harry looked at you sent all of your worries flying from your head.

He leaned back on his arms and clambered back into his lap, similarly to the way you had done all those years ago when you first kissed in the library of this very house. You wrapped your arms around his neck, just has his rested upon the exposed skin of your waist.

“YN?” You hum against his lips, “Can I make you feel good?”

You pull away and nod, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. It made you feel nervous that he was going to see you in the way that he was but this was Harry, your husband and the person you had wished to be touching you and near to the years that you had been apart. He helps remove the rest of your undergarments until you’re completely naked in front of him, laying and waiting for whatever he is going to do to you. He removes his trousers and underwear as you do so. There’s something about seeing him like that causes your hear to flutter and the rest of you to follow it.

He hovers over you, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips before moving down your neck and to your chest until he reaches your breasts, pressing kiss to the plushy skin around it until he wraps his lips around your nipple, lifting his hand up to pinch the other one between his fingers.

“Fuck, love.” He smiles up at you as you whither beneath him, feeling all of your senses heightened at the feeling of him on your skin.

He kisses down from your breasts to your stomach until his face is directly where you want it the most, where you’re literally throbbing for him. Without any warning, he leans forward and starts to attack your clit with his tongue, causing your hips to buck up from the bed and moans threatening to spill from your lips. Your hand drops to the top of his head, tugging at the curls that rest there. You’ve never felt like this, ever, in your life and you believe that if you feel it too much you will become accustomed to it. Your thighs try to clamp around his head but he stops you from doing so by gripping your thighs with his hands. After a particularly hard tug of his curls, a moan erupts from Harry and vibrates against your clit causing you to shudder.

He moved one of his hands up from your thigh to run over your wet slit, “Can I?”

“Please.” You’re quite embarrassed about how breathy it comes out but once he slips one of his fingers in, and a whine escapes his lips you can’t be bothered to care about the sounds that are leaving your lips.

“I need to stretch you out.” He says, curling his finger in you, “Can I?”

You nod your head, “Please.”

He pushes another finger into you, leaning his head back down to attack your clit again. He’s quite gentle with his tongue, using it to make a skilled attack on your clit, using it and his fingers to coax you closer and closer to the first ever orgasm you are to experience.

“Harry.” You whine his name and the feeling washes over you quicker than you had expected it too, but at the same time the man knew what he was doing and you to bring you to that peak. He continued to move his fingers and kitten lick at your clit until your thighs stop shaking. Once you have, he moves up your body again and kisses you.

“Good?”

“Really good.” You laugh, wrapping your arm around his neck, “I want to feel you, H.”

“Certain? Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do.” You place your hand on his cheek, pecking his lips, “I want to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smile, “It’s going to hurt whether we do it now or later. I want to.”

It’s uncomfortable to say the least, the feeling contrasting the one that you had felt earlier. You weren’t in a lot of pain, but it made it a little harder to feel the pleasure that you know you can feel from this act, Lizzie had told you plenty about it when you were younger. Harry grunted as he pushed into you, scrunching up his features. From the way that little groans and deep breaths escaped his lips, you knew that he was feeling an immense amount of pleasure.

“Feel good?” He grunts against your neck, pressing a small kiss to the skin as you smile, running your nails down his back. You knew that he was close, from the way he twitched inside of you, and your tried everything to coax it out of him.

“Feel so good, love.” He comes soon after his words, spilling into you and filling you up.

He collapses on top of you and you hold him close to you, pushing his curls off of his forehead that have stuck. You giggle as his pouts his lips, leaning down to play a kiss to them.

“I love you so much.” You smile.

“And I, you.” He pulls you close, “You were never second best, I hope you know that.”

“I do now.”

Three Years Later

“Mary.” You smile, placing your hand on the back of the little girls shoulder, “That looks beautiful.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Styles.” She says, continuing to add the green paint to her painting.

You and Harry figured out not that long after what do with the large house you had been left by his father. With your art and French skills, and Harry’s love for reading and slight knowledge of simple maths, you decided to convert the house into a school for the kids in the village. It was a place for them to come without having to worry and learn and focus on new skills.

At this point you had just finished one of your art classes and left the kids to let their creativity flow with some paper and paints, as well as pencils and other materials for them to use. You were making your way outside, smiling at the sight of Harry sat in the garden with a group of children sat around him, listening to every word he spoke as he read from a book.

The next thing you saw was your sister, stood with her husband and her children. You were surprised to see your little boy, Oscar, sat comfortably in her arms. The second he sees you, he’s making grabby arms in your direction.

He had just turned one and was now in a phase of not wanting to walk but be carried everywhere. He was certainly his father’s son, in more ways than one. He looked identical to his father, with green eyes and unruly brown curls and dimples, but he was also the exact same person as your husband, and if you thought it was a struggle to live with one Harry Styles, having an Oscar Styles as well was just as hard.

“Hi baby.” You pick him up and place him on your hip, his hand resting on your neck lovingly. From the way he drops his head to your shoulder, you can tell he’s almost ready for his nap. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

Harry comes over a few seconds later and kisses you on the lips briefly and places a kiss to Oscar’s cheeks. The two of you look over at what you have created for the kids around you and smile at each other.

“I’m glad I didn’t give up on you.”

“Me neither.” You smile, “I love you, mon chéri.”

“I love you too.”

Oscar looks up at the two of you with a pout on his lips, causing Harry to chuckle, “And we love you too, little man.”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles writing #harry styles au

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

mango, m | jjk | 1

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A love story between bad boy Jeon Jungkook and a strange girl with mango eating obsession.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story will eventually touch on parental abuse and suicide; suggestive words/actions; mentions of nightmares plaguing the reader; non-idol!AU - university!AU; badboy!Jungkook x sociallyawkward!reader, ft bestfriend!Hoseok and friendly!Namjoon

yes it’s MAMA 2020 JK, it do really be like that

–

You felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Did you do the Chemistry homework?”

You chewed the piece of dried mango in your mouth slowly. You knew that smooth voice. It was hard not to know it. Everyone at this university knew that voice, for better or for worse. You put down the book you were reading for your seminar class – Neuromancer, by William Gibson, translated into Korean. You turned your head, only a bit. Not facing him.

“I’m not about to let you cheat right in front of the professor, Jeon Jungkook.”

You heard rustling, rearrangement, and the seat next to you was suddenly filled with leather and denim, black hair with too much gel in it, and cheekbones higher than your GPA, which was quite high, both weighted and unweighted.

“Come on,” he whined in his deep voice that was not meant for whining. “You always sit in the front now. Move a couple rows back so I can copy.”

You reached into your messenger bag and pulled out another piece of dried mango. Placed the orange fruit in between your teeth and held it there, moving it from side to side. Jungkook was watching your mouth with his dark chocolate eyes. You sucked it into your lips and chewed.

“Why do you think I always sit in the front row, hm?”

You lifted your book again and continued reading, Chemistry homework right in front of you on the lecture hall’s narrow table. You didn’t bother to look up again until the teacher called for attention. Jungkook was no longer sitting next to you.

You had your eyes closed, leaning back against the wall, Samsung buds tucked safely in your ears, violins serenading you. Chemistry was going to start soon, but you had gotten here far too early. You wanted to read more of Neuromancer, but the class discussion was going to be on chapters one to three and you were already on chapter ten.

It was a bad habit, but you had many of them.

You felt movement next to you. Opened your eyes.

“You look different today,” Jeon Jungkook remarked. Smirking, with his black hair slicked back, different leather jacket, weird silver-coated pants. Holding his backpack by one strap, far too deflated for it to be containing much. Your messenger bag was smaller, but full of papers shoved into folders.

You tilted your head and reached into your bag. Pulled out another piece of dried mango, sticking it in between your teeth. Turned it around with your tongue, coating it with the sugary outside.

You were wearing a high-necked black dress, long-sleeved with a short skirt. Velvet, patterned tights with thorned roses and black boots with a ten-centimeter platform.

You sank your teeth into the softened mango and sucked it into your lips.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

You closed your eyes and didn’t open them until you heard the professor opening the lecture hall with his keys.

The outfit you wore last Chemistry lecture was an oversized purple sweatshirt and short black skirt, with opaque purple tights and black sneakers.

You were standing in the school store, picking up three packs of dried mango.

You brought them to the counter, to the student cashier. She rang you up and handed them back to you. You walked out, shoving them into your bag. Catching the eye of a certain someone.

“You shouldn’t eat so much sugar,” Kim Namjoon teased, nudging you with his arm.

Your eyes shifted to him and you slowly opened a bag. Shoved one in your mouth.

“They’re not that high in sugar,” you replied. “Read the nutrition facts.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Added sugar. Fruit is still sugar.”

“Mother Nature wouldn’t try to kill me.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows. “Um, viruses? Bacteria? Other human beings?”

“Viruses and bacteria are objective. They do not have desires or motivations,” you replied calmly, chewing. “Human beings are an abomination.”

“Still natural.”

“Then ‘artificial’ would have no meaning.”

“Artificial is defined as made by human beings.”

“Human beings are made by other human beings.” You stopped at a door, the seminar class. “The line is blurred.” You opened the door and entered, seeing the ten other students as you sat down in the middle, pulling out Neuromancer. Namjoon sat down next to you, pulling out his dog-eared book, wrinkled from being dropped in puddles. It was a stark contrast to your pristine copy.

“Did you finish reading?”

“Yeah,” you said simply as the lecture began.

Today, you wore pants.

Baggy, black, thick denim jeans with an oversized black sweater. A thick black belt, tight around your waist. No graphics. Hair down, too messy to have been brushed. You turned in your Chemistry homework at the front of the class and went to the far right. Sat down next to the wall where you knew the seat next to you was broken.

Last night was plagued with nightmares. You hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. You missed the first bus and, instead of your usual habit of being early, you ended up being on time today. In your book, on time meant late.

Nothing was going right today.

You watched the professor collect the homework.

You looked away, pulling out another book. Prey, by Michael Crichton. It was taking you a while to read this one. You had to look up words. English wasn’t your first language and the book was heavy with scientific terms. You cursed your lack of knowledge. It felt like you were losing some of the meaning by not knowing English well enough.

“I had to look for you today.”

Your nails curled into the softcover of the book.

Jeon Jungkook slid into the seat below you, grinning. Too much slicked black hair, leather creaking as he settled. Eyes dark like a starless sky.

You reached into your messenger bag. The plastic rustled as you felt around. Only two pieces left. Sigh, of course. You pulled one out. Placed it in your teeth. Spun it with your tongue. Jungkook watched, looking up at you. You snapped your teeth into it.

The piece sticking out of your lips fell.

Jungkook’s right hand shot out and caught it before it touched the ground. Ink black tattoos winked at you. Small ones, one of a smiley face with x’s for eyes, one of a heart, another of a king’s crown. One by one, his long fingers curled open, revealing the small piece of dried mango.

You chewed, eyes flickering to his face.

Jungkook smirked and pulled his hand back. He inspected the fruit, the curved part where your teeth had sliced into. Then he popped it into his mouth, eyes shifting to you.

But you were already reading your book, nose deep and ignoring him.

“Just let me try.”

You frowned, but held out your hands.

Jung Hoseok, your childhood best friend, inspected your nails. He had a row of tools in front of him. You were in his shabby little apartment. He didn’t attend university. He was a street dancer, sometimes a backup dancer for idol groups. He choreographed for a few lesser-known idols too. You knew Hoseok was going to get his big break soon.

You two rarely saw each other anymore.

He asked last week if he could practice painting your nails. He had odd hobbies like that. Hoseok liked fashion too. He was wearing colorful beaded bracelets, vintage white t-shirt, and loose gray sweatpants. Pink headband and a green hair tie holding up his bangs like a sprout.

The only reason Hoseok was your best friend was because you didn’t have any other friends, thus making him the best by default.

He began to file your long nails.

“Do you have a preferred shape?”

You blinked at him. “I don’t care.”

Hoseok smiled. “I think pointed nails would look good on you.”

“Okay.”

You were still wearing your baggy black jeans. Hoseok’s honey brown eyes went from your nails to your legs.

“Are you okay?”

You gave him a blank look.

Hoseok put down the glass nail file. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good friend.”

You shook your head slowly. “You’re busy. I think all your hard work will be noticed soon. You’re blowing up on Instagram.”

Hoseok’s eyes went wide. “You made an Instagram?”

“Only to follow you. I haven’t posted anything.”

He gave you a grateful smile. The tiny dimples on the sides of his lips appeared. “Thanks.”

You nodded. The sides of your mouth moved up robotically. Hoseok nudged you, picking up the glass nail file again.

“Don’t pretend smile. I can tell.”

“Sorry.”

Minutes passed. Hoseok blew the filed keratin away gently and wiped your nails with some acetone. He held out the colors. All bright. You picked the violet and he grinned.

“You can talk to me.”

“It’s always the same shit, Hoseok.”

He frowned, painting cautiously. The harsh scent of nail polish filled your nose.

“Even if it is,” Hoseok murmured, trying not to disturb his careful work. “Talking about it will help you vent.”

“Catharsis is scientifically proven to be completely useless and sometimes amplifies the condition.”

Hoseok gave you a displeased look.

“Sorry.”

He sighed at your apology. He had told you many times before to stop apologizing for nothing. You just did automatically. Trained from repeated years of trying not to be a nuisance. Trying not to be there when you were obviously there. Hoseok tapped the purple against his palm, trying to prevent it from getting goopy.

“You can stay here,” Hoseok remarked. “I said you could.”

You shook your head. “You can barely pay your own electricity bill. And you’ll never get laid if you live with a ghost.”

Hoseok laughed. He had a fun laugh, a great one that was real and genuine. “You can joke around.”

You smiled.

Hoseok could always make you smile at least once.

Today it was a tight black leather skirt with a baggy white dress shirt. Black tights with a pinstripe design, silver and black ankle boots. Black turtleneck under the white shirt. And your purple fingernails with yellow smiley face nail stickers, done by Jung Hoseok himself.

You had thought about wearing your baggy jeans again, but seeing your painted nails made you change your mind for some reason.

You sat in the front row of the Chemistry lecture hall. Pulled out Prey by Michael Crichton once again, phone handy to look up translations. You had ten minutes.

The creak of leather squeaked next to you. Instantly, your left hand slid down.

You left long fingers encase yours suddenly, stopping you from reaching into your messenger bag. Your teeth sank into your lower lip. The strong fingers held you tight, stroking your knuckles. Slight calluses, filed and well-kept nails.

“I like your nail polish.”

You ripped your hand out of Jeon Jungkook’s grasp. Shoved it into your bag and pulled out a piece of dried mango.

Didn’t look at him.

Just put it in your mouth and chewed, staring straight ahead.

“You look cute today.”

Chewed.

“Did you–”

You stabbed your finger to the desk, taking your book from it. Didn’t say anything.

He copied your homework.

“You alright?”

Namjoon stood up as the seminar class ended.

“You were quiet today. Usually, you have a lot to say.”

You placed your papers in your folder mechanically and looked up at him. “Was I?”

Namjoon nodded. “Kind of missed having your devil’s advocate point of view.”

Your head lowered. You stared at your left hand for a second. Remembering the feeling of Jeon Jungkook’s hand clutching yours.

“Have a lot on my mind.”

There were no packs of dried mango on the shelf.

None.

You went to the cashier. Asked when they would restock.

“Some guy bought all of them.” The cashier frowned. “I’m sorry. I know you’re the only one who buys them. I’ll reorder and keep extras behind the counter from now on.”

You stepped out of the school store. You only had a few pieces left. You took your phone out of your pocket and checked the nearest grocery store. It was only a few bus stops away. You began to walk out of the student common area, calling the number. Asking if they had dried mango in stock. They did. Could you keep three bags behind the counter? They could. You said you would be over right away.

Black leather right in front of your face.

You walked around it.

It followed you.

You stopped and hung up. Slowly raised your head.

Jeon Jungkook stared at you. He was holding a bag from the school store. It was filled to the brim with packs of cellophane-wrapped dried mango. His black hair was slicked back, eyebrow raised. Eyes so dark that they reminded you of a bottomless pit. No smirk this time. Serious, his dark brows furrowed.

You gave him a black stare. Then you tried to move around him.

He grabbed your upper arm tightly, shoving the bag into your chest. You recoiled, but he grabbed your other arm and clamped it over the plastic. You pushed it back at him and he planted his hand down on your forearm, firmly.

You felt a little tick in your face as a muscle tensed. You did not look at him.

“Call them back,” Jungkook stated. “Tell them you don’t need it anymore.”

Your eyes shifted back and forth.

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Do it.”

His hand was immobile on your forearm, fingers burying in the loose white fabric of your dress shirt. Your other hand held your phone. You awkwardly redialed the number and brought it to your ear. Told the pleasant lady that you found some dried mango, but thank you for holding it. She said it was no problem and told you to have a great day.

Jungkook let you go.

You ran away, clutching the bag.

When you arrived to your own shabby apartment, you dumped the packs dried mango all over your bed, a rainstorm of crinkled plastic. You were panting from running. Heart beating so fast you thought you were dying.

You lived in the poor part of the city. The apartments were like coffins, one room, tiny kitchenette with one stovetop, one sink. A tiny bathroom with a shower. No living room, just your twin bed in the center. You lived alone, because your mother worked overseas to pay for you to go to university.

The other parent could never come looking for you anymore.

You stared at the packs of dried mango. Why had he done that? You didn’t understand.

You didn’t understand Jeon Jungkook.

The landlord came by, knocking on the door. You backed away from the pile of mango and opened the front door, seeing the old man’s face.

He smiled at you. Thanked you for paying for in advance. You nodded mutely. He looked past you, at the bed covered in dried mango. Asked you how you were doing, if you were okay. You nodded again, not replying.

The old man smiled at you, somewhat sadly. Pity in his eyes. But you couldn’t speak to him. You couldn’t reply. You didn’t have a pack of mango with you, so you were voiceless.

He told you that if you ever needed anything to let him know.

You nodded, silent.

The old man bowed and let you be.

You closed the door, locked it. Back flat against it, breathless. Winded from nothing. Your eyes flickered to the bed. Something came over you. You stalked over to it. Then you shoved the plastic bags of dried mango away, off your bed, throwing them everywhere. Watching them fall, one by one, tumbling, tumbling, thundering plastic all around you.

You panted hard, staring at your hands. At the purple nail polish, chipping a little.

You wondered when the nightmares would finally go away.

You sat in the front row in the Chemistry lecture.

Red skirt, oversized grey sweater. Opaque black tights. Black sneakers.

Staring straight ahead. Chewing on a piece of dried mango.

Trying to hold on.

You hadn’t slept at all last night. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was apathy. In the morning, you had thought about wearing baggy pants again. But those purple nails winked at you, only a few smiley faces clinging on. Hoseok would have told you to wear something nice, if you called him then.

So, you wore a skirt and waited for lecture to start, chewing.

You reached into your bag, fishing for another piece. It wasn’t there. The plastic pack of dried mango was gone.

You jerked your head abruptly. It was being held out to you, from the tattooed right hand of Jeon Jungkook. He stared at you. Dark eyes so intense it felt like hellfire. Hair slicked back with too much gel. Leather jacket over a black shirt.

He did not speak this time.

You tried to take the bag, but he held it tightly. Pried open the opening a little wider, tipping it to you.

You reached in. Grabbed a piece.

Jungkook watched you. In between the teeth. Turning it with your tongue, licking off the sugar. Sucking it in, making it disappear into the pink canal.

He lowered the packet, putting it back in your messenger bag. Took out your book, handing it to you.

He did not speak.

Your hand grasped the softcover copy of Prey. Jungkook kept staring at you. Your eyes went to the book. To the words on the page. Away from Jeon Jungkook and his piercing eyes.

“Did you get compliments on your nails?”

“One.”

Hoseok smiled cheerfully as he gently took off the purple nail polish. It still stank of acetone though. “Oh? Did it feel nice?”

“I don’t know.”

Hoseok tilted his head, frowning. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Your eyes shifted. “I don’t know because I don’t know if it was a genuine compliment or a ruse.”

“Ruse for what?” Hoseok quipped, planting the cotton ball on your nail and holding it down.

You thought of that slicked black hair and those corrupting black eyes.

“Hoseok.”

“Mhm?”

“Why did you suddenly have an interest in painting nails?”

Hoseok paused. His honey brown eyes flashed up to you. Then he looked back down at your hands.

“Because it is a frivolous thing.”

You blinked at him. He wiped your nails clean. He tapped the bottle of base coat, along with a top coat and the same bright colors.

“It is something purely for fun and vanity. It has no real meaning and is only good for self-care.”

“Did you rehearse this?”

He held up the bottle of base coat and frowned at you, closing his eyes and trying to remember the rest of his speech.

“It is something you won’t do for yourself, so I want to do it for you.” His brown orbs found yours. There was something conflicted in those eyes. “I want to spend time with you. I want you to know this. I want you to remember you have a friend when you look at your hands.”

Your lips parted.

“I can’t be there and hold you when you wake up from the nightmares.”

You looked down, down at your lap of your red skirt and grey oversized sweater.

“I know I cannot make them stop. I know I cannot change what has happened to you or make it better.”

Hoseok held your hands tightly, even though you weren’t looking at him. Held you, voice apologetic and hurting for you, feeling for you when you tried so desperately to feel nothing at all.

“But I want you to remember, every time you look at your hands. You have a friend.”

“I like your nail polish.”

Your nails were neon pink and green, with small flower stickers. Hoseok said the top coat should keep the stickers on better this time. He was learning. He said YouTube helped.

You reached into your bag, but a piece of dried mango appeared next to your lips. Your eyes traveled up that those well-kept nails and the tan hand with the tiny tattoos, up the leather sleeve, to the slicked-back black hair and angular jaw of Jeon Jungkook. His pink lips had a tiny mole under them. Those dark chocolate eyes stared at you.

“Eat it.”

Your hand reached for it, but he shook his head once.

“Eat it,” he repeated.

You leaned forward, the fabric of your purple sweatshirt bunching. Caught the dried fruit with your teeth, pulled back. Turned it in your mouth. Sucked it in and chewed.

Jungkook seemed satisfied. His eyes went down to your black leather skirt and black pinstriped tights. Black and silver ankle boots. Eyes back up, stopping at your thighs. Then he looked up at you.

And for once you weren’t nose deep in Prey.

You were staring at him.

“Give me your phone.”

You unlocked your phone and handed it to him.

Jungkook found the messenger app and typed in a new message. You watched him. He typed your name into the text bubble and sent it to a number. Then he handed your phone back to you.

You took it.

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years ago

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Rupert and Sanoh (Lemon)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Kobold/Male Human, Female Half-Elf/Male Tielfling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Kobold, Half-Elf Content Warning: Sex, Rough Sex, Biting, Marking, Group Sex, Dom/Sub, Breath Play Words: 3349

A story with DuMont’s friends, Rupert and Sanoh! Rupert and Sanoh are having sexy fun in a bath when Kharis and DuMont enter the room. Not willing to stop, they try to be stealthy. It doesn't work. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

“Why do wererats always have to live in sewers?” Kharis grumped. “Every time we get contracted to kill rodents of any kind, I just know we’re going to have to go somewhere gross.”

Kharis, DuMont, Rupert, Sanoh, and Norman all pulled themselves out of the sewers of one of the larger towns west of the capitol. People had been going missing, and the mayor of the town realized that the rats in town were multiplying at an incredible rate, even with preventative measures. It was a clear indication that wererats were responsible.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Sanoh said. “The humidity down there was good for my scales. They’re so itchy.”

“It may have been good for your scales, but it definitely wasn’t good for your clothes,” Kharis remarked. “That stink isn’t coming out. You might as well burn that shit.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Sanoh said with a sigh. Her dancer’s outfit, which she always wore regardless of the situation, was torn and it’s bright red hue was now dark brown. “I really liked this one, too.”

Rupert seemed even more miserable that Kharis. “Can we please find a bathhouse? I haven’t been this filthy in years.”

“You’re one to talk, look at poor DuMont!” Kharis said, pointing at her giant lover. DuMont, the mountain of a tiefling that he was, was splattered head to toe in muck and grime and rat guts. His large church-bell bludgeon that he had slung over his shoulder was absolutely caked in blood and gore. “He’s not even complaining!”

“That’s because he doesn’t know how to complain,” Sanoh said. “He takes the phrase ‘roll with the punches’ far too literally.”

“Is that wrong?” DuMont asked, his cavernously deep voice echoing through the city streets, causing many who weren’t already staring at the group to spin in surprise.

“Of course not, love,” Kharis said, patting his arm as he walked on all fours. “I much prefer silent temperance to someone who does nothing but complain.” She looked pointedly at Rupert.

“Norman complains more than I do!” Rupert retorted.

“I haven’t said a word!” Norman protested. “Don’t pick on me because you’re a whiner.”

“Oh, my god, everyone shut up!” Sanoh said, rubbing her forehead. “There’s a bathhouse one block over, so will you all just please stop bitching.”

“I’m not bitching,” DuMont said in an undertone. “But I am hungry.”

“I’ll order you a rack of lamb and a sack of potatoes when we get to the inn, hon,” Kharis said. “Get cleaned up first. You don’t want to eat when you’re that dirty or you’ll get sick.”

“I’ve never been sick.” DuMont countered.

“Even still, you should be clean…er. And I don’t want you to drop pieces of food in the bath, either. It’ll feel like we’re all sitting in a stew.”

“You weirdos can sit in the stew, I’m getting a private bath,” Norman said.

“Why do you do that?” Rupert asked. “You always get your own instead of bathing with us, even though private baths are so much more expensive. It’s no wonder why you never have any money.”

“I’m not trying to get head by a paid companion in front of you lot,” He said sniffily.

“Suit yourself, but I bet that’d be fun to watch,” Kharis said playfully.

Norman snorted. “You would think that, you pervert.”

“You’ve become so shy since we started traveling, Norman,” Kharis said. “You used to be a nice, relatable pervert, just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe being with you people has made me see the error in my ways,” Norman remarked.

“Pssh, there isn’t anything wrong with being a pervert. Besides, I think DuMont balances me out. He can be such a prude sometimes.”

“I imagine being raised by a priest in a church will have that effect on a person,” Sanoh said.

“You are a pervert, Kharis,” DuMont said, as if in agreement with Norman.

“Does me being a pervert bother you?” Kharis asked him, grinning.

He looked at her and cocked his head as he walked, considering her, looking like a massively oversized dog, as he always did when thinking.

“No,” He said eventually.

“See? He likes it.”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” He said. His face wasn’t built to smile, but Rupert thought he could hear laughter in his voice, and Rupert grinned.

“We would be the ones to pick brazen, sex-crazed women, wouldn’t be, big guy?” Rupert said, smacking DuMont’s broad shoulder in solidarity.

DuMont grunted in a way that could have been mistaken for a chuckle.

DuMont had been very taciturn since they had met him nearly a year ago, but his personality was slowly beginning to emerge as the five of them spent more time together on the road, doing jobs. Rupert was glad he finally felt comfortable enough with the group to try joking with them.

The bathhouse came into view shortly afterward. It catered to adventuring sorts, so it wasn’t necessarily a high-end place, and the five of them tended to frequent it often. The staff there barely batted an eye at DuMont anymore. The laundresses despised the sight of them, however, since they always arrived splattered with all manner of filth, much of which was hard to wash out.

“Hey, can we get the big tub, please?” Sanoh called out as soon as they entered the place. “We’ll pay extra to reserve the whole thing, though I doubt many people will want to come in after us.”

The woman at the front desk curled up her lip at them as they entered, but said, “Yes, of course. You’re usual packages?”

“Yes,” Norman said. “Private room for me, please. Do you have any companions available?”

“Derek is available.”

“Ugh, no, not him. What about Vincent?”

“Vincent is away visiting family. Connor?”

Norman nodded. “Connor will do. Just make sure he brings the right massage oils this time.”

“That costs extra,” The woman reminded him.

“I’m aware,” Normal said, starting toward the private baths.

“I’m beginning to think Norman is too fancy for us,” Sanoh said. “We can’t afford him.” She walked up to the counter. “Do you have any scale oil?”

“We don’t have any specifically for scales, but there are plenty for skin and hair.”

“Hmm…” Sanoh said. “Give me the hair oil, then. It tends to be thicker. What scents have you got?”

Kharis snorted. “Come on, let’s get these clothes off before they stick to us. She may be at this for a while.”

Dumont and Rupert followed her to one of the larger public baths, one with a door, and closed it behind them. Now that they had been together for a long time, they were less shy about bathing together as they had been. Even DuMont had stopped blushing when he saw them all nude in the same bath.

“Kharis, I’m hungry,” DuMont said insistently. The only time DuMont ever seemed to get grumpy was when he needed a meal.

“Let me at least scrub you down once and we’ll go get some food,” She told him, pushing him into the bath still wearing his loincloth. The robes and towels weren’t nearly large enough to cover him, so they just had taken to washing him in the bath, clothes and all. They usually did him first, drained the bath, and refilled it for the rest of them.

Once Rupert helped Kharis give DuMont a once over, getting him clean enough to go into the tavern, they left to get something to eat and Rupert and Sanoh waited for the tub to be refilled. When that was done, the fresh water was nice and hot, and Sanoh arrived with her purchased oils. They both stripped down and got in with a satisfied sigh.

“Oh, gods, this is nice,” Sanoh said.

“Mmm,” Rupert agreed. “I think this is the first time in a month that my shoulders have relaxed.”

“My scales were starting to get so brittle. Will you get my scale brush and scrub the oils into my back? I can feel them flaking.”

“Sure, just a second,” He said, getting out with a splash and grabbing her back. She had a special boars-hair brush she used to clean and sharpen her scales and horns. Her favorite thing in the world was laying out and letting him groom her tiny body all over. It often got her in a frisky mood.

Sure enough, after only scrubbing her back for fifteen minutes, she started to wiggle in his lap, rutting her hips backward into him. He began to harden immediately. Sanoh seemed to revel in getting him aroused in dangerously public places, but it always caused Rupert anxiety.

“What are you doing?” Rupert said. “Kharis and DuMont will be back any minute.”

“Then let’s be quick,” She said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

She lifted up in the water and slowly sank her swollen lips down onto him. He gripped her hips and groaned, his head falling back, trying to keep his voice down. There really was no arguing when she was in a mood like this. He began to thrust up into her, sloshing the water around them.

She laughed breathlessly. “Good boy.” She thrust back into him as he moved inside her. Before long, he picked her up and lay her over the side of the bath, slamming himself into her hard enough to make her thighs ripple. She began to moan loudly.

“Shh!” He hissed. “You’re going to get us thrown out.”

“But it feels so good,” She whimpered. “Norman has sex in the baths all the time, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t make me gag you,” He said, panting.

“You can try,” She said, laughing, before crying out against the tile. He put his hand over her mouth, but she bit him. He let go, inspecting his hand, and when he found she hadn’t broken the skin, he instead grabbed her throat, squeezing.

“Oh, fuck,” She wheezed, her eyes going glassy. As bossy as she was, she loved it when he was rough and took charge.

“Shut up!” He snarled in her ear. “You started it. Be quiet and take it.”

“I will,” She simpered, and he squeezed harder.

“I said, shut up!” He slammed hard into her, and she squeaked against his grip on her neck, her body trembling in excitement. She came suddenly, gushing down her legs, but he didn’t relent, crushing his body against hers, breathing down her neck and spine, moving at a frenzied pace.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” He said through his gritted teeth. “Stand still, don’t fucking move.”

Before he got the chance, however, he heard the far door open and Kharis’s voice drift through.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, pulling out suddenly and ducking under the water to hide himself. His cock was throbbing with the unfulfilled promise of climax, but there was little he could do about it now. He was just going to have to sit there and suffer in silence.

Until Sanoh sat back down onto him, spearing him inside her, her inner walls still quivering from the orgasm.

“Now what are you doing?!” He asked frantically.

“Just act natural,” She replied in an undertone.

“They’re going to know!”

“Not if you don’t make a big deal about it! Lay your head back and pretend you’re sleeping!

“Sanoh!”

“Just do it!”

Rupert lay his head back against the tile on the edge of the bath with Sanoh in his lap just as Kharis and DuMont re-entered the bathing area, stripping down to join them.

“Well, DuMont cleaned out the tavern, so if you want food, you’re going to have to find a vendor somewhere,” Kharis said.

“Not surprising,” Sanoh said, stealthily riding Rupert’s cock under the water, pretending to be washing her arms to cover the movement.

“What’s with him?” Kharis asked, nodding at Rupert.

“He conked out almost immediately after you left. I’m just keeping his lap warm,” She said smoothly.

Kharis snorted and said, “I wish I could fall asleep as easily as he can. DuMont’s like that too,” She reclined on the large red tiefling. “He can fall asleep mid-sentence.”

“A gift and a curse,” Sanoh said in agreement. She squeezed Rupert’s length with her inner muscles, and it took all his effort not to grunt or move. He dug his fingers into the skin of her hips as a warning. Sanoh snorted. She moved under the pretense of adjusting herself and nearly made Rupert jump out of his skin with how deep she’d push him into her. He couldn’t help but make a small sound.

Kharis noticed. “What are you doing?” She asked Sanoh, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you talking about?” Sanoh asked innocently.

Kharis gave Sanoh a sardonic look. “You don’t have to pretend to be asleep anymore, Rupert, I know what’s going on. I’m a pervert, after all.”

Rupert sighed and lifted his head. “The jig is up, I guess. Sanoh, hop off.”

“I didn’t say you had to stop,” Kharis said. “Far be it from me to interrupt your fun.”

“What about DuMont?” Rupert asked skeptically.

“What about him?” Kharis replied, reaching over in the water and placing her hand in DuMont’s lap.

“Wha…” DuMont said, startled. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun,” Kharis said. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

“But…” He looked at Sanoh and Rupert.

“They’re already having fun,” Kharis said. “They started before us.”

“They are?” DuMont asked in surprise, squinting at the pair.

As if to answer, Sanoh let Rupert’s organ fall out of her and spun in Rupert’s lap. Now that she didn’t have to worry about stealthing, she rocked on him and moaned.

“Oh,” DuMont replied, and then sucked in his breath when Kharis squeezed him.

“Are you okay with this, buddy?” Rupert asked over Sanoh’s shoulder, though he was beginning to lose speech. “We’ll stop if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sanoh said with a snort.

“We’ll stop if you aren’t comfortable, DuMont,” Rupert repeated, giving Sanoh a warning look. Sanoh rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” DuMont replied, playing with Kharis’s hair and she fondled him under the water.

“See? He’s fine, don’t be such a baby,” Sanoh said, pushing him into her deeper. He grunted and stopped speaking.

Kharis held her breath and ducked her head under water, and DuMont tensed and groaned, his hands balling into fists on the side of the tub. From then on, there was little talk, just moans, grunts, groans, and breathy whimpering.

Kharis came up and went to the edge of the bath, bending over and presenting her rear. DuMont followed her and knelt down, pressing his cock into her and thrusting in hard, pushing her forward and down onto the tile. She laughed breathlessly.

“That looks like fun,” Sanoh said, going over to bend over next to Kharis, wiggling her butt at Rupert and moving her tail out of the way, so he could see her dripping between her legs. Rupert followed DuMont and rammed back into her, thrusting fast and hard.

“Wanna see something really fun?” Sanoh said to Kharis. Kharis nodded, and Sanoh leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. Rupert grabbed Sanoh by the throat again and pulled her up against his body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice hard and angry. He sped up, fucking her roughly as he held her in place. “You belong to me. Don’t you dare do that again without my permission.”

Sanoh’s face went slack and she nodded, whimpering, completely at his mercy.

DuMont’s reaction was also immediate. He grabbed Kharis up and vaulted out of the bath, throwing her to the floor. He pinned down her arms and legs and put his face inches from hers. He didn’t say anything, but a low, guttural snarl issued from his throat, his brows furrowed as he stared at her with the intensity of a predator looking at prey.

“What’s the matter, big guy?” She said with a grin. “Are you jealous?”

“Mine,” He growled lowly, almost indistinguishable from the threatening, thunderous rumble of his voice.

“Prove it,” She challenged.

He opened his mouth and sank his front canine teeth into her shoulder, drawing blood. He thrust himself back into her without letting go, his jaws locked, and he lifted her off the ground and just railed her.

There was no hope of keeping their voices down now. If they got kicked out, they got kicked out. Sanoh and Kharis screamed, shouted, howled, and swore in pleasure as their lovers used their bodies to climax.

At some point, there was a knock on the door.

“Is everything okay?”

“Go away!” Sanoh and Kharis shouted in unison.

Kharis and Sanoh came several times before the boys were done with them. While Kharis had as much stamina as DuMont did and was just as active, at some point Sanoh’s legs gave out and she simply lay there on the floor in a perpetual orgasm trance as Rupert pumped her full of his warmth and kept going like a machine, finally collapsing on top of her, breathing as if he’d run five miles in a minute.

DuMont was the last to reach his peak, gushing into Kharis, his seed pooching her stomach and dripping out of her, down his legs, and splattering onto the floor. For a solid minute, the room was quiet, safe for a lot of heavy breathing.

Finally, as they all caught their breath, the re-entered the bath to wash each other.

“Kharis, you’re bleeding,” Sanoh said, pointing. There was a very large bite in her shoulder, and it was rather deep.

“Oh,” DuMont said, flustered by worry. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, big guy,” She reassured him. “I wanted you to do it. It’s proof.”

“Proof?” He echoed, his brow furrowed.

“That I belong to you,” She said simply. “Help me wash it.”

As rough as DuMont had been, his gentleness in tending the wound was a mirror opposite. Rupert and Sanoh sat cuddled together and watched fondly as DuMont lovingly treated and bandaged Kharis’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, DuMont,” Rupert said. “Sanoh marked me, too.” He turned and showed DuMont a bite on his left shoulder blade. “And Sanoh’s bites can be venomous. I was sick for a week.”

“I said I was sorry,” She said reproachfully. “It was the heat of the moment, I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He said, hugging her in close and kissing her forehead.

“Does it hurt?” DuMont asked Kharis.

“Not really,” She said. “I’m sure it will tomorrow when the sex high has worn off, but I feel great right now. And it’ll scar up nicely, I think.”

“I’m sorry!” DuMont said, hiding his face.

“Honey, it’s okay!” She said, pulling his hands down. “I like it! It lets everyone who sees it know that I’m yours. Don’t you want people to know that you and I are in love?”

“Well… yes…” He said, frowning.

“There, see? It’s all fine.” She went up and hugged his neck. “Don’t fuss so much. I’m fine.”

He pulled her back and fixed her with a glare. “No kissing other people.”

She grinned at him. “I won’t, I promise. It was just an experiment.” She winked at Sanoh, who stuck her tongue between her teeth as she smirked. “And I’d say it was successful.”

DuMont grumbled. “I didn’t like it.”

She patted his face and kissed his exposed jaw. “I won’t do it again.”

“Okay,” He said, seemingly satisfied, and he pulled her into an embrace, careful of her shoulder.

The wound healed up really quickly, and Kharis took to wearing asymmetrical shirts, so that she could show it off. Most assumed that it was a grievous injury from a wild beast, and Kharis would laugh and say that was partly right.

Sanoh and Rupert didn’t engage in sex around the two of them again, but it was definitely something they kept in the back of their mind. For a rainy day, maybe.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

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themsource · 4 years ago

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A Moment Of Time

Pairing: Sans x Frisk Rating: T Word Count: 2,673

Hey @catsitta I was your secret santa for @secretsantafrans! I love your Fated AU so please excuse any cannon inconsistences if I made any @_@ I had fun mixing holiday themes for this; Kronia and Haloa specifically!

Hope you enjoy ^^

Lord Death’s realm; usually so quiet and haunting, was unusually loud with the cries of celebration and joy. Golden light bathed the immense hall, the fires and torches giving such a grand view of the heavily decorated scaffoldings and food laden tables casting a supernatural warmth supplied by none other than Lord Fyre, for the evening's festivities.

Rarely was there cause for such lavish displays of black marbled fountains overflowing with fine wine, even rarer a reason for heavenly grown ambrosia to grace such a place as the Underworld with it’s desolate landscape and often gloomy atmosphere, but this was a day rare in itself.

Today marked the winter solstice; the time of year that many a mortal and god alike abandoned their divisions and classes that usually separated them from others of lower status as a show of civility and gratitude for one another.

And Death the youngest favored the holiday, in fact he was its greatest fan and celebrated it every year. Which was a surprise to the Goddess Spring given her dear husband’s solitary nature and not so subtle irritation at large gatherings. Let it be said that Sans denied Papyrus very little, and let him want for nothing.

An admirable trait in her spouse.

“My lady are you not enjoying the wine?” Frisk blinked free of her thoughts and spared a glance at her goblet, sitting wholly untouched and turning bitter the longer she ignored it and allowed it to spoil.

A longstanding tradition on this day was that women alone were allowed to drink of the spirits and indulge in the fresh aged fruits of the last harvest, a tradition she always enjoyed, but now served as nothing but a reminder of lost youth and unwanted vows.

Frisk was gradually coming to accept the chains that tied her to her husband, and deeply appreciated the way in which he treated her as not only an adult, but as a partner, an equal. However it did little to ease the sadness she felt at times such as these, reminding her of the choices she’d unwittingly made that hadn’t truly been choices at all.

This year she wouldn’t be dancing among the snow of the surface, nor would she sit gossiping with her mother and her wood nymphs about plans for future growth and vegetation. Where once she used to greet the time of year with enthusiasm and eagerness, now sat nothing but a rock hard pit in her stomach that even Ambrosia couldn’t fill.

She felt out of place, and just a little bit lonely.

“Forgive me, but my stomach is not quite right tonight.” She forced a smile, small and fragile, but still genuine as she looked to her handmaiden. “Tonight I am not your lady, we are as equals, did you forget?”

Daisy smiled as she took the opportunity and reached down to take the neglected drink, boldly taking a sip from it before offering Frisk a warm smile. “No matter the time or day you will always be my lady. As long as you’ll have me.”

Frisk chuckled before looking out to the crowd, her golden eyes skimming the dancers supplied by Mother Night as she caught the sight of Lord Fyre in hushed whispers with a fair skinned and golden haired Underworld denizen.

Vaguely she tried to recall all the fallen heroes she’d been told would be allowed to attend but no name came to mind, maybe they were a member of the Asphodel Meadows?

“I take it Iris and Hyacinth are enjoying themselves?” She asked absently just as her eyes spotted her husband standing beside the hearth speaking with his brother.

As if he could feel her gaze like a touch he subtly shifted his fathomless sockets to meet her.

Quickly Frisk averted her eyes with a grimace, and not so quiet skip of her heart. How he could draw such a reaction from her when she could just barely tolerate his presence she’d never know, and even as she watched Daisy blush, her flames tinting a slight shade darker, she swore she could still feel him watching her.

Sans’s gaze always unsettled her, just as much as it drew her in like a vortex.

“Iris is currently in the kitchens, and Hyacinth, is showing Lord Cadmus around.” The way Daisy said his name was enough to make Frisk stare at her in shock. Cadmus, the hero of letters, how fitting given Hyacinth’s nature. Though it was still the last thing she’d expected of the elemental.

“I see…” Even her handmaidens dreamed of love she supposed, something she’d never really given much thought to. Was that one of the reasons behind their constant push for her to get close to Sans? “Well I hope she enjoys herself.”

Daisy offered a timid grin. “Are you sure it’s only your stomach that ails you tonight?”

Frisk dismissed her worry with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry Daisy, go have fun, you fuss over me enough every day as is.”

Reluctantly the young fiery girl nodded and did as Frisk suggested, but not without offering a backward glance that the goddess waved off with a teasing smile. Slowly she let her hand drop and went back to looking out over the crowd.

She felt like such a stick in the mud, truly not an attitude befitting of a queen.

Gracefully as she could, and still doing her best to ignore San’s continuously lingering stare, she skirted the side of the hall and slipped away behind a gathered group of souls. She didn’t stop holding her breath or head high until she’d safely made it back to her room, where she finally let her shoulders sag and sighed from sudden exhaustion.

Papyrus might not be too pleased at her absence, but it was better than sitting in place all night frowning and pouting like a child. Frisk had gone to such lengths to show her mother and the other gods she was worthy of her title, she refused to spoil it all in one evening.

More than halfway across her room she froze, her eyes going wide in disbelief, as they caught on a small object resting in the center of her bed.

Had someone been in her room?

Frisk’s heart anxiously fluttered in her chest as she debated on returning to the party or taking another step further into her room. Never before now had she noticed just how thick the curtains were that adorned her windows, or just how dark the corners of her chamber were where the miniscule candle light didn’t reach.

Cautiously she inched forward, the ichor in her veins pounding like a drum as she shakily reached for it with all the control of a quivering branch.

It fit perfectly in her hand, its texture like that of smooth glass with a coolness that sent a chill up to her shoulder. He guard dropped as she slowly raised it to eye level and turned it this way and that. It looked like a flat and rounded piece of polished obsidian, with golden leaf decorating it’s edges in swirling floral designs.

A mirror, designed to be easily concealed and for discrete use.

She frowned.

Honestly Frisk wasn’t one to fret over her appearance, she never had been, always preferring wild and tangled hair with robes slightly worn at the fringes from hours spent in the dirt or walking. The only ones that showed any care to her looks were her caretakers and, on a less comfortable note, her husband.

She turned it twice over, as if the name of the person who had left this would magically appear if she simply kept looking, and nearly dropped it as the surface brightened, turning white hot and blinding.

Just as quickly as it happened it dimmed, and in its place was an image, crystal clear and moving.

Frisk gasped as she recognized one of the flower fields in which she used to play, now blanketed in freshly fallen snow, the picture of her mother standing silent and stoic as she looked out over the winter landscape.

It was a looking glass! A magical item so very rare that only three gods she knew of had one, and none of them this small or intricately decorated. Whoever this was from had obviously put a lot of considerable effort into having it made.

“does my lady wife like her gift?”

She hadn’t expected his presence with the celebrations currently going on, but honestly she should have. Sans always had the habit of suddenly appearing from around corners or showing up spontaneously.

Frisk spun on her heel, her hand quickly darting up to brush away the tears beading in her eyes as they widened at seeing her husband standing just within the dark shadows of the doorway.

At this point in their relationship she’d grown accustomed to his comings and goings. The only thing she never understood behind the actions was if it was done simply because he liked to use his name and title as the lord of death to unnerve others and to demonstrate the power he held, or if it was merely a fleeting moment of whimsy for a cheap thrill.

One thing that always irritated her to no end though, was that he enjoyed targeting her the most.

Such as now; with an embarrassed flush on her cheeks and a jolt of shame running down her spine as she struggled to hide the very emotion she so blatantly wore. Gifts between spouses was a tradition, but she hadn’t given any thought to it. She didn’t think for a moment her lord husband would be partial to the tradition.

Frisk should have known better given how their whole relationship had even started.

“I...am afraid I did not prepare anything for you in turn.”

His gaze, always so penetrating and watchful, dropped from her face to the looking glass she clutched to her chest, not missing the subtle way her knuckles whitened as she subconsciously tightened her hold on it.

As if he’d try to steal it away from her.

Sans’s smile widened. “what more gift could a husband want than the company of his wife?”

Her face stung as it turned red, and her voice came out uncertain, higher in pitch, as she stared at him. “I trust you mean platonically?”

“I have the desires of any man, for his bride, and while i wouldn’t turn away such an offer...”

She tensed as his sockets did a slow, calculated roll of her form before flickering back up to her face, the gesture causing her heart to skip for the second time that night. “in this instance my intentions are entirely innocent.” He chuckled.

Frisk watched as he held a hand out in offer, his phalanges slightly curling as if beckoning her to him with a still ever present grin. It would be so easy, in another time and place, for Frisk to have believed the innocence behind his smile. But he always wore it, when amused, irritated, and when being cruel as Death often had to be.

It made it so hard to understand him.

Casually she slipped the now darkened looking glass within her robes and tried her best to keep her expression unreadable as she placed her hand in his, the icy touch of his bones draining the warmth from her, but never able to steal it all completely.

The edges of his smile seemed to soften as he glanced down.

It did something to her to see that. He acted so touch starved, so easily awed every time they had the briefest of contact.

They both stood there in silence, his thumb slowly running circles into the back of her hand the longer he held it. She sucked in a breath at the shiver it sent up her spine but dared an uncertain look up at him.

“Are we not going somewhere?”

His subtle movement stopped but he didn’t look away from where they stayed joined.

“is there somewhere you wish to go?”

She didn’t respond, and he took that as an answer. He gave one more slow, deliberate, stroke of his thumb before finally releasing her. If Frisk didn’t know better she’d have thought she’d heard a small sigh from him.

And then she finally noticed the faint blush on his cheeks.

“...Sans?”

“hmm?”

“Have you been drinking?”

He looked her in the eye as his grin hitched higher. “whatever gave that impression?”

Frisk narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, the faint blush darkening as she stared him down and cultivated one on her own cheeks. She hadn’t noticed just how cute his magic could sometimes manifest itself, just how it left a vague ethereal glow that bathed the inside of his normally obscure hood.

“Sans…only women are supposed to drink today.”

His sockets lidded. “from what i could see earlier in the night, you weren’t in the mood, and it would’ve been rude to waste wine provided by asgore himself.”

She knew he was using a poor excuse, but it was enough of one it lit a flicker of embarrassment in her. Frisk stubbornly focused on one of the gold medallions that held up his cloak to avoid eye contact.

“You just wanted to drink.”

“can you fault me? it was my favorite after all.” She glared at his cheeky smirk. “pomegranate.”

“...”

“...If only divorce was an option.”

Sans’s sockets widened and then he let out such a deep, bass heavy, laugh Frisk openly gawked at him. It took a moment for him to compose himself but once he had his voice was filled with mirth.

“sadly it isn’t. i would only welcome the challenge to make you mine yet again, if i could.”

She couldn’t think of a response to that, not one that wasn’t insulting at least, and really she didn’t feel like trying to argue with the thick skulled god before her, it would be pointless, Sans never backed down when it came to a play on words.

Silence stretched before he spoke again.

“i should be getting back to the celebration, gillby wanted to talk to me regarding a trade of some sort.”

Frisk suddenly felt a pang that made her grimace. She hadn’t realized she’d actually been enjoying the company. Maybe it was because they rarely spoke, or maybe she was just that emotionally vulnerable tonight, but her words were hesitant and honest.

“I understand...I enjoyed this. The casual conversation.”

Her husband tilted his head.

“i should be thanking you, this was just the break i needed from the crowd.”

Despite herself she chuckled. “Of course, why would I ever assume you asked for my company purely for it alone?”

He went silent, the brim of his hood covering his sockets as his tone came out blunt. “if this wasn’t what i desired i wouldn’t have asked for this when you offered me a gift in turn.”

How did he keep doing that? Slipping behind her walls so easily with honeyed words after repeatedly testing their strength with his indifference and often selfish actions? He barely ever tried but it was always enough to make her question her stance on him.

“You’d better hurry back, I don’t think Grillby will be sober enough to remember his reasons if you don’t.” She whispered.

Sans gave a small bow, his hand swiftly cupping hers and bringing it to his teeth for a kiss. When he stood her hand was still lifted, frozen in place by confusion and surprise.

“i bid thee goodnight, happy solstice my queen.”

He vanished.

Frisk opened and closed her mouth dumbly, an almost plea for him to stay forever trapped on the tip of her tongue. She stared at where her husband had stood and slowly pulled out her looking glass.

Her first Solstice in the Underworld hadn’t gone well as it could’ve been, but it was still memorable.

#frans #adult frans #sans x frisk #fransmas 2020 #secret santa 2020 #fated au #comfort?#longing #i'm with shay i just want the chus already lol #fanfic #undertale #alternate universe #fluff #yep beauty and the beasty feels #i couldn't resist

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

The Shape of You (3/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

7.4k ; CW: mentions of injury, mentions of past torture, angst

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

----------------------------

When you wake, it is dark once again.

For a moment, you blink and stare at the ceiling, the phantom image of his face swimming in the inky black of night. Holding on to that face, you tentatively reach a hand out into the air, hoping to touch him, hoping to feel something.

In the end, it is nothing but empty air, and your hand drops.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swingin’ dancers on the radio blare once again, an official signal that the time for dreaming is over.

With this new encounter, this new…you don’t even know what it is, you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken. Everything is the same – you will get up to brew your coffee, Armitage will pound against the wall, you will share your breakfast and take three buses to work – but simultaneously, nothing will ever be the same again. Because possibly for the first time in many years, you do not dread the thought of going to work.

Not that you dreaded it, work, not really. It was a good job, an important job, a job that was part of something bigger, much bigger than yourself. But you could not deny the excitement that simmers just below your skin at the thought of it.

The thought of seeing him again.

“You’re chipper this morning.” Armitage scowls as he opens the door for you, a bright cheerful smile on your face.

“Haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean.” You breeze right past him, placing the percolator down on his pot-holder that he keeps on the counter just for this very occasion. Immediately going to his cupboards, you begin to remove the flour and sugar, giving him a knowing glance and asking even though you know the answer, “Pancakes?”

“Please, god knows I’m going to need something sweet today.” He groans, moves to sit at the table.

Sometimes, you can’t help but think how domestic this is. How your friendship had blossomed into a bond so much stronger than you had ever expected. You wonder if Armitage thinks it too, if he ever is reminded of a lifetime ago, when he was married to a beautiful woman and had a house in the suburbs, if when you pour his coffee and flip pancakes on the stove, his heart aches for that long gone time.

If he does, he says nothing about it, so you don’t bring it up.

“What have they done now?” You ask instead, knowing that this is a topic of conversation in which Armitage will always have something to say, always have something to complain about.

“It’s just these essays. Half the class it would seem, completely missed the point of the extra credit film.” He sighs, gesturing to a stack of papers once again sitting on the kitchen table.

“Oh that’s alright, at least Boris is happy.” Sliding pancakes off of the pan and onto a plate, you douse them in a generous helping of syrup and powdered sugar for the both of you, before moving to sit opposite him at the table.

Just then, the lights flicker on and off, making you both frown. The power had never had much of an issue before, what with the movie theater just downstairs needing those extra generators. You glance out the window, it wasn’t raining, and it wasn’t windy – both telltale signs of potential power failure.

“Do you ever worry about what will happen when he has to shut down the building?” Armitage grumbles, carefully and very specifically cutting his stack of pancakes into wedge pieces.

“No, because he won’t.” You shut that train of thought down at once within him, knowing that while he likes to pretend otherwise, your Professor has a proclivity for the dramatics unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. “He has renters for a reason after all, and the summer tourists bring in enough to make ends meet.”

Armitage thinks about that for a moment or two, before accepting the answer.

“You’re right.” He concedes, sounding resigned.

“I’m always right.” You wink, and the two of you finish your breakfast in companionable silence.

------------------

When you leave Armitage’s apartment and go back to your own, you cannot deny the rush that is the thought of seeing him again. It seems so silly, and of course it is silly, but something in you wants to look nice for him.

You fix your hair and pick out your cleanest most nicely ironed uniform, concerned for the first time about how it fits you, how it forms to your body. It is a modest uniform – you are a cleaning woman after all – but you find that despite the drab color palette and utilitarian shape, you look good. The clock chimes, and you realize that there isn’t much time to fuss, so instead of standing in front of the mirror, you pick a pair of heels off your grand shoe display, and hope that he finds the bright blue color appealing.

Dawdling had never been a trait of yours before, and now you understand why.

The bus is sitting and waiting at the stop when you exit your apartment building, and you run in those bright blue heels as fast as your legs can take you to make it just in time. The click-clack of your steps on the pavement alert everyone nearby, as you bolt towards the bus. Water on the ground from the night’s dew reflects the colors of the neon signs all around you, and when your foot splashes in one of the light puddles, a rainbow scatters around your ankles.

You make a beeline straight for the doors, which are open and welcoming you like a warm embrace, and only once the momentum of your body has thrown you into your seat, do you let out a long exhale.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry!” You could bury your face into your hands with how embarrassed you are, but your hands are shaking from the adrenaline of nearly missing the bus.

Missing this bus would have been bad, very very bad. It would have meant that you’d be late to work, and you have never once, not in the entire ten years on the job, have you been late for work. Such an irregularity would have raised suspicion, would have called attention to you – more attention than there already was. They wouldn’t like that, it would compromise your larger job, your more important mission -- you could not afford to be late. So, you sigh with relief and will your heart to stop pounding in your chest; all was well, you are on the bus, it did not pull away from the stop without you on it, you will be there on time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N), no need to apologize, you know I’ll always wait for you.” Mr. Henry’s kind eyes glance at you with amusement through the rearview mirror, and you once again thank your lucky stars to have a friend like him.

Much like Armitage, you had never expected to befriend the bus driver. You had of course planned on being friendly and polite, but the extent to which you enjoyed the elderly man’s company had surprised you. And what’s more, you were constantly surprised by his willingness to be friendly with you in return. It reminded you that perhaps, there was a solidarity at the bottom – when there is no one to look out for the people like you and him, you look out for one another.

Could Mr. Henry have gotten in trouble by waiting for you? Would he be late to his other stops now? These were questions that you couldn’t help but think, but you have to wonder if they were questions he considered. Surely it would have been easier to simply leave you behind, but he hadn’t done such a thing, and you cannot express how grateful you are for that.

You resolve to thank him somehow, some way more meaningful than simply the words. It strikes you then, that despite speaking to one another every day, you still know very little about the man. You know he has a beautiful wife and a blossoming garden, you know he picks up a cup of coffee from the donut shop before starting his route, and you know which music stations he prefers to listen to. But beyond that, you have both remained relatively private.

He was not so different from you in that regard, you suppose.

Most people are not so different from one another, you suppose.

“For absolutely no reason at all, what is your favorite type of baked good, Mr. Henry?” You ask after a few moments, when the bus has left the stop and has continued its route, the Las Vegas strip a myriad of lights and colors, blinking and twirling in the night.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that – ”

“But I want to.” You insist, “Please let me?”

He looks up at you once again through the rearview window, and you see the sparkle of a smile in his eye. You wonder when the last time someone did something kind for him was, someone doing it just out of the want to see him happy.

“I may or may not be fond of those caramel brownies you make.” Sheepishly, almost as if he will be scolded for revealing such information, he confesses this to you.

You recall a time when you had to bring something to the company party, a holiday get together many years ago. You had been charged with bringing a dessert, and as a thank you to Mr. Henry’s continual kindness and hard work, you offered him one.

It makes you strangely emotional, to know that he had enjoyed it enough to remember it, after all these years.

“How very interesting to know.” You smile, and he smiles back, before he turns his attention to the next bus stop, and your window for conversation comes to a close.

She is waiting for you at the bus exchange today, standing and huddled in the large group of other passengers. It is chilly out in the desert tonight, and she has a beautiful black and white checkerboard coat wrapped around her body. In moments like these, watching the steam and fog of the bus exchange plume around her feet, Gwendoline reminds you of a movie star.

Perhaps in another life, her face would light up the screen, her silvery blonde hair and striking cheekbones commanding every man in the theater to fall head over heels in love with her. Sometimes she talks about it, about moving away from this city, about quitting her job.

Perhaps in another life, you might go with her.

Armitage would surely come too, wouldn’t he? He could get a job as a professor anywhere, he could pack up his apartment and join you and Gwen on a trip to Los Angeles, or New York City, or perhaps somewhere abroad – but you can’t, can you. You can’t leave.

And so, as selfish as it is, you hope that Gwen never leaves either, because you’re not so sure what you would do, were she to go.

This is especially true, as she catches sight of you politely making your way to where she is standing, and she smiles and throws a hand up to wave to you, as if you didn’t already see her. Gwen was, in so many ways, a beacon of color in the world of black and grey.

“(Y/N)!” She hollers happily to you, competing with the noise of the bus exchange.

The hiss and hydraulics of brakes and doors opening and closing, the sound of engines revving and radios humming, of the news playing on black and white screens behind a window of glass, of people talking and smoking and eating and laughing even though it’s too early for it all, still through this noise Gwen’s voice cuts through.

“Morning,” You smile back at her, offering a thermos as is your tradition every morning. “Coffee?”

“You’re a saint,” Gwen responds, accepting it as is her tradition. “Oh I love when you wear the blue shoes!”

She takes a step back for you to point your toe and extend your leg ever so slightly, the dazzling satin shining like sapphires in the artificial light of the fluorescent overheads. One of the men waiting in the crowd with you lets out a whistle when your skirt rides up just enough to show a little thigh, and you have to physically restrain Gwendoline from snapping her teeth at him.

“I really like this pair, I don’t know why I don’t wear them more often.” Chuckling just a little at your friend’s fierce protective nature, you draw her attention back to the shoes. It wouldn’t do to get into a fight just minutes before being in an enclosed crowded space together.

“Maybe because they’re the least practical thing for a janitor?” Gwendoline mutters, still shooting the man dirty looks. He has, thankfully, backed off – probably for his own safety. Rarely do men ever expect women to snap back, and oh how Gwendoline’s bite is worse than her bark.

“Maybe, but they are so beautiful.” You shrug, and this at the very least, Gwen can understand.

“Come, I think that’s our bus now.” She whispers to you so as to not draw the attention of the crowd around you, knowing how the rush of everyone wanting to get onto the bus and secure a seat can often lead to a mob.

Sure enough, as she pushes her way to the front and you follow her diligently, when the bus rounds the corner and the pushing and shoving begins, you two are already on your way to the back of the bus, coats and purses in your laps, a deck of cards ready to be shuffled.

In the back of the bus, you and Gwen hide your faces behind a hand of cards each, a game of Go Fish that you are sorely losing. You almost wish that the bus would hit a bump in the road, so that the cards could go scattering all over the floor and you wouldn’t be shamed with the loss, but then the thought of having to clean it all up makes you reconsider.

Gwen, for her part, doesn’t ease up on you one bit, a great big grin on her face as she claims yet another of your cards for her own little pile.

“I dreamt of him again.” You bring up, as nonchalantly as you can.

The bus has greatly reduced down its number of passengers, thankfully. No longer packed like sardines, you and Gwen have enough room to spread out, your belongings no longer piled up on your lap. Instead, they rest on the seat just across the little aisle, as you normally do. Still, it’s not entirely empty, there are quite a few stops to go before the bus pulls over into the dark of the desert and identification is requested.

All this means, is that while you can speak, it has to still be in hushed tones, lest someone from outside the building’s personnel overhear. Gwen hears you perfectly well despite your near whisper, and her face practically alights in the same way those flood lights search the sky.

“Please tell me there’s a face this time!” She abandons the cards to grasp at your hands.

For someone who prides herself on practicality, Gwendoline was incredibly invested in these dreams that you have. Every time you bring it up, she is genuinely and completely interested in hearing more, and you’re more than happy to indulge her.

“There is, and you won’t believe it, but it was, well, it was the Asset.” The last word is whispered so quietly that you might as well just be mouthing the words.

Upon hearing this, her eyes widen, mouth falling open ever so slightly.

“You’ve seen him?” Her shocked whisper makes you cast a glance around.

Good, you think, no one is paying any attention to you, everyone who is left has seated themselves at the front of the bus, knowing that they will be getting off soon and not wanting to have to shuffle through the narrow aisle.

“I – ”

“(Y/N) you didn’t sneak into the lab after all that, did you?” Gwendoline suddenly turns frustrated, exasperated with you. She hisses through clenched teeth, “After that creep Tarkin warned us specifically not to do that very thing?”

“I couldn’t help it Gwen, you can’t tell me that you’re not so curious to know what’s going on in there!” You explain, and she only scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Of course I’m curious! But I also have some sense of self-preservation.” She looks down at where her hands are clutching yours, turns your palms over in hers. You look down, see how calloused and rough the both of your hands are from a decade of harsh chemicals and hard work. “What if that man is dangerous? What if he hurts you?”

“He can’t, he’s behind bulletproof glass, I don’t think he can even hurt himself with how secure they’ve got him.” You try reassuring her, and it seems that at least for the moment, she is convinced.

Chewing on her lip for a moment or two, eventually she relents to your assurances, and a great big smile spreads over her face once more. You have half a mind to ask her what lipstick she’s wearing, and there you go again, daydreaming about looking nice for this man…

“What does he look like?” Gwen snaps you out of your reverie, and you duck your head, bashful.

You’ve been thinking about him and the way he looks ever since you laid your eyes on him, on his incredibly impressive frame.

“He’s huge. Built like a refrigerator, tall and wide. His face was hard to see, he wears a mask that covers nearly half of it, but his hair is long and dark, and his eyes…” You can see it so clearly, there in your mind’s eye; can see his flexing biceps, the abs, the thick trail of hair that disappears behind those swim trunks they have him in.

With a knowing smile and a shake of her head, Gwendoline sighs.

“You’re going to see him again, aren’t you.” It’s not so much a question, as it is a resignation. She knew you well enough to know that once you’ve decided something, once you’ve put your mind to something, there was very little that could stop you.

If only she knew how deep that sentiment ran.

“I have to, I promised him that I would.” You say, that giddy excitement returning to you once more.

You know that the lab is going to be on your list, you and Gwen are the only ones with high enough clearance for it, you know that at some point in the day, you’ll be face to face with him once again. And that thought thrills you, it has your leg bouncing, your pulse quickening.

Gwen can feel it in your palms, and she lets go of your hands so that you can fiddle with something to keep those busy fingers satisfied.

“Just…just be safe, okay?” She whispers, “You know I’ll cover for you, but I need you to promise me that you’ll be safe.”

Much like Armitage, and even like Boris, or Mr. Henry, you find yourself once again wondering how you got so lucky to have friends so willing to look out for you. You would do the same for any of them in a heartbeat, of course, but something about the knowledge that Gwen would lie to Mrs. Parker, or even Robert – something that could risk her job – made your heart clench.

“I promise.” You whisper.

She looks at you hard, trying to see what thoughts are going on inside your head, before letting the conversation go entirely, picking up her cards once again, determined to beat you at a few more hands before pulling up to the shuttle stop.

------------------

The morning passes uneventfully, as the mornings typically do. Today though, there’s an undeniable pep in your step, a glow about you that the other janitors notice. It’s not that they hadn’t noticed you before, they had of course – but with Gwendoline around, usually she absorbed all the attention. It was flustering to be on the receiving end of it, listening as the boys in the halls got a little too chummy with you, thinking your smiles were for them. Things like:

“Lookin’ good (Y/N)!”

“Where are you off to with a smile that big?”

“Fancy a smoke with me and the boys?”

Are whistled and shot your way, much to your amusement -- funny what a little confidence and a pair of heels could do!

You politely reject everyone’s advances, diligent about getting your work done and doing it well. The sooner you finish everything on your clipboard, the sooner you can get to the lab. It’s on your list, as you knew it would be, but it’s so far down and comes after so many other tasks, that you feel as though Mrs. Parker knew you were eager to return to the tank and the man inside of it.

Thoughts of the man consume you, as you go about your list. Nothing was too strenuous today which you were grateful for, it wouldn’t do to be too exhausted to spend time with him. So, as you empty all the little trashcans and ashtrays, as you clean windows and glass panes in offices, as you take the great dust broom to the floors, you let yourself wonder about him.

What were they doing to him today? Were they going to hurt him again? Would he kill someone again?

The last time you saw him, he was wounded, and that bacta shit had healed him. Would they be wounding him further, or did they have what they needed? You wondered if the scientists in the lab would be so careless as to leave their notes out again. The boys back home would be more than interested in reading further developments, you were sure.

Reminded of the boys, you feel more determined than ever to figure out what’s going on with this man, why he’s there in the first place. Surely he must be Russian, why else would the government be so keen on keeping him as contained as he is? Although, you don’t recall ever seeing a plane like the one that was being dissected in that warehouse, so maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe he wasn’t human at all…the thought pops into your head, and you blink it away.

The stories of alien life in Area 51 were just that – stories. No matter how often you liked to joke about them with Gwen, that’s all that it was, just jokes. Still, that ion engine, the strange shape of the wings, the strange gel that seems to have otherworldly healing properties…it raised so many questions that you simply didn’t have any answers to.

As you sweep the floors, back and forth and back and forth with your big dust broom, you wonder if perhaps you’ll be able to speak to the man. Perhaps he could give you some answers, perhaps you could help him.

You have no idea how you could, but maybe if the two of you worked together, you could figure out a way. One thing was for certain, you felt something for this mystery man. A sense of protection, a bond of some sort. It didn’t have a name, didn’t have much to define it at all – but it was there. Much like the dream, that reoccurring dream, it was indefinite and blurred around the edges, but it was there all the same.

For a brief moment, you wonder what the man dreams about.

You wonder if he dreams at all, in the tank.

------------------

Time passes strangely, in the building. You’re certain that you’ve just gotten there, had just hopped off the shuttle with Gwen – but in the blink of an eye, it’s lunch time. Gwendoline very shyly lets you know that she’s going to be having lunch with Mary, and true to your word the other day, you’re nothing but encouraging.

Besides, it means that you could spend your lunch in the lab, it was the next place on your list anyway, no one could be angry with you for being there, no one could accuse you of being out of place. In the locker room though, you find yourself frozen, standing in front of the little metal locker that you call yours. There’s a compact in your purse, and you pull it out, look at yourself, really look at yourself.

You feel so foolish for all this, especially when you open Gwen’s locker and find one of her tubes of lipstick. She always keeps a couple in her locker for emergencies, something you found silly, but now are eternally grateful for. Picking out a shade that best compliments your skin tone, you apply it carefully. The damn thing is likely going to smudge anyway while you eat your lunch, but at the very least you’ll look put together when you first arrive at the lab.

He better be appreciative of all this, you think to yourself with a nervous chuckle, he better care about all the effort you’re going through. Gwen would tell you that men never care, but she’s not here right now, off playing footsie in the courtyard with Mary.

As you walk the halls down in the bowels of the building, you realize how utterly alone you are in here. Everyone is on lunch, all the scientists, the janitors, the management. Not a single soul is in these halls, the greenish bluish light no competition for the sunshine that waits them near the picnic tables outside. You don’t mind, not one bit, and in fact it thrills you, the thought that you might be with him all alone.

Swiping your keycard through the little number pad, the doors beep and slowly open. Three layers of bulletproof steel slide open, one set horizontally, one set vertically, and one set diagonally. This lab would likely be perfectly impenetrable, in case of an attack, but you recognize that as well designed as it is to keep things out, it is also designed to keep things in.

Things like the man, who finally, after what seems like a lifetime, you will get to see again.

The lab is, much like the rest of this wing of the building, empty.

Once again you are faced with the mechanical nature of it all, the dark grey metal walls and floor, the tables with all sorts of piles stacked high atop them. The lighting is dark, kept dim, even dimmer than the halls outside. You hold your breath as the doors shut behind you, as they lock time and time again, sealing the lab away from the rest of the world.

You park your janitorial cart against the wall, your brown paper bag lunch clutched in your hands, just for something to hold, something to keep your hands occupied so that they don’t shake.

"Hello?" You call out gently, hopefully.

The tank is on the far end of the lab, and you take care to approach it cautiously. There are a million bubbles filling the tank, the bacta gel having been disturbed, and recently. Those bubbles trap the air and make the gel look nearly white with all the foam. You have to get closer, have to approach the glass, straining to see inside it.

“It’s just me, I’ve come back to visit you.” You try again, this time speaking a little louder. Maybe he just couldn’t hear you, through the glass and the gel.

Bracing yourself for him to scare the shit out of you with a startling appearance, you nearly press your nose to the tank. But seconds go by, and there is no activity. A deep deep sense of disappointment and fear spike through your body – if he was not here, where was he? What had they done to him? Where had they taken him? Was he alright -- ?

The immediate string of questions is interrupted by a splashing sound coming from your left, and you whirl around, clutching the brown paper bag to your chest.

He is out of the tank, but he is still here, still in the room with you. For whatever reason, he has been moved from the tank to the pool, and you know this because as you watch with wide eyes, he rises up out of the water, standing up to his full height on his two legs, strong legs, powerful thighs that flex and carry his body towards you.

Remaining perfectly still, you do your best not to gasp. You had thought perhaps, the glass from the tank had distorted his proportions, maybe he wasn’t nearly as big as you had thought. But you’re wrong, he’s even bigger somehow, in the flesh, in front of you. He must be over six feet tall, and twice as wide as the normal man, or at least, twice as wide as any man you had ever seen.

But the most unexpected thing of all, is that he is not wearing the mask.

You have a clear, unobstructed view of his face for the first time, and it takes your breath away. He is utterly, completely, totally handsome. Your imagination could have never come up with the configuration of his features, never in a million years. His nose, so strong and proud looks slightly broken from the front, but when he shakes the water away from his hair and you catch sight of his profile, it is beautifully sloped and triangular. His lips have to be the most full and plush that you’ve ever seen, his ears are large as they poke out from the dark drenched blackness of his hair.

You’re staring, you know you are, but he doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, he’s staring right back at you, looking at you with soulful brown eyes that seem to be sharper than anything you’ve ever seen, eyes that seem to be taking you in with the same level of intensity that you do him.

“Oh!” You realize that he can hear you now, you realize that this is the chance you’ve been hoping for, so you reach out your hand for him to shake, and offer him a friendly, “Hello.”

The man’s eyes track the movement in a way that can only be described as predatory, as an apex creature focusing all their energy on their prey. Strangely though, you don’t feel like prey. Keeping your hand extended, you take slow even breaths, showing him that you mean no harm, showing him that you won’t hurt him.

You’re not like those men, those scientists, you won’t hurt him.

“My name is (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You introduce yourself, speaking as carefully and clearly as you can. “What’s your name? Can you understand me?”

The man simply looks at you, as if in a trance of some kind. You look around, check over your shoulder to make sure, absolutely sure, that no one is around.

Once you’re determined that the coast is clear, and this man continues to take in the sight of you, you move one step forward, closer to the edge of the pool.

“Can you understand me now?” These words come in another language, a switch of your tongue that would have you arrested on site if anyone had heard.

He frowns, confused, and you wonder if this is the first time anyone has tried being polite to him since his capture. You’re about to retract your hand, when suddenly, he lifts his own, his arm tensing as he reaches for you – only to be stopped by long chains that are attached to cuffs on each of his wrists, and to the metal collar he wears around his throat.

The man looks at his bindings, and strains against them with a strangled shout of frustration. His muscles bulge, but it’s to no avail, whatever he has been shackled in, is too strong for him to break through. You have to sit, your legs unable to support you for the moment as you take him all in. Settling on a step near the edge of the pool, you lean in enough for this man to do the same. He too sits, just on the other side of the edge, as close to you as the chains will allow.

Reaching your hand further, further, further still, the man freezes as you place a palm to his cheek. The skin of his scar is smooth, and you find that surprising, as you stroke his face. Eyes closing, the man lets out a shaky shuddering exhale, nuzzling into your palm. He reminds you of a bear trapped in spiked teeth out in the forest, or a lion in the cage of a circus.

“Why do they have you chained and collared like this, why are you here?” The Russian flows freely now, you no longer hold it back the way that you might have in front of anyone else.

Then, suddenly, the strangest noises come out of his mouth. You think that he might be in pain for a minute, but then you realize no, he is speaking to you, impassioned and desperate, his voice is deep, rumbling, coming from the depths of his chest, a baritone that vibrates down inside your bones.

This is the voice that you heard in your dream, you realize. The voice parroting your words back to you, now you know why it had sounded so strange, so off. This man didn’t speak English, and he had only been mimicking the sounds, not knowing what it meant. You’re not sure what this man speaks, and it pains you, it pains you to not share this with him.

“I – I’m sorry I don’t understand.” You have to cut him off, putting your hand over his mouth to interrupt him, to get him to stop. You’re not sure if he even knows what you’re saying, if he can understand but not translate it out of his own mouth, you don’t know. “I’m familiar with ten different languages but yours isn’t one of them, I’m sorry.”

The man looks so sad, devastated, and that at least feels like maybe he can understand you. All at once, you recognize that if he can understand you, there may be hope. Perhaps if you both learn to communicate in a way that doesn’t rely on words, perhaps if you can find a way, you can help him.

That will require some planning, great planning, careful planning.

The man is watching you, he rests his head on the ledge of the pool, his black hair slinking and sliding down the strong muscles of his back. It is as if he is telling you to not be afraid of him, the very same way you were trying to tell him not to be afraid of you.

It strikes you, for a moment, how human he is. Even if by some cosmic improbability he is an alien, he is human. His stomach growls then, loudly, so loudly that it makes you laugh, and you shut yourself up immediately, afraid of scaring him with the noise. He doesn’t go anywhere though, his eyes only widen, making you smile.

The man mimics the motion, smiling back at you, a small laugh of his own.

He has dimples, you think, as you only grow more and more attached to him, and his teeth are so crooked.

“Here, I don’t know what kind of shit they feed you, but you must be hungry.” You rifle through the little brown paper bag that you’ve been holding in a death grip this entire time, pulling out the first thing you see. The clementine fills your palm, you offer it to him cautiously, encouraging, “Go ahead, you can have it, I promise it’s okay.”

The man, wherever he has come from, must not have seen one of these before, because he takes it in his hand and immediately goes to bite through the rind. Your hand flies out and grabs his before he can do so, and despite it all, you laugh again.

He scowls, thinking you’re making fun of him, so you simply shake your head and demonstrate how to peel the hard outer flesh of the fruit away.

“Don’t make fun of me for the way I peel it, I can never get it to come off in one go.” You mutter, wondering wondering wondering if he can understand you.

Watching diligently and carefully, he sits patiently at the edge of the pool, his palm extended, resting near your hands. Piece by piece you peel the clementine, always trying to get it in one spiral but failing, as usual. Eventually, once the floor has been littered with peel and the clementine is bare, you pry the citrus into segments, and place one in his hand.

It looks so small, comically small in the man’s palm, even smaller as he raises the piece to his mouth and pops it in between his teeth, the juice squirting into your face, making you laugh once again. The man’s face lights up immediately, already asking with those strangled sounding words that you cannot understand, a language foreign to even your ears.

“It’s good right?” You hope that that’s what he’s saying, you hope that he likes it. Giving him the whole thing, you watch as he delicately pulls the segments apart. “Bright and sweet. It’s just about the only thing bright in this whole place, hm?”

Instead of eating the entire thing as you would have expected him to do, the man thoughtfully gives you half of the segments. You notice that they are the larger pieces, the ones that must be more flavorful, juicier. He is kind, you decide, kind enough to offer you the better of the halves at the very least.

“Why are you here?” You whisper, knowing he cannot answer. “Why do they torture you so?”

There are no fresh wounds this time, you are glad to see. Nothing healing or inflicted, just the smoothed over scars. You long to touch them, the pink lines that mar his flesh, but he is a person of agency, and you will not disrespect him the way that these scientists do.

So instead, you offer your hand out to him once more, and after careful consideration, the man presses his cheek against your palm. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against the little beauty marks and freckles that pepper his skin, and you sigh.

“I’m going to figure out a way for us to communicate. I don’t know how, but I will.” You tell him, tell yourself, “You won’t be alone, I’ll help you, I just need to figure out how.”

Out in the hall beyond the sealed off lab, a bell chimes, signaling that lunch is over. Regret and disappointment rise up in your throat like acid, you don’t want to leave him, you don’t want to go away from him. He has been in your dreams, all this time, it has been him, of this you’re now sure. But you have a job, you have a responsibility, and you cannot lose it now.

Pulling away, he makes a noise of protest, and this is a noise you can understand.

“I have to clean. You can watch me, if you’d like, but I can’t just sit here all day, or else they’ll be very angry with me.” You explain to him, willing him to understand, “And if they’re angry, then I can’t visit again.”

The man sighs, chews on the segmented clementine.

With that, you move to the other side of the lab where you’ve parked your cart. The only thing on the list is to mop the floors, and you find that you hate that, you wish there were more, wish that you could have more time. You never thought you’d think this, but you hate how efficient you’ve become, how they’ve entrusted you with the jobs they know you are quick at. It is a double edged sword, because if you weren’t good at it, then maybe they wouldn’t have assigned this lab to you in the first place.

Dunking your mop in the solution that you make yourself – vinegar and baking soda, and a little dish soap – you begin to work, the thing you’re actually there for. It is very obvious that he’s watching you, from his spot in the pool. He walks back and forth, almost stalking you, his hulking frame tethered to you by an invisible string. When you go to the right, so does he. When you double back to the left, he goes as well. You smile, hoping that he finds the incredible mundanity of it all not so mundane.

“You’re very handsome. I’m only saying this because I know you’ve got no idea what it is that I’m saying, otherwise I’d be dying of embarrassment. But you’re handsome.” You admit when your back is turned to him, swishing the mop this way and that, picking up the little stains and debris that have stuck to the floor in the time since it was last mopped. “I was wondering what your face looked like, without the mask.”

You continue to mop, and he continues to watch you.

In a strange sense, it is almost like a dance. The sound of the water splashing as he moves back and forth, as he creates little waves and currents, acts as a rhythm, a steady beat to which you mop. His breathing is calm, and he seems to be in a relaxed mood. Maybe he has been hypnotized by the repetitive motions that you make, or maybe, a hopeful part of you thinks, maybe he feels completely at ease with you.

The thought sours in the back of your throat, because you know that once you have finished this, you will have to leave.

You prolong it, you try your best, you really do. But eventually there comes a point in which you cannot procrastinate any longer, you cannot draw it out. The floor is mopped, your clipboard is checked.

Carefully, walking over the freshly mopped tiles slowly and deliberately so that you don’t slip, you sit on the edge of the pool once again, something painful like sorrow making your head hurt.

“I’m done.” You whisper, “I have to go now.”

He’s alarmed by this, the man. He seizes forward, rushes to reach for you with wide panicked eyes, but the chains around his neck yank him back, and he stumbles for a moment, nearly loses his footing in the water. You could cry, with the desperation in the words that he speaks, with the way he reaches for you with bound hands.

You lean as far into the pool as you can, your arms wrapping around him, nearly toppling over into the water with how far forward you are. You don’t care, so what if you should fall? You cannot bear to see him so sad, and so you pull him into an embrace. He holds you tightly, hands curling in your hair, breathing in your smell.

“I know, I know I’m sorry – I don’t want to leave you. But I’ve got more work to do.” Your voice wobbles, hating this, hating how he’s chained, hating how he’s going to be all alone, how he’s going to be tortured and harmed in your absence. You hate it, and he doesn’t want to let you go, you can tell by how strong of a grip he has on you as he talks and talks and talks in a language you don’t know.

There is nothing you can do today though, to help him. For the first time in your life, you feel overwhelmingly insignificant, in the way that you can’t do anything to help him.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, even if it’s not on the list, okay? I’ll come back, I promise.” Your hands cup his cheeks, looking at one another, your eyes boring into his. “I’ll always come back.”

You let go of him now though, and you turn your back to him, mopping up your steps so that the footprints do not give you away.

Swiping your keycard through the number pad once more, the doors open for you, and you do your best not to cry when you hear his pained shout muffled behind the steel.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren reader insert #supreme leader kylo ren #shape of water au #sow au #my writing #kylo ren angst #kylo ren fluff #adam driver fanfiction #adcu

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rigmarolling · 5 years ago

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Historical Holiday Traditions We Really Need To Bring Back

Here comes Santa Claus, and also a bunch of annual holiday Things we do to ensure he commits a truly boggling act of breaking and entering and leaves goods underneath the large plant in the living room.

Because I’ve always got a hankerin’ for the days of yore, here are some historical holiday traditions we really need to bring back:

1. Everything that happened on Saturnalia

Saturnalia was the ancient Roman winter festival held on December 25th--which is why we celebrate Christmas on that day and not on the day historians speculate Jesus was actually born, which was probably in the spring.

Saturnalia was bonkers. As the name suggests, it celebrated the god Saturn, who represented wealth and liberty and generally having a great time.

Above: Their party is way cooler than yours could ever hope to be.

During Saturnalia, masters would serve their slaves, because it was the one day during the year when everybody agreed that freedom for all is great, actually, let’s just do that. Everyone wore a coned hat called the pilleus to denote that they were all bros and equal, and also to disguise the fact that they hadn’t brushed their hair after partying hard all week, probably.

Gambling was allowed on Saturnalia, so all of Rome basically turned into ancient Vegas, complete with Caesar’s Palace, except with the actual Caesar and his palace because he was, you know. Alive.

The most famous part (besides getting drunk off your rocker) was gift-giving--usually gag gifts. Historians have records of people giving each other some truly impressive white elephant gifts for Saturnalia, including: a parrot, balls, toothpicks, a pig, one single sausage, spoons, and deliberately awful books of poetry.

Above: Me, except all the time.

Partygoers also crowned a King of Saturnalia, which was a predecessor to the King of Fools popular in medieval festivals. The king was basically the head idiot who delivered absurd commands to everyone there, like, “Sing naked!” or “run around screaming for an hour,” or “slap your butt cheeks real hard in front of your crush; DO IT, Brutus.”

Oh, wait. Everyone was already doing all that. Hell yes.

(Quick clarification: early celebrations of Saturnalia did feature human sacrifice, so let’s just leave that bit out and instead wear the pointy hats and sing naked, okay? Io Saturnalia, everybody.)

2. Leaving out treats for Sleipnir in the hopes of avoiding Odin’s complete disregard for your property

The whole “leave out cookies and milk for Santa” thing comes from a much older tradition of trying to appease old guys with white beards. In Norse mythology, Odin, who was sort of the head god but preferred to be on a perpetual road trip instead, took an annual nighttime ride through the winter sky called the Wild Hunt.

Above: The holidays, now with 300% more heavy metal.

Variations of the Wild Hunt story exist in a bunch of European folklore--in Odin’s case, he usually brought along a bunch of supernatural buddies, like spirits and other gods and Valkyries and ghost dogs, who, the Vikings said, you could hear howling and barking as the group approached (GOOD DOGGOS).

That was the thing, though; you never actually saw Odin’s hunt--you only heard it. And hearing it did not spark the same sense of childish glee you felt when you thought you heard Santa’s sleigh bells approaching as a kid--instead, the Vikings said, you should be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

Because Odin could be kind of a dick.

Odin was also known as the Allfather, and like any father, he hated asking for directions. GPS who? I’m the Allfather, I’m riding the same way I always ride.

And that was pretty much it: “I took this road last year and I’m taking it again this year.”

“But,” someone would pipe up from the back, “there are houses on the road now--we’re gonna run right into them. We could just take a different path; there’s actually a detour off the--”

“Nope,” Odin would say. “They know the rules. My road, my hunt, my rules. We’re going this way.”

So if you were unlucky enough to have built your house along one of Odin’s favorite road trip sky-ways, he wouldn’t just plow right past you.

He would burn your entire house down--and your family along with it.

Kids playing in the yard? Torch ‘em; they should have known better. Grandma knitting while she waits for her gingerbread Einherjar to finish baking? Sucks to be her; my road, my rules, my beard, I’m the Allfather, bitch.

Above: Santa, but so much worse.

To be fair to Odin, he could be a cool guy sometimes. He just turned into any dad when he was on a road trip and wanted to MAKE GOOD TIME, DAMN IT, I AM NOT STOPPING; YOU SHOULD HAVE PEED BEFORE WE LEFT.

To ensure they didn’t incur Odin’s road trip wrath, the Vikings had a few ways of smoothing things over with Dad.

They would leave Odin offerings on the road, like pieces of steel (??? okay ???) or bread for his dogs, or food for his giant, eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, because the only true way to a man’s heart is through his pet.

People would generally leave veggies and oats and other horse-y things out for Sleipnir, whose eight legs made him the fastest flying horse in the world and also made him the only horse to ever win Asgard’s coveted tap dancing championship.

(Side note: EIGHT legs...EIGHT tiny reindeer...eh? Eh? See how we got here? Thanks, nightmare horse!)

Above: An excellent prancer AND dancer.

And if Odin was feeling particularly charitable and not in the mood for horrific acts of arson, children would also leave their shoes out for him--it was said that he’d put gifts in your boots to ring in a happy new year.

If all that didn’t work and the Vikings heard the hunt approaching, they would resort to throwing themselves on the ground and covering their heads while the massive party sped above them like a giant Halloween rager.

So this holiday season, leave your boots out for Odin and some carrots out for his giant spider horse or you and your entire family will die in a fiery inferno, the end.

3. Yule Logs

Speaking of Scandinavia, another Northern European winter solstice tradition was the yule log. Today, if you google “yule log,” something like this will pop up:

...which isn’t an actual log, but is instead log-shaped food that you shove into your mouth along with 500 other cakes at the same time because it’s CHRISTMAS, and I’m having ME TIME; so WHAT if I ate the whole jar of Nutella by myself, alone, in the dark at 3 am?

But that log cake is actually inspired by actual logs of yore that Celtic, Germanic, and Scandinavian peoples decorated with fragrant plants like holly, ivy, pinecones, and other Stuff That Smells Nice before tossing the log into the fire.

This served a few purposes:

It smelled nice, and Bath and Body Works scented candles hadn’t been invented yet.

It had religious and/or spiritual significance as a way to mark the winter solstice.

It was a symbolic way of ringing in the new year and kicking out the old.

Common belief held that the ashes of a yule log could ward off lightning strikes and bad energy.

Winter cold. Fire warm.

Everybody loves to watch things burn. (See: Odin.)

The yule log cakes we eat today got their start in 19th century Paris, when bakers thought it was a cute idea to resurrect an ancient pagan tradition in the form of a delicious dessert, and boy, howdy, were they right.

In any case, I’m 100% down with eating a chocolate yule log while burning an actual yule log in my backyard because everybody loves to watch things burn; winter cold, fire warm; and hnnnngggg pine tree smell hnnnnggg.

(Quick note: The word “yule” is the name of a traditional pagan winter festival, still celebrated culturally or religiously in modern pagan practice. It’s also another name for Odin. He had a bunch of other names, one of the most well-known being jólfaðr, which is Old Norse for “Yule father.” If you would like to royally piss him off, or if you are Loki, feel free to call him “Yule Daddy.”)

4. Upside down Christmas trees

I just found out that apparently, upside down Christmas trees are a hot new trend with HGTV types this year, so I guess this is one historical trend we did bring back, meaning it doesn’t really belong on this list, but I’m gonna talk about it, anyway.

Side note: Oh, my god, that BANNISTER. I NEED.

Historians aren’t actually sure where the inverted Christmas tree thing came from, but we know people were bringing home trees and then hanging them upside down in the living room as early as the 7th century. We have a couple theories as to why people turned trees on their heads:

Logistically, it’s way easier to hang a giant pine tree from your rafters upside down by its trunk and roots. You just hoist that baby up there, wind some rope around the rafter and the trunk, and boom. Start decorating.

A Christian tradition says that one day in the 7th century, a Benedictine monk named Saint Boniface stumbled across a group of pagans worshipping an oak tree. So, instead of minding his own damn business, he cut the tree down and replaced it with a fir tree. While the pagans were like, “Dude, what the hell?” Boniface used the triangular shape of the fir tree to explain the concept of the holy trinity to the pagans. Some versions have him planting it right-side up, others having him displaying a fir tree upside down. Either way, it’s still a triangle that’s a solid but ultimately very rude way of explaining God. Word’s still out on whether anyone was converted or just rightly pissed off that this random guy strolled into their place of worship, chopped down their sacred tree, and plopped HIS tree down instead. Please do not do that this holiday season.

Eastern Europeans lay claim to the upside-down tree phenomenon with a tradition called podłazniczek in Poland--people hung the tree from the ceiling and decorated it with fruits and nuts and seeds and ribbons and other festive doodads.

(God, who lives in these houses? Look at that. That’s like a swanky version of Gaston’s hunting lodge. Where do I get one? Which enchanted castle do I have to stumble into to chill out in a Christmas living room like that?)

Today, at least in the West, upside-down trees are making a comeback because...I don’t know. Chip and Joanna Gaines said so.

Some folks say it’s a surefire way to keep your cats from clawing their way through the tree and then puking up fir needles for weeks afterward, which checks out for me.

5. Incredibly weird Victorian Christmas cards

So back in the 19th century, the Christmas card industry was really getting fired up. Victorians loved their mail, let me tell you. They loved sending it. They loved getting it. They loved writing it. They loved opening it. They loved those sexy wax seals you use to keep all that sweet, sweet mail inside that sizzling envelope. (Those things are incredibly sexy. Have you ever made a wax seal? Oh, man, it’s hot.)

The problem, though, was that while the Victorians arguably helped standardize many of the holiday traditions we know and love today (Christmas trees, caroling, Dickens everything, spending too much money, etc.) back in 1800-whenever, a lot of that Christmas symbolism was, um...still under construction. No one had really agreed on which visual holiday cues worked and which...didn’t.

Meaning everyone just kind of made up their own holiday symbols. Which resulted in monstrous aberrations like this card:

What the hell is that? A beet? Is that a beet? Or a turnip? Why is it...oh, God, why does it have a man’s head? Why does the man beet have insect claws?

What is it that he’s holding? A cookie? Cardboard? A terra cotta planter?

And then there’s this one:

“A Merry Christmas to you,” it says, while depicting a brutal frog murder/mugging.

What are you trying to tell me? Are you threatening me with this card? Is that it? Is this a threat? How the hell am I supposed to interpret this? “Merry Christmas, hide your money or you’re dead, you stupid bitch.”

Also, why is the dead frog naked? Did the other frog steal his clothes after the murder? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?

Victorian holiday cards also doubled as early absurdist Internet memes, apparently, because how else do I explain this?

Is this some sort of tiny animal Santa? A mouse riding a lobster? Like, the mouse, I get. Mice are fine. Disney built an empire on a mouse. And look, he’s got a little list of things he’s presumably going to bring you: Peace, joy, health, happiness. (In French. Oh, wait, is that that Patton Oswalt rat?)

But a LOBSTER? What’s with the lobster? It’s basically a sea scorpion. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would you saddle up a LOBSTER? I hate it. I hate it so, so much. Just scurrying around the floor with more legs than are strictly necessary, smelling like the seafood section of Smith’s, snapping its giant claws.

This whole card is a health inspector’s worst nightmare. It really is.

I gotta say, though, I am a fan of this one:

Presumably, that polar bear is going in for a hug because nothing stamps out a polar bear’s innate desire to rip your face from your skull than candy canes and Coke and Christmas spirit.

This next one is actually fantastic, but for all the wrong reasons:

I know everyone overuses “same” these days but geez, LOOK at that kid. I can HEAR it. SAME.

If you’ve ever been in a shopping mall stuffed with kids, nothing sums it up better than this card. This is like the perverse version of those Anne Geddes portraits that were everywhere in the late 90s. “Make wee Jacob sit in the tea pot; everyone will--Jacob, STOP, look at Mommy; I said LOOK. AT. MOMMY--everyone will love it.”

Actually, you know what? Every other Christmas card is cancelled. This is the only card we will be using from now on. This is it.

Wait, no. We can also use this one:

Merry Christmas. Here’s a fuckin’...just a dead fuckin’ bird.

#victorian #listory #christmas #holidays #mythtory #norse mythology #odin

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fishylife · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on Street Dance of China 4 episode 2

(Aka Fishy is screencapping shows again. I’m screencapping straight from Youtube so sorry for the shoddy cut off screencaps but blame Youtube for having their player bar cover the video. I’ve never understood that because it’s always in the way.)

(Also Episode 2 part 1 is really just “How many times can Han Geng and Henry hug” and the answer is “as many times as they want”)

- Not really sure why Henry chose Anissa and Tuzi for the 2 vs. 2 battle, especially since Anissa was really not confident about it :( I felt really bad for Anissa because she seemed super nervous!!!!! I just hope that she doesn’t lose enthusiasm and that she can continue to enjoy the rest of the competition v.v

- Kelo and Uwa were extremely impressive though. Like, the way they move together is so awesome and cool.

- Among the dancers, Xiao Jie is actually really good at speaking. No wonder he gets interviewed a lot, because he’s able to describe the dancers to us layfolk, but he is also very smiley and entertaining.

- How dare Yixing be this cute 😤😤😤 He’s definitely far more relaxed when he’s just a spectator, that’s for sure. He was laughing at all the jokes and awkward moments and generally so much more animated when just part of the sidelines.

- Henry covering his mouth because he was enjoying Xiaohai’s performance was pretty cute too, not gonna lie.

- I liked San’er from episode 1, so I was cheering for him when he participated in the 3 vs. 3 battle lol. But it was really interesting to hear the conversation when Wang Yibo asked his team why San’er lost the battle. Ye Yin and Liangliang told him that to the judges who are old school, they care less for explosiveness, and more for actual skill, and while San’er’s performance might’ve looked really exciting to the average viewer, that’s not what the old school judges look for.

- So apparently Lil Kev plays a lot of mind games, and we saw that during his battle against Bozi. So he’s like...the Brad Marchand of breaking lol.

- Are...are we gonna comment on this hug between Poppin’C and Xiaohai? Lmao

- What are they being so cute for. (Also don’t @ me but Bunta is....really cute)

- Is it just me, or did we get fewer behind-the-scenes practice clips this time for Han Geng vs. Henry compared to Yixing vs. Yibo? Particularly for the 5 vs. 5 battle.

- Dimple alert. (Sorry I know this is a Han Geng vs. Henry battle but Yixing just looks so freaking cute today)

- Han Geng.....has a really soft and gentle voice (it is simping hours up in the fishy house okay). He speaks particularly quietly during his one-person interviews and his voice is so pleasant to listen to in those clips.

- Henry was talking about how he wanted to do that move with Poppin’C where they’d lean back on each other’s knees and do a wave with their arms. For some reason that move struck me as something that was very Henry like. He just strikes me as the kind of guy who uses a lot of waves and smooth-looking moves in his dances.

- Also lol @ Henry being “non fatigue!” That Ontario French curriculum at work.

- Han Geng and Henry trash talking each other except it just turns into a walk down memory lane about how Han Geng used to take care of Henry.

- Don’t even act surprised, y’all knew I was going to screenshot this.

- Kitty is amused.

- Of course Han Geng would end his routine with a big ol’ hug. What a huge softie.

- I did think that Han Geng and Xiaohai were kind of a rough duo because even if they were in sync, it was hard to tell because of the height difference. Actually, I spent a lot more time focusing on Han Geng, especially towards the end when the rest of the team crowded around them and he was visibly one of the taller ones.

- Henry’s move where he stood on Poppin’C’s thighs was super cool!! His performance was just super fun to watch. I felt like I was having a good time along with them haha.

- Please sir, may I have more hugs?

- I think Han Geng and Xiaohai’s second performance was better because it relied less on being in sync performing the same actions. However, at this point, Poppin’C and Henry have kind of created a specific brand (TM) for themselves, like they are so uniquely charming to watch, so they have firmly won me over Han Geng and Xiaohai’s team.

- Running into a hug? Are you kidding me, Lau Hin-wah???

- More

- Not only is this show cashing in on the Suju/Suju M fans, it is definitely going to pull in new fans with the Han Geng/Henry ship lol.

- Yixing spinning to get up.

- It is just so goddamn natural for them to be so close to each other. Also Han Geng said that his waist is feeling iffy from that popping ^^;; Old man joints

- Lifting Han Geng’s shirt to look at his patch...

- One of the dancers on Han Geng’s team was crying because he made a mistake in the 5 vs. 5 battle and Han Geng is like why are you crying? And gave him a playful slap on the shoulder.

- Why is that the ads done by the dancer contestants are so much more entertaining than the professional ads (the ads with mainstream celebrities or with professional actors).

- Henry’s written the pinyin on top of the Chinese names of his team members. Better safe than sorry, you know?

- Lmao how dare they bully Tengzai and Shitou by making them talk XD

- I think that when Henry assigns his team members to certain battles, he is thinking more about the combination of styles, rather than the skill level or synchronization. When he assigned Anissa and Tuzi to the 2 vs. 2 battle, he wanted to try out the East vs. West approach, but the opposing duo of Kelo and Uwa had a lot more history together and were obviously better as a collective unit. When it came to Chen Mo and Waiwai, he was interested in seeing a waacking duo. In theory I think I know what Henry was trying to imagine, but I think it is difficult to have a really intense waacking duo because it’d be hard to synchronize very high speed arm movements. In the end, they went with some moves that were simpler, and I think that’s why they lost out to Tengzai and Shitou. That being said, Henry did win his first battle against Han Geng. I think it’s just the 2 vs 2 battles that are his weakness. The 3 vs. 3 battles are really just individual battles, and the 5 vs. 5 battles are usually made up of dancers who are used to routine group dances as opposed to solo or duo dancers.

- A quick word about the judge Icee. His name in Chinese is 王冰冰. The 冰冰 part is self explanatory enough (冰 means ice), so where does the 王 come from? I read somewhere (I forgot where), but apparently his wife’s surname is 王, so he just took on her surname for his Chinese name. Don’t know how true that is, but I think that’s cute.

- So often I see Bunta and Ibuki having fun and cheering on other people, whether it’s their own team members or dancers on other teams.

- Less than a second flashback of Zitao from a previous season v.v Please producers...let us have a LayTao reunion....please....I beg....

- The 5 vs. 5 battle between Yixing and Henry’s teams was pretty fun to watch, probably because the song was so hype lol.

- The leader battles between Yixing and Henry were really entertaining too though.

- The first piece of music for Henry and Yixing’s leader battles was very very cool. Like, it was just a nice piece of music to listen to, and I think that the kind of music it was gave way to rather creative interpretations. Henry and Han Yu went for a more story-based approach, whereas Yixing and MT Pop focused more on an aesthetic. I preferred Yixing and MT Pop’s performance here.

- Henry and Han Yu also had a pretty solid performance for the second song. As for Mingming and Gumball, they didn’t really perform “together,” because they were both doing their own thing, but their individual performances were interesting. (Also let us acknowledge, nothing gets Yixing turnt like KRUMP XD He was so into the performance haha)

- I was so caught up in the euphoria of Henry/Han Geng that I forgot that Henry and Yixing also had a past history, but I think their friendship probably mostly existed off screen. They were from different groups after all, but we also know how low key Yixing has always been. Even if they were bffs we never would’ve known. I also remember on Back to Field, Yixing said that Henry helped him install and set up his music software, so they probably have some kind of rapport on the music side. But yeah, it just seemed like Yixing was rather formal about it all, calling Henry his 哥哥/前輩. And Henry seemed to look at Yixing like his son lol. He was like oh look at Yixing and how far he’s come, etc.

- Xiao Jie said that he’d battled Hilty & Bosch 14 years ago, which means that Xiao Jie isn’t that young, which may be why he’s so chill lmao. Anyway, Xiao Jie is a very entertaining dancer to watch, and he worked well with Shen Zihao. But of course, HB are formidable themselves as well and their chemistry is just too too good. And they’re just incredibly clean dancers.

- Yibo went over to Han Geng to scope out who he was going to send out for their battle. Xiao Jie tried to warn Han Geng about this but he was too late and Yibo already made his attack. But the entire interaction between Yibo and Han Geng was so lols because it was so strange lmao. Yibo was straight up like “who are you going to send out during the battle?” And Han Geng kept thinking that Yibo was trying to play mind games and use that to gleam other information from him. So Han Geng’s answer ended up being really confusing too, he was like “if that’s what you’ve decided I’ll follow your lead.” The thing about Han Geng is that he is too senior for Yibo to clown on, so he is actually being serious, and Han Geng is trying to keep things light haha. (I think Yibo would totally be his normal gremlin self to Yixing and Henry, but Han Geng is like the next tier up from them both.)

- LMAO Aki-san calling out Tony-san for being older than him XD And Tony Gogo was like what have I ever done to you??? I love Aki-san hahahaha.

- Okay Aki-san vs. Nelson was pretty awesome, but SO WAS BORIS vs. ZYKO???? Holy crap that was sooo much fun to watch because like....human bodies can bend that way? And Boris and Zyko aren’t small guys, so it was insanely awesome to watch.

- Side note, Boris’ Mandarin is pretty good. I looked him up and on his Instagram he says he lives in Shanghai, so it makes sense that his Chinese is good enough for everyday communication. In one part of the show he was instruction Yibo on dancing and like, he was not stuttering at all.

- Wait, Han Geng says that he’s known Yibo for 10 years :o So I just looked him up and it turns out Han Geng has been with Yuehua Entertainment since 2010, so I think the math makes sense. Wow, how time flies. He always such a dad though, he’s always like, the top priority is fun and happiness!!! And honestly, he’s right. Like, what is this show if not just a huge dance showcase more than an actual competition?

- Physically impossible for Han Geng not to hug his didis.

- I love that in a dance party full of dancers, some will still choose to slow dance like this.

- Of course Henry will come and praise his gege. (ft. Nelson in the right lol)

- Yo I love Rochka. He’s one of the chillest guys there.

- The kids’ performance was cute :3 Their little jumpsuits uwu

- Also one of the kids was Shitou’s daughter and it was absolutely hilarious how he still introduces her in the most monotonous and neutral voice and he was like “please give her some encouragement” in the most low energy voice ever XD The b-boying kids were super legit though. Oh and apparently Xiao Jie’s son was one of the dancers too :3 Somebody was like “yo Xiao Jie isn’t that your son?” and he was like “lol yeah.” XD Aren’t they cute?

#thinking out loud #cvariety #street dance of china #screencaps

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lunnanunna · 4 years ago

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Unnecessary

iKON Extra Member AU

Summary: iKON does a live, and one of the managers annoys Bao.

Warnings: swearing

Taglist: @hyunmijung @galacticstxrdust @kimonmars @markszone @atinygracie @poutychangbinnie

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Requests are open for each girl! Please let me know what you think.

Bao sat criss-crossed on the ground in between Bobby and Donghyuk. A camera was set up in front of them and the rest of the group as they went on V Live. They were giving a simple group update to iKonics who have been patiently waiting for an update from them. Sadly, they had no update yet as a group, but they did for Bao’s mini album and Bobby’s OST.

“Perfect,” Jinhwan hummed as the staff placed four boxes of pizza in front of them. It was around dinner time and their managers thought it’d be nice if they did a sort of mukbang live.

“God, I’m starved,” Bobby moaned as he quickly grabbed a slice and bit into it.

Bao rolled her eyes, but reached for a slice of meat lovers. “Holy,” Bao mumbled after taking a bite, eyes closed. She understood what Bobby meant. The pizza itself wasn’t the best (Definitely not the place that they usually got theirs from), but seeing as they were all so hungry, it tasted devine.

“Guys, this is honestly so good,” Yunhyeong spoke through a mouthful of pizza to the camera. Everyone hummed and nodded in agreement.

“‘What kinds did you get?’ Hmm, well we have meat lovers,” Junhoe answered. Bao held up her slice when he mentioned the type that she was eating.

“We also have cheese and pepperoni,” Chanwoo pointed out the two boxes.

“And chicken bbq,” Bobby added, already grabbing another slice of said pizza.

“Hand me a slice of that,” Bao said, holding her plate out towards Bobby. The older grabbed a slice and placed it on her plate. Bao nodded in thanks and took her plate back. She finished off her first slice and went to eat the second one.

“Noona, can you give me a slice of cheese please?” Donghyuk spoke up. Bao nodded, mid bite, and reached to grab a cheese. She handed it to the dancer who smiled in thanks.

The group continued to eat and answer questions for the next 20 or so minutes. Chanwoo, the savage maknae he was, dissed everyone, Junhoe was as loud as always, Yunhyeong and Jinhwan tried to keep things civil, and Bao, Donghyuk, and Bobby watched in amusement.

Placing her plate on the floor in front of her, Bao reached for her soda. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Donghyuk finish his first slice, and eye the box of chicken bbq. Wordlessly, she reached for a slice and placed it on his plate.

Donghyuk hadn’t noticed that Bao was watching him, so he startled when she handed him the pizza. He sheepishly smiled at her and took a bite. Bao smiled back, giving his knee a pat.

“‘Aw, caring Bao-unnie!’” Junhoe read, snickering as he looked over at Bao.

She scowled at the vocalist then turned to the camera. “Only to Hyukie and Channie,” Bao patted Donghyuk’s knee again, and sent the maknae finger guns which he returned.

“She plays favorites,” Jinhwan glowered, throwing a piece of chicken at her.

“We’re live, so I won’t swear,” Bao said with an unimpressed look, flicking the chicken to the gorund.

“Jesus, Noona,” Chanwoo chuckled, shaking his head.

“This is why you can’t do solo lives,” Yunhyeong said, wagging a finger at her.

Bao shrugged. “I said I wasn’t going to swear ‘cause we’re live,” she raised a brow at them, lips pressed into a line.

“She did say that,” Bobby said chuckling, leaning back, hands behind him.

Bao sent him a thumbs up, turning to face the camera and smiling. “I’m behaving for iKonics.”

“Not like they don’t know your true nature,” Jinhwan said, rolling his eyes.

“True, but I’m being watched by,” Bao rolled her own eyes in annoyance and pointed up at the sky (And no, she didn’t mean God. She meant the company’s higher ups.) The others nodded then changed the subject as Yunhyeong read more comments.

Bao turned to Donghyuk, feeling him poke her thigh. He looked at her then at the last slice of chicken pizza. Smiling and shaking her head, Bao handed it to him. He laughed as he took it.

“Thanks, Noona,” he smiled, taking a bite. Bao nodded and turned to face the camera again.

While doing so, she caught a glimpse of one of their newer managers, Soobin, scowling at Donghyuk. Bao turned to the younger and saw him looking at Soobin with wide eyes. She watched as Donghyuk placed his plate on the floor, pizza barely eaten, then he picked up his phone to read some comments, his face flushed.

Leaning in subtly, almost as if she was going to read some comments off his phone, Bao whispered, “Everything alright?”

The younger nodded, not looking up. Bao knew him well enough to know when he was lying, and right now she could smell his bullshit. She turned back to look at Soobin, brow raised as she tried to figure out what just happened.

The next few minutes went by with Donghyuk silently reading comments –though Bao could tell that he wasn’t really reading, eyes glazed over– and her taking quick glances at his uneaten pizza.

She had found it weird that he had basically asked her for it, then after only one bite, forgot about it. Or maybe it wasn’t weird. Soobin had sent Donghyuk a weird look right before he put the pizza down. And that’s when she realized what happened.

She fucking hated the staff sometimes, especially the ones who were new and thought that they were entitled to change things to how they liked it.

Subtly, she reached for Donghyuk’s plate and moved it closer to him. Said boy looked at the plate then up at her with questioning eyes. She nodded at him, then turned to face Soobin, who Bao knew, would be watching the whole interaction.

And there he was, arms crossed over his chest, not only glaring at Donghyuk, but now at Bao. She raised a challenging brow at him, placing a hand on the dancer’s knee. Without looking at him, she whispered through clenched teeth, “If you’re still hungry then eat.”

Donghyuk gave the slightest shake of his head, but Bao caught it. She turned to him and smiled wide, giving him a nod. He looked at her then at the manager (Bao really wished that idiot would go away) then back to her, eyes wide.

She took his phone and smirked as she pretended to read comments. She mimed signaling out some comments then said out loud. “Is DK going to finish his pizza? It’d be a waste.” There was no such comment, but with how fast they were rolling in, no one would be able to say otherwise.

“They’re right, Hyukie,” Bao said, grinning at the boy who seemed to catch on, if his blush was anything to go by.

The younger hesitated, but reached out to grab his plate. Bao took this moment to look up at Soobin, glaring. She didn’t care that the fans would be wondering who it was directed to, she just needed Soobin to get how annoyed she was with him.

He was new. He had no right to stop Donghyuk or any of her boys from doing anything that they wanted to do, especially eating. Bao hated the idea of dieting, mainly if it wasn’t needed.

Soobin looked down at her, challenging, but Bao stared right back. He was lucky that they were live, if not she’d have chewed his head off.

She watched as Jaehyun moved over to him and whispered something in his ear. Soobin seemed unhappy, so she knew that Jaehyun had gotten her message across.

Jaehyun was good like that. He could read Bao just as good as her boys, and knew that things like dieting were stupid and unnecessary. Jaehyun, like Bao, preferred it if none of them had to diet.

Soobin looked at Bao one last time then looked away. She smirked, nodding in thanks to Jaehyun who nodded back.

“Thank you, Noona,” Donghyuk whispered as he leaned his head down as if to read some comments from the phone in her hand.

“Of course, Hyukie,” she whispered back, smiling down at the phone.

Bao’s Masterlist

#ikon #ikon au #ikon 8th member #ikon 7th member #ikon fanfic #ikon scenarios #ikon reactions #ikon oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #kpop oneshots #female kpop additions #kim jinhwan #song yunhyeong #kim bobby #kim hanbin #kim donghyuk #goo junhoe #jung chanwoo

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august-anon · 5 years ago

Text

Dance if You Can

This is based off a headcanon/bullet fic I did in the discord a few months ago that Pineapple prompted. Hope y’all like it!

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship(s): romo Prinxiety

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Virgil/Ler!Roman, brief Ler!Virgil/Lee!Roman

Word Count: 2973 words

Summary: Roman held the unofficial title of “Best Dancer” whenever their friend group played Just Dance. Virgil, the new addition, was about to show him how it’s done, but Roman was nothing if not competitive.

[ao3 link]

-------------------------------

In the end, it was Patton’s idea.

While he, Roman, and Logan had been friends for what felt like forever, Virgil was a very new addition to their little group of friends. They all wanted to make him feel welcome (and Roman may have had other motives to do so, as well, but he wasn’t going to admit it), and thus Patton suggested a sleepover to really make him feel like his place in the group was solidified.

Logan, knowing his house was usually the favorite for such get-togethers, asked his parents and, as always, received a resounding “yes” (they loved Logan’s friends and the fact that Logan had friends). They shipped all of Logan’s siblings off to their own sleepovers for the weekend and told the boys to be as loud as they wanted, and that they wouldn’t be interfering unless they were needed.

Yeah, Roman thought, Logan’s parents tried a little too hard to be cool, but he loved them to pieces, and he had no anxiety over whether or not they loved him back (or Patton, or their own son).

But the reason Logan’s house was the favorite was the video games.

Logan grew up in a family of gamers. His father was a huge gamer even before he and Logan’s mom had kids, and he must’ve just passed the gaming gene down to then. The family owned every gaming system Roman could even hope for, and more (seriously, who even had a gamecube, anymore? Roman had forgotten they even existed) and every game they could want for any one of them.

But the sleepover was in full swing and Virgil was starting to adjust to the setting, so Roman decided it was time to show off a little and declared a dance battle.

Logan rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but he set it up anyway. He slid the Just Dance disk into the old, wheezing Xbox 360, because he knew Roman preferred the Kinect version as opposed to having to hold a remote.

They all take turns competing against each other, making fools of themselves and laughing at their pitiful scores. Well, everyone except Roman and Virgil. Roman’s scores were absolutely killing it, and he was entirely not shy about showing off. Meanwhile, Virgil seemed to be content just laughing at them instead of participating.

Well, that just wouldn’t do. Luckily, Roman had a solution.

The thing about Virgil and his budding friendship (and Roman’s budding totally-not-a-crush) was that they were very good at riling each other up. Whether it be play arguments, convincing one or the other to do a dare, or pushing a challenge that the other was too competitive to say no to, they always managed to get under each other’s skin in just the perfect way.

And one playful and teasing argument led to another thing, and suddenly Virgil was standing from the sofa and tossing off his hoodie (his hoodie! He had never taken it off in front of them! Roman had assumed it was a comfort thing and hadn’t pushed, but now he had a body shape and oh no, as if he wasn’t already smitten enough--) so that he can finally dance-battle Roman.

And Roman goes into the battle cocky and smirking. Patton and Logan had never been able to beat him at dance games, no matter what system it was. He was the declared dance champ of their little group.

But Virgil was good.

He was matching Roman move for move, eyes locked on the screen intently. Roman’s competitive nature finally got him to stop being distracted by the sight of Virgil dancing next to him without his hoodie, but even then, he couldn’t beat him. In fact, as Virgil started to pick up the nuances of the game more and more, he actually beat Roman.

There was silence.

“Woah…” Patton whispered.

Roman whirled and pointed an accusing finger into Virgil’s chest. “Absolutely not! It was a fluke, I was going easy on you for your first time playing. I demand a rematch!”

Virgil smirked at him. “Do I smell a sore loser?”

“No! Just -- get into your section!”

Virgil didn’t seem convinced, but he did as Roman commanded. And they danced to another song, Roman putting his all into it, but Virgil was still beating him! And Roman hated to admit it, but he was a little frustrated about that fact.

He didn’t mean to be a sore loser! He just wanted to show off, impress Virgil. Maybe tease him a little (kindly, playfully, maybe slightly flirtatiously) about being the better dancer, but now Virgil was using Roman’s own game against him!

After their third dance, Roman stepped back, panting and maybe sweating a little. Virgil. Infuriatingly, only seemed a little out of breath.

“You haven’t won,” Roman added, once again pointing his accusing finger, “I just need a minute.” He turned to the sofa behind them. “Logan! Fight in my stead! Weaken the enemy!”

Logan stood with a sigh as Patton giggled, probably both knowing Roman wouldn’t let up until he listened. “Why don’t we just combine all our scores against Virgil’s combined scores?” He suggested.

Patton immediately nodded and Virgil shrugged. Roman thought about it for a moment. It was 1am, and they were all pretty wiped from school and the unexpected workout of Just Dance. So Roman agreed. Three against one was hardly fair, but he wanted to win, dangit!

So he stepped back and let Logan take a dance. Logan, as always, wasn’t amazing, but he did well enough to not fail. His movements were robotic and somewhat uncomfortable, seeing as the nerd didn’t really dance otherwise, but he did better than Patton.

Then Patton took a turn against the new rising champion. He, as always, did abysmally, but none of them ever minded. He was more in it for the fun of the game, rather than the competition, and would often purposefully mess up the move to make them all laugh and let loose, seeing as Logan was often one to get lost in the competition as well. His score barely made a dent in their efforts to beat Virgil, but no one really minded when he smiled that smile at them.

And then it was Roman’s turn, again. His scores were up to their usual best again, now that he’d taken a breather and cooled off, but Virgil’s scores were still beating his, by an unfairly large margin. In his frustration, Roman slipped out of his own area a little on accident and, on one of the more dramatic moves, accidentally slipped his hand against Virgil’s upper ribs/armpit area.

Virgil flinched away and Roman heard a quick intake of breath. Then, Virgil quickly readjusted himself and continued beating Roman at this stupid dancing game. It didn’t matter, though. Roman had his plan, now.

It was easy for Roman to recognize that reaction for what it was. He had siblings, Patton and Logan had siblings that were basically siblings to him, and Patton and Logan themselves were like brothers to Roman. None of them were strangers to tickle fights.

Roman fought down a smirk. Just yet another thing their little group would introduce him to, tonight.

It was Logan’s turn again, next, and Roman sat back for a few minutes before enacting his plan. He waited until the first chorus to strike, waiting until a dance move where their arms are high in the air. He quickly spidered his fingers up Virgil’s ribs and into his armpits.

Virgil squealed and messed up, jerking his arms down a couple beats too soon and not completing the move. He lost a few points, and he turned to glare at Roman as best he could while still dancing, keeping the moves in his peripheral so he could copy them.

“What?” Roman asked, far too innocently. “I’m just making the competition a little more interesting. Surely a little tickling won’t make you lose, will it?”

And Roman couldn’t quite tell through dimmed lights of the gaming room, but he could’ve sworn Virgil went a little pink in the face, at that. He turned back to the TV screen too fast for Roman to fully tell.

“Just adding a little challenge, Virge.” Roman practically purred in his ear.

Now that did it. Virgil was just as competitive as Roman and Logan were. Just like how Roman had gotten him to agree to the dance battle in the first place, Roman had roped him into another challenge easily.

Roman dismissed the thought that he could probably be challenged into things like this just as easily, as well.

“Please,” Virgil scoffed, somehow even still keeping up with the moves on screen. “Like a little t-ti-tickling is gonna make me lose, Princey.”

Roman grinned. His plan had worked perfectly so far. Now all he had to do was tickle Virgil bad enough for him to lose.

“Oh? You don’t mind, then?” Roman asked.

Virgil didn’t reply, he just kept on dancing. But even through the lighting, though, Roman could tell that those pale ears had gone bright red. Roman kept his place behind Virgil and moved with him to the dances (because it would be cheating to physically impede him with something other than tickling, and Roman wanted to win fairly.. Well, as fairly as he could, now).

Roman resumed his spidering, this time on Virgil’s ribs and sides, while moving to the dance with him. Virgil’s shoulders shook a little with suppressed laughter, but he still kept up with the dance pretty well. Unfairly well. Aside from little jerks and squirms that weren’t really exaggerated enough to affect his score, Virgil had no issues keeping up.

Roman moved down to his legs briefly in hopes of breaking him, squeezing his thighs and kneecaps. He even skittered his nails and fingers at the backs of Virgil’s knees, or, at least, as well as he could with Virgil’s skinny jeans in the way (which, Virgil still had quite the reaction even then, which Roman would have to experiment more with when those knees weren’t protected).

Virgil’s giggles came deep from his chest, barely audible over the game, and he was still trying his best to hold them in by pressing his lips together tightly. But he also almost kicked Roman multiple times, and almost toppled over, so Roman decided the legs were a little dangerous for now and moved back up.

Before he could start on Virgil’s upper body again, Logan’s dance finished and it was Patton’s turn to step up once more. Virgil was panting the whole time, as they switched spots and began to look for their next song. Roman’s not so cruel as to not give him a break between dances.

Since the new challenge started, Logan and Patton hadn’t said anything about it. That didn’t mean they weren’t clearly paying attention, though, shooting each other and Roman sly looks over the whole thing. Roman, frankly, was just happy they weren’t doing it where Virgil could see and decipher them.

He also kind of wanted to tell them to mind their own business, leave Roman’s weird flirting ritual alone, but there was no way he was saying that in front of Virgil. He didn’t want Virgil to know he was flirting, or know that Roman liked him. So Roman didn’t say anything. He just sent them both scathing glares before the next song started up.

And then the music started and Roman dove right in without warning or build-up. He squeezed up and down Virgil’s sides, then switched to kneading at his hips, then back to his sides and repeated the pattern. Virgil must have been pretty caught off-guard by the sudden attack, because he burst into loud laughter. But he still kept dancing.

Granted, his movements were far less smooth than before, and his laughter was starting to mess up some of his motions. He still did pretty well at not squirming, though, or stopping his dance to grab at Roman’s hands and defend himself.

But Roman was determined to win this, fair or not, now.

He reached around Virgil and claws into his stomach with both hands. Based on the way Virgil cried out and stumbled backward into Roman’s chest before catching himself and continuing trying to dance, Roman was pretty certain this was Virgil’s worst spot.

His laughter was the loudest sound any of them had ever heard Virgil make, and he was barely able to keep his eyes on the screen anymore. His dancing was, while nowhere near as bad as Patton, truly beginning to get terrible, now, and he was losing points fast.

Roman glanced up and realized with a pout that the song was coming to an end. He figured he might as well go out with a bang, whether or not he managed to win, even if he had no clue if this little trick he was about to pull would work.

Roman stuck a finger deep into Virgil’s bellybutton and scratched at the inner walls, wiggling deep into the little divot. Virgil actually screamed before falling into hysterical cackling and going completely limp as the song ended.

Roman, for his part, was not expecting Virgil to suddenly ragdoll. With him being unprepared to catch the extra weight, Virgil managed to drag them both to the ground, where they landed in a giggly heap of tangled limbs (giggles courtesy of Virgil).

And then they looked up and--

Virgil’s terrible score from that last round still managed to beat Patton’s.

A series of offended noises escaped from Roman’s vocal chords, and Virgil’s residual giggles turned into victorious laughter as he watched the screen flash in front of them. He started poking at Roman’s sides with a smug, open grin.

“I still won!” He all but crowed. “I still won, and you all lost! Take that, Roman!”

Roman jerked away from each ticklish little poke and he couldn’t stop himself from blushing. Virgil was tangled up with him, practically on top of him, and he was happy and flustered and yet he felt kind of like a sore loser at the same time.

So to save face, Roman growled, “I’ll show you… taking that!”

Virgil started to laugh at Roman’s terrible comeback, and he started to make some sassy comment about how it didn’t make sense, but Roman didn’t let him get that far. He shoved Virgil’s shirt up and blew raspberry after raspberry around Virgil’s sides and against his stomach.

Virgil was shrieking and cackling and yelling, trying desperately to escape the little knot they got themselves into, but Roman wasn’t letting him get away that easily. He tightly wrapped all his limbs around Virgil so there was no hope of escape.

(Unbeknownst to them, all other sound lost to Virgil’s shrieking cackles, Logan sighed heavily. He shared a knowing half-smile with Patton as they made their way out of the room to give the two pining idiots some privacy and went off to get ready for bed.)

Eventually, Virgil managed to get a hand free. He shoved it up under Roman’s arm before Roman had a chance to defend himself.

The raspberries stopped suddenly as Roman broke into shrieking cackles and tried to wrench himself away on instinct, leaving them both lying on the floor a few feet away from each other.

Virgil was panting and still giggling, but he gave Roman a true grin and said, “You’re an idiot, Roman Prince.”

Roman tried to put on a suave face and rolled back over toward Virgil, planting a hand on either side of his head against the floor to loom over him. “You have an adorable laugh,” he murmured.

Roman could just barely make out Virgil’s blush through the low light, but he relished in it. He leaned in close to whisper in Virgil’s ear.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you never protested or said ‘no,’” he purred.

Roman could feel Virgil’s face flaming against his own and smirked victoriously. He pulled back somewhat to let Virgil see.

“Oh yeah?” Virgil muttered, and shoved both hands up under Roman’s armpits without warning.

Roman’s arms immediately gave out from under him as they instinctively drew in to protect himself and he collapsed forward onto Virgil’s chest. Virgil used that to his advantage and wrapped himself around Roman like an octopus, trapping him in a tight hug and wrapping his legs around him to hold him still.

He blew raspberries on Roman’s neck, squeezed and scratched at his sides, forced his fingers past Roman’s arms and back into his armpits (clearly having figured out Roman’s worst spot rather quickly). And then he let Roman go. Roman stayed draped across Virgil’s chest, panting and still giggling, relaxed now that he was all tickled out.

“You never said ‘no,’ either,” Virgil whispered smugly.

Roman tried to quell his embarrassment, play it off by muttering, “Guess we match,” into Virgil’s shirt.

And then, Roman wasn’t entirely certain who started it, they were kissing, right there on the floor of the gaming room in Logan’s house.

And when they pulled back, Virgil gave him a teasing grin. “You sure have a real weird way of flirting, Ro.”

Roman sputtered for a moment, but he was smiling, too. “Shut up,” he eventually managed, “or I’ll tickle you again.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Maybe another time, I want to go to sleep.”

Roman leaned in, his grin taking on a mischievous edge. “Another time, huh?”

Virgil blushed again and shoved his face away, but he was chuckling along with Roman.

They pulled each other up and got ready for bed, joining the others in Logan’s room and cuddling until they fell asleep. And if someone wound up waking someone else with tickles… well, that was nobody’s business but their own.

#tickle fic #My writing #sanders sides tickling #lee!virgil #ler!roman #ticklish!virgil #briefly:#lee!roman #ler!virgil #ticklish!roman #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #prinxiety

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lobster-tales · 4 years ago

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Modern AU - Rangshi

Day 5 of Winter ATLA Femslash Week. This fic is available here on AO3.

Prompt: Bending or Modern AU

Kyoshi and Rangi arrive at prom, only to be accosted by bullies. Usually Kyoshi would back down, but not this time. Basically every American high school rom com.

CW: bullying, language, implied drug/alcohol use, blood

Warrior paint looked different on everyone. Tonight, Kyoshi’s took the form of bold red eyeshadow and heavy winged eyeliner. She stared at her reflection, counting the freckles. She could have put foundation on them, covered them up, but she had decided against it.

A voice came from downstairs. “Kyoshi! Your friend is here!”

She scrambled, rising so fast that she nearly knocked over the makeshift vanity. “Coming!” she called. Kyoshi bowed her head beneath the low ceiling, smoothing the folds of the green dress. She paused at the stairway of her attic room, doing a mental checklist of everything she needed. Kyoshi brushed a finger to her bare lips, returning to the vanity. She took a tube of crimson lipstick in her hands.

At the base of the stairs, Rangi stood at attention, her arms behind her back. She noticed Kelsang, Kyoshi’s adoptive father, staring at her, and nodded curtly. Kelsang stood behind the counter of his bakery, using a wet rag to wipe the same spot over and over. His shop was technically still open, but Rangi and he were the only ones inside. She stood out against the homely chairs and tables, with her neatly fitted suit and black topknot.

Kelsang cleared his throat. “So… You and Kyoshi are…”

“Dating, yes.” Rangi made quick work of conversation. “We’ve been dating for several weeks, actually.”

“Really?” Kelsang mindlessly wiped flour off his apron. “She didn’t tell me.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” Rangi realized she was being too curt and decided to switch tactics. “I... like your bakery. Kyoshi brought me some of your red bean buns, and they were delicious.”

“Thank you.”

“Soft on the inside, but crispy on the outside. And the red bean paste was very…” Her mind raced as she tried to think of an appropriate adjective. “... Beany.”

To her surprise, the intimidating man began to laugh. “Yeah, you two are definitely a match,” he chuckled. “How did you meet?”

Before Rangi could respond, the stairs creaked. They both fixed their attention on Kyoshi. She slowly descended from her attic room, ducking under a beam as she did so.

Her dress was nothing spectacular. The glossy emerald fabric rose from her waistline, crossed over her chest. Sleeves sprouted from her shoulders, draping along her arms and gathering at her wrists. The only visible piece of her olive skin was her breastbone, but even that felt revealing to her. The skirt was designed to pool at the floor, but instead hung inches above her ankles. Kyoshi preferred it that way, in case she needed to make a quick escape. This sentiment was reflected in the practical, black flats on her feet, the only ones in her size.

Rangi’s mouth had dropped completely, her usually fierce face wracked with awe. Kelsang recovered from the sight before she did, and he stepped out from behind the counter. He embraced Kyoshi, saying, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Kelsang.” Kyoshi returned her attention to Rangi, who had regained her composure long enough to stick out her arm.

“My… lady.” Rangi had never said those words in her life, but felt there was nothing more appropriate to call her date.

As Kyoshi took Rangi’s arm in hers, Kelsang snapped his fingers. “Wait! Pictures!”

The two girls groaned. Kyoshi tried to dissuade him. “Kelsang-”

“Nope. Against the wall, now.” He held up an ancient disposable camera. “Say cheese!”

Neither of them smiled. The light flashed, signalling their freedom. Before Kelsang could rewind the film, Rangi had dragged Kyoshi to the door. “I’ll have her back by 10, sir.”

Kelsang shook his head. “Actually, I’ll be leaving the shop at 8, so you should have her back by midnight at the earliest.” He flashed them a grin. “Have fun, you two! Enjoy it!”

Kyoshi tried to think of something profound to say, but only released a casual, “Bye” before the door shut behind them.

***

The girls basketball team had tried to recruit Kyoshi all through her first year of high school. At the beginning of her second, she had caved. She had arrived at practice ten minutes late, failed to dribble the ball, and missed eighteen shots in a row. After that, the team had quickly lost interest, and Kyoshi had never expected to set foot on the gymnasium floor again.

Until now.

Kyoshi and Rangi approached the throng of high schoolers, all dancing together in a sweaty mass. Kyoshi easily saw above their heads, and was surprised at how well the prom committee had decorated. A makeshift stage had been set up beneath one of the goal posts, silky curtains providing a backdrop. Christmas lights hung in waves against the walled bleachers. Every so often, a balloon would be punched through the air, and the dancers would throw their hands up to keep it airborne.

She noticed Rangi eyeing her, and returned her concern with a smile. Kyoshi was out of her element here, but she felt braver on Rangi’s arm. A few heads turned as they made their way along the edge of the group. Most of the glances were just that, and the dancers ignored her again.

Rangi led her to a seat near the side of the gym, leaning close to her ear so she would be heard over the pounding music. “I’ll get us some punch.”

Kyoshi responded with a nod, and her date disappeared. She leaned back in the chair, drinking in the sight of the dancers. Without thinking, Kyoshi tapped her foot along with the music, and briefly fantasized about pulling Rangi onto the floor.

A silhouette interrupted her thoughts. Kyoshi looked up to see three people stalking towards her like wildcats, blocking the bright lights.

“So,” Aoma said from the center of the trio, crossing her arms over her heavily sequined gown. “You decided to come.”

Kyoshi hesitated, but only briefly. “I did.”

On Aoma’s left, Suzu cocked a carefully filled in eyebrow. “And with Topknot.”

Kyoshi stifled a laugh, thinking of all the horrible names they had called her from their preschool days to now. It eased her to know that Rangi was too feared to be referred to as anything genuinely cruel. “Her name is Rangi.”

“Oh trust me,” Jae chimed in from the right. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his tuxedo. “We know.”

“We’re good friends with her,” Aoma said. A smirk played on her mouth. “Real good.”

On any other day, Kyoshi would have suffered their petty attacks silently. Easier to let them take out their feelings on her than to fight back. Neutral jing. But today was inexcusable. She rose to her feet, straightened her spine, and lifted her chin. Her gaze was neutral towards them, almost bored. “Are you now? Funny that she didn’t ask you to prom, then.”

Jae and Suzu exchanged worried glances. Aoma’s smirk dissipated, but she maintained eye contact. “Oh please, like she actually wanted to go with you.”

Kyoshi had thought her new armor was impenetrable. Turns out there was a chink in it after all. “What are you talking about?”

Seeing she’d regained the upper hand, Aoma eyes flickered. “So she didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Aoma released a callous chuckle. “Come on, Kyoshi. You really think someone like Rangi would want to date someone like you?”

“An orphan,” Jae sneered.

“A poor orphan,” Suzu added eloquently.

Those were facts, and nothing Kyoshi hadn’t heard before. But Aoma was holding back something new. Kyoshi felt like she would have wrung Aoma’s neck to get the truth out of her glossed lips. Instead, she settled for a low voice. “What do you know?”

Aoma flipped her wavy hair over one shoulder, saying casually, “It was a bet, Kyoshi. We told Rangi that if she took you to prom, we’d pay her 200 dollars.” Her smile became vicious. “Of course, even that almost wasn’t enough to convince her.”

Her mouth felt dry. Kyoshi had grown accustomed to picking out Aoma’s lies, but this time, her face showed no tell. She was sincere, if not wickedly pleased with herself.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she turned before they fell. She refused to give them more satisfaction. Kyoshi forced herself to relax as she walked towards the exit. As far as anyone could see, she was just going to the bathroom.

The school hallways held a different aura at night. There was no glaring fluorescence, no crowd of backpacks and sneakers. Her vision narrowed to the stairwell, and she shoved against the door so hard that the lip-locked couples within jumped.

She had hoped to be alone, but refused to back down from her decision. Kyoshi disappeared, past their staring faces, around the corner to the next floor. Before she reached the top step, tears cascaded down her cheeks. Kyoshi turned and perched on the stair, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She had to try and think straight. Focus. Aoma must have been lying. That was the only logical conclusion.

Her mind raced to that day, when Rangi first approached her in the library. Rangi had commented on the book she was reading. Now, Kyoshi couldn’t even remember what the book was called, just Rangi’s face, illuminated by the soft afternoon light.

She pulled her knees to her chest, filing through memories of the last two months: late study nights, trips to the diner, anime marathons. The sound of Rangi’s laugh, the pressure of her lips…

Kyoshi heard the stairwell door open, followed by the scuffling of the couples. Only one thing could make them scatter so quickly.

“Kyoshi?” Rangi’s voice called. “Are you there?”

She said nothing, but her sniffles betrayed her location.

Rangi paused, then said, “I uh… talked to Aoma. She told me…” Rangi sighed. “I- I don’t know what to-”

“Is it true?” Kyoshi’s voice sounded colder than she intended.

“... Yeah. It’s true.”

Kyoshi buried her face in her arms, struggling to steady her breathing.

“But it’s not like that, Kyoshi! I promise, I never meant to-”

“Never meant to what?” Kyoshi stood, fueled by rage as she rounded the stairwell and pierced Rangi with her eyes. “To lead me on? Lie to me?”

Rangi climbed the steps towards her, hands out. “Please, don’t be angry, I didn’t-”

“Don’t tell me what to feel!” Her lip curled. “And don’t come any closer!”

Rangi froze. She was only a few steps away. At the close distance, Kyoshi could see the wetness in her bronze eyes, but found no sympathy within herself. “Kyoshi-”

“You know, Rangi, if you wanted to make fun of me, you could have at least had the courtesy to do it to my face like everyone else.”

This time, Rangi said nothing. She searched Kyoshi’s face, then silently knelt in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

Kyoshi’s fury softened at the sight. Her hands trembled, and she sank wearily onto the top step. “Why?” she said quietly.

“Because… I liked you.”

Kyoshi’s breath caught in her throat. Her shaking hands went still.

Rangi said, “You… you always said the right answer in class. Even though the teacher didn’t call on you that much. I would see Aoma picking on you, but you never gave in to her. Just stood strong and… grounded.” Her voice became quieter. “I… really admired that about you.”

Admirable. Kyoshi never thought anyone would describe her that way.

“I overheard them one day,” Rangi said. “Aoma and her cronies. They were talking about who they should place the bet with. I knew if I didn’t put myself in their line of vision, they would choose someone who would really hurt you.” She winced. “Though… I guess you got hurt either way.”

Kyoshi raised her head slightly, peering at Rangi.

She continued. “Everything I said was just to play along. I’d already decided that if you didn’t like me back, I wouldn’t even ask about prom. I’d tell Aoma the truth and threaten to beat her up if she ever pulled that shit again.” Rangi let out a harsh chuckle at the thought. “But then… you and I started hanging out. You were so interesting, and funny, and…”

“... Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Rangi looked at her, relieved to hear her voice again. “I should have! I know, but I wanted to wait until after prom. After I…” She ran her hand behind her neck sheepishly. “After I bought you a really fancy dinner.”

Kyoshi scoffed, but the sound held no anger.

“Look…” Rangi rose onto the top step, sitting beside Kyoshi. “I know… I know how bad they treated you. The way they still treat you. There were so many times I wanted to intervene, but I never did.” She grimaced. “I just walked by, left you to face them alone. And when I heard them talking about it… I thought of this whole thing as a sneakier way to fight. For you.”

“You don’t have to fight for me.”

“But I do, Kyoshi.” Rangi took her hand, bronze eyes gazing intently into hers. “And I will. Because you are worth fighting for.”

Kyoshi removed her fingers from Rangi’s grasp. Her betrayal was still too fresh. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know if I can trust you.” She averted her eyes. “How am I supposed to know that you’re not just saying this? That after tonight, you won’t just leave?”

Rangi paused, mind racing. She took a breath of finality, rising to her feet and outstretching her hand. “Come on.”

Rangi briefly returned to the gym, but rather than stay by the door, Kyoshi went to the bathroom to wait. She was surprised to see her makeup mostly unsmudged, save for a few lines. Kyoshi fixed her appearance as best as she could, exiting the bathroom to see Rangi leaning against the wall. Rangi took Kyoshi’s hand and said, “They’re meeting us after the next song.”

The front entrance of the school was unguarded. The concrete steps rose in a semi-circle around the doors, with a bronze statue of a fox, the school mascot, in the center. Kyoshi and Rangi stood behind the statue facing the school, spines straight, hands clasped.

Within minutes, Aoma, Jae, and Suzu appeared. They stalked towards them in their same positions as before, with Aoma in the center. She stopped several feet away, hands on her hips as she raised an eyebrow. “No… don’t tell me.” Her tone was more mocking than shocked. “Really, Rangi? I didn’t take you for the pity date type.”

Rangi’s free hand clenched into a fist. “It’s not a pity date, Aoma. Kyoshi’s my girlfriend.”

Aoma rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Your Stockholm syndrome isn’t my problem.” She snapped her fingers at Jae. “Here’s your money.”

Jae reached into his jacket, pulling out a short stack of 20 dollar bills. He tossed them on the ground at Rangi and Kyoshi’s feet. Kyoshi frowned at the paper. She should have felt humiliated, but instead she was disappointed by the small amount.

“Keep it,” Rangi spat. “That’s not why I asked you out here.”

Aoma’s concerned glance at Rangi’s fist did not go unnoticed by Kyoshi. “Then why are you wasting our time?”

Rangi squeezed Kyoshi’s hand once before letting go, reaching for the phone in her pocket. She opened a video, stretching her hand out to show Aoma. Kyoshi didn’t see the contents, but she heard loud music, a sniffing noise, and cheering. Aoma’s face went white.

“You… You wouldn’t…” Aoma said.

“Not cool, Rangi,” Jae growled, coming to Aoma’s defense. “We didn’t have to invite you to our parties.”

“Oh, but I’m so glad you did,” Rangi said sarcastically, swiping a few times on the phone screen. Another video began to play, and this time Kyoshi heard a crowd cheering the word “Chug!”, followed by a loud crash.

Jae’s jaw stiffened, but he kept quiet.

Rangi glanced at Suzu. “I got yours too; wanna see?”

Suzu’s face flushed. “No, I uh… I believe you.”

Rangi huffed victoriously, placing her phone back in her pocket. “Trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from. See, the fun thing about you three is that you like to brag. I have pages and pages worth of text conversations, about your parties, your exam cheat sheets, the bet-”

“Who cares about the fucking bet!” Aoma snarled, her usual aloof composure wrecked by anger. She pointed a manicured nail at Kyoshi. “You think anybody gives a shit about her?!”

“I do,” Rangi said in a low, threatening voice.

Aoma, empowered by her rage, said, “Just get to the fucking point already. If you don’t want the money, Rangi, then what the fuck do you want?”

“I want you to leave Kyoshi alone.” Rangi narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want you to hurt her ever again.”

Aoma scoffed. “So that’s what this is about.” She crossed her arms. “You know Rangi, I don’t get you. You were living the dream with us; you could have picked any tall girl you wanted, and you’re going to throw it all away for this freak.”

Rangi took a single step forward, but the action was enough to make the three bullies flinch. “Don’t call her that. See, that’s the kind of shit I’m talking about. Either that ends tonight-” She lifted her phone out of her pocket. “-or say goodbye to your trust fund.”

“You bitch!” Jae leapt forward, tackling Rangi against the pavement. She clung tight to her phone, sliding it towards Kyoshi as Jae grappled her arm. Kyoshi snatched the phone, looking up to see Aoma and Suzu prowling towards her.

Jae straddled Rangi, his legs pinning her arms to the ground, and swung at her face. His knuckles collided with her temple, and her head crashed against the concrete.

“Rangi!” Kyoshi moved to help, but Aoma and Suzu closed in, surrounding her.

Aoma hissed, “If you don’t give me that phone, Kyoshi, I will ruin your life. Your little girlfriend might need receipts, but I don’t. It doesn’t matter what I tell the school. They’ll take my word over yours any day.”

She could give in. Give them the phone, survive today. Kyoshi had faced the choice so many times before, and always chose neutral jing.

Kyoshi grit her teeth. “No.”

Aoma’s face contorted with fury, and she hurled her open palm towards Kyoshi’s cheek. Kyoshi blocked Aoma’s wrist with her own, delivering a swift punch to her diaphragm. Aoma staggered back, gasping for breath.

Kyoshi glanced at Rangi. Jae was now pinned beneath her, Rangi delivering one final blow before she stood. Jae scrambled to his feet, cowering behind Aoma. Suzu had disappeared, retreating to the safety of the school. Aoma’s breath came ragged, murder burning in her eyes.

“Enough of this.” Everyone’s eyes landed on Kyoshi, and she realized the stern voice belonged to her. She paused for a moment, but steeled herself and continued, “We’re done here.”

Aoma growled, “No, we’re-” but stopped dead when Rangi held up her fists. She pressed her lips together, shooting them each one more glare before she huffed. “Come on, Jae.” Aoma slunk back towards the school, Jae trailing meekly behind her as he muttered something about going home.

Before Kyoshi could move, Rangi was in front of her, checking her face. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Kyoshi said with a smile. Her finger traced Rangi’s swollen temple, causing her to wince. “Are you?”

“I’ve had worse.” Rangi frowned, murmuring, “I’m sorry. For everything. I know this was all… a lot, and I didn’t-”

Kyoshi cut Rangi off with a kiss. They relaxed for a moment, relishing in the warmth of each other. Kyoshi finally broke away, grinning as she pressed her forehead to Rangi’s. “Don’t worry,” she said, removing Rangi’s phone and a wad of cash from her dress pocket. “At least you made it worth my while.”

Rangi gaped. “But… You…”

“Come on.” Kyoshi took her hand, pulling her back towards the school.

“You want to go back in?” Rangi asked, trotting to keep up with her long strides.

Kyoshi had spent her whole life waiting and listening. Now, she was ready to act. “It’s prom, Rangi.” She smirked, kissing her girlfriend’s knuckles. “And I want to dance with you.”

#winter atla femslash week #rangshi #rangi #kyoshi #high school au #prom au #my fic #atla fic #femslash

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btssaysstudy · 4 years ago

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Let You Love Me | pjm.

Pairing: Jimin x reader, Platonic! Hoseok x reader Genre: Angst, fluff (enemies to lovers situation going on) Warning: Swearing, mentions of Imposter Syndrome, mentions of sex (if you squint) Words: 6k

Synopsis : Your dance partner had always been Hoseok since you joined the club. It was production period once again however Hoseok had injured himself during one of the training sessions. With a partner down, the club instructors assigned you a new partner, your dance rival - Park Jimin. You never got along with Jimin since the beginning and now you were forced to do a partner piece with the one and only. With a few months left to production, you guys have no choice but to find chemistry, or fake it, in order to pull off a successful piece.

A/N - I’ve been rewatching WOD performances, especially by Sean and Kaycee. So I’ve been inspired to do a piece after them. Hence, the actual performance described later is actually the Let You Love Me piece that they have performed on YouTube - choreography by Tessandra Chavez

Since the beginning of joining the club, you had been partners with Hoseok. You would participate together as a pair for competitions or showcases. You two had such a strong chemistry, neither of you bothered trying to partner others for events. The two of you had trained together so much, you knew each other’s strengths, training styles, weaknesses. All these were important to perform a seamless partner piece.

It was once again production period, all the members had signed up for their preferred acts. As seniors, you were given the opportunity to have solo acts, to which you and Hoseok decided to perform an act together. Once the programme list was finalised, everyone had begun training. One of the club choreographers helped to choreograph a piece for you two. It was a style you both would execute for competitions, allowing you guys to pick it up fast.

On top of your partner act, you two had also signed up for group acts with the club. One particular act had lots of power moves for the male dancers of the club. They would rehearse it non-stop for every practice to grow more confident with their moves. However, one unfortunate practice had caused Hoseok to injure himself.

The doctor informed him that he would need to pull out from the production in order for him to fully heal. Hoseok was extremely upset with himself when he first heard the news. “I’m sorry Y/N.” Hoseok would automatically apologise when you visited him in the hospital.

“Stop being sorry Hoseok, accidents happen. I just want you to heal right now.” You would always bring his favourite snacks while he was hospitalised, keeping him company for a few hours when you could. “What did the instructors say about our act?” You shrugged your shoulders, “They said they’re still discussing about it. Honestly, I don’t know what’s there to discuss about since I have no partner and it’s a partner piece.”

“Maybe they want you to perform it solo.” “There’s no way I’ll perform that piece without you. It’s our piece.”

Hoseok chuckled, “Doesn’t hurt to have a solo stage now and then, Y/N. Plus, it’ll be such a waste for our piece to be discarded. It’s a good choreo.”

“Well, we’ll see what they say about it.”

“Jung Hoseok!” You cried out as you entered his apartment. “Well, come in?” He walked out from his room, clearly looking like he had just taken a shower as he dried his hair with his towel. You had spent so much time with Hoseok, you’ve seen each other in your lowest forms but you had to admit that Hoseok barely had any bad looks.

“Did you see the email they sent?”

“Clearly not.”

You huffed impatiently, whipping out your phone to show him the email. “I’m partnering with Park Jimin!”

Park Jimin had always been your ‘archenemy’ in the club. To be honest, you never had a proper reason why you were so annoyed with his presence. There was no specific reason. All you could remember was Jimin taunting you during practices and always being one of your competitors for competitions.

He also participated in dance competitions with his own partner - Ji Na. They were amazing partners together, they worked just as well as how you and Hoseok work together. Despite disliking him, you admit that he was an excellent dancer. Jimin and Hoseok were one of the higher tier dancers in the club and everyone respected them. However, you just never gotten alone with him. You thought that one possible reason was that you and Jimin have a similar dance background so you saw him as a direct rival. However, Ji Na also had a similar dance background but you were good friends with her.

Hoseok’s confused look changed to amusement, chuckling as he returned your phone. “That’s cute.”

“That’s cute?! You know I can’t stand him Hobi.” You whined loudly as you plopped yourself onto his couch, “I would rather cancel our act. I can’t work with him.”

“Come on Y/N, you’ve never even had a proper chance to work with him before. Besides, he’s a nice guy.”

You scoffed, “You say that because he’s nice to you. On the other hand, he acts like a dick to me.”

Ji Na and Hoseok never understood why you guys were always at each other’s throats. The whole situation was ironic as Hoseok and Jimin were good friends and you with Ji Na. Jimin would give you compliments in almost a mocking tone and you would return the favour, this had become muscle memory for the both of you and it never stopped.

However, when it came to training, you would keep emotions aside, behaving professionally in front of your choreographers and instructors. Hence, they weren’t aware of this feud between you two. This was probably why they were more than happy to have Jimin as your partner for production.

Initially, Jimin did not have any partner acts as his duo, Ji Na, was overseas for the semester. Hence, he was only part of the group acts. This meant he had extra time to train with you. Not only that, you knew because of his level of skill, Jimin would pick up the choreography in a nick of time. You had no doubt about that, as much as you hate to admit it, no one else can replace Hoseok except Jimin.

Especially with three months left to the performance. Productions always took about half a year to prepare due to all the different logistics to prepare. Learning the choreography and cleaning the choreography were two very different things and that needed lots of time. With only three months left, you would have to spend lots of time with Jimin and you were not looking forward to it.

“Hey.” After receiving a long lecture from Hoseok, you promised to be nice and professional with Jimin. “Excited to dance with me, princess?” Jimin had a playful smirk on his face as he entered the studio. Just from that sentence made you break your promise with Hoseok.

“Definitely not. I’d rather dance with a tree than with you.” Jimin laughed mockingly, “Really cute, y/n. I would love to see that happen.”

Just as you were about to retort, your choreographer for the original act entered with a club alumni. Hyun Jae. Hyun Jae was one of the best alumni dancers, especially when it came to contemporary and you admired his dance a lot. The two of you stopped your bickering, standing upright to greet them.

“Let’s get started right away shall we? Hyun Jae is with me today because we’re learning a complete new piece.”

“W-What? A new piece?” You asked in shock. “We discussed a lot about it. Seeing that you and Jimin have similar dance backgrounds, we decided that it’ll be better to have a more contemporary piece for the act.”

“B-But what about the original piece?” “Don’t worry too much y/n,” Hyun Jae smiled encouragingly at you, “I’m confident you’ll do well.”

His smile was charming and it somehow made you feel more at east. Beside you, you heard Jimin chuckle, and you knew it was directed at you. Your choreographer handed over the time to Hyun Jae and you two began learning the new piece almost immediately.

You were slightly rusty in this style as you had gotten use to the more urban, hip-hop genre with Hoseok as your partner. You found yourself struggling with certain moves as Hyun Jae progressed with the choreography. “Struggling, princess? You know, you can always ask me to help you.”

You hated his tone. His mocking tone as he called your ‘princess’. You don’t remember when he started calling you that but it felt like ages. “Sweetheart,” You gave a plastic smile, “you’re the last person I’ll ask for help.”

Jimin’s cheeky smile dropped as you approached Hyun Jae to break down the moves for you. It didn’t take long for you to get a hang of the piece and the two of you progressed quickly. During non-training days, you and Jimin would meet up to practice together. As much as you disliked the thought of spending extra time with him, you had no choice.

Hoseok would drop by to watch your practices whenever he could and it was a blessing. Since Hoseok and Jimin were close friends, Jimin’s teasing would die down when he was around. “Hobi please, I beg you.” You pouted, clinging onto your best friend’s arm, “You have to come to all our practices.”

“That’s a lot of practices Y/N. I have my own life.” Hoseok laughed, “Besides, you and Jimin seem to be going along well.”

“But that’s only because you’re around! When you’re not around, I swear, he’s a devil.”

Hoseok only laughed louder in response, clutching onto his stomach. “A devil. That’s new.”

“Come on, pretty please?”

“Okay okay, I’ll do my best to watch most of them.” Feeling like you won, you grinned widely, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “You’re the best Hobi!”

You groaned frustratedly, “I told you, you have to be bend lower so it’s easier for me to get on your back.”

“It’ll look so ugly if I go any lower. And you’re landing on my back fine, I don’t get what’s wrong.” Jimin argued back. “In fact, the part that needs fixing is that you always look so scared when I lift you!”

“Because I can feel that you might drop me any time!”

“Stop complaining, after this production we’ll go back to our real partners.”

The two of you would constantly bicker back and forth when it came to cleaning up the choreography. Hoseok would always have to intervene to find middle ground.

“Alright you two, do you know what you guys need? You need trust. And chemistry.” Hoseok placed his coffee on the ground, getting up to approach the two of you. “Your piece looks good already, but what’s missing is that I can feel you guys don’t trust each other. Plus, there are no emotions. You guys need to find a way to trust each other or at least tolerate each other if you want your piece to be perfect.”

You frowned, glancing at Jimin who was staring at the ground in thought. “Alright fine, I agree with Hoseok. I need to trust you in order for the lifts to look effortless.”

Jimin nodded his head, “Yea you do.”

Raising an eyebrow, “Yea I do? How about you, you need to work and trust me too!” He chuckled, “Don’t worry princess, I agree with what Hoseok said too.”

Hoseok grinned, satisfied with the outcome. “Well, I’m leaving early. My job is done.”

“Early?” Your head snapped back to face your best friend. “W-Why are you leaving early?” “Because, I have plans tomorrow morning. I need my beauty sleep.” Hoseok winked at you, pulling you in for a quick hug. “Hang in there. You’re doing great.” He ruffled your hair, after saying goodbye to Jimin, he left you two alone in the studio.

“Don’t be so sad that your boyfriend’s gone princess, I’m still here.” Jimin teased to which you laughed in response. “Hoseok’s not my boyfriend.”

You noticed Jimin furrowed his eyebrows, “He’s not?”

“Yea, he’s not. Anyway,” you clasped your hands together, “He’s right, we should put our arch enemy shenanigans aside and get to know each other better for the piece.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows, “Do you have something in mind?” “Let’s end practice early tonight and go get a midnight snack.” The two of you headed over to McDonald’s since it was the nearest place that was 24/7. “So, how does this exactly help?” Jimin asked you in queue. “Well first, we can talk about why we hate each other so much. “Hate each other? I never hated you.”

You laughed dryly, crossing your arms, “Sure you don’t.” “I’m serious.” His tone was surprisingly genuine, and you could tell from his facial expression that he was serious. “Okay, if that’s true, why do you always fight me?” Jimin chuckled, shaking his head, “Princess, I do that because it’s fun.”

“And why do you call me princess? You know that annoys me.”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” He countered.

“Only to spite back.”

Jimin grinned, “I call you that because I love to see your annoyed face. Gets me every time.”

You grumbled, “You’re really making it hard for me to tolerate you.” He only laughed, “How bout I make it easier by treating you this snack?”

“No it’s fine—“

“Too late princess,” He winked at you, “Already made up my mind. What’s your order?”

It could be because of the numerous sessions you had with Jimin or it could be the late night snacks you two would have after practice. Whatever the reason, you found Jimin more tolerable and his snide remarks less agitating.

“Much better.” Hyun Jae clapped in satisfaction, “I can tell you guys have been working a lot together from that run. Jimin, you just have to hold her slightly longer until the next beat and y/n, stop looking so scared.”

You frowned while Jimin laughed from behind you. “Still don’t trust me after all that bonding, princess?” He whispered in your ear which made you shudder. “Shut it.” You smacked his stomach, receiving a grunt in response.

Practice went on and it was draining as you two were still involved in the group acts. That meant you guys would sometimes have back to back practices - your group practice and your partner practice.

Hyun Jae wrapped up the training and you guys took a break before the combined practice began.

“I’m sooo tired.” You yawned, lying back on the floor, resting as much as you can before dance resumed. “I need a good massage after all this is over.”

Jimin sat next to you on the floor, “I’m pretty good at massaging.” “Is Park Jimin, offering me, a massage?”

“Only if you want to.” He shrugged his shoulders. You took the opportunity to get a quick massage before practice, “I’d appreciate it actually.” You sat up, scooting in front of Jimin and patted your shoulders.

He chuckled before placing his hands on your shoulders, placing just enough pressure as he massaged you. You groaned in pleasure (in the most non-sexual way), “Dude that feels so good.” “I’ll be charging you for this.” He teased.

“I don’t care. I need this.”

It was small moments like this that made you think that maybe you disliked Jimin for no reason and just held it against him the entire time.

Once combined practice started, you were both parts of different group sp each group took turns to use the studio. When it wasn’t your turn, the non-performing groups would sit in front of the mirror to watch the practicing group do their runs.

You caught yourself watching Jimin numerous times, always attempting (but failing) to divert your attention elsewhere. You had always respected his dance skills, he was truly one of the stronger dancers in the club and he could easily grab your attention with his stage presence.

“You’re gonna drool.” Your friend beside you commented, nudging your side.

“Oh shut up, I wasn’t staring.”

“Yea sure.” Your friend teased as your gaze shifted back to Jimin. When the music stopped, you were about to look away when his eyes immediately glanced in the crowd sitting front to find you. He sent you a wink, and you rolled your eyes in response, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your heart.

“Okay, the group in charge of the second half can use the studio now.”

You enjoyed dancing in a group the most, you always had extra energy when in a group. The energy oozing off each member always gave you the push and adrenaline to give your 120%. It was one of the reasons why you loved your club, the members were all so supportive and everyone was always pulling their weight.

Once your group ended your run, you took your empty bottle and headed for the cooler.

“You did great Y/N.” You almost splashed the person with your bottle and when you saw who it was, you wished you did. “Jimin! What the fuck I almost had a heart attack!” He laughed, “Calm down princess, I just complimented you.” Raising an eyebrow, “Was that a compliment or were you just mocking me as usual?” “Hey, I’m being genuine.” He frowned, placing a hand to his heart, “That really hurt me.” You jokingly shoved him away, “Get used to it sweetheart.”

Since schedule was extremely tight, you guys had numerous vetting sessions to ensure that you guys were progressing well and getting the desired results. Hyung Jae loved the partner piece and it was evident every vetting session.

“You know, I can’t even tell that it’s your first time partnering up. You guys should partner more often.”

You shook your head, “Actually we already have our own dance partners. It’s just for this production, right?” You nudged Jimin, getting him to respond.

“Oh yea.” He agreed however what threw you off was how un-energetic he sounded. It was almost as if he sounded sad?

“Oh, that’s a bummer. Would’ve loved to see more from you two.” Hyun Jae shrugged his shoulders, “Well, that just means we have to make this one and only collaboration a perfect one!”

After that afternoon vetting, the two of you stayed back to clean up the second half of the piece as that was the section with more partner moves. “You gotta trust me Y/N.” Jimin sighed, sounding slightly annoyed. “I do! I just don’t feel comfortable with this move.” “Why not?” You sighed, “I don’t think I can pull it off.”

Jimin shook his head, “You can, you’ve done it so many times. We just need to clean it up.”

“Maybe I should ask Hyun Jae to change this part of the choreo. I’m not doing it justice.”

“You’re an amazing dancer, you can do it well.” Jimin took a step forward, placing both his hands on your shoulder to give you a good shake, as if wanting to wake you up.

“Dude, you’ve won so many competitions! You’re amazing!”

You frowned, looking away, “Honestly, it’s just because Hoseok is my partner. He always carries the two of us.”

Jimin’s hands shifted from your shoulders to your upper arm, giving you a firm squeeze. “Y/N.” You were shocked by how serious he sounded, “Look at me.” You felt obliged to listen to him, staring straight into his eyes. “You’re an amazing dancer. I’ve seen you grow so much in terms of dance since you joined the club. You guys win not because of Hoseok but it’s because of the both of you. If Hoseok had a shitty ass partner, he would lose even though he’s an amazing dancer himself. So don’t downplay your strengths, you’re amazing and you have to start believing that.”

You could feel yourself get emotional from the pep talk Jimin had just given you. You never brought this up with Hoseok since you didn’t want to look like you were fishing for comments but it had slipped out in front of Jimin so easily.

After hearing his words, you felt a sense of confidence in yourself and you felt more at ease. “Don’t cry, it’ll look like I just bullied you.” Jimin joked, and you laughed.

“There we go. What a beautiful smile.”

Damn you Jimin.

“Can’t believe vetting is at 11pm today.” You groaned as you two were stretching in front of the mirror.

“Isn’t that good? More time with me.” Jimin grinned cheekily.

“You’re right, I feel so much better now!” You feigned excitement, clasping your hands together as you jumped on the spot.

The two of you had been going through the piece non-stop, not realising someone entered the studio to give you a surprise.

“Wondering if you two could squeeze in a little break time?”

“Hobi!” You greeted your best friend super enthusiastically, rushing over to pull him in for a tight hug. “You brought food too!”

Hoseok laughed, wrapping his arms around you for the hug. “Didn’t know you miss my presence that much.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself Hobi.” You laughed, pulling away to see what food he brought. “No way, my favourite! You’re the best!” You reached out to pinch his cheeks.

“Jimin, I bought extra for you two to share!” Hoseok called Jimin to come over. “I’m just here to drop the food since I know your vetting is pretty late today.”

“Aw, you’re leaving already?” You pouted.

“Yes,” Hoseok patted your head, “Because you have to train.” After a quick bite, Hoseok said goodbye and left you with Jimin. “Shall we resume?” You asked JImin, clearly in a super good mood after seeing your best friend.

“Yea sure.”

You didn’t fail to realise how cold he sounded, watching him head to the speaker to start the song. This run went worse than the others. The lifts felt half-assed and Jimin was avoiding eye contact throughout the song.

“What happened?” You asked the moment you finished that run.

“Nothing.”

“Then what was that?”

“What was ‘what’?” Jimin asked in a low voice as he looked at his reflection to fix his hair, doing anything except to look at you.

“Our practices have been going so well. It was fine minutes go until this round. You okay? Did you hurt yourself before we took a break?” You approached him to check for any sprains or bruises but Jimin stepped back away from you.

“No. I’m fine. Stop asking me questions.”

“You don’t sound fine to me. If anything, you sound pissed at me.”

Jimin looked at you and you knew he was upset. He was good at controlling his facial expressions but his eyes told a different story. “I’m fine. Let’s just take another break.”

Without waiting for your reply, he left the studio and you assumed he went to the bathroom. You sat in the studio, staring at your reflection as you wondered what triggered the sudden change in demeanour.

He was fine and happy until after the break. Did you say something wrong? Was the food giving him a stomach ache? But you ate it too and you felt fine?

You couldn’t think of any reason why and you just hoped that vetting would go well.

But you were wrong.

Hyun Jae was evidently disappointed, so were the other instructors. “Hyun Jae said you two were doing great. What was that?”

You two bowed apologetically, “Sorry, we recently had some difficulties but we’ll fix it immediately.” Jimin spoke.

“I trust you guys, I don’t want the next vetting to be this way again.”

After they dismissed you, Jimin headed straight for his bag, ready to go back home. “Hey, you alright?” You asked and he nodded his head, “Perfect.”

“Okay, that was so fake. Can you please tell me what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong!” Jimin barked at you, causing you to step back in shock and in slight fear from his anger. You were hurt by how cold he was talking to you that night. Things were going well for the both of you and you thought you were growing closer.

“You know what’s wrong? I miss my real partner, she’s so much better to work with than with you.”

You scoffed, not believing what you just heard. To be frank, you wanted to just cry and shout at Jimin for being such a dick. “Geez, thanks for your honesty.” You laughed dryly, deciding to be the first one to leave the studio.

“W-Wait, Y/N—“

“What?” You turned around, if looks could kill, you swore that Jimin would’ve been gone by now. You were beyond hurt by his words. “I thought things were going great with us— Guess it was one-sided.”

“No, I didn’t mean it I swear.” Jimin shook his head frantically, trying to close the distance between the two of you but you stepped back for every step he took forward.

“I got jealous, okay? When I saw how close you were with Hoseok. I want you to be as comfortable with me as you are with him. I want that with you.” Jimin ran his fingers through his hair, “Why can’t that be us as well?”

You were overwhelmed with so many emotions and thoughts. You were still hurt with what he said earlier and now he was saying things that made you flustered.

“Stop playing with me Jimin. You don’t just insult me and say you want to be with me the next second. Nothing’s going to happen because you’re right. I miss my original partner too.” You reponsded with nothing but poison in your tone, leaving him alone in the studio.

As you walked away, you regretted what you said because you didn’t mean it. You wanted what he wanted as well. You wanted to hug Jimin whenever you could, you wanted to spend even more time with him outside dane. You did miss Hoseok but you loved being with Jimin too.

But it was too late to take back what you said.

“I fucked up, Hoseok.”

The next day, you were at Hoseok’s place to update him on every single detail. Hoseok stayed silent as he absorbed every single word you said. With a sigh, Hoseok finally talked. “You like him.”

“I what?! Did you not hear what I’ve been saying? I’m pissed at him!” “Yes you are.” He nodded his head, “But that doesn’t mean you don’t like him. And from what I just heard, I think you do. And I’m pretty sure he does too.”

“Well, you’re not helping.”

Hoseok sighed, “You want my advice? Go talk to him.”

“No way.”

You ignored his advice and it also seemed that Jimin was not in the mood to talk to you either. You barely made small talk with each other, communicating only when it was related to the dance.

Your runs were better compared to the vetting however Hyun Jae was still not satisfied. “The spark is not there guys. You know what the song is about right? It’s called ‘Let You Love Me.’ You guys need to look like you’re in love but you’re fighting it and struggling to come to terms with it. Yet you’re longing for each other - I need to see that emotion.” You internally winced, realising that Hyun Jae just described what you were currently going through but didn’t want to admit. You knew Hoseok was right.

Once practice was over, you wasted no time to pack your things and leave the studio. You couldn’t stand any extra second being alone with Jimin.

“Y/N wait, please let me apologise.” Jimin called out for you, his voice cracking upon calling your name.

“It’s okay Jimin. I understand. We just need to keep it together so that we can finish the production smoothl.y and go back to our original partners.”

“No that’s not what I meant.” He frowned but you shrugged your shoulders, “That’s the message you gave me.”

During combined rehearsals, Hoseok attended them to watch the whole production come alive. He noticed that Jimin would glance at you so often to try and get your attention. You yourself noticed it.

You would catch him looking at you with so much desperation and guilt in his expression. It almost made you crack and run to hug him but you held yourself back.

On production day itself, things were hectic as usual. Behind the stage was always chaotic and fast-paced. You had time limits for everything and the production couldn’t afford even a split second delay.

“There’s my partner!” Hoseok called for you, shimmying his shoulders as he approached you. “Please laugh, you look so stiff.” He frowned, shoving a bouquet of flowers in front of your face. “This is for you.”

“Aw, Hobi, thank you so much! You being here is more than enough.” You smiled at him as he pulled you in for a hug. “You’re going to nail it out there. I’m keeping my eyes on you. If you drop step, you owe me a meal.”

“Deal.” You saluted jokingly at Hoseok who returned the gesture.

Your eyes looked behind Hoseok to see Jimin hesitantly approaching you. Hoseok glanced behind before saying that he will excuse himself.

“Hey.” “Hey.” You awkwardly greeted your dance partner. Though the makeup room was filled with club members, you felt like you could only hear Jimin amongst the noise.

“All the best for production.” He spoke with his arms behind his back.

“You too.”

He shifted uneasily on his feet before showing you had he had in his hand. “I know it’s small compared to what Hoseok just gave you,” He glanced at the large bouquet by your bag. “But this is for you.”

Despite telling yourself that you were angry with him, the gesture made your heart flutter and your cheeks get hot. “T-Thank you Jimin. I like it a lot.”

You twirled the rose in between your fingers, smiling fondly at it before frowning. “I’m guessing you’re excited to end this so we can go back to our original partners, huh?”

Jimin frowned, “No I’m not.”

You looked up from the rose to Jimin. “I love dancing with you. I love training with you. I didn’t mean what I said that day. I like you. I genuinely do. But, I understand if you don’t feel the same.”

You knew you should be focusing on getting into the zone since your act was already on standby but Jimin’s words had thrown you off and especially his expression. He meant it. You knew 100% that he meant it with every fibre in his body.

“Jimin! Y/N! Standby positions!” The stage crew announced through the loudhailer.

You weren’t able to reply Jimin as you guys were rushed to your positions and you were at the center of the stage while Jimin waited at stage right.

When the song began, it felt different than all your rehearsals. The song resonated with you more than ever as the piece felt even more intimate after his confession.

He had just confessed to you and you liked him too but you’ve been pushing your feelings away. You’ve been pushing Jimin away. You had been in denial even when Hoseok confronted you about it. But this song and the piece, made you slowly come to terms with it as each move and each beat went by.

Every connection made with Jimin, every touch and embrace in the choreography felt so real and not staged. The expressions of longing coming from Jimin felt like it was piercing your heart. Jimin knew that this song was for the both of you. It felt like it was his attempt to get his message across to you once more - this time not through words but through dance, asking you to give him a chance.

At the end of the choreography, you lifted his face to look up at you, smiling at each other to tell a happy and hopeful ending. Though, you could tell from his eyes that it was really an act.

Once the lights went out, you two pulled away and headed backstage.

“Jimin.”

But he continued walking to the dressing room.

“Jimin,” You called out again, this time sounding even more desperate for his attention, “we need to talk.”

He sighed, finally turning to you. You looked around to see your other members frantically running around for their outfit changes or to get to their standby positions. There were two more acts before your next one, “Can we go somewhere less crowded?”

The two of you went to the waiting room where you all had dinner at, which was now empty for you two to talk. “Did you mean all that?”

“Every word.” Jimin responded, not missing a beat. “Every move.”

“How do I know it’s not just the adrenaline from the piece?”

“I should be the one asking you that.” Jimin countered.

You sighed frustratedly. “I don’t know! One moment, I like being with you and the other we’re suddenly fighting again and bickering? If we’re going to keep this up, it’s not good for us.”

“But I don’t want to keep this up. I admit I was an asshole at times. But I just hated seeing you so close with Hoseok and not me. I let jealousy get the best of me. But I understand you and Hoseok are just close friends. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a dick -for saying that I didn’t want to dance with you.”

Seeing that you were out of words, he continued, “I want to dance with you. Damn it ,I want more than that. I want to take you out on dates, grow with you and love you. Please, y/n, if you feel the same way about me, please give me a chance.”

“I need to think about it—“

The door knocked and you two pulled away, Hoseok entered, wide eyes reading the situation before speaking. “Sorry I know I just ruined something but y’all gotta change your costumes for the last act.”

The last act went by in a blur, the adrenaline taking over your muscles as your whole club gave it all. Once again, the energy coming off from the people surrounding you gave you the push to perform the last act with every drop of energy you had left, ignoring whatever had been going on with you and Jimin.

The adrenaline slowly died down as you heard the crowd cheer loudly, the applause filling the venue as the curtains drop, signalling the end of the production.

The whole club cheered loudly, behind the curtains. A tradition you always had as a club.

This time, you didn’t cheer with them. You squeezed through your members, finding for Jimin who didn’t seem so enthusiastic with his clapping.

His eyes shifted to the side to see you rushing towards him. With furrowed, confused eyebrows, he asked, “Y/N, what’s wrong—“

“I’m willing to take the chance. I’ve been denying it but I like you too. It’s not the adrenaline. I mean it. I really mean it.” You said in between pants as you were still trying to stabilise your breathing from the powerful choreography. His face lit up, any trace of confusion and sadness was now gone. Jimin wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up briefly as he beamed with a bright smile. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you laughed in response. “You have no idea how happy I am.”

“Why don’t you show me?” “Will do, princess.”

It felt like you’ve been waiting for this moment for centuries. His soft, plump lips, lightly but firmly against yours, his arms tight around your waist. The two of you not caring that you were being surrounded by your club members.

In that moment, you just saw each other and that was all you needed.

“Is it weird that we’re still partners?” Hoseok asked, glancing between you and Jimin.

“Nothing’s wrong. Jimin is still with Ji Na.” “Yea but it’s kinda strange that now you two are partners but still dancing with different partners.” “It’s cool Hoseok,” Jimin draped his arm over your shoulder, “We don’t need to be dance partners just because we’re in a relationship.”

You grinned, looking at Jimin and nodding your head in agreement. “Besides, we do lots of partner stuff in our free time.” You winked at him, causing Hoseok to grown, throwing a pillow at you two.

“Spare me the details, please.”

106 notes · View notes

myghostmonument · 4 years ago

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13xReader: Inhibitions

Notes: I’ve been writing a lot more “canon” pieces recently (non-readers, posted on my ao3), but it feels nice to go back to my fandom roots, so to speak, and finish off some requests like this one! Each style has its own challenges to work through, and it’s fun to move between them and keep things interesting. I plan to keep writing for both, so no worries to anyone who prefers one over the other. This is, as always, gender-neutral for the reader, and is also border-line a disaster!reader fic, a loose characterization style created by the incredible @lilaccoats that I stole bc she loves me

Summary: The Doctor takes you and the fam to a trendy bar, promising a night of relaxation and fun. Shenanigans ensue when you maybe-not-so-accidentally get a little too inebriated.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drunkenness, hangovers, mentions of vomit, and attempted assault. It’s more an uncomfortable conversation than anything, and nothing graphic happens, but please be warned!

WC: 7500 please don’t look at me like that I just picked at it to unwind as I worked on my zine piece and it got entirely out of hand honk honk goes the clown mobile

The decision to go to a bar had been Ryan’s. That alone, that the destination had been picked during his turn, ought to have been enough forewarning; it seemed that whenever a trip went sideways, it almost always fell on Ryan’s turn (or the Doctor’s, but you and the others excluded that data — her choices were always catastrophes and not worth including in the risk analysis amongst yourselves).

But faced with the usual question of “where and when to next?”, Ryan had requested a bar, and the Doctor had delivered. You had landed on an asteroid, which according to the Doctor was the location of a top-notch bar, situated along a very popular intergalactic trading route. It was certainly busy, as you all left the TARDIS in an alley and approached the sleek, shiny building; there was a short queue to get in, but people — aliens and humans both — congregated in clumps around it and as you moved through the line and entered the bar, you even looked up and noticed people on the roof.

“So,” Yaz said, propping a hip against the bar counter and taking in the sights. “This is where the great Ryan Sinclair works his magic.” She let her eyes rove around the noisy crowd, and grinned over at Ryan. “You feeling right at home then?”

Ryan shot her a scowl, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. “Ha ha,” he said. “This is not what I had in mind when I suggested drinks.”

“What?” The Doctor asked, looking around at him. “Really? I thought I did all right.” She put her hands on her hips, surveying the crowded, noisy bar.

“Well I think it’s great Doc,” Graham said, already perusing a menu with interest. She beamed at him.

“Thank you, I try my best,” she said. She had her hands in her coat pockets, something that usually indicated she was being (or feeling) cautious. In this case, you thought she was merely trying to avoid knocking into anyone, or any drinks; the bar (if that’s what it was, it did seem more like a sort of club) was packed with people, and it would be all too easy to hook an elbow or bump a precarious drink.

Yaz and Ryan were still bickering, and although you generally enjoyed wading into those sorts of things, a menu caught your eye and you pulled it closer. You could read it, thanks to the TARDIS’ help, but translation could only go so far.

“Are these all alcoholic?” you wondered aloud, frowning at something listed as a Greyhound.

“Are they even all drinks?” Graham added, and you glanced up with a smile, knowing he was hoping for food.

“I think so,” the Doctor answered, moving over to you. She reached over to pull your menu towards her, and her sleeve brushed against your shoulder. “Hmm,” she said, still standing very close. “Sorry Graham, all liquid.” She didn’t actually sound all that sorry, you noted. Graham obviously noticed it as well, because he gave a theatrical sigh.

“Every drink has an inebriation agent of some sort,” the Doctor continued, scrunching her nose. “Different sorts for different races and species, this is a very diverse bar.”

“Are they all safe for us?” Yaz asked, also crowding your shoulder to look at the menu.

“Y-e-s,” the Doctor said slowly, followed by an “actually no,” and an eye-roll from Yaz. “Well, sort of. Depends on what you mean by safe. Humans are common enough here, but some drinks will still have a stronger or weaker effect than they would for their intended consumer. They’re coded, see?” She flattened her (your) drink menu on the counter and pointed. “This is the symbol for human, with standard colour rankings. Green means intended for you, yellow means it will have less effect, and red more.”

“Get in,” Ryan said, and you knew without having to look that he was perusing the red-coded drinks.

“You don’t want to try a Red,” the Doctor said sternly. “It could have any number of effects.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Ryan muttered, and then it was Graham’s turn to bicker with him while you and Yaz scanned the menu.

“How do you think we order?” you wondered, after deciding to try the Greyhound, which was coded green. Yaz had decided on yellow-coded drink, which cited a lack of alcohol. Its kick came from the flavor combination and carbonation, apparently. Yaz’s particular choice sounded disgusting, and you were very much looking forward to watching her try it.

“Yeah, I don’t see a barkeep,” Graham added, craning over the counter and apparently done with trying to persuade Ryan to make good choices. “Though I suppose you might not be able to pick one out from this mess.” It was true; though you were congregated around a counter, there was no discernible life-form keeping tabs or otherwise running it, and the crushing ebb and flow of the crowd was a confusing riot of clashing voices and species. Over it all thrummed the heavy beat of music, alien but still somehow recognizable as upbeat and catchy. You had the distinct sense that this was a trendy bar, and wondered how the Doctor even knew about it.

“It’s simple,” the Doctor said, and she bent over you to again point at the menu, her arm resting against yours. “You see this bit here? You press it with your finger, then press the box next to the item you want.”

“How’s that work then?” Ryan asked dubiously.

“It’s DNA activated,” the Doctor said calmly, as if that were in any way a normal thing for a drinks menu to be. “We were all scanned when we walked through the doors, didn’t you notice?”

“Did we notice the DNA scanners in an alien bar filled with aliens?” Graham asked. “No, must have slipped my mind Doc, no idea how I missed them. ”

“Well,” the Doctor said loftily, “you were scanned. So order your drink like I said, and it’ll be brought to you.” She bent over her menu, some of her hair brushing against your face. You sat very still, swallowed, then reached for a menu and dragged it towards you (seeing as how your own had been commandeered.)

After some consideration you ordered your Greyhound, and it arrived in an interesting, fluted sort of glass, delivered by a waiter. The drink was a pleasing sanguine colour, complete with a wedge of fruit on the glass rim. The whole effect was quite good, too, which was more than Yaz could say for her yellow-coded drink, which she almost choked on. You didn’t deign to try it after that, but Ryan and the Doctor both made a big show of tasting it and being subsequently horrified. Graham, equable as ever, took the abandoned yellow in hand and sipped it serenely, something the rest of you took in with an impressed sort of horror. The Doctor drifted away shortly after with no drink of her own, which wasn’t too surprising; you rarely saw her ingest anything more than a taste of food or drink before flitting away, like some sort of overgrown and absent-minded hummingbird. Ryan and Graham wandered off too. You lingered at the counter with Yaz for a while, as she ordered a new (and improved) yellow-coded drink. You found your own glass empty, and after some hesitation, shrugged and ordered another Greyhound. It hadn’t been too strong; you simply felt warm, and bright. It was nice. Second drinks in hand, you and Yaz decided to do a circuit, it was dark and loud and you were quickly separated in the swirling crowd. No matter, you thought cheerfully, as you took another sip. You’d catch Yaz up eventually, no doubt. The music was blasting, and you unconsciously matched your footfalls to the beat, feeling it warm and sizzling in your blood along with the drink. You tipped the glass in your mouth at the end of the song, and were surprised to find it empty. “Well that’s rude,” you told the empty glass, which flashed in your hand in a thoroughly unimpressed manner. You pivoted in the press of bodies around you, trying to find a free table and a menu. You needed replacement drink, seeing as how your current one was clearly faulty. “Must’ve shorted me,” you mumbled to yourself. “Typical. Think I can’t handle my glasses - I mean, hounds. Dogs. Drinks.” You stumbled as you pushed through a group of people, but regained your stride easily enough. You even spotted Ryan in a shadowy corner, chatting with a very lovely alien indeed. She seemed to be trying to entice Ryan to dance; you wished her the best of luck. Ryan was a hilarious dancer. Not bad, but definitely hilarious, and he took some convincing. You reached a table on the edge of the dance floor, and pulled a menu towards yourself. It took you a couple of jabs to correctly order your Greyhound — your finger kept slipping. Or maybe it was the menu, actually. “Faulty drinks, faulty menus,” you complained to the room at large, leaning back against a pillar as you waited. The people swirling around you were difficult to focus on, and you wondered suddenly if the room was tilting — surely the room itself wasn’t faulty! “Have to get the foundations checked,” you informed the alien server who appeared with your drinks. They gave you an odd look and vanished. You reached for your drink, but paused, hand outstretched as you considered the not one but three glasses set before you. Two Greyhounds, and one that was something else, a smaller, opaque glass. The liquid shimmered in a very interesting way indeed, and it was difficult to look away. Well, perhaps they had brought you the extra drinks on the house, in order to make up for all the faults you’d been uncovering left and right. You stumbled as you pondered this, which as far as you were concerned was proof enough of the foundational flaws; you were, after all, standing still, so what other reason would you have to stumble? Unbelievable. You reached for the Greyhound, but your hand paused, then changed course halfway through and grasped the smaller, shimmering cup instead. It was very light in your grip. You tasted it and stumbled again; it had hit your tongue with a wallop, your entire body was fizzing with a bolt of what must be pure electricity, there was no other possible explanation. Everything around you was abruptly brighter, louder, richer. You blinked, fascinated. “Not too many humans can handle their reds,” a voice said next to you, and you set the cup down with a thud, squinting as the alien next to you came slowly into focus. “You usually so squiggly?” you asked him, and he titled his head, dark eyes moving from you to the half-drunk cup, and back again. His smile flashed in the low light, and for a moment it was all you could see, becoming somehow the brightest, sharpest thing in the room. “It’s a curse,” he said, and you nodded sagely, taking another sip. His eyes followed the cup, and his smile sharpened. “Could cut myself on that,” you observed. “Teeth,” you added, when he looked confused. Perhaps he was drunk; it was ridiculous how many people couldn’t hold their liquor! “Want to try?” he asked, and his hand was on your arm. You weren’t sure when it got there. “Excuse me?” you said, loftily, aiming for a bit of the Doctor in your speech. You thought you did quite well, but the alien didn’t look as annoyed as anyone on the receiving end of one of the Doctor’s questions usually did. Rude. “Do I want to try what?” you asked belatedly, and realized that you were being towed towards the dance floor. When had you made that decision? Time seemed to be leaping ahead and then stalling out in great lurches, and everything was fuzzy and dull. You felt the glass taken from your hand, and were vaguely surprised to find that it was empty again. Another faulty glass? Really? You might have to register a complaint. “Not a lot of humans here,” the alien said, and his hands were on your sides, moving you to the music. People pressed all around you, bumping your shoulders and making it difficult to get your bearings. Your shoes squelched on the slightly sticky floor as they moved. You wanted to stop and see if you could get the room to stop spinning so much, but the hands on you kept you in motion. The alien was speaking again, close to your ear so you could hear him over the din. “You come here alone?” he asked, his fingers warm against your side, and tight. You tried to pull back to get a better look at him but he kept you where you were.“No,” you said, blinking as you tried to orient yourself. Your eyes kept sliding in and out of focus. “Came with m’friends.” “And they left you all alone, to drink a red?” he murmured, and his grip tightened. He was pulling you across the dance floor; the light was fading, and you realized all at once, as you moved into a more shadowed section of the room with only the gleaming crescent of his smile visible, that you were actually quite drunk, and didn’t know where any of the others were. “Should - should get back to them,” you tried to articulate, and he laughed, one of his hands sliding lower. “You’re right where you want to be.” You stiffened, and tried to pull away. “No, I want to find my friends,” you slurred, jerking back. He held your arm, and pulled you into him in a great twirl, and suddenly your back was against a dark, slightly sticky wall. He loomed over you, one hand still vise-like on your arm, the other pressed against the wall by your head. He smiled down at you, except it didn’t really look so much like a smile anymore, but just a lot of very sharp, gleaming teeth. Your face was very cold, and you wished the room would stop spinning enough that you could push him off and find the others. “I could be your friend,” the alien said, his breath fanning across your face, his hand sliding lower again. The hand on the wall touched your hair, curled a lock of it musingly through his fingers. “I just love red-drunk humans, all alone and lost and looking for a friend to help them.” You struggled again in his grip, and this time he let you go. You lurched sideways along the wall, falling against the corner in a heap. You thought you should feel sick, but you only felt annoyed, and cold, and something else, something like confusion that was tipping towards fear. The alien lifted you back up, hands on your arms, then pressed you back against the corner, his weight against you. Annoyance flared and you tried to push him away. “Let go,” you ordered, but he only laughed, touched your face. “You don’t want to be alone right now do you little Red?” he asked. “I’m sure that’s true,” a new voice interrupted. It had a familiar, lilting cadence, but you didn’t recognize the sharpness to it, or the way danger simmered beneath the surface. The alien didn’t glance away from you. “We’re busy,” he said, touching your face again. “Find your own —” but then he was ripped away from you in swirl of grey fabric and flashing eyes. You swayed, then jerked back as hands touched you again, but — “It’s okay,” that voice said, “it’s alright, it’s me,” and you recognized it this time. The Doctor tucked you against her side and you inhaled that familiar scent of tea and vanilla, and it cleared your head a little, enough to let out a shaky breath. “He’s being - rude,” you told the Doctor, your voice muffled as you glared at the alien. “Yes, he is,” she answered. Her voice was still light, and soothing, and you weren’t able to see the way she was looking at him. He scowled, gaze darting from you to the Doctor and back before making a dismissive sort of hand gesture and melting into the crowd. The Doctor stood very still for a moment, and you all you could hear was the thunder of her hearts. She let out a breath, then turned you. Again you found your back against that wall, only the hands on you were gentle, and cool. The Doctor touched your face as she looked at you, and that was better too. “Are you okay?” she asked, and you wondered at the appearance of that crease in her brow. She looked dangerous, in the half-light, but her hands were still so light. You nodded, and suddenly her grip on you was tight as she kept you from toppling over. “Wouldn’t - leave me alone,” you told her. “Rude.” “You already said that,” she observed, removing one of her hands to fish in a pocket for her sonic. You blinked at her, swaying on your feet as she ran it over you. She read the output and exhaled. “Tell me you didn’t drink a red.” “I didn’t drink a red,” you repeated dutifully, and watched as her entire face scrunched up in exasperation. It was nice.“You’re so pretty,” you informed her. It was important that she knew in that moment how pretty she was, with her face all scrunchy and the flashing lights making a halo of her head. “So pretty. Too pretty.” You stumbled, and again she caught you. “Okay, I think it’s back to the TARDIS with you.” “Says who,” you slurred, even as she steered you away from the wall and towards the exit. “You’re not — you’re not the boss of me.” “I certainly am,” she muttered. “Especially when you’ve gone and had a red, and I explicitly told you it was a bad idea.” Her grip on your arm was firm and cool, and infinitely preferable to the alien’s. The other alien, that was, because obviously she was alien too. So many aliens! “You’re the best alien though,” you mused aloud, and she darted a quick look at you, tongue poking briefly out of her lips. You liked that quite a lot. You wanted her to do it again, in fact, but she had drawn her lips back into a thin line as she watched you. She steered you towards the exit, but the crowd seemed to have doubled in size, and she was forced to shove her way bodily through the dancing, yelling patrons. A much larger person staggered into her and she grunted as she took the blow. “I think I hate bars,” she said, her voice all but inaudible over the din. “That’’s new. Maybe.” Someone else knocked into her, and the force was heavy enough to jar your arms from her grip. She receded from you in a blurry tunnel of light and sound, and then it was just you, pressed between strange bodies on the dance floor while the music thundered through your bones. Huh. Almost everyone was taller than you, and you had no idea which way the exit was, or the Doctor. You didn’t care much about the exit, but it’d be good to find the Doctor; you had felt less…. fuzzy, when her hands had been on your arms, and more like yourself again. And also she was just so pretty. Wandering in a blurry haze of music and voices, you began to wonder if maybe you might locate another drinks menu. You weren’t so sure about another red, but it also didn’t seem like quite as bad of an idea as it had an hour ago. That was interesting. Weaving and stumbling, you tried to push through the press of bodies, and had made a little bit of progress when — — hands, there were hands on you again — You lurched sideways as you tried to bat those hands away, but there was nowhere to go, the wall of people bounced you back, and the lights were flashing and people were shouting and there were hands on you again — “ - alright? Hey?” The hands succeeded at spinning you around, and a person loomed out of the crowd. Two things followed in short order: you recognized Yaz, and you threw out a defensive fist. They didn't happen in the optimal order, however. “Oi!” Yaz cried, dodging your fist and catching it in her own. “It’s me, what the hell?” She was still sliding in and out of focus, but you were aware of the fact that she was quite pretty too. "’M sorry,” you told her, wondering why she was pulling away from you. You hadn’t actually hit her, after all. Had you? “Sorry,” you repeated, swaying.She was peering at you, her hands firm on your arm. Her eyes were very dark, but they reflected the dancing lights all around you and you blinked, fascinated. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously. “Absolutely corking,” you slurred, proud to remember the phrase you had heard Graham use (and Ryan mock) earlier. You weren’t sure why it made Yaz look so alarmed. “Yaz — oh, good —” The Doctor popped into your view as she squeezed between two dancing aliens who took no notice of her, which was probably good because her expression was quite stormy indeed. She still looked quite pretty. How’d she manage that? It wasn’t fair. “Doctor,” Yaz said, turning, “I think something’s wrong —” “Someone decided that they should have a red,” the Doctor said, grim. “I also had two - three - I had - greens!” you told them both, proud. Yaz’s look of alarm deepened, and it was so comical that you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. When that did nothing except make her and the Doctor’s brows both snap into synchronized, angry little v shapes, you only giggled harder. “Right, TARDIS,” the Doctor said ominously. “Yaz, can you find Ryan and Graham and let them know?” Yaz nodded and between one blink and another, she had vanished again. “Just like magic,” you told the Doctor, wondering why your lips were numb. She gave you a swift, searching look, her eyebrows still angry little vs and her tongue still poking between her lips. “Come on,” she said, wrapping a cool hand around your wrist. The contact was steadying, and very nice. She kept you close, clearly not wishing to be separated again as she towed you towards the exit. “Don’t want to go,” you told her abruptly, and you couldn’t hear your voice over the crowd and the music. You didn’t even know why you said it; it wasn’t true, strictly. You still felt like you could fit in another drink or two worth of fun, but you didn’t really care where you went, not if the Doctor was with you. Even if she looked so angry as she glanced back over her shoulder. She had heard you, evidently. She had very good hearing; you and Ryan and Yaz had been working on an experiment to test the limits of it, but hadn’t put it in action yet. Someone bumped into the Doctor hard and she grunted, but her grip on you remained iron-clad and she pulled you closer, actually folding you into her arms to protect you from the jostling crowd.“This is not what I had in mind,” she muttered, her lips very close to your ears as she spoke. It was nice, and extraordinarily distracting. “Do people actually enjoy these places?” “Ryan does apparently,” you said, remembering him chatting up that pretty alien. “This was his idea wasn’t it?” the Doctor mused, moving again and pulling you with her. You were still very close. “I don’t suppose we’ll be letting him choose the next adventure. Ah. That’s better,” she added as she stepped out of the bar and into the night, towing you with her. A blast of cool, humid air hit you, wrapping around your body and cooling your cheeks. Even though the bar itself had been fairly dark, your eyes still relaxed as the flashing lights fell away.The Doctor let go, and the sobering effect of the night seemed to pull back, a little, as if you’d lost your anchor. The world tilted around you, the stars overhead wheeling and dancing. It made you feel a little bit sick, but it was also beautiful. The Doctor was talking, and you struggled to focus.“Think we parked just over there, yeah, must’ve. Let’s go — where are you going?” The last was delivered with an air of extreme exasperation as she turned in time to witness you bolting away. “I want to be colder,” you told her as you stumbled through the night. You were on pavement (alien pavement, anyways) but in the distance you could see the shadow of what had to be trees (alien trees) and maybe some grass (alien grass). You wanted nothing so much as to lay down on that grass. The Doctor’s protests followed you as you reached the tree and hurled yourself down at the cool earth. Well, not earth. Whatever passed for earth here. What was dirt on an asteroid called? A shadow fell over you, blocking the stars, and you turned your cheek in the grass to look up at the silhouette of the Doctor, hands on her hips, stray hairs blowing in the wind.“You’re sick, you need to get back to the TARDIS,” she said. “You’re sick, you need to get back to the TARDIS,” you replied cheerfully, and even though you couldn’t see her expression very well in the darkness and swirling stars, you could feel the scrunched-up scowl she leveled at you. “Come on,” she said, and her voice was exasperated but her hands were gentle as they lifted you off the ground. Gentle again, as they caught you when you stumbled sideways. “Careful, now. Come on.” “Don’t feel - so good -” you told her, and it was true; the fuzzy, warm glow was fading and the whirling of the stars wasn’t so much aesthetically pleasing as it was now sickening. “I expect not,” the Doctor muttered. “What could have possibly possessed you to drink so much? To drink a red?” “I didn’t mean t’ order it,” you defended yourself. “It was just - just there.” “And you drank it? Something you hadn’t ordered?” the Doctor demanded. “Surely you know not to do that!” “Just trying to have fun,” you mumbled, guilt rising up in you alongside the nausea. “Just wanted — didn’t mean to — I wasn’t —” “Okay, it’s okay, I know,” the Doctor said, her voice softening. She shifted you against her as she spoke, and you realized she was fumbling for the TARDIS key. The blue box was humming at an almost inaudible frequency, but you could feel it moving through you bones, cooling your blood, steadying you. “Thanks,” you said weakly, patting a hand on the wood as the Doctor steered you through. The interior slights dimmed as you came in, and it was a soothing balm on your eyes and raw nerves. “She’s spoiling you lot,” the Doctor muttered, but you could hear the fondness threading through her voice. “She likes us,” you thought, or maybe said. The Doctor made a soft sound, not quite a word, and you weren’t sure if she’d heard you. Weren’t sure if you’d spoken. “Okay, try and eat this,” the Doctor said a few moments later. Or maybe hours, you still weren’t entirely sure how time was progressing. Her fingers brushed your lips as she placed a fizzing sort of tablet on your tongue, and you realized all at once that your lips weren’t numb anymore, but blazing with sensation. “Swallow it, it’ll help,” she added. You blinked, looking into her face, so close to yours. There was still that furrow by her eyebrow but she didn’t seem angry, anymore. Not like she had with she’d stared down that rude alien. Her eyes were bright, glittering like the star field outside of the bar. “Too pretty,” you complained, then promptly choked on the tablet you had forgotten on your tongue. “Swallow,” she repeated, placing two fingers on your mouth. Your breath hitched, which did not help the choking one bit. You did, at least, in the midst of the resulting coughing fit, manage to swallow the tablet, but it burned and your eyes streamed as you blinked at the Doctor. “Good,” she said, placing fingers under your chin. Her touch was somehow both cooling and blazing, comforting and so very distracting. You made an indeterminate sound, and her eyes flicked to yours, a brief touch, before flicking over your face. “That should kick in soon,” she said, dropping her hand. “Is it — gonna cure me,” you asked, and the breathless quality to your voice was due to the lingering affects of drunkenness, surely, and not the Doctor’s touch. She snorted, pushing hair out of her eyes.“It’ll speed up the process, burn the chemicals out of your system faster,” she said. “And it’ll make for a quicker hangover.” She fixed you with an amused look. “Quicker, but not easier. You’re in for a fun night, I think.” You groaned, throwing yourself down on the couch. You regretted it at once, as your head spun and your stomach roiled, but the drama of the moment had dictated.“I didn’t mean to,” you complained, shutting your eyes as the lights spun around you. The spinning didn’t stop, in the darkness behind your eyelids, but it was a little bit better. Maybe. A cool hand brushed your forehead, and that definitely was better. “I know,” she said, and you could hear the gentleness in her voice. “Am I going to die?” you asked, not because you thought that you were — you’d been sick before, though admittedly not from alien alcohol — but it had the right flair of drama to it. It also made the Doctor snort again, and regrettably, her hand slid from your brow. “You’re drunk, not dying,” she said, and her voice was receding as she moved around the room. “Humans and their substances, honestly.” Something was placed on your brow, cool and damp and soothing. The Doctor tucked the cloth against your head with deft, gentle fingers even as she continued to explain her thoughts on humans and all of their myriad of flaws. “You’ve never been drink — you don’t drunk —” You stumbled over the words, and felt her fingers still, then fall away from the cloth. You opened your eyes and with the room spinning and the dim light and the serious, difficult to read expression on her face, she looked as remote and otherworldly as she actually was for all that she was your friend. “Time Lords are an advanced race, we certainly don’t have the same genetic predispositions towards inebriation or the desire to attempt so,” she said finally, still looking down at you. You grunted, considering her words as they slid in and out of your head.“Didn’t answer the question,” you observed, and were rewarded with a scowl. “Hm,” was all she said, but she was smiling slightly. “Try to rest now, and if you need to be sick —” she kicked something on the floor that gave a hollow thud. “Try to aim in here, yeah?” “I am not going to be sick,” you said firmly, and the Doctor’s smile flashed in the dim light. “I hope not, the pill’s supposed to help with that but,” she shrugged expansively, and even through the spinning room you were able to focus in shocking clarity on the pull of her shirt across her frame she did so, “I don’t really know what combination of ingredients you drank, and how they’ll react to the other things you drank or your own biology. So. Bin.” She nudged it with a boot again. “I’m going to check on the others, and you’re going to stay here. I’ll be right back.” You didn’t want her to go, but you were feeling worse by the moment as the alcohol was burned out of your system and, as far as you could tell, migrated to your head. You could feel each heartbeat rattling in your skull like knives, and your roiling stomach kept speed with it. You moaned something that the Doctor took for agreement. Time passed, although you weren’t in any way able to keep track of it. You suspected it had been a century based on the pounding in your head, but it could have only been a few heartbeats. Either way, you were still alone when you realized that what you really needed was some water. Nobody was around to hear you, but you still complained and groaned and generally made a spectacle as you swung your legs off the couch, sitting upright. Your stomach made a solid pass at leaping out of your throat, but you steadied yourself with a snarl; you were not going to need the bin, you were not going to be sick. And you were right; all thoughts of nausea fled as you pushed yourself to your feet, because your skull might as well have shattered. Your headache pounded so violently that you thought it might be slamming you through the floor; it felt too heavy, too thick, too white-hot with blinding pain. Death was infinitely preferable to this miserable thing called life. “Never — drinking — again —” you vowed, swaying, hoping the floor might just swallow you whole and end your suffering. “A noble sentiment,” the Doctor said from behind you. “But one rarely adhered to, I suspect. What are you doing off the sofa?” She appeared at your side, a steadying hand on your elbow. “You didn’t sick up somewhere did you,” she added with sudden trepidation, looking around your feet apprehensively. “I just wanted something to drink,” you told her, wretched. Your head was still pounding, and even the dimmed lights were still too bright. They stabbed your eyes with sharp, splintering shards of pain. You groaned, and leaned your head instinctively against the Doctor’s shoulder. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink,” she said, with a touch of asperity, but her hand was gentle as ever as she smoothed hair back from your forehead. “Water,” you clarified, your voice muffled from the folds of her coat. It was soft, and cool, and smelled like home. “Ah,” the Doctor said, steering you back to the couch. She eased you down again. “Stay, I’ll get you some water and a new cloth.” “Where are the others? Are they coming?” you asked miserably as she reappeared, setting a glass of water in your hands. It had a truly spectacular bendy, swirly straw that was almost as long as the glass itself, a vibrant purple and orange that hurt your eyes to look at, but you appreciated the gesture as you lifted it to your mouth with weak hands. “They’ll be here soon, they’re trying to find Ryan,” the Doctor said. The cushions dipped as she settled on the other end of the sofa. “They might have to expand the search,” you said, thinking of that alien he had been speaking with. You groaned as your head gave another spike of pain, and slid down the couch as sitting became too much effort. “Just rest,” the Doctor said. “It’ll pass.” “Promise?” “I promise,” she said, and your eyes were closed, but you could hear the slight smile in her voice. “I am the best alien, after all.” You could definitely hear the smile, now, and something niggled at your memory; you suspected that the Doctor was poking fun at something you had said while in the bar, but the memory was sliding in and out with tremendous spikes of pain and you let it go. You suspected that you had said many unfortunate things, and you could only hope that the Doctor hadn’t heard or remembered most of them. You drifted for a time, after that, surfacing to occasional bursts of pain or nausea or, more welcome, cool hands on your brow as they took your temperature or readjusted the the damp cloth. Clarity — and more importantly, an absence of that all-encompassing pain — arrived abruptly. You sat up gingerly, feeling weak and shaky and not even remotely good, but it was a normal not-good, not I’m going to die and if not I wish it would hurry up about it not-good. “Ah, here we are,” the Doctor said, and you looked over to see her curled up at her end of the couch, a book in her hand. She closed it and tucked it in the cushion. “Feeling better?” “Yeah,” you said, peeling off the now warm and dry cloth from your head. You looked down at it, then the mercifully empty bin at your feet. Something else rolled in your stomach, almost worse than the earlier nausea: shame, with a side of guilt. “Ah. Sorry, about all that,” you mumbled, darting another look at the Doctor. She was watching you, a slight smile curving her lips, but her eyes were sharp as they flicked over you, still assessing. “Accepted,” she said, scooting over to you and fishing her stethoscope out of her pocket. “Deep breath,” she said, resting it against your chest. “You don’t have anything to apologize for anyways,” she added. “It’s not your fault you got served a red, or that someone tried to take advantage of you for it.” You had forgotten about that, had forgotten about that other alien and his heavy, unwelcome hands, and his sharp, hungry smile. You shuddered, and the Doctor’s eyes touched your own, a welcome distraction. “I’m okay, you don’t need to waste time on me,” you muttered, but she was pushing a fresh glass of water into your hand. “Drink. And yes I do, or do you not remember bolting up and trying to climb the TARDIS console?” You goggled at her. “Apparently not,” she said with a wicked grin. “No, don’t apologize again, it’s okay. You got me out of that bar anyways, I really wasn’t vibing with it. ”You had been awash in horror at your actions, but the Doctor’s last words snapped you out of it. “Vibing with it?” you repeated, incredulous. She shot you a look, tongue poking slightly between her lips.“Yeah, am I using that right? Ryan taught me.” You were still goggling at her, but the sound of a door opening and a rush of voices distracted you both. “Ah, finally,” the Doctor said, brushing off her legs and standing up. “I wonder what kept them. We’re in here,” she added, pitching her voice to carry to the others and making no effort to define where “here” was; it was obvious to her, and that apparently was to be enough for everyone else. It was very her. Everything she did was very her, you mused. Not just because it was her doing them, but because she did everything with such one-hundred percent commitment, energy, and enthusiasm. You smiled slightly, watching her as she stood with her hands on her hips. She’d taken off her coat at some point, and she looked smaller without it, more wild and fleeting, something ephemeral. She glanced over her shoulder at you and smiled when she met your eyes. That smile was also wild, fleeting and ephemeral, but it grounded her, a little bit, in the here and now. And you, too. “Hello,” Yaz said, stepping into the room. She looked tired, her hair coming out of its braids, her jacket mussed, but it was a happy sort of tired. “Have fun?” The Doctor asked as Yaz threw herself down on the couch next to you. “Yes,” Yaz said, leaning her head back on the cushions. “Not as much fun as some other people, though,” she added, and turned her head to fix you with her dark, glittering eyes. “How are you doing?” “I feel like death,” you told her, and stuck out your tongue when she grinned. “That’s what you two get for going off-book,” she said smugly, wiggling her shoulders deeper into the couch and kicking off her shoes before lifting her legs and curling them up on the couch. “Oi, I didn’t drink a red,” the Doctor said, indignantly. “Not that I would have been affected, if I had. You humans are so — ” “She been going on like this the whole time?” Yaz asked you, and the Doctor gave her a dark look. You giggled, and it only made your head split down the middle a little bit. It was worth it, for the expression on the Doctor’s face. “Definitely,” you confirmed, wincing as you lifted a hand to rub your temples. “This is the thanks I get, for spending my night chasing after red-drunk humans? Mockery and false accusations?” “Not you,” Yaz said, rolling her eyes. “I was talking about — “ “Hellooooooo TARDIS!” “That,” Yaz finished, turning to watch as Ryan crashed into the room, with an aggrieved Graham in his wake. The Doctor groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ryan! Not you too!” “Guilty your honor,” Ryan crooned, spinning a wild circle and narrowly avoiding the couch with his flailing feet. You hastily copied Yaz, drawing your feet up onto the cushions and settling in to watch the show. “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love! Congratulate me.” “You’re not in love, son, you’re drunk,” Graham said wearily, trying to grab Ryan, but he spun out of reach. And fell over. The room shuddered. You gasped, Yaz clapped a hand over her mouth, Graham cursed. The Doctor closed her eyes. “Ow,” Ryan said, but he was smiling beatifically up at the ceiling. “What happened?” The Doctor asked resignedly, crouching by Ryan and taking his pulse, then pulling out her sonic. He ignored her, still smiling happily up at the ceiling, his toes clicking together as he hummed. He was still firmly in the “fun” stage of the Red inebriation, it seemed. “What do you think, Doc?” Graham answered tiredly, moving to stand by them. “He wanted to impress a pretty girl.” “Did he?” you asked, interestedly. The situation was a lot funnier when it wasn’t happening to you, it turned out. “Well, he chugged a red and challenged some bloke to a dance contest,” Yaz said. She was grinning, and it was the grin of a sober woman witnessing the carnage wreaked by foolish friends. “We almost didn’t get him out of there.” The Doctor stood up, pinching her nose. She came to a decision.“Right. I’ll get him a pill, but I’ve done my babysitting duty for the night. He’s your problem after that.” She stode from the room, and you heard her mutter something about never going to a bar again. Yaz heard her too, and you shared a grin. Ryan, it turned out, had very little interest in taking the hangover-speed-up pill from the Doctor. It also turned out that red-inebriation or no, he could still move very quickly, and it took the combined efforts of Yaz, Graham and the Doctor to get the pill in his mouth. You filmed most of on your phone you'd fumbled quickly out of a pocket, which as far as you were concerned did just as much to help the situation as any of them. The Doctor threw herself down on the sofa next to you with an explosive sigh. “I am never,” she said, tipping back her head, “taking humans to a bar. Ever again.” Ryan moaned from the floor, punctuating the statement with eloquence. Yaz sat down on the Doctor’s other side, then scooted over to make room for Graham who was looking silent and shell-shocked. You found your shoulders rubbing the Doctor’s, and you curled your feet up under you to make more room while leaning your head against her shoulder. You could hear her twin heartbeats, and after a moment she rolled her head so that her chin was resting in your hair.“You’re all on probation,” she said, firmly. You hummed skeptically, and Yaz snorted. Graham was still grimly silent, but you knew he’d come around. Silence, for a moment, interrupted only by Ryan’s increasingly pathetic moans.“Shall I pop in a movie?” Yaz asked finally. “Go on then,” the Doctor said, resigned, but you could hear the smile in her voice. “We’re going to be here for a while.” “‘’m never drinking again,” Ryan groaned from the floor. He clapped his hands over his ears as you all began to laugh, which did exactly nothing to help. “Humans,” the Doctor said to the TARDIS ceiling, but she was still smiling. “You love us,” Yaz said, standing up and moving to put on a movie. “Yeah,” the Doctor said after a moment, so softly that you thought you might be the only one who heard it. “I do.”

#this isn't exactly an example of uh #good writing #but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless #it WAS fun to write #request #mine #writing #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #nb reader #back to my regularly scheduled circus performances now

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