#poor guy keeps changing job every few moons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sparkle-skitty · 1 year ago

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FANFIC PIECE/GLIMPSE

I spent a STUPID long time on just this ONE BIT here so I am showing it to everyone whether y'all like it or not

For the record, this is just a scrap from the fanfic I am writing (attempting to) and because I am not a linear writer*, everything here is subject to change if/when I get to stringing it all together more coherently. So basically, it's a demo.

I proofread it a few times, but it may not be perfect because I am tired and also was originally writing entirely third person instead of second person but found myself mentally scripting in second person - so if anything sounds wonky, I'm all ears!

(*Meaning, I do not write start to finish, I write exactly what I feel like writing regardless if it's chronologically next. The scenes are coming to me in patchwork!)

Anyway, click read more for the excerpt.

CW for: mentions of child abuse, mentions of bullying, very slight blood, very slight violence, emotional outbursts/shutdown (y/n is neurodivergent), dislike of children (again, y/n is neurodivergent), aaaand I'm not sure what else to tag so lemme know if something is needed

(For the record, y/n has some of me plus some other things I've seen with other neurodivergent people written into them so HOPEFULLY it sounds at least somewhat relatable to others in the community)

You nearly ran into one of the play structures, too interested in watching what was going on by the door to the Daycare. An adult was getting more and more agitated, while Sun held a child behind him, with unimpressed and shrugging daycare workers passing to leave as their shift had ended. The only one who had remained had been talking between the adult and Sun, but was now finally giving up with a very loud "ugh!", throwing her hands in the air as she turned away to clock out.

It was now out of sight, and you were quickly putting away the armful of toys you had carefully balanced against you into the trunks they belonged, in order to get back to the scene asap. Your Employee Fazwatch buzzed on your arm, at first making you growl "Ugh, now what?!" but your irritation evaporated as you realized it was a message from Moon.

"That adult is not one of the child's authorized pick-up persons."

Moon must have caught you staring through the cameras. You instinctively glanced up at where you knew the nearest one was, knowing likely Moon was staring back from his little cyberspace world in the Attendants' shared body. But you quickly turned heel and speed-walked over to Sun.

You were certainly frustrated that, once again, poor Sun had been left behind to deal with the remaining Daycare children alone, but you were more angry now that they had so purposefully let him take the fall for the rules and regulations that even Fazbear Entertainment had to follow by law.

"You'd think by now I'd be over this," you thought. "Not like I've never had a job before where everyone was only looking out for themselves." But you knew very well it was because it was Sun, your friend, the sweetest guy in the world (probably), that you took it so personally. And also, maybe a little because most of the workers still treated him like a mindless machine, aaand possibly because a child was involved in a potentially dangerous situation.

Okay, maybe it made a little sense to take it personally.

As you drew closer, you realized Sun's hold on the child wasn't to keep the child from going to the adult, but rather the opposite - to keep the adult from getting at the child. At every turn he was putting himself between the adult and the child, and the boy looked nervous to say the least.

Your anger suddenly sparked into a blaze of fury upon the sight. No matter how much your rational side tried to tell them that it could be only because the tone of the conversation was scaring the kid, your feral inner child was screaming for blood, having the scene be a bit too familiar and hitting too close to home.

Sun caught sight of you from the corner of his eye, and turned to look with relief that someone might be coming to rescue them, only to be a little taken aback by the absolute darkness that was emanating from your being. The dangerous glint in your eyes, the snarl that curved your lips, revealing teeth tightly ground together - it was something he hadn't yet seen from his new friend. But once you looked at him and you both locked eyes, he saw a metaphorical mask rapidly apply, especially as you noticed the man had finally looked to see what Sun had been gazing at.

The mask replaced the baleful expression with one far more bright, friendly, and chipper. Though the animatronic could see the cracks in the disguise himself, he knew it was practically impossible for any random person to see. He couldn't help but stiffen as you approached and settled beside them. He had only worked with you for a short time, but it seemed so out of character!

"Hi there!" you greeted, launching into your Customer Service Voice, enthusiastic with a great smile, your eyes crinkling. "Is there something I can do for you?"

The man waved his hand around in anger, "It's about time someone came, besides this damn robot!" Sun tensed at the word and the inflection, but stayed quiet, watching with interest at how you hadn't even flinched with the man's loud and sharp tone.

"I am so sorry about that, looks like we're the only two left in the Daycare right now! What can I help you with?"

"Tell this metal idiot to give me my nephew, will you? I'm already running late!"

You turned to Sun, smile never faltering. "Hey Sunny, is there a problem?" you asked openly.

Sun caught the hint and quickly replied, "This person has not been set as a designated guardian for this child in our system."

"Ah, well!" you turned back to the man glowering at the both of you. "I'm afraid that we can not legally allow you to take the child from the Daycare, sir. I'm terribly sorry, but I'm sure you can understand the reasoning here. Just imagine if those weren't the rules! Kids could be carted off by just any ol' person, even criminals and bad guys!"

As you spoke, you gestured - and even winked - with great enthusiasm. Your hyper-upbeat tone not once fell, but the language used was definitely a subtle accusation.

"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my friend here, but that's the protocol!"

"I want a manager!" the man spluttered, now thoroughly furious.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, a hand going to your mouth before you tilted your head in a bow. "I'm terribly sorry, again, sir, but..." you then lifted both arms towards Sun, gesturing as if presenting him for the first time. "He IS the manager. It's his Daycare after all! He's the boss, the head honcho, the big cheese, emphasis on the big part," you quietly added to the end, tone now finally slipping to indicate the threat.

Sun couldn't help but also notice that you were doing your nervous trait of babbling and trying to joke. But he wasn't so sure this was anxiety or a matter of barely containing yourself.

"Please leave before we have to contact security," you said after a moment of silent fuming from the man, optimism now back but with an edge to it, giving firmness to the command. "If the rightful guardian or guardians can not come, they will have to contact us themselves to add you in. Otherwise, we will not be able to release this child to you."

The guy looked around a bit, grumbling and muttering angrily, before very suddenly lurching forward towards you. Sun's arm shot out automatically to snatch the man by the shirt, to stop him and lift him away, but to his shock you made your own automatic response of swiping at the man's face.

Blood swelled from parts of the claw marks on his stunned expression, but not enough blood to actually run. You had mostly gotten him to the side of his face as he had turned at the last second to look at Sun, traveling just a bit across his jaw and cheek.

The facade was dropped in an instant as you huffed and shook from the adrenaline, then shrieked, "TRY THAT AGAIN, I FUCKIN' DARE YA!"

"Language!" Sun quickly reprimanded you, glaring at you. You tore your gaze from the man's bewildered face to look at him, then looked away, snorting through your nose and folding your arms across your chest. He sighed in exasperation, knowing that sort of maneuver all too well from the children and, well, Moon.

"I am not a brat," Moon grumbled in his head.

"I didn't say anything!" Sun internally responded back.

You looked the man up and down, feet now off the ground as Sun held him firm, but he wasn't struggling. You snatched the radio out of your pocket and calmly made the call to security to remove the man from the premises.

Even as the man was escorted out, Sun's internal monitors showed your heart was still pounding away. But when you glanced at the child, your look softened to one of embarrassment, or shame? You knelt down next to him.

"Hey, sorry about that kiddo, that... must have been scary," you mumbled.

Your interactions with the children were always awkward. You had told Sun you hated kids, but on top of that also had no idea how to deal with them. Every time you were like a deer in the headlights, a newborn giraffe trying to learn to walk - unsteady, unsure, and bewildered by everything.

Sun had so far learned that you at least knew enough to be nice to the kids and to excuse yourself when it got to be too much, which was more than he could say for most of the daycare workers, which was ironic given that you were, well... a glorified janitor.

The child nodded, sniffling. There was a pause, and then the boy released Sun's pant leg and ran over to you, wrapping his little arms around you. You were surprised, then cringed.

"Um, there there..." you said, patting his back gently. To your horror, you realized he was still crying and sniffling. Sun watched with amusement as your face silently twisted into disgust. You looked up at him, pleading with him to get the child away somehow, but Sun shook his head, crossing his arms. This is now a punishment, he decided. He knew you wouldn't dare just shove the kid away.

------------------------------------

You were scrubbing at your shirt with several sanitary wipes. The snot might be gone by now, but you weren't sure and still felt unclean.

It seemed like it took forever for the child's actual guardians to show up, and Sun was not only doing the checkout, but also the report about what had happened.

You had allowed that child to tug your hands, hug you, and you even picked him up when he gestured so. Gross gross gross, little snotty kids were the worst. They had no sense of cleanliness or manners regarding germs. You shuddered at the thought of wondering if he even wiped himself, then flopped back into the security desk chair with a groan. To take your mind off your child-germophobia, you pulled out your phone and began a round of Candy Crush.

Your timeblindness caught you up again as you suddenly looked up to see Sun standing on the other side of the desk. He had his arms folded again, and wore a frown.

"That wasn't being a very good role-model, you know."

"Heck off, I'm not Daycare staff, so I don't--"

"Ah ah!" Sun cut you off, "You ARE Daycare staff, buster, even if it's just to clean, and as you so eloquently put it, I'm the boss here. And I say you need to be a better role model."

"Well personally I like their spunk," Moon snickered in his head. Sun ignored him.

There was a moment of silence between you two, before you shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh well."

Sun's eyebrow twitched with irritation. "Don't "oh well" me! You were cussing, AND you got physical with a customer--"

"Not a customer, just a dick."

"Language! Let's just hope you didn't teach the little one to solve our problems with anger and violence."

"Right, let's hope he never believes a grownup will stand up for him again in his life," you growled mockingly.

Sun was stunned, feeling frustration rise. He put his head in his hand and let out an exasperated sigh. "You can stand up for people without resorting to attacking others."

"Not always. Not every time." you answered lowly.

Sun noticed your heart rate was starting to climb again, and you were beginning to shake. Well, if there's one thing about this whole debacle that was a positive, it's the fact you make it so obvious when you're upset or angry.

"Let's calm down," he said soothingly. "This is just a discussion, you don't need to get angry--"

You stood bolt upright from your chair, your voice raising, "This isn't a discussion! You're chastising and-and-and down-talking and-and... belittling me! For defending myself! Because-because what? The kid might see it and-and think, oh man I-I-I should probably do something if someone... if someone just-just.... comes at me!" You were stammering and practically vibrating with the sudden spike in temper.

Sun leaned back with his hands up, a look of surprise on his face. "Woah, woah, woah! Hold on! I'm sorry if that's how I made you feel, but the rules--"

"DAMN THE RULES! The rules are out of order! Th-th-this whole court is out of order! Stupid! Fuck! AUGH!"

"Now that's enough--!" Sun cut himself off when you slammed your rear back into the chair and spun it, rolling it back in the process, and faced the wall. Hands crossed, face red, you slumped in anger and drew in on yourself.

Sun let the silence settle, giving you both time to relax, and for you to come out of your shut down. You pulled out your phone and started blasting aggressive music.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed wearily. "Y/n, please, I'm sorry," he started, voice calm but raised enough to hear over the music. "I am not trying to treat you less, I'm sorry I made you so angry..." he lifted his head up at a thought. "Wait... why are you so angry? You were furious before, too, when you were coming to check on us."

You didn't answer, but you had lowered your foot and were now bouncing your leg.

"Give it a minute," Moon spoke to Sun. He paused before continuing, a hint of a grin in his voice, "I have to say, it's interesting to see someone put themselves in time out."

"They've shut down, Moonie, you know what a shut down is."

Moon hummed. "They did choose to sit in a chair and face a wall, though."

"Can't you take this seriously?"

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of wheels on the floor. You had gently kicked off from the wall and were now rolling comically slow towards them. You had lowered your music, and still had a pout, eyes downcast, and your arms crossed. You bumped into the desk without a word.

More silence. Sun waited patiently, shoving down the anxiety trying to creep its way up. Nope! Not gonna go there!

Eventually, you swallowed your pride and spoke up. "I'm... sorry," you began slowly. "I lost my cool. It's been a while since I've dealt with... the public... on a, mm, personal level. And I'm sorry I scared the little guy." As you spoke, you turned the chair to sit properly at the desk, placing your elbows on it and clasping your hands.

You then looked up at Sun, and glared. "I'm NOT sorry about standing up for him. As a general thing. Even if I did it wrong."

"I'm on their side." Moon stated matter-of-factually. "...And don't you dare think what I think you'll think of that."

"The only thing I think of that is that you're both a bad influence on each other."

Sun's shoulders slumped. Well, it's a start, at least. He can work with this.

"Again, I'm sorry too, the rules are a bit of a... erm, a big deal to me, to put it simply." Sun stood poised to offer his explanation, even though Moon suddenly turned sour at the mere idea of talking about... that.

Meanwhile, you furrowed your brows, looking down at the desk again. You were also battling with bringing up some vulnerability, and chewed your lip. He did ask, but is it too awkward to bring up now?

You took a deep breath, "Anyway... I lost my cool because... I..." your voice trailed off with a drawn-out croak, but Sun didn't interrupt or interject. It took a minute for you to build your courage again.

"Well... when I was... a kid," you spoke haltingly, taking your time in order to keep your voice and emotions level. "I was... bullied. A lot. Really badly. Just for being weird, I guess, I dunno... And, nobody helped me. So I just, took care of it myself. Or, well, tried to." You glanced back up at Sun, "That's... ssssorta why I had that, uh, kneejerk reaction, when that dude tried to- when he just- when he came at me like that."

Sun and Moon were both listening intently. It wasn't often their human coworkers would open up, and in particular, you had made yourself a bit of an anomaly with your unpredictable statements and odd behaviour - an anomaly that they had taken a liking to, admittedly. Maybe they just liked anomalous people, since it seemed to be a pattern.

"That... doesn't quite explain what made you angry in the first place, though..." Sun said softly, not wanting to accidentally spook you from talking it out.

You sat back, your chin tucked in and your eyes cast down, and crossed your arms. Sun feared he had in fact actually caused exactly what he was trying to avoid, but you spoke back up.

"Yeah... yeah... the bullies... the worst ones were adults."

Boom. Bombshell.

Sun and Moon would have exchanged shocked glances if they had the ability to. Oh yes, they were well aware that adults could be bullies to other adults, including animatronics, but to kids? Unthinkable! The very notion sent their protocols in a little tizzy.

"Teachers, mostly," you continued. You took a deep, shaking breath. "But... then there were, of course... family members. Specifically my parents. Especially when I started getting into fights, oh they hated that. I was an embarrassment to them for not being like..." you waved your hand around, attempting to find the word, emotions building and causing brainfog. "Y'know, uh, demure and-and delicate and sweet and pretty and... and all that sh- crap..."

You settled back into the desk chair, your arms now laid against the arms of the chair. You still didn't look up, and began idly picking and clawing at the ends of said armrests. You took careful, slow breaths, trying to keep from bursting into a fit of some sort - most likely a crying fit, if anything. It'd been a very, very long time since you'd actually talked about all of this, and for precisely this reason.

"So, um, you can imagine - I think you can anyway - the kinds of things they did to try and--"

"They... they what?! They thought THAT was more embarrassing than their child being bullied!?" Sun exclaimed, flabbergasted.

The suddenness of his interjection widened your eyes for a minute, then you gave a laugh - a hollow, awful giggle that was laced with all the anger, hurt, anxiety, and vulnerability you were feeling at the moment.

"Um, yeah!? Kids will be kids, after all," you sneered mockingly. Not at him, but at the past. "I was just overreacting and causing a scene, of course." You slumped into the chair so low you could have easily slid out. "Of course..." you muttered. Your outburst had been sufficient to release all that negative energy you'd been building.

"So um... yeah... that's why I was... prrrrobably more than a little ready to go feral on that guy... He just had that vibe, you know? You know the one."

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writtenonreceipts · 2 years ago

Note

Happy October!! 🎃 Very excited for spooktober, how about some Elorcan sass:

“We only have to make it until sunrise, which is… 7 hours away.”

Happy October nonny! thanks for sending this in!

My sick-adled brain wanted to keep drawing this out into further nonsense but nyquil finally had her say and we're backing away real carefully in the hopes that this is somewhat good...

warnings: none? ~4k words

...

Hauntings and Happenstance

Leaves skittered across the ground as the wind picked its way through the trees. Huge cedar trees towered overhead and blocked out the inky black sky. The past few days of rain and fog dominated the weather patterns, and that night was no different. The clouds barely broke enough to offer a window to the deep crescent of the moon. Pale silver light attempted to illuminate the forest, but the heavy bulk of the clouds ate whatever light they could.

The subtle scrape of the leaves and cool glow of light were soothing to Elide. She’d always loved autumn with its changing colors and weather. Especially when she had an active excuse to continue drinking hot apple cider or hot chocolate all day every day. Now, however, her hands were empty except for her flashlight. The stiff chill dug into her fingers making Elide plow one hand into her pocket and the other gripped the light. It really was a cool night, with the covered sky and promise of more rain.

Elide walked through the old Terrasen cemetery, she had a giant backpack on one shoulder and an even bigger duffel bag on the other. A girl needed her snacks and blankets if she were going to stay in a haunted house this close to Halloween.

She’d long had a fascination with the cemetery and had quite honestly jumped at the opportunity to explore it further. It had been abandoned back in 1856 on account of accidental double burials. Which had then amounted to a resurgence of omen watching for any and every bad deed. It also didn’t help that Terrasen had been known for a serial killer too—who supposedly was the caretaker of the cemetery back in ‘56.

Terrasen had far too many skeletons in its closet.

The flashlight she held did a poor job at lighting the narrow trail that curved along the back of the cemetery. Late autumn fog began to condense before her and shape into the shrubbery that was trying to take over any space it could find. Elide sipped her cider, which was growing cold. Maybe she should have brought another blanket. But her backpack had already been growing full and she thought snacks might be more important than—

The snap of a twig behind her had Elide spinning around. The beam of her flashlight intercepted a hulking shape coming towards her. A shape she instantly recognized.

“You asshat!” Elide yelled. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

In two long strides Lorcan Salvaterre leveled up with her, a smirk dancing on his mouth. He easily took her duffel bag from her despite her glares.

“Isn’t that the idea of this plan?” he asked. “Which by the way has to be the stupidest thing you’ve done.”

She scowled at him and turned around, doing her best to walk quickly. Lorcan of course kept stride.

“If you think it’s so stupid, why are you here?” she retorted. “Doesn’t Maeve have that party tonight?”

“You think I’d let you do this alone?” Lorcan brushed an errant branch out of his face. He was so tall that even the recently beaten back shrubs still got in his way.

She cut him a sharp smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much, Salvaterre.”

The night was quiet around them, save for a few skittering animals in the fallen leaves and other debris on the forest floor. The silence, of course, made it easier for her mind to wander. Because first and foremost, Lorcan was here. She hadn’t even realized he’d known what she was doing tonight.

Her crush was stupid, she knew. Lorcan was older with a brooding sort of attitude. He was the type of guy who didn’t care what others thought of him and made certain they knew it too.

Somehow over the last year and a half, Elide and Lorcan had formed a little friendship separate from everyone else. He’d been held back in high school for skipping so often that Elide had managed to, somehow, get to know him better than anyone else.

“I’m not going to let you get yourself killed, Elide,” Lorcan said.

Another twig snapped beneath their feet. Though, it was nearly drowned out by the low growl of thunder overhead. Hell. Hopefully that was just a little threat and not a promise of something to come.

“You do realize the house isn’t actually haunted, right?” she asked. “I’m just doing this for extra credit in my cultural anthropology course.”

According to local legend, the old caretaker house had fallen to shambles after a series of mysterious murders swept through the down. Murders that had been committed by the caretaker himself. Now, the old house and cemetery were left alone, to disappear into both memory and the once vibrant forest. For her class, Elide was going to write a paper on how the legend had been mixed and convoluted through the years.

“I know it’s not haunted,” Lorcan scoffed, “but there’s probably some dumbass who thinks it’s funny to play pranks on people like you—”

“Like me?”

“Who walk into situations they don’t belong in.” Lorcan cast her a dark look at that, only emphasized from the shadows of the night.

Elide let out a laugh and bumped his shoulder. Her heart thumped just a little faster, which she ignored.

“Are you worried about me now?” she teased. “It’s just a haunted house, Lorcan.”

“You’re impossible,” was all Lorcan said.

“I am impossibly delightful,” she corrected, waving her flashlight in his face.

And then to punctuate her words—it started to rain. Big, fat drops fells from the sky and startled her out of whatever bit of teasing he’d been about to embark on. Blinking rapidly, Elide looked up to the sky. The canopy of trees blocked most of the heavy onslaught of rain, but it would only be a matter of time before they got soaked.

“Son of a—” Lorcan muttered. He glanced at her, trails of rain already slipping down his face. “Seriously, Lochan?”

Elide grinned. “Scared of a little rain, Salvaterre?”

She adjusted the strap of her backpack and picked up her pace.

In a matter of minutes, they came to a small cobbled path that led through overgrown blackberry bushes and ferns. The house was slumped to one side, the roof curved with some unknown weight. Though, Elide imagined that in the light of day she would see heavy strings of moss hanging from the eaves of the house and the molded cross-beams sagging in age.

The porch, missing several sections of wood, wound around the perimeter of the house. Ivy curled around the railing until it nearly consumed any bit of wood left over. The rain only added to the ambiance of an abandoned home.

Elide picked her way to the front door, careful of any rotted-out pieces in the flooring. The front door had been replaced on more than one occasion, as was evidenced by the shiny new padlock and set of chains strapped to the framework.

Shrugging, Elide held her flashlight out to Lorcan who approached from behind. Despite his large form, he barely disturbed the porch.

“Hold this,” she said.

Lorcan took the light. “You got the key to this place?”

“Uh,” she said, digging around in her backpack. Elide pulled out the lock and pick Manon had given her for her birthday last year. “Not exactly.”

“Dammit, Lochan,” Lorcan said, “did you get permission to come out here?”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

Lorcan continued to mutter oaths under his breath, though he kept the flashlight trained on the padlock. Elide worked in that steady stream of light, sticking the pick and hook in the lock and finding the tumblers. The police department really needed to up their game if they wanted to keep trespassers out of the old home. In a matter of minutes, the lock popped open and the chains fell to the floor.

The door creaked open and a puff of stale air saturated with moss and age greeted them. Elide grinned triumphant. And Aelin had said she wouldn’t even make it in the front door.

Ha!

Elide grabbed the flashlight from Lorcan and stepped into the house. Immediately, the rain ceased and it felt a fraction drier.

Cobwebs draped from the ceiling in thick billows. Dust hung in the light lazily, only disturbed when Elide walked past. She swung the light around to every corner noting everything. The small chandelier overhead hardly seemed like enough to light the house. Sconces were set up along the walls, though they were long empty of any candlewick. One doorway led off into a tiny kitchen that held only a wood stove. The other room was full of old furniture and smelled like mice had taken over.

Elide spun in a slow circle around the living space. Outside there was the subtle thrum of rain pattering on the roof. It wasn’t as big a storm as they usually saw this time of year. As she moved around the cabin, her steps creaked beneath her and an owl gave a hoot from its perch in the trees.

“Is that it?” Lorcan asked. He hovered near the door. “Can we go now?”

“Are you scared?” Elide raised a brow. “The great Lorcan Salvaterre taken down by a haunted house?”

He rolled his eyes at her, unamused.

In the last two years of knowing him—Elide had become very aware of who Lorcan was. She’d gotten to know him in detention, because even if he had been held back to repeat senior year, he still preferred getting into trouble. And then during football games, parties, and random sneak outs—he’d always been there. Somehow, they’d become friends. And somehow, she’d let her little crush take root in her chest.

All of this was very unhelpful, because they were friends. At least, she considered him one. He’d been the only one to express real interest in this plan of hers to explore the old caretaker's house. They were friends and he didn’t see anything beyond that.

Elide cleared her throat and kept talking.

“Legend says, I have to stay the night if I’m going to have any chance of meeting a spirit,” Elide said. She gestured to the duffel bag he’d taken from her. “Hence the blankets and snacks.”

Sighing, Lorcan finally entered the house and wedged the door shut behind him. Without the padlock and chains to keep it in place, the door slanted open near the top. Lorcan frowned up at it.

Elide blinked at him. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m not leaving you in the middle of nowhere alone, Lochan,” he said. “I already said that. Now, please tell me you have something other than a Ouija board to keep us occupied tonight.”

“You’re impossible,” she said. She dropped down and pulled her down sleeping bag from the backpack along with a few sealed Tupperware of veggies. The duffel had the chocolate.

Lorcan scoffed. “I’m not the one who decided to have a slumber party on death row.”

He cast another dark look around the room, stooping to avoid running into a bean that ran across the cabin. He came to sit beside her in the middle of the floor and offered the duffel up for her.

“Its research thank-you very much,” she replied. “Go ahead and unload that, it’s just got more blankets and water. Don’t touch my chocolate stash.”

Lorcan did as he was told, pulling out two blankets and the giant two-gallon jug of water. He stared between her and the contents.

“How did you carry all this up here?”

“What just because I’m a woman?”

“You’re five-foot nothing with even less meat on your bones than a rabbit.”

Elide stared at him. “I’m going to choose not to take offense to that as long as you hand over the chocolate now.”

“I’m just saying,” Lorcan began, holding the grocery sack of candy out, “I wouldn’t have expected you to handle all that.”

“Yeah right,” Elide muttered. She was grateful for the shadows cast by the flashlight and that hopefully the flush rising in her cheeks was unnoticeable. She tore into one of the chocolate bars and tossed him the veggies. “There, you can be the healthy one.”

And if she wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn there was a flash of a smile on his lips.

They sat in silence for a few minutes with only the flashlight to illuminate the room. The poor light was hardly helpful however and against her will, Elide found herself glancing off to the far corners of the cabin. She knew it was silly. The house wasn’t drafty and it seemed well enough intact that there shouldn’t be anything sneaking in. Hopefully.

“What kind of extra credit assignment calls for all this?” Lorcan asked. He nibbled on a carrot slice un-enthusiastically as he looked around the cabin.

“Anthro exists on a whole other plain,” Elide said. “The professor doesn’t really care what we do as long as we don’t give him any grief. And no one else seemed interested in this, so I figured why not.”

“Why not indeed,” Lorcan mused. “You just choose chaos at any chance you get.”

Elide threw her half-eaten candy bar at him, which Lorcan caught with ease. Damn him. He only grinned and took a bite of the chocolate before leaning back on an elbow to stare up at the darkened ceiling.

“Y’know,” he began, but a soft snuffling cut him off followed by a series of creaks and groans from the porch outside.

Elide sat up straighter and went for her phone. She’d planned on getting a few recordings or pictures to show for her efforts. And she knew, of course, that it was probably an animal out there but--

“Let’s go see,” she said.

“What?” Lorcan snatched out a hand and snagged her wrist. “We are not going to do that.”

“Oh come on,” Elide insisted. She tried shaking him off, but his grip was tight. “It’s probably a mouse or something.”

The snuffling got louder and the aged wood outside squeaked with the distinct hint of splinters. Perhaps it was not a mouse. By now the rain had lightened up a bit, so it wouldn’t be surprising if there were other animals coming out of their hovels. But she wanted to make this little adventure worthwhile and just catching images of Lorcan—no matter how satisfying—wouldn’t really help her in her search for extra credit.

“Or it could be something not so friendly,” Lorcan said. He didn’t loosen his hold on her, but his voice was softer than it usually ever was.

Elide scowled. “I could be missing my chance to catch footage of a ghost, you know.”

“Or missing the chance to get rabies.”

Lorcan held her gaze for long enough that the noise outside faded. Huffing, Elide settled back down and finally managed to pull her arm away from him.

“You never did answer my question,” she said. She pulled a deck of playing cards from the backpack and began shuffling the deck. She’d been content to play a one woman round of solitaire, but if he was going to insist on staying they could play poker. It had been a while since she’d kicked his ass at it.

“What question?” he asked, tucking the now empty candy wrapper in the duffle bag.

“Why you’re here,” Elide said. “You didn’t have to come. I just texted the group so you’d stop bothering me about going to Maeve’s party.”

Maeve had been a miserable part of Elide’s life ever since starting college that September. The older girl was relentlessly inserting herself into situations and inviting Lorcan out on “study dates.” She used to have her claws latched onto Aelin, until the blonde nearly bit Maeve's head off a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, the girl did know how to throw a party and given how midterms had sucked the life out of everyone it had seemed like a good idea to go.

But Elide still clung to one thread of sanity to know that being anywhere near Maeve while harboring a crush against Lorcan was the stupidest thing she could do.

“I didn’t want to go to Maeve’s party either,” Lorcan said. He was leaning back on his elbows again and the shadows cast from the flashlight illuminated angles of his face she’d never noticed before.

“You didn’t want to go to Maeve’s party?” Elide asked in disbelief. “Her family owns the country club and has enough fancy booze to keep the entire city sated. She may be a bitch, but she knows how to have a good time.”

Lorcan barked out a laugh. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly, Lochan.”

Ignoring the blush that rose to her cheeks, Elide kept shuffling the cards. She couldn’t bring herself to deal them out and invite him to play another little game with her.

Games with the likes of Lorcan were easy enough—don’t back down, keep a sharp tongue, and never apologize. But it was moments like this when she kept making eye contact and kept fighting a blush that she had trouble remembering those little rules. She wasn’t going to survive the night.

Lorcan held her gaze now, though, firm and steady.

“I don’t like Maeve,” Elide finally said. “She’s never bothered to talk to me, so why should I seek out her approval?”

That got her another smile.

“Makes sense,” he replied, “why waste time on something that’s not worth it in the end?”

“Exactly.”

Outside, a gust of wind howled and rain slanted against the side of the cabin. Something heavy thudded against the far wall sending a shudder through each of the beams and floor.

Elide couldn’t help but shudder. She wasn’t scared, of course, but sometimes she didn’t do too well during storms.

“Did the caretaker murder men or women?” Lorcan asked as dust spun in the glow of the flashlight. “Just so I know if I need to start running yet.”

“There’s no ghost,” Elide told him.

“You’re shaking,” he pointed out.

Indeed, she was. Elide ignored it and began dealing out the cards to distract herself.

“Seven card draw,” she said, “jokers are wild.”

“Weird way to play go-fish,” Lorcan muttered as he arranged his card.

“We’re playing poker,” she corrected.

Lorcan stared at her over his card. “Hell no, I’m not stupid enough to play poker against you. And don’t give me that innocent I don’t know what you’re talking about look, it won’t work.”

He’d pitched his voice an octave in clear mockery of her. Elide threw another candy bar at him. “I don’t sound like that!”

Lorcan only laughed, letting the candy bar bounce off his chest.

The wind continued. And with the way Elide and Lorcan played—ruthless with no holding back—go-fish turned into a near bloody battle. They ultimately called a truce after six rounds, three each.

“Tie-breaker!” Elide ordered, gathering the cards back up.

Lorcan groaned and fell on his back. “You said that last time. How long are we staying here?”

“We only have to make it until sunrise,” she said and glanced at her watch, “which is seven hours away.”

“Seriously, woman?” Lorcan sat up enough to glare at her and Elide only smirked.

“Worried about missing your beauty sleep?”

“No, I’m worried about what this floor will do to my back.” He sat up if only to glare at the offending matter.

“C’mon,” she said, “let's spread the blankets out.”

In a matter of seconds, they had the first two blankets spread out as a mat. It would be a little better than laying on the bare floor. Another gust of wind from outside, this one managing to ease through the nooks and crannies of the cabin.

Elide shivered. “I forgot how cold it gets out here.”

“You take the sleeping bag,” Lorcan said.

“I’m not letting you freeze to death.”

“Do you suggest we snuggle then?”

“Are you that touch starved that even the thought of snuggling has you sneering?”

They glared at each other from across the stretch of blankets. Elide broke first and began to fully unzip the sleeping bag so it spread out completely.

“You get one side, I get the other,” she said, “and remember, you’re the one who decided to join me out here.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes, toeing off his boots. “The ghost killed men and you’re just biding your time, aren’t you?”

“Please, if I wanted to get rid of you, I would have by now.” The words were out before she could really process them herself, but Lorcan, it seemed, missed the implication hidden behind them. Good. She wouldn’t make it through the rest of the night if he started teasing her.

They settled down beneath the sleeping back with a good six inches between them. There was a draft on Elide’s outer side, but she didn’t want to risk snuggling into Lorcan. So she kept ramrod straight and clicked off the flashlight.

It was perfectly silent now. Not even the little gusts of wind outside seemed to register anything in Elide. She could hear the wood of the cabin settling and the occasional scuttle of a mouse off in one corner. She tried not to think about that too closely. Everything had settled into a lull that she almost thought Lorcan had fallen asleep beside her.

“I don’t like Maeve either,” he said into the darkness. “Don’t like that party scene, too. It’s what got me into a mess in High School and I just managed to get all that behind me.”

Elide knew--mostly--what his high school years had been like. Too many parties, not enough studying. He would either flunk tests for not knowing the material or flunk because he was suspended. For a while, Elide had thought there was nothing more to Lorcan Salvaterre than drunken nights and wasted DNA.

And boy, how she was wrong.

“So coming out to a haunted house behind a cemetery is how you decide to change your ways?” she turned toward him, just enough to catch the shake of his head.

“Well I’d like to think I helped prevent you from doing anything stupid,” he said.

“You failed on that when you let me pick the lock to the front door.”

Lorcan shifted closer to her and Elide could just make out the glint in his eyes.

“You are full of surprises, you know?”

Elide shrugged, finally feeling herself relax a little. “It’s what keeps things interesting.”

“Menace,” Lorcan muttered.

Elide reached out beneath the blanket to poke his side, earning a curse.

…

Somewhere along the way of their scattered conversations—they fell asleep. Elide would never be able to explain how—considering the wind outside, the surety of mice and spiders crawling on the floor, and the guarantee of haunting of some sort happening—but sleep did fall over them.

And when she woke up to the pale streams of dawn, Elide found that she wasn’t freezing or covered in rodent bites. Rather, she was tucked against Lorcan’s side, snug against his chest. One of his arms fell around her waist, the other stretched over head. She was nestled in so close that she could smell his cologne mingling with his natural scent. She might have only gotten six hours of sleep, but it was the best damn rest she’d had in a long time.

Not good. Not good. Not even remotely good. Elide shifted, ready to roll back to her side of the makeshift bed. Lorcan’s arm tightened around her keeping her firmly in place. Which, sure wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But this was also Lorcan.

She paused for a minute thinking about how her extra credit assignment was going to go if she admitted to a night of snuggling up beside one of her closest friends.

Oh hell. Her friend who she had a crush on.

Elide squinted up at Lorcan, his usually harsh face softening in his sleep. How different he looked like this, more open and relaxed. Closing her eyes, she let herself drift back off to sleep. She would let her self worry about the ramifications of this later.

...

tags: if you like to be added to my TOG tag list let me know!

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#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #elorcan au #lorcan x elide #modern au #halloween au #tog #throne of glass #tog fic #throne of glass fanfiction

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 2 years ago

Text

SUMMON THE SUIT!

After all, the suit is its own character, isn’t it?

Let’s look at the suit. I want to talk about the suit and by god I’m going to talk about the SUIT.

Now the suit has undergone SO. MANY. CHANGES. Over the years. In fact, just about every new artist to the comic has taken their own stab at the suit. Hardly any of them seem to keep the same ideas behind it.

The original run from back in OG days was basic superhero simple. Except for the cape. They always brought back the moon motif. Which while it looked cool sometimes was just comic book crazy. I think what really brought moon knight out in those early days, design wise, was the stark white. Despite him being someone that was active at night, he was so radiant.

Originally I’ve heard that they wanted him to have a silver outfit, but silver does not translate well in comic print. Especially back in the day of difficult to print pages.

I could be wrong, it’s been a while since I’ve read through the original comics, but they never really feel the need to explain his choice in costume. White was just naturally the color of the moon and they wanted every chance they could get to remind you of the moon. The cape was originally the shroud that was on Khonshu’s statue.

Let’s explore that a little. Marc is dying alone in the desert. Up until that moment he has lived a life of poor choices. He’s probably questioned his choices more than a few times, but never really taken the time to let them dwell. He was a bad man who wanted to try to be good but didn’t know how.

He takes one step in defending someone and trying to be a good person and do what is right and not only is he left to die by his teammates, but everyone he tried to save ended up dying anyway. This isn’t a good start for him. His mental health is taking a bit of a hit on this one.

So he’s laying there dying and he hears the voice of Khonshu. He’s revived and he takes the shroud. A shroud that is potentially ancient. Wrapped around a statue of a god that was built to be worshiped. This is his link to Khonshu. His way to wrap himself up and believe. To trust that it all wasn’t just in his head. He can touch it. It’s real. It will catch him when he falls and protect him.

He keeps this cape for a very long time. The mask is off and on in the early days. The mask does not yet define him, but even though it isn’t spoken, the mask coming down was always the line between his alters.

Jake was the information gatherer and face of the people. Steven was the way to make the money and be what he should have been. Marc was the know how to fight and do what he needed to do as Moon Knight.

Many have argued that Moon Knight himself can be considered an Alter. He’s not just one of them under the mask. There is some thought that can be given to that. After all, Moon Knight is not Marc, Steven, or Jake. Either one of them could put on the mask and become the Moon Knight. It doesn’t matter who is wearing it, his fighting is the same. The job is the same. He serves his god, he takes down the bad guy, he messes up and has doubts about his abilities.

At first, it seems Marc wears the mask. Marc is usually the one to put it on and fight. He has less reason to feel bad about the things he does. He’s the one that comes back time and time again to needing something to justify his existence. Yet he only feels validation when he puts on the mask. It is the only way he can face himself. The only way that he can give himself reason to keep going. The mask starts to have importance. The mask is what starts to define Moon Knight. The mask becomes their grip on the world around them and who they are.

The outfit itself starts to change over the years. Simple white with a crescent moon on the chest. Sometimes heavily armored and lined with weapons. The darker periods in the comics came when Moon Knight’s outfit was battle hardened armor with spikes on the knuckles. A time that can also be defined as when Marc was the main one in control. When the three of them fought the most and Marc himself was suffering the most in depression and self hatred.

When Jake is most in control, the outfit tends to take on a darker tone. More black. More sleek. More basic gadgets and less high tech, but still very spike oriented.

Sadly, we don’t really have a time where we can point to that is mostly a Steven controlled suit. Steven tended to get lost a lot in the earlier days. Perhaps he was the one behind the more tech heavy suits. The ones that let him fight in style and keep more of a distance. Less…bloody.

What’s interesting is that the mask has always been the same. Formless. Shapeless. Often blending into the background to take away any hint of a face. Of a person. He is not a man under the mask, he becomes the mask. He is Moon Knight. He is not the person underneath.

This is what the other heroes don’t understand. This is where he is different from them. Spiderman is Peter Parker. Even Captain America is Steve Rogers under the mask. But who is Moon Knight? Marc, Steven, or Jake? All three of them? They are so different in personality and have different goals and ideals. Yet they can somehow all agree on how Moon Knight functions as a hero?

Later we do get into discourse when Moon Knight becomes more violent and they have the inner turmoil on how much murder they should be allowed to do. How much do they listen to Khonshu? How far is too far?

The mask becomes an identity. The number of times Marc has poked two eye holes in a formless sack and pulled it on as his mask is…actually a little embarrassing. I’m sure there were a lot of “What are we wearing?” moments from Steven and Jake.

The thing is, Marc can’t deal with himself. He can’t deal with who he is. He’d give it all to Jake and Steven, but he can’t give up control either. As long as he wears the mask he doesn’t have to acknowledge that he is Marc Spector. He is only Moon Knight. He wants Moon Knight to be a separate person. To be this person. To be the protector and good person he wishes he had always been.

We see this the most as Mr. Knight comes into play. But we’ll come back to that in a moment.

Let’s look at Shalvey/Ellis. They brought back the paranormal aspect. They wanted Moon Knight to look like a spector (ha). His cape billowed behind him like a flowing mist from another world. This was a time when the people behind the mask were most in flux.

We didn’t see the inner struggle. There was no primary driver behind the wheel. There was no Marc/Jake/Steven. Honestly, it felt the most like a period of great dissociation. They didn’t know who to be. Who they were. The only thing they knew was that they had to be Moon Knight because that was the only time when they could agree on anything, even if it was not in full.

But then you have Mr. Knight. Suave, cool, detective-esque….and absolutely full of rage and ready to beat someone brutally upside the head with a baseball bat. This is his walking around suit. This is his “I’m not Moon Knight right now” suit. This is his refusal to take off the mask, but not wanting to be that nothingness. He is a person, but not THAT person.

Mr. Knight is the desire to be something more than the ghost. He wants to walk among the people. To connect. To give himself purpose that isn’t otherworldly. Khonshu has the most say in Moon Knight, after all. Khonshu is in the shroud. Khonshu is in the shadow of the Moon Knight. Hell, Khonshu even has his own special Moon Knight costume with the bird skull and Egyptian artifacts to help kick ghost and other worldly ass. But is he in the mask?

See, I don’t think he is. I think the mask has become Marc’s. He refuses to take it off in the MacKay run. He fights to keep it on. It isn’t until Steven takes over that the mask is forced off.

As much as Marc doesn’t want to be Marc Spector, the mask is how he sees himself now. It is more his face than his real face. Steven can take it off and become Steven. Jake can take it off (and put on his mustache) and become Jake. So Marc can put it on and become who he wants to be, which is not Marc.

NOW FOR THE SHOW.

I have so much love and admiration for the team behind the costume design. How much they wanted it to be real and not just some green suit CGI. They made sure each glyph in that outfit MEANT something. Even the placement of each and every glyph. The inside of the cape is LINED with them for crying out loud. It isn’t just white, either. It’s white and silver and gray and has the same shading as the moon’s craters. COME ON.

So what does the costume mean to Marc and Steven? On first look, you think, “Oh, Khonshu gave Marc a ‘traditional’ armor to represent him”. I mean, Khonshu is also in wrappings and looks like a mummy, right? And then of course Steven is in a suit because he was told he needed a suit and he ‘doesn’t know how all this works’.

But wait! There are layers. And I mean LAYERS.

When Steven puts on the suit, he puts on a suit. This is not only what he understands is being asked of him, but what he wants to be. You see him earlier when he’s getting dressed for his date how much he wants to look good. He wants to be suave and handsome. He wants to look like a fancy desirable man.

So he builds something that will make him look and feel good. Boost his ego. He isn’t there to fight. He’s there to assess the situation first and talk it out, negotiate if needed. Then if that goes down hill, he’ll roll up his sleeves and start beating all your weak points with his fancy little poles.

It’s beautiful really. The absolutely white with the patterns to keep the form moving and not be dull. How it almost seems to sparkle and reflect the light like the actual moon. This is the moon when it is beautiful and clear. It isn’t emblazoned all over with Khonshu’s name. It’s hidden gently in the buttons holding it all together.

His mask is also so interesting. Smooth but clearly a shape underneath. It’s open and wide eyed. You can tell the face is gentle and friendly. It sees the world around it and takes it all in. Yet there is a jagged line sewing it all together down the center of his face and cutting off to the right. It isn’t in the back, either. It just starts at the top and slashes down the middle. They could have made it a smooth mask, but it’s almost given the effect of being hand sewn. Even the moon in the center of the forehead. It’s bulky and obvious. It’s as if the mask was pulled together in the front to cover his face as an afterthought.

And it would have been an afterthought for Steven. Why hide his handsome face? Steven is proud of who he is.

So why is this all important for Marc?

Marc went to the temple of Khonshu to kill himself. He was already dying and he planned to go on his own terms. In his mind, he was already dead. He was revived by Khonshu and owned by Khonshu. Khonshu is an egyptian god so obviously what ever Khonshu gave him would be themed.

Moon Knight is wrapped up like a mummy. Dead, embalmed, and prepped to go into the afterlife and encounter the field of reeds if he should balance his scales. Marc doesn’t own his body, it is Khonshu’s to own, so his name is on just about every surface of the suit. The colors are like the moon in shadow. White but mostly grays and marked with craters. He is dressed similar to Khonshu, who also appears dead and mummified.

He has the moon symbol all over and there are hints of gold wrapped in the fabric where his armor is. He is there to fight. He is there to take the hit and keep going. You cannot kill a dead man.

The mask is formless. You cannot see the man underneath. It’s wrapped and sealed fully. The wrappings go over his mouth, and the moon symbol is on his cowl in a much more gentle manner. This is the mask the mummy wears. No one will look at it and think “there is a man under that”. They will only see the dead body being forced to move by what’s left of his spirit.

We aren’t going to speculate about Jake’s costume here. I’m not sure that he has a Moon Knight version at this point. Once Steven and Marc were free, Jake may have been worried that Marc would somehow sense the suit was still there and a part of him. Marc certainly felt the suit each time it came on, after all. It crawled out of him and wrapped him up. He always looked so drained when it came off him. Forcing him to let go of the healing wrappings and make him feel the pain of being alive again.

Maybe Jake had a suit when he fought in Cairo, possibly a hint of the suit was seen in the end credits of the last episode where you catch a glimpse of the masks changing from Marc to Steven. It looked a little ragged and darker. A new moon or one waning off and about to enter into a new phase. Marc’s is the only one, after all, with a full moon symbol hidden on his chest behind the crescent.

But again, I’m not going to speculate on the costume. Let’s talk about his other outfit.

First we see the gloves. Leather and thick with crescent moons on the knuckles. He is the fist of Khonshu, after all, right? Not going to lie, those gloves will provide some padding but mostly they seem to be there for his own comfort. Marc wore gloves that were wrapped like the rest of him. Steven’s gloves were small and tight and didn’t add much except to look damn good and maybe help with some gripping.

Then we see his pants and shirt, a working man’s outfit. Skinny tie, simple jacket. Really nothing fancy at this point. His hat is a traditional flat cap. The flat cap first came about when English Parliament ordered that all people of non noble blood wear a head covering on Sundays and holidays. In more modern times it became the hat of the working-class man.

In America, New York and Chicago has it listed as still very common in working-class society. A taste of home, perhaps. It also acts as a way to hide his pretty signature curls. It pushes them back and tucks them away. You don’t have Marc’s mess or Steven’s side swoop. This is Jake’s identity. This is Jake’s style.

His jacket is pretty casual until you get to that wonderfully popped and embroidered collar. A way for him to almost hunch down into himself. To feel the collar on the back of his neck as a sort of protection. To sink down and hide in plain sight.

The embroidery is Mayan. Here, best said by the people that made the jacket (not important to this analysis but fucking cool as hell so it must be said):

“It’s all in the details! I knew the reveal of Jake Lockley needed to catch the audience eye and i wanted Jake to have a silhouette similar to the comic, with details to discuss. Here is the explanation of the collar. It was discussed that Jake would give his lines in Spanish. Being that Oscar is Guatemalan, and had given a performance like no other, I wanted to add a detail from his heritage to honor Oscar. I took the Mayan calendar symbols and throughout the collar there are Mayan symbols mixed with ancient Egyptian symbols to create a design to showcase the hold Khonshu has on these characters. I wanted to incorporate important dates to the MCU and to Oscar into the design, hence using the Mayan calendar symbols (similar to if I used astrological signs) to add a little Easter egg in the end."

But in the context of the show? Let’s dig a little. Egyptian symbols of Khonshu to show his hold, mixed with Hispanic heritage that seems to define Jake further. Either a blend of acceptance to Khonshu and this way of life, or a rebellion of Jake seeking his own identity and way of life.

There is so much individuality in these three outfits. So much inner mind on display. So much beauty. I get so excited when I just think about the complexities of his suit and mask in the comics and show.

Moon Knight is more than the man underneath. Moon Knight is the mask.

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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cuntycassandra · 3 years ago

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Breaking down Hunter and Omega’s relationship: pt 4.

Hi everybody. My biggest apologies for the delay on this series over the past two weeks, I’ve had a lot of medical issues going on, alongside a big decision in my life I had to make before the end of September taking precedence. However, with a little more time on my hands and a new team of proof readers behind me, I’m hoping to be back on track soon enough! I hope you enjoy my analysis of ‘Cornered’, and please always feel free to reply/reblog/send an ask with your opinions and discussions! I love to hear and reply to them! 💛

(Pasted paragraphs: I would just like to add a disclaimer here. I am, in no way whatsoever, slating the other batchers for having differing relationships with Omega. I absolutely adore everything single one of the boys, and I think they all have wonderful and unique interrelations with her. Although I may point out these different approaches in comparison to Hunter’s, I am not stating these engages are wrong, just different is all!

I’m going to separate this into a little series- covering each episode in a separate post, which I’ll have tagged as the series progresses. Once I’ve tackled these two, as they’re my favourites, I’m going to move on to each individual Batcher and perhaps a few other dynamics such and Hunter and Crosshair, or Wrecker and Omega! Let me know what you guys would like to see!)

(Thank you to this weeks proof-reader: @very-depressing-waffel 💛)

Cornered: S1/E4

Although minimal, I absolutely love the small interaction between these two in the opening scene of this episode. While it would make sense for Hunter to take the chair, as he is navigating co-ordinates, instead he allows Omega to sit down and rest, the pure affection between them is particularly radiant in these moments. I’d also like to note that it is Hunter’s order to originally send them to Idaflor, where we can only assume he is heeding Cut’s previous advice given on the subject of ‘disappearing to start a new life’. By connotation, this essentially means Hunter was extremely ready to settle down with his brothers and both raise and protect his newly found little one. However this clearly becomes an evident concern of Hunter’s as Omega begins to whine, claiming she desperately wants to explore the galaxy instead of hiding away on an uninhabited planet. Although appreciating her enthusiasm, he insists they cannot risk it, not right now, showing he has all further plans to take her to see the universe whenever it may be safe to do so. Her safety has become his priority.

Also, another little mimic on Omega’s part is mentioned after Tech’s evaluates their situation- “Well, Pantora it is.” “Pantora it is :)”. This angel, she steals my heart.

Moving on slightly to the arrival of Pantora, Hunter’s civvies and Omega carrying his backpack for him, which is as big as her little torso might I add, makes the world spin. Notice too how her eyes never leave him for a moment, it’s a typical child trait when wanting to catch an adult’s attention for good behaviour. After Wrecker mentions the implications of sightseeing, which ultimately peaks Omega’s interest, Hunter is quick to diffuse the situation by insisting this is only a quick supply run. I strongly believe this is because although he intends to take Omega into the city with him, most likely recognising her desperation to explore, his main intention is to keep her safe and protected, I personally spy a compromise here. Finally, regarding this little interaction, when inviting Omega to join them, he calls her ‘Mega, ‘MEGA!!! Hunter is the first member of the batch to nickname her affectionately, and her little excited cheer in response says it all!

When strolling through the busy marketplace, I noticed that alongside drinking up all sights she can set her eyes on, Omega continues to perform the aforementioned ‘smile at parent because I am both well behaved and very excited’ technique, breaking away from her awestruck staring to give Hunter a cute grin, which he affectionately returns under the realisation that her purity and innocence has erupted through something as simple as a marketplace, another endearing trait his charge has displayed. I’d also like to shed light on the protective hand-on-shoulder movement Hunter uses after the squad of troopers pass by him, Omega, and Echo. His wary stare and protectiveness is an extreme diversion from his usual headstrong attitude, which we know is correlated to his need to protect his charge. (Hand-on-shoulder, AGAIN. Comforting Dad alert!!)

When offering to trade with the Gran merchant, I noticed that whenever Omega picked up a new item to inspect or show off to Echo, Hunter glances over his shoulder to observe her. I have reason to believe he might not only be watching her explore, but keeping an eye on her after the incident on Cut’s farm. I can practically see Suu’s words of advice ringing in his ears, and he wants to make sure she stays out of trouble. And after she does inevitably knock something over, although he scowls a little in her direction (as any parent would), Hunter swiftly turns his look of annoyance towards the Gran as he begins to scold Omega, once again showing his protectiveness in her regard, and in all honesty, he has every right to respond this way, we’ve already established this salesman is stubborn and conceited.

The entire plot of this episode is centred around Omega’s inevitable separation from Hunter and Echo as she ends up running off to chase a voorpak, who has stolen her new doll. We cannot fault Omega for her behaviour, it was a little juvenile at most, but we must take into account this would be her first time in such a situation, and she has never been taught otherwise. Hunter’s immediate faltering smile as he realises Omega is missing is honestly gut wrenching. He has just received 3,000 credits, a hefty sum for what they’re in need of, and now he’s lost his ward, and the pain and concern is fully mirrored through his halting eyes.

I’m moving ahead slightly to add a little character-action comparison! Now, this may just be me nitpicking, and I mean no hate to Fennec Shand (I actually ADORE her), but did anybody else notice the difference between her hold on Omega and how Hunter holds her? Fennec’s fingers lay beneath the nape of Omega’s neck, almost curling into her tunic’s collar, and so while it may seem protective, it actually holds very possessive and controlling connotations. Whereas when Hunter places a hand to Omega’s shoulder, his fingers are quite loose, and it only ever rests up her upper shoulder, allowing the girl freedom if she so much as wishes it. It’s extremely docile. Furthermore, I wanted to briefly comment on Hunter’s tenderness when retrieving Omega’s new doll, most likely using it to track her recent movement. His hold is very gentle, considering he is now clinging to the last piece of Omega he has contact with, and a noticeable shred of panic holds his upper body rigid for good measure. It’s very nicely animated.

Coming ahead swiftly to the brief ‘positive’ interaction between Omega and Fennec, I haven’t seen this mentioned before but I personally see the discussion concerning the need for protection when travelling the galaxy as a small nod to Omega’s newly found connection to the boys, and Hunter specifically. Omega insists it’s a good thing she has her ‘friends’. Noticeably, she is still very hesitant to label them as her brothers, as she most likely feels excluded to an extent (bearing in mind the boys were raised together with the exclusion of Echo, no matter her previous ties to them, Omega was always going to feel isolated to some extent), but not enough to deny she has an attachment to them, and vice versa. Hunter has already shown on multiple occasions (Kamino, Saleucami, the moon from episode 3) that he would do whatever it takes to protect her, but it’s nice to see Omega’s perspective on the newly found emotions too.

Finally, Hunter is able to catch up to both Omega and Fennec, and the sudden change in his demeanour and her aura of innocence is extremely present here. Hunter drops the worrisome parental act fairly quickly, and it’s replaced with the familiar soldier we all know and recognise, he needs to exhibit such strengths to assert the extent he is willing to go to protect Omega. Equally, upon realising Fennec doesn’t quite have her best interest at heart, Omega wastes no time jumping (recklessly) into action to save both herself and Hunter anymore trouble. Of course, being a weightless little girl, she isn’t able to do much, and Hunter ends up in a physical altercation with Shand, where he actually ends up taking his eyes off the assassin to address Omega directly, insisting she run. This not only shows just how much he cares about her, but how desperate he was to ensure her safety by putting himself at risk by not only getting into a fight, but exposing a vulnerability by taking his eyes off of her. (Her worried little face as she flees too, poor girl 😔)

(This point doesn’t have much to do with the relationship between these two, so feel free to skip over it if you want, but I did want to briefly comment on Omega’s timid exterior as she runs to Wrecker in the maintenance tunnels. It truly helps to perceive her genuine age and immaturity, the way she cowers into his neck and sits in his arms especially.)

After Tech informs Hunter of Omega’s current predicament involving the maintenance tower, it’s easily noticeable that when questioning Tech’s information, his voice mirrors the exact tone and edge it held when berating both the former and Echo after their ship was impounded in Saleucami. To me, this shows a clear connotation between the dire situations, and how quickly Hunter has taken to his new role in Omega’s life, and his job as her primary carer. Not to mention, she is literally hanging mid-traffic lane, and in desperate need of assistance. Alongside this, we see previously in this episode that not only was Hunter worried about attracting unwanted attention, after receiving such a thing and accidentally allowing Omega to hang in the balance (pun unintended), he actually steals somebody’s hoverbike in an attempt to rescue the little one, seeming to not care he is attracting even more unwanted attention. There is no hesitation on his end.

The look of absolutely HORROR that crosses this man’s face as Omega drops from the tower and just about hits the hovertruck below. We haven’t seen a look like that cross Hunter’s features since Crosshair’s ‘betrayal’, another indication to his immense worry for the newest member of his family. Equally, this is mirrored by Omega’s wide eyed, petrified stare as she momentarily watches Fennec shoot straight for Hunter’s bike, realising both she and the closest thing she has to a parent are still in serious peril. We need to take into account that this little girl has never experienced something this grim before, and the internal panic is evident for both herself, and Hunter especially.

This brings us down to the “HUNTER!!” comment from Omega as she dangles from the hovertruck. I personally believe her first initial thoughts were not to warn Hunter of the oncoming Shand, but instead a desperation to cry out for help from her guardian. This escalated as she notices Fennec approaching, and her eyes even widen as she calls out for Hunter to watch out, giving further evidence that her first thoughts might not have correlated to her eventual dialogue. It’s also important to note that despite her incredibly tragic situation, Omega is still much more worried about Hunter’s predicament than her own.

(Slightly unimportant, but I love the way Hunter leans in to take Omega in his arm before Shand knocks him out of the way. It’s very parental.)

I never noticed this before, but as Hunter catches Omega’s hand and hauls her onto the bike, he actually scans her over briefly to check for any injuries, before insisting she hold on tight. Notice how his voice isn’t scolding or harsh, he’s very calm despite the dire situation, doing his best to remain neutral for Omega’s sake, especially considering the day she’s had. It’s also important to note that this is further improvement from the situation on Saleucami, another example of their ever-growing relationship.

The WAVE of relief that rolls from Hunter’s entire demeanour as he places the backpack down in the Marauder cockpit, knowing he can finally rest now that Omega is safe, while simultaneously anticipating the flurry of issues about to storm their already hectic lives with a bounty hunter after the kid. His eyes are exhausted, his shoulders are only slightly slacked to insinuate his rough exterior, and yet he still does his absolute best to comfort Omega as she begins to get upset over the prior events and the unknown future.

And, finally, a small action but important nonetheless. I noticed that Omega’s eyes quiver slightly as she begins to get upset, and in her final moments on screen, they direct towards Hunter. This may seem unimportant, but it provides further evidence to the notion that she seeks him out for protection specifically. She’s upset and frightened, so she looks to him because he protects her. It is set up as if she’s about to toss herself into his arms, because she needs him right now.

I hope you liked my analysis of Hunter and Omega’s relationship in episode four of The Bad Batch! Of course, I’d love to discuss these two with anybody who might be interested, so please feel free to drop me an ask or a DM, and if you’re captivated enough I’d totally recommend looking out for my future posts on the topic!

As always, much love to our ‘Megs and Hunter, thank you for reading! 💛

Part One: Aftermath

Part Two: Cut and Run

Part Three: Replacements

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years ago

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Not by the Moon | 05

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A sprinkle of grumpy jealous werewolf!Jaebeom who gets a wee bit violent, tooth-rotting domestic fluff, werewolf courting, sexual tension, werewolf!Jaebeom acting like a pup, and poor yet adorable attempts at coming across as human.

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV. Bam and Jinyoung make a cameo.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

Wonderful as a trip abroad might be, there’s nothing that can compare to the secret feeling of relief when returning home. No longer there is luggage to drag along, languages to swap between, or cultures to assimilate to. While it is in good fun, it’s also physically and mentally exhausting. Henceforth, coming home is like a cozy blanket to wrap around your shoulders by the fire on a cold November day. And once you’re bundled up, it is time to breathe easy and rest.

Although, home is not necessarily a place. In fact, mine has made good on his promise and puppy dreams, standing in the crowd to pick me up.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out as we enter the hall of arrivals, “over here!”

Manes tucked away under a dark red beanie and wearing a simple black jacket over an oversized black shirt, Jaebeom waves to pull attention to himself.

“Who’s that?” Bam follows my gaze to the adorable tall man as we make our way through the crowd of trolleys, suitcases, hellos and goodbyes. “Is that the dude you’ve been texting and calling?”

“He is,” I whisper in reply as we approach him. With every step, the storm of butterflies in my stomach worsens although I feel light as air at the same time. Happiness in Love is a strange thing.

“So that’s your boyfriend,” my colleague purrs. He sounds pleased in the way I imagine he’d sound if he was my older brother.

I whip my head around, tongue-tied but not enough to protest the assumption. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

Bam merely chuckles to himself, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he continues. “Sure he isn’t, Y/N. After all, you’ve not been touching your lips and turning into a blushy mess afterwards. Or keeping those books you have with you close at all times, looking at them fondly.”

“Of course I am.” Jaebeom jumps into the conversation when we’ve reached him, acting as if he’s heard our conversation perfectly through the ruckus of the crowd. The sparkle in his eyes dims and turns into a poisonous glare when he notices the guy besides me. “Who are you?”

“JB, this is Kunpimook.’’ I gesture from one to the other, jaw clenched in the hope the wolf man won’t actively show the hostility harboured in his gaze. ‘’The colleague I told you about.”

“Just call me Bam.” Politely, he holds out his hand.

“Im Jaebeom,” the other man introduces himself, fortunately accepting the gesture howbeit with a strained expression. “Her boyfriend.”

“Hey, you must be Y/N.” Holding a tray with three coffee cups in it, a young man joins our company.

Like Jaebeom, who has proudly proclaimed himself my boyfriend, he is tall, slender yet muscular in build and has black hair. Nevertheless, whereas Jaebeom has a flair of being unapproachable, the stranger has a boyish air around him that’s open for contact.

He moves the carrier from his right hand to his left for a handshake. “I’m Jinyoung.”

Immediately, bells start ringing at the mention of his name. After all, there hasn’t been a single call the past week wherein he wasn’t mentioned. “Jaebeom’s told me about you. You’re a professor at the university here, right?”

“I am,” he beams, his proud tone indicating how much he likes his job. “I teach Mythology. It’s a course that encompasses folklore around the world, so it’s fairly broad.”

“You teach only one course?”

“I do, but I’m also a doctor. Well, still studying to be one officially, but I’m allowed to work at the university’s clinic already.”

“Wow.’’ A professor and a doctor. There’s little else I can say as a mere travel journalist, so I just try to remain casual despite being utterly gobsmacked.

“I know, it’s a lot. Nevertheless, somehow I manage to do it and occasionally write an article.”

How does he do it? He’s likely not that much older than I, but he’s evidently busier than I am.

“Show-off.” The grumbled insult interferes with the friendly conversation. The focus of Jaebeom’s glare has changed targets from Bam to the professor. However, the latter doesn’t seem to notice his friend’s chagrin.

“I’m simply introducing myself, Jay. Here,” Jinyoung hands him one of the paper cups from the carrier, “your apple and cinnamon tea.”

“You drink tea now?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised. It sounds like a strange concept because I’ve never seen him drink anything but black coffee.

“Doctor’s orders,” JB murmurs in response, discontent and keeping a close eye on Bam as he nips the warm beverage.

“I’ve put him on tea, preferably green, to lower the caffeine levels in his blood. Otherwise, he’ll be staying up all night reading and trying to cook. Oh,” he reaches for something in his pocket, pulling out a small bottle like the one JB showed me in the park and handing it to his friend, “you forgot your meds.”

“You’re on medication?” Bam asks without any implications or judgment. The funny thing is, despite being extroverted and extravagant - extra, in general - he actually studied psychology and thought about becoming a psychiatrist for a while. Therefore, he has a general interest in medicine and its function of helping the human psyche.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaebeom sneers sarcastically, his voice closer to a growl than human speech. Then, he turns his attention to Jinyoung, who continues to hold his calm. “Why are you giving this to me now? Couldn’t you wait until we’re back? I’m not gonna take them in front of some stranger, especially not someone close to her. Besides, what does skipping one time or by a few hours matter?”

“Jay, don’t be like this,’’ the young professor sighs. ‘’You know how important timing is, especially with this new treatment.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

A nudge against my shoulder distracts me from the fierce bickering, Bam lowly whispering he’s leaving for home as well as an apology for what he has unleashed. I answer in a similar fashion when promising to call him later and apologizing for putting him into this situation. He merely waves dismissively, unbothered, and disappears in the crowd of trolleys and journeying strangers.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” I intervene lest the situation gets out of hand. A hand on his chest, I try to distract Jaebeom by shifting his focus to me. “Let’s go search for somewhere quiet around here where it’s just us. It’s important to me too you take your meds.”

“Let’s just go home.” His features soften, compromising like I did that day in the bookshop and didn’t want to eat. “I’ll take them in the car, alright?”

“Why do you have to be cross with me about it when you readily accept to take them when Y/N tells you to?” Jinyoung crosses his arms in defiance, lips pulled into a displeased pout.

“Because she’s my mate,” Jaebeom argues, sure to show his teeth. Withal, he turns into a gentle giant again once he wraps an arm around my waist and looks down at me with so much adoration I feel my cheeks burning up. “Girlfriend, I mean. We’re dating, so she’s my girlfriend.”

“We’ve only been out together once,” I sputter. It’s wonderful to hear the affirmation we’re an item, although I still think it’s a bit too early to claim we are.

“Twice after today. And we’ve kissed,” he corrects me, tone indicating there is no use in protesting. Nevertheless, the sternness wavers as it warms into merriment. “I got you something. I’ll give it to you once we’re home.”

Jinyoung leans in as we head to the exit, whispering. “He went kinda overboard.”

“I didn’t,” Jaebeom growls. “Stop embarrassing me. Know your fucking place.”

“Boys,” I sigh in warning.

Both lower their head and let out a whimper in apology. “Sorry.”

“This is where you live?” Jinyoung parks the car in front of the tall white brick building overlooking the quay at the edge of town.

“Wow...” Jaebeom murmurs in the passenger seat, awed by the fact I live on the east side of town. It’s a recently redeveloped area, the warehouses refurbished into apartment complexes to help combat the growing housing issue.

“I do. Not for much longer, though.”

Both men turn in their seats, looking at me as if I’m insane.

“You’re moving out?” The professor asks, although it’s more of an exclamation than a question. “Why would you leave this place? It’s one of the most desired places to live within the city.”

However, JB doesn’t care about the reason which makes me want to leave the neighbourhood behind. Instead, he’s anxious to know where to find me. “Where will you go?”

“Do you know those orchards on the outskirts of town? With the old cottages?” Both nod as confirmation. “Well, that’s where I’ll be moving to. I’ve been meaning to get out of the city for a while. Granted, the harbour district isn’t as busy as the city centre. But, despite being only twenty-two, I crave the silence of the countryside. Or, rather, its tranquility which I can also find in the suburbs.”

“You’re twenty-two?” Jaebeom asks, head tilted to the side.

“I am,’’ I admit as I pull my knees up to make myself as small as possible. ‘’I never mentioned it because I didn’t think it’d matter. Does it, though?”

My voice is hardly audible, a frog stuck in my throat. Why did I have to be the one to bring this up?

“No, not at all! I still like you. A lot. A lot, a lot. But, I’m older than you. Quite a bit, I think.”

“How old?” The question barely rolls off the tongue, pale with dread.

Please, don’t let there be too big of an age gap.

“I’m twenty...” He looks at Jinyoung, brow furrowed.

“Twenty-eight,” the good doctor whispers, unconscious of the fact that the well-meant reminder is loud enough for me to hear.

“Twenty-eight,” Jaebeom confirms, staring back at me in anticipation. “Six years difference. Does it matter? To you, I mean. In how you see me?”

“It doesn’t. Do you see me differently?”

“I never did.”

“Age is only a number, after all,” the professor pitches in to cheer us up further. “Anyway, I’m dropping you off here.”

“Can’t you stay?” Surely I can’t let him leave without at least thanking him with a cup of coffee or tea.

“I’d love to, but- Don’t you snarl at me.” He points an accusing finger at JB, who’s showing his teeth and lowly growling like he did at the airport.

Caught red-handed, the wolfish man feigns ignorance and stares out the window. However, his sulky expression and scoff betray his true feelings.

“As I was saying,” Jinyoung continues after an exasperated sigh, “I’d love to, but I get to attend an interesting transplant operation today and have a bit of research to do for a new article.”

“That’s a shame. I owe you a cup of coffee, then. That’s the least I can do to repay you for driving me home.”

“I’ll make good on that promise soon. But for now, go on, you two.” He motions for us to get out of the car. “Don’t make it awkward by making me the third wheel.”

“Jinyoung.” Hesitantly, the big wolf man holds up his fist.

“No hard feelings.” He bumps his fist against JB’s.

“Good.” The seat belt comes undone, but Jaebeom doesn’t move to step outside yet. Instead, he leans in towards Jinyoung and takes a whiff, squinting as invisible question marks float in the air. “You smell weird, though.”

“Really?” The other man sniffs the collar of his jacket, shrugging casually in jest. “It’s not that bad.”

“Jinyoung.” Despite still looking a bit pale with remorse, the wolf man says the professor’s name harshly, his voice deep as he chastises the turn to humour. He grows still, gaze focused on his friend as he tries to look for what’s unspoken in the other’s body language.

However, there is nothing to see. Although, if there actually is something off, the professor hides it well. But Jaebeom doesn’t get the chance to scrutinize him long enough to see for himself because Jinyoung turns back to the wheel and waves dismissively. “I’m alright, Jae. Go. Have fun with your girlfriend.”

His friend nods, a strained look on his face, and opens the door. I follow behind, having silently observed the conversation from the backseat.

What’re you worried about? Jinyoung looks fine. Nothing wrong with him whatsoever.

Nevertheless, barely have we opened the trunk when the doctor hangs out the window. “And don’t forget your present!”

“Got it right here.” In confirmation, Jaebeom holds up a neat-looking paper bag, chique enough to originally have been used in a boutique.

“That’s my boy,” he chuckles before he resumes his seat.

With a dull thud, Jaebeom closes the trunk again.

The engine roars to life and the car pulls out of the parking lot, Jinyoung honking a few times as we see him off.

I look from Jaebeom to the bag, leaning in to try and sneak a peek of its contents. “What did you get me?”

You promised me a shirt, but do you really need this big of a bag for one?

“I’m not telling you,” he muses.

I straighten my posture, a smile building as a golden opportunity presents itself. “Aw, what’s in the box?”

“Box? Y/N, it’s a bag.”

“I know, but- Never mind.” I wave the apparently obscure allusion with a dismissive gesture, disappointed he doesn’t get the reference. “Let’s go inside.”

“Are you upset?” he asks as we walk to the entrance of the building.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Another reassuring question burns on his tongue, but before he can ask it I stand on the tips of my toes to peck him on the lips and nose. “I’m not going to get upset simply because you didn’t understand me. Besides, it’s just a trivial matter. Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Though I failed the first time, I again try to get a better look at the mysterious bag. As before, the attempt is in vain. “And curious.”

“I think you’ll like it. In fact,” his lips pull into a smug smirk, “I’m fairly sure you’ll look pretty in it. More pretty than you do now.”

It’s prettier.

I let the mistake slide.

To let him have his little moment of triumph.

There is no place like home. Truly, not a single hotel room or bed and breakfast in the world can substitute the small studio with its minimalistic interior in shades of white and grey.

I breathe in deeply, glad to stand in the familiar narrow hallway leading to the kitchen and space beyond. A faint musty smell cuts through the fragrance of the Nordic leather diffuser sticks I bought before going to Belgium.

Guess I’ll be cleaning tomorrow.

Luckily, it’s been only a few days so the level of dust isn’t too bad. Notwithstanding, the place could do with a little clean-up.

“Well, this is me.”

“I know,” Jaebeom replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes on me.

“No, I mean, this,” I gesture around as I walk into the apartment, “is my place. My house.”

He murmurs something under his breath, seemingly contrasting two words as he tries to understand them or, rather, the difference between them.

“It’s nice,” he remarks when he has figured out his train of thought, looking around appreciatively.

“The cottage will be nicer, I think. I can’t wait to decorate it, make it cozier than this place. Maybe get some plants, hang up a few photos-’’

“A few of us together, maybe?” He proposes as he, too, takes his shoes off and follows me into the living room.

“For example.” I nod at the bag when we settle down on the couch next to the window overlooking the quay. “Can I open my present now?”

“Say ‘please’.” Arms crossed, he leans in so our faces are mere inches away from each other. His breath ghosts warmly over my lips when he continues in a tender yet playful babying tone. “Life is short, but there is always time for courtesy. Manners, young lady.”

“Can I open my present, please?” Regardless of the chance to finally satisfy my curiosity, I don’t dive into the gift directly. Instead, I stay my hand, bothered by a nagging feeling his words are familiar to me. “What you just said, isn’t that a quote?”

“It is, but,’’ Jaebeom bites his lip, eyes averted to the ground, ‘’to be honest, I can’t remember who said it.”

Funny, how you can remember quotes. Maybe that’s how we can communicate in the future if your condition gets worse. Although, let’s hope that’s not the case for a long time.

“Ralph…’’ I start, trying to recall who originally said it. ‘’Ralph Waldo? No, that’s not right. He went by his middle name. Wait, his middle name was Ralph so it was him.”

“Have you read his work?”

“Honestly speaking, I haven’t. However, I have a friend who studies American literature and poetry and she sends poems, quotes and the occasional snippet. I think I’ve seen him in passing. Anyways,’’ I pull the bag onto my lap, giddy as a child in a candy shop, ‘’let’s see what’s inside.”

The present catches me off-guard because the bundles of clothing are both what I expected and yet not. “You...” I trail off, checking and double checking the amount of shirts. “Seven?”

“One for every day of the week,” he beams, proudly barking his reasoning.

These will last me two weeks if not longer. Minimalism isn’t his thing, is it?

I pull out a big grey hoodie and hold it up to my nose to sniff it. A wild forest of which the air is faintly scented by a cologne with fruity undertones and the musty smell of books. I hum contently, enraptured by the scent. By him.

From the corner of my eye, I see Jaebeom grinning in unadulterated amusement. Albeit not without effort, I lower the article of clothing. “I know this is likely stupid to ask, but eventually they’ll have to be washed so what if your scent fades?”

“I’ll just scent them again.’’ He shrugs casually before he points inside the bag. ‘’Also, what’s in the little box on the bottom might help with that too.”

In my astonishment, I missed the cardboard square at the bottom which turns out to be the packaging for a bottle of cologne. “You can spray it on. Sure, it’s not really purely my scent but hopefully it’s still rem- remi- a reminder of me.”

You meant reminiscent, didn’t you?

“Or I can go to you and have you scent them,” I joke, only half-serious.

“If that means more time together,” his mismatched eyes sparkling with gleeful stars, “sure, why not? I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you.’’ Absentmindedly, I fidget with the folds of the hoodie. ‘’I really like it.”

Jaebeom ruffles my hair, letting out a chuff. “You’re welcome. Now, why don’t you just sit tight and I’ll make us something to eat?”

“Don’t set my kitchen aflame, though,” I warn him as the wolf man gets up from the couch.

“I won’t,” he answers smugly before leaning in to steal a kiss. “I promise.”

With a spring in his step, JB sets off for the kitchen with the bag of groceries he pulled from Jinyoung’s trunk. The two must have dropped by the supermarket before coming to pick me up.

A pillow propped up against the armrest and the blanket formerly draped over the couch now covering my shoulders, I lie down for a nap.

As consciousness fades, a warm affectionate wolfish smile pierces through the growing haze. Jaebeom murmurs something unintelligible and turns his gaze back to the chopping board.

I am home.

Dreaming of two little pups running around an orchard.

“Dinner’s ready!” The loud remark barely filters in until it’s repeated up close, the merry bark lowered in volume. A hand shakes my shoulder, but what does the trick in waking me up is the warm wetness nibbling away at my ear. However, it doesn’t stay there, but travels down the side of my neck and ends its journey at the hem of my shirt, giving it a gentle yet fierce tug.

“Y/N, come on. Get up,” JB whines, the words distorted thanks to keeping the fabric firmly between his teeth. He tugs at it again.

What on earth?

I turn onto my other side, causing the big wolf man to let go. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to eat.” He makes himself smaller, gaze briefly averted to the side before looking at me again, continuing in the same tender yet stern tone he uses whenever food is involved. “With me. This is my first time cooking for you and I practiced really hard while you were away. So, please, eat with me. I want to know whether I did a good job.”

“Do you have to drag me by the collar for that?” I reach out to scratch him behind his ear, tracing his jaw as my fingers work upwards.

Jaebeom’s eyes mist over, his expression turning dreamy as he leans into the touch. “Want- Don’t know… know how to- Come to… kitchen. Although, maybe, just...”

“Feels good?”

A hasty sheepish smile flashes on his lips as he nods in agreement, eyes closed and speechless.

You really are a wolf. Weirdo. My weirdo.

A whine slips out when I stop. JB slowly opens his eyes again, blinks a few times before he clears his throat. “Can we do that again? After dinner, maybe?”

“If I liked what you made, sure. However,” I kiss his forehead, “since you asked so nicely, we can do this again after we’ve eaten. So, will you eat with me?”

Will you stay with me?

“What’s wrong?” Picking up on the worrying thought, he tilts his head to the side and scrutinizes my face as he did Jinyoung’s earlier today.

“Nothing.” I shake my head, dismissing the thought since we’ve already said everything there is to say about it. “Just a silly thought.”

His expression falters. “I’m being over- overbear- too much.”

“No, not at all! Don’t say that, silly.”

Jaebeom nudges my nose with his, his tone sweet in an attempt to make me confess what’s bothering me. “Then what is it?”

“I’ve never done this before,” I admit at last. “No one’s ever cooked for me aside from my mom and grandmother or had a guy proudly proclaim himself as my boyfriend. This is simply new to me so it makes me feel, well, a bit awkward. It’s unreal, like a dream that might go up in smoke any second. That’s maybe a better way to put it.”

“I’m really here. Also, remember what you promised me? You’d stay by my side until you can’t anymore and I promised you the same. I’m a wolf, after all. Loyal to my pack or, rather, my- uh- my bi- no, that’s wrong. My lady,” he grabs my hand and lifts the fingers to his lips for a chaste kiss, “I am your gentleman and I won’t go anywhere without telling you first. And, if possible, I’ll take you with me because I refuse to leave you behind. But for now, let’s go eat. Together. I’ll try not to make a mess.”

Don’t cry, Y/N. Don’t you tear up right in front of him.

I take in a shivering breath, swallow hard, and try to regain composure.

We’re here together and wherever it is we’re going next, we’ll be there as we are now.

Side by side.

Even though I’m hungry and the table is literally three steps away, I groan as I get up from the couch. Travelling takes its toll, no matter how short the distance might be. All the same, I shuffle towards the chair facing the kitchen and plop down on it, watching JB plate up. “What are we having?”

“Steak with blanched vegetables and sweet potato mash,” he proudly announces while serving the food.

“Uhm, that’s very nice. However- it’s alright if you don’t remember, but I’m vegetarian.”

“I remembered.” A bright smile forms on his lips, eyes alight with triumph and joy. “That’s why your steak is soy-based. I found it while doing groceries or, rather, Jinyoung pointed it out. He’s been teaching me how to cook and bake. Well, we’re still working on the latter, but I did bring homemade cheesecake for dessert. I still wonder why they call it cheesecake when what’s going in it isn’t really cheese.”

“Beats me too.”

“You got slapped by cream cheese?” Visibly gobsmacked, he leans in with an expression that holds the middle between curiosity and utter confusion. “How did that happen and was it painful?”

“I mean I don’t understand either,” I reply, shaking my head with a low chuckle, and cut into the steak. As the knife sinks into it, a rosy fluid oozes out of it as if it’s been cooked medium-raw which is exactly how I liked it back in my non-vegetarian days. “But baking hasn’t been a success?”

Jaebeom sits back, shoulders hunched as he pokes the carrot on his plate with his fork. “I burned a cake, pulled it from the oven as black as charcoal. Then there’s the case of the exploded soufflés and marble cake that turned out to have no marbling at all. Not to speak of the melted... what’re they called again? There’s also a song that’s got to do with them. Jinyoung sings it a lot. Rocky road! Melted rocky roads and millionaire’s breads.”

“Maybe stick to cooking instead of baking. Not everyone has a knack for both.”

He sighs in defeat. “Maybe I should, but I’ll still try to make you something every once in a while that’s actually good.”

“As long as you don’t blow up one of our kitchens.” I include my kitchen as well because the mere thought of baking together spreads a rosy flush throughout my body that leaves me warm with affection. Besides, it’s another excuse to see him wear an apron, maybe pull some shenanigans myself and have something to eat with a cup of tea or coffee and a good book.

That would make for a nice date. We should do that soon.

“I’ll try.” He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

The adorable genuineness of the determined gesture is what drives me to seal the promise by wrapping my pinky around his. “I’ll hold you to it.”

While eating the simple yet well-made dinner, the conversation is about novels, the shop, Jinyoung’s cooking lessons and the weary stories of how Kunpimook and I crossed Bruges in search of the best chocolate. Jaebeom hasn’t done much in the time I was away it seems. The bookshop’s been quiet, so he’s had plenty of time to read and work on his cooking. Nevertheless, his expression turns dreamy when I show him the pictures from the trip, but right beneath the surface of it floats a form of sad longing which is too unclear to be certain of or to be properly described.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m glad you got to see this,” he murmurs as he takes my phone from my hand to leave through the collection again. “I’m kinda jealous, though. It’s been so long since I went somewhere other than here. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been somewhere else.”

Brows furrowed, he tries to remember the last time he travelled. Withal, he comes up short, the melancholy of missing memories staining his voice. “I’ve been nowhere except here. Chained.”

“This place clearly is your home, that’s why it’s keeping you here. It knows you belong here and I’m glad you’ve remained.”

He lets out a breathless laugh which oddly holds the middle between a growl and a giggle. “I’m happy you showed up at my doorstep, then. But, the cottage you’ll be moving to... it’d- it’d be nice if I could make that my home too.’’ His cheeks grow pink like rose petals. ‘’Well, maybe not literally, but it would be nice if it would become our little somewhere.”

“Our little somewhere,” I repeat, charmed by the sound of it.

“Our home. Well, concretely speaking. Abstractly, and most importantly, you are my home.’’ He gets up to move to my side, where he crouches at my feet. Foreheads rested against each other, he easily nips at my nose and nuzzles it affectionately with his. ‘’You are what breaks the silence, makes me able to hope for better days.”

“The same goes for you because even though you sometimes still intimidate and freak me out a little bit, you make my days more interesting than they have been in years. So, thank you. For being here, spending your time in my company.”

“Thank you for the same reasons. Now,” JB leans away to get up and starts to clear the dishes, “how about dessert?”

Before either of us is aware of it, the clock on the wall notes it’s already ten past eight when we finish off the homemade cheesecake. Naturally, partially to also do my fair share, I stand up from my chair before the big wolf man does in an attempt to clear the table and do the dishes. However, when I’m about to walk to the kitchen with them, Jaebeom unapologetically takes them from my hands.

“What’re-? JB, you don’t have to do everything! Let me at least do the dishes.” Flattered yet a tad annoyed by the kindness, and poorly conveying my appreciation, I protest in a harsher tone than I intended to use.

Fortunately, though also a bit comically, he remains unperturbed. Notwithstanding, an unyielding sternness underlines his voice when he responds. “You’ve had a long journey, so sit down and relax. I’ll be right with you after cleaning up.”

Henceforth, unable to protest and rendered comatose by the delicious food, I plop down on the couch. Nestled into the corner, I have a proper view of the man who’s claimed my kitchen for himself.

Although it’s an intrusion to a certain degree, it’s quite soothing to watch Jaebeom defy classic gender roles. Contently humming a song and barely shy of skipping, he cleans up the mess with a tea towel tucked into the side of his pants.

When he’s done, he hangs the tea towel over the stove’s handle, washes his hands, and settles down next to me. On a whim, though it’s maybe because of instinct, I get up from my little corner and nestle against him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer as I drape my leg over his thigh to get into a more comfortable position.

Situated snugly in his safe presence, I close my eyes and sigh in pure content. “Can you stay here tonight?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to be alone and rest?” he murmurs into my hair.

“I can recharge with you. Besides, you’re nice and warm.” I snuggle up to him more, basking in the mixture of wild wood and cologne. “A perfect pillow.”

He pulls me on his lap, wraps his arms around my body and pulls me flush against his chest, which feels sculpted but not hard with muscle. Abs are nice and all, but I prefer the softness of a defined though not hardened chest.

“If it brings you rest,” he curls his finger under my chin and lifts it, compelling me to look at him, “I’ll stay.”

I run my fingers along his jaw and up to his ear, immediately reducing him to the puppy-like state he tends to get into apparently when being touched like this. “Thank you.”

“My pl- pleasure.” What would have been a normal response is lost in a growl when I accidentally brush against his crotch as I shift my weight and sit up a little.

His eyes snap open, the hazelnut brown and ocean blue irises darkened, devoid of any sense of their former satisfied tenderness. With his thumb he traces the outline of my lips, lowly purring. “Pretty.”

“Jaebeom,” I place my hands on his shoulders, maintaining a bit of distance between us. We shouldn’t rush this, but the sensation of his growing bulge against my thigh, throbbing against the inside of it, convolutes every thought. Somehow, his scent seems to have gotten stronger too, overwhelming me with the same clear message the firm grip on my hips has.

I don’t push him back as he leans in, bridging the emptiness I initiated. Foreheads rested against each other and his calloused hands on my cheeks, he guesses what’s essentially withholding me. “Scared?”

“A bit,” I whimper against his palm, the words muffled by the rough warm skin.

“It’s me, Y/N. I won’t hurt you.” Feverish yet sweetly with persuasive conviction, he kisses me. “I’m your gentleman, your boyfriend.”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt. That we’re going too fast.”

“We’re not. I want this. I want more of you. With you. But,’’ lips pulled into a straight line, he clears his throat while looking as if he is restraining a wild beast that can easily get the better of him if he lets go, ‘’I’ll leave it up to you.”

So, what you’re asking is…

Jaebeom takes a deep breath to regain his composure, though it has little effect. His breathing remains heavy, close to panting. Nevertheless, the gentle stars return to his eyes as the strained expression softens. “Will you have me?”

#GOT7 #Jaebeom #Im Jaebeom #Jaebeom smut #Jaebeom x Reader #Jay B #Defsoul #GOT7 smut #Werewolf AU #GOT7 Werewolf AU

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nose-bandaid · 4 years ago

Text

the little flower on your wrist

Wonwoo x (gender neutral) Reader | soulmate AU angst + fluffy ending i promise:) | 4.2k words

sequel to: the moon told me so ☾~ (highly suggest reading it first !!)

synopsis: four years have passed since wonwoo left to study abroad. four years without your soulmate. four years, spent doing all you can to stop your heart from racing every time you thought of him, because he wasn’t ready for love. and yet, suddenly, with a little mistake on your part, you find yourself next to him again, picking at the same flowers in this flower field of life.

a/n: hey thanks so much for loving the first part guys, it made me so happy to hear that people actually wanted it to continue too !! i hope this second part matches what you’re looking for and that you enjoy:)

=====

You spilled everything to everyone eventually. As the years passed and people constantly pestered you about your mark, you didn’t see that much harm in telling them. Especially with the fact that Wonwoo was away.

With the fact that you practically had no hope for a relationship at this point.

To put it simply, your friends were all shocked. Shocked that, with everything’s that’s happened, you somehow managed to hide your mark from all of them — save for the few who knew about it. After the initial instinct to chastise you for keeping such a big secret, they resorted to pity and sympathy, though you honestly didn’t need it. You’ve done enough pitying on your own.

In the loneliness of your bedroom, your hand drifted to your ankle where the mark resided, and pulled down your sock to check in on it — a habit you’ve developed recently. You weren’t quite sure when it started, but at some point, the flowers next to your crescent moon began to fade away, as if someone had taken an eraser and decided to wipe off the petals one by one.

And every time you woke up to see that another petal had disappeared, a part of your love for Wonwoo faded away as well. You took it as a sign that maybe it really was time to try and move on.

Your plan to move on did end up actually working. You busied yourself with work and picking up new hobbies to dwell on so that your thoughts wouldn’t return to him. And in your spare time, the other boys happily took you out on adventures around the city — Chan and Seungkwan especially — and you’ve never been more grateful to have them by your side. You still kept in touch with Wonwoo, sparsely, but once in a while you would contact the other to check in on how they’re doing.

To your surprise (and joy you suppose), it didn’t take too long for you to learn the art of letting go. Perhaps it was because there was only a single flower left on your ankle, or because Jun got you hooked on this amazing game you’re now obsessed with. Or perhaps, your heart had finally lost all hope in being with Wonwoo and was starting to back off. While you were far from being a master of letting go, you were content with where you were, and for the first time in a long while, you felt optimistic about yourself.

=====

“Now, why didn’t you tell me?”

That effort all fell apart when you received the phone call. You really had no clue how you were supposed to prepare yourself for it — if it was even possible for you to prepare for it.

Wonwoo had just called to inform you that he was going to come home that month because of a job opportunity he managed to score that wasn’t half the world away. That was already a piece of news you were trying to recover from because Wonwoo? Coming back? As in your soulmate is going to return just as you were getting over him? It was some stupidly accurate timing on fate’s part.

Then there was that sudden shift from joy to fear the moment he asked the question out of the blue. If you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were going to see him again, how were you supposed to react to this? You didn’t know why, but you froze in fear when you heard the question, as if he caught you red-handed.

Your lips parted as you stared at the wall in front of you, not a single clue of what Wonwoo was referring to on your mind. “I’m sorry, what?” You managed to whisper back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He repeated, voice devoid of emotions and you struggled to recall the events of the past few days. You didn’t do anything wrong, did you? The last time you spoke to him was last week, and to be honest, you didn’t even really think of him after that.

A few seconds of silence passed until you sighed in defeat. “Wonwoo you’re going to have to be more detailed than this, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You didn’t know why he was suddenly being so cryptic with you, it was unlike him to have this hint of bluntness in his tone.

“Chan posted a photo last night.” Was all he gave and he left you to your own thoughts once again. Then it suddenly clicked — no matter how far Wonwoo was, you still managed to slip up.

You had gone to the beach with Chan, Mingyu, and Joshua yesterday, and you so ambitiously didn’t cover up your mark, because why bother? It’s not like Wonwoo was there to see it, and no one else would even care about your mark. They were so common and seen everywhere, letting your guard down once in a while wouldn’t hurt, right?

Or so you thought.

And of all the days and outfits you wore, and all the times you hung out with your friends, Chan just had to choose a picture where you didn’t have your socks on.

“Ah, well…” You really didn’t know what to say. You weren’t even able to tell him the words that you rehearsed before he left, and now you had to come up with something on the spot?

“How long have you had it for?” He asked quietly, he sounded more betrayed than he did angry.

“I got it before you did.” You replied meekly.

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Was it because of what I said? About not wanting to get in a relationship?”

You didn’t have an answer.

“I—” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I was so worried about meeting my soulmate before I left, and then I spent the what — the last four years? For the last four years I was still waiting and worrying about them, wondering if we were ever going to meet, but you were my soulmate the entire time?”

“I’m sorry…” The mark on your ankle burned as if it was ashamed, and you trembled along with it.

“No, I should be sorry, I didn’t mean to get mad about this.” Another sigh. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, and maybe even a little desperate now that everything’s falling into place. It all makes sense.”

“So what happens now?” You dared to ask the question that’s sat on the tip of your tongue ever since he called you out.

“I’ve — I’ve actually been thinking.” He started, and you heard shuffle around on the other end. “Maybe it’s because for these past 4 years I’ve been a little bit lonelier, living away from you guys, or maybe it’s just because I’ve grown as a person and got to learn more about myself.” There was a short pause.

“But I’m willing to, you know, try for a relationship. A romantic one, I mean. I think I’m willing to try it out, especially if it’s with you. And if it doesn’t go so well, then I was hoping that at least we could go back to being friends again, like the ones we used to be.”

Your head hesitantly nodded at his words until you remembered that he couldn’t see you. This wasn’t supposed to happen — this was hardly part of the plan. Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest as your mind repeated his words over and over again. Wonwoo was ready.

Wait, Wonwoo was ready?

So what happened to the whole getting over him part? It was thrown out of the window, clearly, seeing that your mouth couldn’t form any kind of disagreement to his suggestion.

“Ah, yeah, I’m willing to give us a chance.” You said.

He let out a small hum and then there was silence on the line. Though the conversation was quiet, your ears burned until he finally spoke up again.

“Also, now that this has been confirmed, I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Mhm?”

“Has your mark been disappearing recently? Like the flowers?”

There was an odd sense of relief, hearing that you weren’t the only one experiencing that.

“Oh… yeah they’ve been disappearing.” You confirmed.

“Any idea on why that’s happening?”

You considered your next words before replying. “It could be because things weren’t going so well between us? Not that something wrong happened, but I guess, you know, we’ve been so far apart, and as time goes on, things change, we change. Maybe our marks are trying to tell us something.”

You heard him click his tongue. “That’s reasonable.”

More silence.

“Then,” He spoke up again. “I hope that when I come home, we’ll be able to give each other enough chances so that our marks go back to the way they were.”

Of all the emotions in the world, you never thought that you’d feel hopeful about the thought of Wonwoo coming back, and yet you smiled softly into the receiver.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you then, Wonwoo. Let’s try this all over again.”

=====

Chan called the next day sputtering out an apology about the picture and saying that he took it down despite you insisting that those measures weren’t necessary. What’s been done has been done. You weren’t really sure how the news got to him, but you suspected that Wonwoo must’ve shot him a message earlier. About what exactly? You didn’t know.

It took some time for you to calm the poor boy down, though you ended up having to agree to his persistent plans on buying you something to make up for his mistake.

You settled for a modest cup of coffee — he was still trying to get through school after all, and you didn’t want him to spend his money on something so futile. As a last-minute decision, you also invited Seungkwan to join in on the meeting after you told him about the phone call.

When you arrived with Chan in tow, he was already sitting there, arms crossed, steaming like the cup of white hot chocolate sitting in front of him. For some reason, during the call he had sounded angrier about the situation than you were, and you shared a wary glance with Chan when you realized that his mood hadn’t changed. He greeted the two of you dismissively as if he didn’t really want to be there.

You pushed it aside at first and spent some time talking about random topics and catching up with each other in an attempt to lighten up the mood. Then you relayed to them the exact details of the call and when you noticed that Seungkwan still hadn’t smiled at all that day, you bit your lip and took in his disheveled appearance.

“Seungkwan… Is everything alright? You seem kind of mad about something.” You tentatively asked.

“That’s because I am kind of mad.” He replied

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but that was not the answer you were hoping for.

“What are you so mad about?” Chan pressed further.

“What am I mad about?” He huffed and took a sip of his drink before continuing. “Everything! This whole situation is just wrong.”

You cocked your head at his words. “Wrong?” You echoed, a little lost.

He dropped his hands to the table in exasperation. “Yes, wrong! I understand that he wasn’t ready for love. That, I totally understand and respect him for, but the whole ‘leaving you to move across the world without even considering your feelings or asking how you felt about it’ just pisses me off in so many ways.” His hand waved around to accentuate his points and continued.

“Y/n, you’re an unbelievably kind person so you probably didn’t even notice, but as a bystander watching this whole situation play out, I just can’t help but feel that Wonwoo is just doing you so wrong. You don’t deserve to suffer like this. I don’t think he deserves another chance so easily.”

“I’m fine though, really…” You reached out in an attempt to hold his hand and calm him down, but he edged away from you instead.

“You’re not fine though! Don’t lie straight to my face and say that you were fine when he left you at the airport, crying, or when you ignored our messages for a week because you were ‘trying to get over the heartbreak’. I don’t understand how you’re still willing to give him a chance after everything he’s done to you.” He shot back, voice thick with spite.

“Dude you need to chill out. Wonwoo didn’t really do anything wrong, he had no idea they were soulmates.” Chan interjected, voice firm as he stared at his friend in disappointment. Neither of you could believe that Seungkwan, sweet, lovely Seungkwan, was the same man standing in front of you. Sure he had his petty moments, but he’s never lashed out at a friend like this before — his sassiness was all supposed to be saved for jokes.

Said person scoffed at Chan’s words and then turned to look at you.

“All I’m saying is that he doesn’t deserve you! Is it wrong for me to say that?” He defended and stood up from his seat. The chair was pushed back with a noisy screech that made you wince.

In the midst of his wild gestures, he’d accidentally knocked over his cup, spilling some of the leftover contents onto the table. The people sitting at neighbouring tables cast curious glances your way and you frantically gestured for Chan to grab some tissues as you started to clean the mess with the ones you already had.

“Seungkwan please calm down, I’m alright now, seriously.” You tried and looked up at your friend who was still standing, angrily watching you clean up the drink as if it offended him.

“I’m leaving.” That was all he said. It came out quiet, barely a whisper, but you heard it, and you could do nothing but watch him grab his jacket and stride straight out the door, bringing a draft of the cold air into the shop.

Being left to deal with the commotion he created, you and Chan gave a small apology to the people in the shop and tried to ignore the awkward stares and mumbling directed towards you. If only people could mind their own business, the world would’ve been so much better.

Taking a deep breath as you tossed out the soiled napkin, you tried to calm yourself down. You reasoned that getting yourself worked up about his attitude would only make things worse and decided to leave the shop as well, after Chan suggested you go to the comfort of his house to talk it out instead.

You didn’t know what riled Seungkwan up so much that day.

=====

“The mall?” You got another impromptu call the following weekend when you were gently washing what was left of your mark. Rumours had it that if you took care of a mark well enough, it’ll flourish. Especially if you use bath salts, they said. The lavender ones.

Maybe it was silly to believe so, but when the petals started fading away daily, you grew desperate, and you were desperate enough to believe anything that was told to you. Either way, a little self-care didn’t really hurt, right?

“Yeah, I just thought that you know, two friends, we haven’t seen each other for a while… hanging out at the mall sounds nice doesn’t it?” The voice on the other end chirped back.

“Jeonghan, I literally saw you yesterday.”

“So you’re saying no?” You could imagine him childishly pouting right about now and you sighed, shaking your head.

“I’m not declining the invite, but there’s something else going on isn’t there?”

He let out an awkward laugh at your skepticism. “I just wanna see my friend, is it too much to ask for?”

You let out another sigh. “When were you planning on meeting up?”

“How about now? I’m right at your door.”

And sure enough, Yoon Jeonghan was standing right outside your door, all dressed and ready to take you to the mall on a Saturday morning.

=====

You couldn’t place a finger on what made the meeting so suspicious. Jeonghan acted normal the entire time, even offering to buy you a snack when he noticed you eyeing the tempting display. But he didn’t hint at anything he needed to say, and you began to wonder if he really did just want to see you. The man could be a little ambiguous at times.

He did end up having something to talk about. On the bright side, at least your suspicions were correct. On the… not so bright side, that probably meant there was some bad news to share, and you weren’t so sure how much more you could take before you combusted.

You realized his true intentions behind the meetup when he grabbed your hand and led you to one of the benches nearby, nudging you to take a seat as he joined you. He didn’t hesitate to get to the point.

“I heard about what happened the other day.” He had entered therapist Yoon mode.

“What happened?” You played it dumb — you’ve been a fool your entire life, falling for Wonwoo and not doing anything about it, so acting a little oblivious wasn’t too farfetched from your character.

“With Seungkwan, about the little incident.” He spoke to you in a hushed tone, as if there was someone to hide from, but all around you were people milling about, minding their own business. No one was really going to care about what he said to you, nor were they even going to listen in the first place. That idea didn’t seem to occur to him though.

“Oh, that.” There was nothing else to say, and you just nodded your head at his words.

You began to jokingly wonder if there was a secret group chat about you behind your back, and that that was how all these messages were being passed around because you sure as hell didn’t tell anyone about it.

(There was)

“You know… Seungkwan…” He trailed off for a moment and absentmindedly tugged at the hem of your shirt to smoothen out the wrinkles. He was buying time, but there was only so much he had to spend. Taking a deep breath, his hand stopped fussing over you.

“He likes you, yeah?”

You blanched. “He whats?”

Jeonghan stared straight into your eyes and repeated what he said. “Seungkwan. He likes you. He’s liked you for a while now.”

“I,” You faltered as you searched for ways to respond to that; nothing came to mind. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.” You admitted. You didn’t know why your body was defaulting to cry at the news, but it did, just like when you said goodbye to Wonwoo, and Jeonghan soothingly stroked your head in an attempt to calm you down.

“Hey, it’s alright, I’m sorry to tell you so suddenly, and I’m sorry that it’s not him who’s telling you, but honestly, I don’t think he ever would, and you wouldn’t have ever gotten a proper explanation for his actions.” He comfortingly laced his fingers into yours. “Take some deep breaths first — can I continue?”

“Go ahead.” You whispered as you followed his instructions and inhaled deeply. The faint smell of pretzels from a nearby shop entered your mind and in its own way, grounded you as your mind tried to catch up with everything that was going on.

Seungkwan… likes you? Boo Seungkwan, one of your closest friends, your confidant when you learned about Wonwoo’s mark, had liked you this entire time?

“You know things didn’t go so well with him and his soulmate.” It was hardly an explanation, but it was all Jeonghan offered. If anything, it made you feel guilty. What if you were the reason why they didn’t love each other happily? Seungkwan hadn’t told you the details of what happened, all you knew was that someone came in the way, that they just didn’t feel like they were actually soulmates.

And perhaps, you were that certain someone. Now it made sense why he didn’t tell you anything.

Thinking about it now, you felt so bad for pining for someone who didn’t love you back — or at least someone who didn’t love you back then — while someone else close to you had been loving you without you even knowing. It hurt. It hurt to suddenly learn all of this when it was too late. But what would you do if you were to learn about it when Wonwoo hadn’t left yet? When Seungkwan had just met his soulmate?

You didn’t have answers, but it explained why Seungkwan got so mad when he heard that Wonwoo decided to give you a chance. It makes sense that he would’ve felt cheated off of.

You probably would’ve felt the same way.

“So,” Jeonghan hesitated and drummed his fingers on the bench before continuing. “The question now, it’s been four years… do you still love Wonwoo?”

The years prior to his departure were dedicated to pushing your feelings aside, and the past four years had been dedicated to finally picking up the dustpan and throwing them in the trash. But now, the emotions came piling on you once again and you were drowning in it.

“Yeah, I still do.”

=====

Jeonghan had advised that you didn’t let Seungkwan’s feelings get in the way of your potential relationship with Wonwoo. The latter was supposed to come home by the end of this week, and now it felt like there was a time bomb ticking away. Any hour not spent in preparation for his arrival felt wasted. You argued Jeonghan’s statement, saying that it was rude of you to pretend like Seungkwan didn’t exist, that to not acknowledge his feelings was essentially the same as saying he didn’t matter.

But then he said that he needed to let go of those feelings and learn to give his soulmate a chance. Apparently, she was willing to love him, but he was still blinded by his love for you. It’s kind of funny how you were in the exact same situation, except with Wonwoo instead.

Maybe you were all fools.

You listened to Jeonghan and gave Seungkwan the space he needed, only sending him a small message that he has yet to reply to. Your time was instead spent on preparing yourself for Wonwoo’s arrival, which came much too quickly for your own good.

=====

Standing there anxiously at the airport your ears perked when you heard the announcements above your head state the arrival of his flight. That’s when it really hit you that you were actually going to see him again.

You were going to see Jeon Wonwoo again.

You were going to see your soulmate, your soulmate who has finally acknowledged you.

Before you knew it, he was there, standing right in front of you.

In all honesty, he didn’t change much in appearance. He was still the soft boy you remembered him to be, with sweater paws covering the hands that carried the bags trailing behind him and round glasses perched on his face.

His small, polite smile was still the same too.

“Hello, y/n.”

Instead of returning the greeting, you found yourself rushing into his embrace, hugging him tightly as if he was going to disappear again.

“I’ve missed you more than I’d like to admit, stupid.” You muttered into his body and you felt him chuckle at that. Pulling apart, you looked at him in the eyes to make sure that it was actually him holding you. “Welcome back.” You smiled.

“Well, I don’t plan on leaving again anytime soon, so we can have more time together then. That is, unless you get sick of me and shoo me away.” He joked lightly and ruffled your hair.

“Me? Shooing my soulmate away?” You replied dramatically, before clearing your throat and getting serious again. “Any time spent with you — romantic or not— is valuable to me, and I don’t plan on ever getting tired of you.”

The hand resting on your head made its way to your side and he timidly took your hand into his, studying your face to make sure he had permission. It was a little awkward, a little clunky, but you thought his hand fit perfectly into yours and you smiled, leaning into him a little bit. As you made your way out of the airport, you glanced down at your hands intertwined with each other and noticed the familiar navy blue beads on his wrist.

“You’re still wearing the bracelet I gave you.” You pointed out.

“This?” He brought his hand up to inspect it. “Of course I still wear it, it’s a gift from you—”

You halted your steps when he suddenly stopped speaking.

“Hm? What is it?”

Still staring at his wrist, his mouth quirked into a small smile and he chuckled.

“Huh, funny.”

You strained your neck in an attempt to see what he was looking at. “What? What is it?” You asked again.

“There’s a little flower on my wrist now.” He replied softly, tilting his arm for you to see, and sure enough, in the midst of the faded flowers by his moon, was a bright blue forget-me-not.

=====

The next morning when you woke up, there was a little flower on your ankle, next to the crescent moon. Though the mark wasn’t the same flowery sky it used to be, the little flower was a start.

And maybe one day, those flowers will flourish along with your love for each other.

=====

epilogue: kairosclerosis

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen soulmate au #wonwoo soulmate au #nose-bandaid

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artaefact · 4 years ago

Text

bakery 1995.

—wordcount: 14.7k+

—genre: angst, fluff, romance, baker!jimin, bakery cafe au, childhood friends-to-lovers au

—pairing: park jimin x f reader ft. bestfriend!jungkook

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: age gap (jimin is 4-5 years older), brief mention of physical assault, memory loss, overprotective parents, some intended grammatical mistakes, swearings, y/n is dragged into jungkook’s shenanigans

—summary: After returning from college for summer break, you got yourself a part time job to keep yourself busy. However, things go way too unexpectedly and you find yourself unraveling your forgotten past.

author’s note: this is for @btswritingcafe promptly yours event !! i tweaked the prompt a bit, so hopefully no one would get confused! happy reading ♡

Prompt: “Person A once had a major childhood crush on Person B. Fast forward to college where Person A is convinced it was nothing but temporary, that is until they return home for summer break to find Person B back after being gone for several years. Turns out, they weren’t such temporary feelings.”

It’s nice to know that no matter how judgemental the world can be, pigeons would never judge you. Despite the clear contrast between yourself and the asphalt pathway, they would not hesitate to excrete waste on either of them and can’t even be bothered by the possible consequences.

Staring at the dropping on your jacket sleeve, you exhale loudly while rummaging your pocket for a kleenex.

‘Out of all the places where their shit could have landed on, it had to be MY jacket,’ you grumble to yourself.

Reaching towards the bakery in the area, you hope they still have some cinnamon rolls you have been craving for. You can already imagine yourself humming in delight as the sweetness spreads across your taste buds and—

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The cashier attendee bows apologetically at you. “We’re so sorry, all the cinnamon rolls are sold out for today.”

Today must be the worst day to date in your entire years of existence. How on earth can a bakery run out of cinnamon rolls?

Groaning internally, you trudge out of the, now, third bakery that has sold out their cinnamon rolls.

Bad luck seems to follow you throughout the day. Is it because you went out of the house while your parents were in the middle of nagging you? For the last few days after you came back home for summer break, they have been constantly nagging you and you would kill to have an hour of peace and quiet.

Mindlessly, you whip up your phone and search up on Google while you walk to the nearby bus station, typing in the search bar — is it bad luck if a bird pooped on you?

Biting your lower lip, you press on the first link that appears on the screen.

Bird poop may be a sign of hope in disguise, you read. Snorting in incredulity, you scroll through the webpage.

It can’t be good luck.

You are not the type to believe in superstitions, however, besides getting pooped on, you dropped your phone on the pavement of the sidewalk just before you reached the first bakery, an hour ago. This resulted in the annoying crack of the screen right in the middle of it. Not only that, the sole of your right tennis shoes came off halfway which hindered you from walking properly and made you look like someone who hurt their leg.

Having had enough for today, you decide to go back home. Until a pastel pink store, right across the street, catches your attention with its aesthetic-looking door.

What’s this? A new—

A dramatic gasp escapes your lips after reading the name of the store, earning confused stares from nearby people. But you couldn’t care less.

Maybe Lady Luck does still care about you.

As soon as the pedestrian light turns green, you excitedly run, no, shuffle through the zebra-cross, reaching the newly-opened bakery.

My last hope is here. Please, let there be—

The interior of the bakery exudes a welcoming vibe, with the color of pale pink being the dominant over the whole place. Basically, it's a place where those Instagram models would kill to take their pictures at. However, it’s not the interior itself that your focus locks on. When the smell of freshly baked goods wafts into your nose, your eyes zero themselves on the various types of pastries that line the display counter, covered in glass domes. And there it is.

“Yes!” You squeal, grabbing the bakery tray to fill it as much as you’d like.

When you place the filled tray in the cash register counter, the cashier comments, “Woah, that’s a lot.”

If it is a normal day, you would have waved it off. However, unfortunately for the guy, it isn’t a normal day for you, after the constant annoying incidents that happened to you earlier. The comment snaps the last thread of patience you have for the day and sadly, targets the person in front of you. “I think you should mind your own—”

You take your thoughts back. Lady Luck is not on your side nor is the universe. They must be having fun, playing pranks on you so much today.

Your words cease immediately at his sheepish yet attractive smile.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Just having a really bad day and I—”

“No! That’s okay.” The guy grins at you, eyes turning into crescent moons. “I’m the one who should be sorry, I just said the first thing that came up in my mind.”

“Ah...”

“I suck at starting conversations,” he says, sheepishly. “It’s a skill I’m planning to improve.”

Blinking twice, you manage to smile back at him, most probably just a cringed expression. “Well, um, good luck with that.”

As soon as he hands you the paper bag, you dash out of the bakery, not once looking back.

Your cheeks feel hot during the whole trip back home, every time you remember what happened, you would mentally kick yourself.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Eating the warm cinnamon rolls is a blessing and a curse.

You have never tasted such heavenly flavour before, all your worries and exhaustion seem to fade away. This brings you to freeze in the realisation that you’ll want, no, need to go back to that bakery to buy those delicious rolls again. Meaning, you’ll see that cute guy whom you snapped at earlier, again.

His friendly eye-smile burns deep in your mind. But you can’t shrug off the sense of familiarity of his face and his voice…

Have I met him before?

Once you reach home, body aching and tired, you take a quick shower before digging into the rolls. Clicking your tongue, you continue to munch on the rolls in your room while your thoughts pull you in deep.

The sudden knock on your door, however, brings you back to the present. Groaning loudly, you stand up from your padded window seat.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jungkook.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your mouth agape at the sudden visit from your best friend. “Didn’t you say you won’t see me at all until break is over?”

“I might have changed my mind. I was very bored at home.” He enters your room, plopping on your beanbag. “So, now I am bored as hell and— Did you buy food without telling me?”

You met him during freshman year and you both hit it off quite quickly, you might add. After constantly pairing up together in projects, college project meetups gradually turned into hangouts.

“Says the one who claims to see my face every day makes him sick.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic ass, you go back to the window seat, crossing your legs. “It wasn’t planned, okay? I just got back home like thirty minutes ago.”

“But still you nearly finished everything without leaving me much!” He bit your last half-finished roll, letting out a noise of approval. “Which bakery did you buy it from?”

“It’s a new one. I never saw it before we went to college.”

“You should bring me there soon.”

“Nu-uh,” you refuse. “You can go yourself. I am not stepping a foot inside that place any longer.”

“What? Why not?”

“I may have embarrassed myself in front of the worker there.” Then you tell him what happened earlier.

Jungkook shakes his head in pity. “My poor Y/N, how do you always embarrass yourself when I’m not around? How would you survive in this world without me?”

Snorting at his words, you lean against the pillows on your back. “You’re the lucky one to have someone like me as his best friend. Anyways, how about that job I’m looking for?”

“Oh!” Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Right, I was about to tell you! My friend is looking for a part-timer for his cafe.”

“Hmm, that sounds…”

Jungkook answers, “Boring? I know you’re looking for something much more exciting and—”

Narrowing your stare at Jungkook’s obvious judgmental face, you cut him off. “It sounds perfect, actually.”

Sighing, Jungkook whips up his phone. “You better bring me leftovers every time you get off work. I’ll bring you to his cafe tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“What? Why?”

“You little shit—” You smack his arm.

“Ow! Stop that, woman! I thought you said—”

“This is a fucking bakery, dumbass!” You hiss at him.

Jungkook gapes at you. “It’s a bakery cafe, what’s the difference?”

“It’s different! I can’t go back in there!” You whine in embarrassment.

“Wait— So this is the bakery where you embarrassed yourself?”

Nodding wordlessly, you exhale before catching Jungkook failing to stifle his laughter. “Shouldn’t be too big of a problem. He’s nice, Y/N.”

“But—”

“And I told him you were coming…” Jungkook scratches the back of his head.

After contemplating for a while, you decided to gather your courage and enter the sweet-smelling bakery with Jungkook.

Too late to go back now. It was either this or staying bored at home for the rest of the summer break, facing your parents’ look of disapproval at your lack of daily activities, or to be more exact productivity.

The cute guy just finished placing cakes inside the glass displays on the counter, then his gaze shifts to where you and Jungkook are standing.

“Jungkook!” The cute guy’s brown hair is slicked back as he takes off his baker’s hat, approaching your best friend.

“It’s been so long, Hyung!” Jungkook greets back with a hug, smiling from ear to ear. “And wow—” His eyes skim through the pastel-themed cafe. “You finally opened your own cafe.”

Watching them interacting is a foreign sight to you. It’s a rare right to see Jungkook, the usually shy one, so friendly and comfortable around the cute guy.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe the cute guy won’t remember you and—

“Ah! Miss Cinnamon Rolls!”

Scratch that. Of course, he still remembers you.

“I didn’t know you were looking for a job.” His eye smile lands on you finally and your throat dries up.

Jungkook fails to hold back his laughter. “Miss Cinnamon Rolls? Just how much did you buy last time?”

After sending a brief glare at your best friend, you introduce yourself to the cute guy, “Y/N.”

As soon as your name slips past your lips, the cute guy freezes momentarily, eyes widening a fraction. “Y/N?”

You nod slowly.

“Uh,” He fumbles. “Jimin. Park Jimin.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“So, this is the kitchen area. We need to get the place ready by 8:30. Can you come by at 6 the latest?”

You nod at his question.

“We have a different menu each day. It will take some time for you to learn everything. But don’t worry I’ll teach everything you need to know.” He shoots you a smile, sending your heart to slightly flutter as you fiddle with your fingers.

Thank goodness Jungkook has left. Or else you’d never hear the end of his teasing or knowing smirk.

“I’m starting with bread and cakes these past few days before I open up the cafe section.”

For the rest of the day, Jimin spends his time letting you know everything about how the bakery runs whenever there are no customers. Even gracing you with two pieces of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls which made your cheeks burn in embarrassment at the memory of your first encounter.

“Go ahead, enjoy it,” Jimin shoots you a knowing grin.

Muttering a quiet ‘okay’, you take the first bite — holding a delighted groan at the sweetness that bursts through your tastebuds.

Propping his chin on his hand, he stares at you in amusement. “You must really like cinnamon rolls, huh?”

“They’re my comfort food,” you admit after swallowing down a piece. “My late grandmother used to make a lot of rolls at home.”

“I see… Well, have you ever baked before, Y/N?”

“The basic stuff like chocolate chip cookies…”

“Oh, that’s great—”

You added quickly, “But I nearly burned down Jungkook’s kitchen, though. He banned me from the kitchen ever since.”

A surprised laugh escapes the man’s lips which you don’t mind hearing more often, especially if you are the one behind it.

“At least the cookies still turned out great. It was a bit on the burnt side but still good… Crispy and crunchy.” You nervously chuckle. “But I swear, I’m not that bad if you provide a clear recipe!”

Still giggling, Jimin leans forward on his seat. “I can teach you everything you need to know. The basic stuff on baking and then there would be clear recipes I can provide you.”

Your eyes lighten up at that. “Yes! I’ll try my best.”

Arriving at the bakery at 6 am sharp, the next day — your official first day at work — Jimin can be seen moving back and forth from the small window opening connecting the kitchen and the bakery itself, already busy in the kitchen.

The smell of his work wafts through the entire bakery, indicating that he has been there for quite some time. Once you enter the kitchen, your mouth waters instinctively at the smell and sight of freshly-baked breads on the counter.

“How can I help?” From observing the finished baked goods, your eyes shift curiously at some ingredients — eggs, chocolate chips, sugar, flour — on the kitchen counter while you tighten the knot of your apron.

“You’re going to bake some chocolate chip cookies.” Jimin places a tray full of another different set of bread near the first one through the window. “So, go ahead, preheat the oven first.”

Following his instruction, you move towards one of the ovens. “Um…”

The corner of his lips quirks up at your obvious confusion before he chimes on how hot the oven should be set on.

With a brief nod, you turn on the oven. “Is this a test to see how far my baking skills go?” When you take a glimpse of the honey-haired man, he returns it with an amused grin of his own.

“Bingo.” Jimin’s smile is boyish and carefree and his eyes become crescent moons.

In other words, it made your heart race. However, you dismiss such unprofessional thoughts quickly before blood rises to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you move to the counter and start mixing the necessary ingredients altogether and set the dough on the baking tray. When the oven is preheated, you bring the tray towards it only to realise your mistake too late: not opening the oven first.

“Let me help,” Jimin says softly, opening the oven deftly.

“T-Thanks...” you mumble, concentrating on the task at hand.

Time passes quickly, before you know it, the oven makes a soft ‘ting’ sound. Opening it, the sweet smell wafts through the kitchen.

“I did it!” you say, excitedly placing the hot tray on the marble counter.

“But the final test is how the cookies taste.”

You watch in nervous anticipation as Jimin pops one of the cookies into his mouth. Not a moment later, he lets out a surprised sound.

“This is really good, Y/N. You do have the talent to bake.”

You beam at his words.

“Since that’s all set, I believe we still have other kinds of pastries to prepare for the day. I have all the recipes prepared for you here.” He motions to the notebook on the counter — you flip through it, astonished at all the recipes.

“Are these your own personalised recipes?”

Nodding, Jimin shoots you a grin. “I’ve always loved baking and there are some ways to make things with their own unique taste.”

The rest of the upcoming hour, you and Jimin were busy baking with Jimin instructing and giving you pointers. At some point, you even talked about anything and everything, as if you both have known each other all your life while you both work.

You have to admit, you find it really enjoyable. When the bakery closes, you sit quietly on one of the empty tables near the cashier after Jimin tells you to wait.

Mindlessly flipping through his recipe notebook, your attention soon shifts to Jimin himself with a steaming cup in his hold.

“Here.” He sets the cup in front of you.

You look at him quizzically before he motions for you to try.

“I’m opening the cafe part next week,” Jimin says. “Thought you can be the first to judge my caramel macchiato.”

“That’s a lot of caramel in one drink…” For a few moments, you observe the steaming coffee, froth decorates the top of it with drizzles of caramel in patterns of criss-cross nearly covering most of the foam itself. “Why caramel macchiato, though?”

“I thought you’d—” He clears his throat. “So many people really love caramel macchiato. So, I thought I’d go with this one for you to try first.”

Bringing the cup carefully to your lips, you take a sip of the beverage. The texture of the coffee is so smooth and the slight bitterness spreads through your taste buds and down your throat. Then you taste the caramel, letting out a delighted surprise when you find caramel bits inside the beverage.

Jimin keeps his stare on you, one hand supporting his chin and his eyes unreadable.

“What is it?” You ask, after downing the drink.

He blinks as if he was lost in his own thoughts. “Uh, how is it?”

“It’s very good.”

“Do you like coffee?” He asks.

Nodding, you tell him you loved to steal your mom’s coffee when you were younger. “There used to be a cafe near my place. I used to go there frequently during my high school years.”

Jimin briefly stills at yours words. “Do you... Still go there?”

You shake your head. “It was closed two years ago unfortunately.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. I would’ve wanted to try the coffee there.”

Chuckling at his words, your mind takes you back to your high school days. “It was really good.”

Humming to yourself, you continue to flip through the pages of Jimin’s recipe notebook. “What’s this?” You stop at one page, pointing at a child’s drawing on his recipe notebook. “Did you draw it when you were younger?”

“It’s a shooting star.” Jimin answers. “And, no. I didn’t.”

“Oh? Sister? Brother?”

“I don’t have a sister and my brother just does not have the artistic skill to draw that,” he laughs. “It was someone from my past. Someone who is precious to me.”

“Oh…” Noticing his faraway gaze on the notebook, you sense it is a sensitive topic. “Why a shooting star though?”

“It represents hopes and wishes, according to her.” His smile turns nostalgic. “I was having a hard time back then. But this girl,” he chuckles as if in disbelief. “— just straight up grabbed my notebook and drew a shooting star on it, saying I should wish on this star since seeing a shooting star is not that common here.”

There’s something sad but warm in Jimin’s tone as he talks about this girl. You can only assume that this girl is not in his life anymore. Or even in this world.

“I see…”

“As ridiculous as it sounds, I actually did it. Very frequently in all honesty. Whenever I’m having a hard time, I’d wish upon that star.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

A week passes quickly and just like a normal day, you arrive back home just a quarter past eight. Tugging off your shoes near the doorway, you hear your dad calling from the living room.

“Yes?” Mindlessly, you step into the living room only to meet the stern glare from him.

“Where were you?” Your dad asks. “Do you have any idea what time it is now?”

“It’s around eight...”

“And your curfew?”

Furrowing your brows, you gape, “I thought that was back in high school.”

“That still applies until now. I expect you to come back before seven.” Then he repeats his question, “Where were you?”

“From my new part-time place.” You answer. “I thought I told you about it.”

“If you want a job, you can intern in the company for the summer,” your dad sighs. “There’s no need for part-time jobs.”

You should have known it would last just three days before you are missing your university life, or to be more specific living alone. With the constant nagging from your parents, you crave for silence for a period of time. One thing you have been missing quite badly you have to admit, which is why you took the job in the bakery. Away from the scrutinising stares of your parents.

Here it goes again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to start there, Dad,” you exhale. “I want to do other things while I can.”

The same topic, the same debate you’d try to avoid as much as possible ever since you arrived back home for the summer. That was why you’d try to find something else to do. You always wanted to try a new hobby over the holidays. Now, with the excess amount of time in your hands, you are able to try.

That is why you opt for the part time job Jungkook found — working in the bakery.

“This isn’t going to work if you get home after your curfew, Y/N. You know how dangerous it is if you come home late.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reply, exasperatedly. “I can take care—”

“Things can get unpredictable, Y/N. It’s better that you’re safe than sorry.”

“Dad, when will you stop reminding me of that?” You groan in annoyance. “I don’t even remember how the accident happened.”

“The more reason for you to be cautious!”

Exasperated, you storm up to your room and carelessly throw your bag on the side of your bed. Laying on your back, you stare at the ceiling as your thoughts muddle when you try to think of what happened.

All you remember back then is that you woke up in the hospital, met with the worried gaze of your parents as soon as you got your consciousness back. However, they never tell or fill you in on what happened.

Gradually, your eyelids grow heavier — exhausted from the day and the burst of negative emotions over the argument you had earlier. Thus, you succumb to sleep. However, your mind takes you elsewhere.

Everything is dark.

With your own ragged breathing, you struggle to keep yourself as quiet as possible, biting down a hiss from the sting of your scraped knees. Tears pool in your eyes as you wait, hidden behind one of the playground’s slides and out of sight of any possible passerby.

There are no memories of what happened beforehand. All you know is to stay there and wait.

“Y/N?”

Peeking out of your hiding place, the figure draws closer calling your name in another hushed whisper.

But you knew this voice. So, you whispered back, “Here...” As soon as you get out of your hiding place, a warm embrace envelops your small frame.

“We’re okay, everything’s okay. I’ve lost them. We’re safe now,” he whispers, stroking your head softly while your fists clench on his shirt.

Not a moment later, your tears start to fall and you sob into his shirt. He tightens his hold on you, one hand on the back of your head as he repeatedly whispers, “It’s okay, I’m here.”

“I’m here...” His voice then seems to echo and your surrounding becomes a blur.

When you open your eyes, you realise you’re back in your room yet there are stray tears in your eyes. Sitting up on your bed, you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

Was that a memory…?

“Have a good day.” You bid the last customer of the day farewell and once they leave, your cheeks droop into a frown. With a sigh, you walk out of the cashier register place towards the front door, turning the ‘Open’ plate to ‘Close’.

The dream you had last night still felt so vivid that you considered it was a flashback of your memory loss. You wanted to ask your parents about it. However, yesterday’s conflict was still fresh. You were sure they would dismiss it.

After cleaning up the counters of the bakery café and mopping the floors, you trudge into the break room, sitting down on one of its chairs as you wait for Jimin’s return from his “errand”.

Your mind takes you back to the dream where someone was hugging you tight.

Who was it? you wonder. In the back of your mind, somehow you never felt his warmth among your high school friends. The guy who was holding you is just different.

You are so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t realise Jimin entering until he brings something right in front of your face. “What—”

“Hot chocolate,” he answers, softly. “You seem distracted today, I thought this might cheer you up.”

Taking the steaming cup from him, you mutter your thanks before breathing in the sweet smell, blowing softly on the beverage. “That was fast.”

“Hmm?”

“Wait, did you go out to buy this?” You lift the warm cup of hot chocolate.

Jimin lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “I wanted to make you one. Until I realised that the ingredients are finished. So, I had to run out.”

“You didn’t have to, you know…”

“I know. But I wanted to anyway.”

Your eyes look down, can’t help feeling touched by his sweet gesture as you fight back to keep yourself from blushing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He must have noticed the change of your expression before he says quickly, “Only if you’re comfortable, of course! I just thought talking about what’s on your mind can ease you. At least a bit.”

Blinking your eyes twice, a chuckle escapes your lips. “I guess so.”

“That’s your first smile today.”

You raise a brow at him.

“Your first real smile, I mean. Your cheekbones do not have much tension if you’re genuinely happy whereas if you fake a smile, it seems more like you’re cringing. Like our first encounter.” He chuckles, meaningfully.

“I’m sorry...” you mumble, eyes glancing down at the steaming hot chocolate on your lap.

“That’s fine,” he says easily. “Everyone has their bad days.”

You smile slightly at his words. “Had a fight with my parents last night.”

Jimin stays quiet, still listening to you.

“They are always so protective when it comes to me. Maybe a bit too much at times. I’m a grown adult for fuck’s sake.” Another sigh escapes your lips before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “My dad especially. He made it sound like a big deal when I came home around eight. I’m just frustrated at this.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

You nod in response.

“Was there something that made your dad feel that way?”

“I...” You blink. “I guess it’s because that one time I ended up in the hospital?”

“You did?”

You nod. “A few years ago, I had an accident.”

Jimin stiffens at your words. “Oh?”

“But it was nothing. I didn’t even remember what happened in all honesty.”

He stutters, “W-What?”

“I lost my memories. I had no recall of the accident at all.” Eyes training blankly on your front, focusing on nothing as you dive back into your memories. “My parents told me there is nothing to worry about and my memories would come back gradually. They never filled me in on what happened too.”

The corner of his lips soon quirks up slightly, his expression wistful. “Maybe they wouldn’t want you to be traumatised by what happened. It’s already fortunate enough for you to be able to recover from your head injury.”

“Yeah... I guess so,” you mumble.

However, since that incident you can’t deny the feeling of something missing since a chunk of your life has been cut off. No memories of the accident have returned even after years. Recovering from the head injury—

“Wait—” Head snapping to face Jimin. “How did you know I had a head injury?”

Jimin blinks repeatedly, as if your words just sink in. “Ah! I mean isn’t it a head injury? You lost your memories after all.” An awkward laugh escapes his lips. “Usually, people who lost their memories have head injuries, right?”

“Well, yeah...”

“Anyways, finish the hot chocolate and you should head home before your parents—”

Suddenly, a wave of deja vu washes over you. Snapping your gaze from the hot chocolate in your hands, you look at Jimin as your brain starts to grow fuzzy at the familiarity of Jimin’s words.

“Jimin...” you begin.

“Huh?”

“Have we ever met before I started working here?”

“You mean the first time you came into this bakery?”

You shake your head. “No, even before that. Did we know each other?”

A surprised glint appears in his eyes before it dissipates as quick as it appears. “I don’t think so…?”

Oh.

“Maybe we’ve just ran into each other at some point in town. But I don’t think we ever knew each other.”

“I see...” Disappointment floods through you at his words.

Right, you thought to yourself. If he was a close friend he would have recognised you instantly when you came to his bakery.

“Oh, look at the time.” Jimin stands up. “You need to be home before dark, right?”

“It’s not a big deal—”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’ve finished cleaning today. I just need to close up and check the supplies.”

“But—” Your words die in your throat when Jimin pats your head.

“You’ve worked hard today,” he grins at you.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“I’m home,” you call out to no one in particular before you hear your mother from the kitchen.

Once you reach the kitchen, your mother turns her head to see you. “Help me set the table, dinner’s almost ready.”

Nodding, you follow suit. “Where’s Dad?”

“Your father is still caught in a meeting. He’ll be home late.”

“I see,” you mutter, placing the silverwares on the table.

“How’s work?” your mother asks. “You’re home earlier than usual.”

“It’s great,” you answer. “The boss lets me off early.”

And you continue to talk about your day. From helping Jimin bake cakes and bread early in the morning, serving customers coffee and desserts, cleaning up the whole place, and enjoying the hot chocolate Jimin bought you earlier.

“He sounds like a nice guy,” your mom muses when you both sit at the dinner table.

“He is.” A smile appears on your face, remembering his sweet gesture and warm presence. Then your mind shifts to the conversation you had earlier, and what has been bothering you lately. “Mom?”

“Hmm…?”

“Five years ago, how did I end up in the hospital?”

Your mother noticeably stiffens at your question, ceases digging through her plate of food.

“You and Dad never filled me in. You both kept on saying that my memories will return eventually… Until now actually.” You let out a breath. “I think I’m old enough to know what really happened.”

Letting out a deep breath herself, your mother puts down her fork. “What do you remember?”

“I was at a playground and hiding… Then there’s someone who came to find me.” Met with silence from your mother, you continue, “Was it one of my friends?”

Shaking her head, your mother answers, “It wasn’t any of your high school friends.”

“Then who…?”

“You never mentioned his name. But you’d always talk about him back then.” Your mother sighs. “Go through the attic when you’re having a day off. You’ll find some of your old stuff I hid there. Make sure your father is not home.”

Standing up, you want to go there at once. However, your mother stops you. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever you find there, if you… If anything hurts or feels just too much, I want you to stop, alright? You’re a grown adult and I trust you’ll prioritise your own health.”

Nodding wordlessly, you finish the remaining food on your plate.

[ when you were fifteen years old: after the incident ]

When the dismissal bell rings, some students instantly scramble from their desks, some stretch lazily on their seats and have conversations with others.

“Hey, Y/N.” One of your classmates calls you, a smile etched on her face. “So glad to have you back.”

“Yeah! This sem has been a pain in the ass. You’ll get through it in a breeze!” Another classmate adds.

You respond with a grateful smile of your own before packing up your things.

It hasn’t been that long since you were released from the hospital. You have persistently insisted your parents to let you go back to school and they finally relented after you promised them that you’ll go straight back home and to not strain yourself after dismissing your parents’ idea of hiring a driver.

Today is your first day back. Your friends greeted you excitedly when you stepped into the classroom. Even those who you recall never talked much with you greeted you with a ‘Hi’.

Walking mindlessly through the streets of your neighbourhood, your legs take you to a cafe as you recognise the familiar scent of coffee.

Tilting your head in confusion, you stare at the cafe building in shades of black and brown.

What exactly are you doing here?

There were no planned meetups with your friends, yet, your body seems to find its way here. Fishing out your phone, you scan through the past messages to double check any planned hangouts.

It’s a Wednesday.

But…

With the curiosity nagging inside you, you search for Beomgyu’s contact.

[ 4:05 PM ] You: beomie, do you know the cafe near my place?

[ 4:05 PM ] Beomgyu: i guess?? Every wednesday you'd always go there for no apparent reason at all. When i wanted to tag along you’d always give me the devil eye :(

[ 4:05 PM ] You: oh… that’s… well, sorry lol. Do u wanna come here?

[ 4:06 PM ] Beomgyu: wait, r u srs ???

[ 4:06 PM ] You: i mean if u’re not busy and i think getting coffee and hanging in the cafe would be good.

[ 4:07 PM ] Beomgyu: i'd never thought this day would come :’) i’ll be there in 10.

Chuckling at your friend’s response, you place your phone back into your pocket. Exhaling, you enter the cafe and make your way towards the cashier register.

“Welcome, what would you like for today?” The person smiles at you.

“Caramel macchiato, please.”

She nods, typing in your order. “That will be four dollars.”

After exchanging your payment with a receipt, you wait at an empty table for two near the window. Something about this familiar place, however, feels off. Like there is something missing that you can’t seem to put your finger on.

Your thoughts are cut off when someone takes the seat across from you. “Why are you so deep in thought?”

Beomgyu stares at you quizzically as you blink in realisation. “Uh…”

He narrows his stare at you suspiciously before shifting his gaze around the cafe. “So, what is it that kept you going here?”

You shake your head in response. “I have no idea either. Honestly, I have this gut feeling to come here when I passed by earlier.”

“Hmm, maybe the coffee?” Beomgyu watches one of the waitresses bringing your orders, placing it on your table.

Sighing, you stare at the steaming cup with caramel drizzles on the foam for a few moments. Then you bring the cup to your lips to take a sip.

“Argh, why is this bitter?” Scrunching your nose, you motion towards the waitress for extra caramel.

“Did… Your taste buds change too? You said the caramel macchiato here is perfect.”

A snort escapes you as you drizzle more caramel into the coffee. “I got hit in the damn head, Beomie. It doesn’t change my taste buds.”

He shrugs. “Well, who knows. I never knew you like caramel that much.”

You freeze momentarily.

“Y/N? You okay?” Beomgyu waves a hand in front of your face.

“Y-yeah, I just…”

“You just…?”

Shaking your head once more, you whisper, “It’s nothing…” But your eyes scan through the busy workers in the cafe.

Deep inside, you had an inkling that the coffee here isn’t your sole reason for coming here.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Turns out you were right.

Once when you came into the cafe on another Wednesday, you sat at your usual place after ordering your usual drink.

“Oh, my dear, you’re finally back,” someone says.

Blinking, your gaze snaps to the elder woman — maybe around her mid fifties — and you give her a small smile before asking, “Do I know you...?”

It was her turn to look confused at your words.

“I’m really sorry for not recognising!” You grow flustered at your words. “I lost my memory in an accident a few months ago...”

“Oh, that’s awful!” The lady — a regular customer, you assume — gasps. “So that’s why you don’t frequent this cafe anymore. The young man looked so heartbroken before he quit his job—”

“Young man?”

“The barista, dear,” the lady replies. “You used to come here and meet him. I had to shush the both of you every time to not disturb the other customers.”

“I... Was he from my school?”

The lady shakes her head. “I don’t think so. He never wore a uniform like yours.”

“Do you know his name?”

The lady shakes her head once more. “His name was Park. Probably that’s his last name. At least that’s what is written on his name tag.”

And you internally groan. There are thousands of people with that last name.

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“I’m afraid no, my dear. I heard he quit the job suddenly.”

Sighing, you thanked the lady before heading out of the cafe with your shoulders dropping in defeat.

The trapdoor makes a loud creaking sound when you lift it up, indicating that it hasn’t been used for a very long time. Slipping the key back to your back pocket, you step up further on the ladder with the trap door laying on another side as you go through it while the floorboards creak underneath your weight.

It didn’t take you long to locate your old things. Scanning through the boxes, you find one doodled in various flowers and rainbows with your name written on it as well.

With a grunt, you lift up the dusty box, bringing it down to the floor with a thud which causes you to cough at the flying dust. In an attempt to swat the dust away, you wave your hand in front of you. Still coughing uncontrollably with your eyes watering. After your cough ceases, you crouch and open the box. A few notebooks can be found inside along with some old dolls from your childhood.

You vaguely remember the locked diary you liked to write in about your day and its pale pink cover which was covered in sparkling stickers you used to be obsessed with.

Digging further through the books, you finally found it — the possible answer to your lost memories — with a small key dangling on the lock.

Climbing down from the attic, you made your way to your room while fumbling with the lock and key of your old diary. After successfully unlocking it, you take a seat on your padded window sill, flipping through the yellowing pages.

The first page was clearly written by you. Your old handwriting and your name. The first entry you wrote dates back to a decade ago.

Your fingers twitch at how cringe-y most of the entries are. Yet, at the same time you find it endearing how you used to write about your day. The good, the bad, and the normal things — appreciating just to be able to experience and get through them.

The last of your entries date back to months before the incident when you were fifteen. Probably because you decided that you were too old to write diaries any longer.

Recalling how you’d always visit the cafe every Wednesday, you skim through Wednesday entries. However one particular name seems to stand out in those entries.

“Mochi?” You flip from one entry to another. Who the hell is that?

Deciding to get to the bottom of this, you search for the earliest entry that you can find — nine years ago.

I met the hot choco guy again, today. I’m feeling so happy!!! He is so nice. why can’t any of the boys in my school be like him????

Hot... Choco? Furrowing your brows, you skip to the next Wednesday entry.

i am feeling so happy that mama brought me to the cafe last last week!!! she do not let me drink the coffee drink, so Mochi give me hot choco! i think it’s the best BEST drink EVER!!!

“How the hell did hot choco guy turn into Mochi?” you mumble to yourself, flipping through your diary to the next Wednesday entry.

Mochi teached me how to do math!!! It was so fun! But when Teacher Lee teaches me, it’s always boring. How did Mochi make math fun??? I wish he go to my school instead and teach me math :(

You internally cringe at your younger self. Exhaling, you press your temple in disbelief.

This whole diary of your younger self is basically gushing over this hot-choco-turned-Mochi guy as you flip through other pages. However, you stop at a certain entry.

Today… Is a very bad day. But Mochi suddenly makes it better.

Glancing at the date — it was the day your grandmother passed away.

He promises to make me cinnamon rolls whenever i tell him to! Just like Grannie… I’m sorry, Diary. I don’t think i can write more today. I just hope tomorrow will be a better day.

“Mochi…” you mumble repeatedly with furrowing brows and the name seems to trigger your brain to relive some memories.

“I’m calling you Mochi!” You hear your own twelve-year old voice. Yelping, your diary lands on the floor with a small thud.

“No!” Another voice rings in your head — familiar and warm. “That’s a really uncool nickname.”

“But you look like a mochi! And it’s not uncool! I think it’s really cute!”

Blinking, your mind brings you back to reality. Reaching down for your diary, you freeze momentarily before clutching your head. For a moment, your heart stops when your gaze lands on your diary’s open page — a drawing of a familiar shooting star.

Mochi is… Jimin?

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ when you were twelve ]

When another sigh escaped his lips, you glanced up from your math workbook — his face can only be described as perturbed. With no hesitance, you quietly pushed the last cookie on your plate to him, earning his glassy stare as it shifted from his notebook that’s lying open on the table.

He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you finish that? Do you want to bring it home?”

You shook your head, heat tinging your cheeks. “It’s for you. You look like you need it.”

“It’s caramel cookies.”

Nodding, you mumbled, “You said eating it can comfort people.”

The boy stared at you for a moment longer — recalling the time when you had a bad day and he gave you that, then he chuckled. “I guess I did.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded again. “I can order hot chocolate for you too.”

He reached for the last cookie, finally a small smile you have awaited appearing on his face. “This is enough, Y/N. I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

You beamed at his words, then you extended one hand to take his notebook and draw a shooting star on the page it was opened on.

“We can’t really see shooting stars in here,” you explain, pushing his notebook back to him. “So, whenever you’re having a hard time, wish on this shooting star! It represents hopes and wishes!”

“What that’s—” He stopped himself. Letting out a sigh, he found himself nodding despite how ridiculously endearing the idea was. “Alright. I will.”

The blare of your alarm jolts you awake. Groaning, you grab your phone, turning off the alarm when you realise you have to go to work. You can’t find it in yourself to see Jimin today. Not after finding out that he was, is, part of your missing childhood memories.

Your gaze lands on the diary, laying open on your window sill. As you read more and more of your diary entries, Mochi being Jimin just makes sense. You remember how he went out of his way just to buy you hot chocolate when you were having a bad day — just like in the past.

After all this time, Jimin is actually part of, no, in most of your childhood life.

And he denied it.

Why?

You continuously drift back to that one question. Why did he deny it when you asked him? Don’t people usually love to get reacquainted with their childhood friends?

Sighing, you message Jimin listlessly, telling him you aren’t feeling well before you turn off your phone completely. You don’t think you can handle interacting more with him.

Hours passed, when someone barges in your room. “Y/N!”

Peeking out from your blanket, you glare at your best friend. “What the fuck, Kook?”

“Jimin told me you aren’t feeling well. So, I came to check up on you.”

“Okay, you did. Now, go back home.”

Without responding, he opens the curtain in your room, letting in the piercing sunlight and you let out an annoyed ‘tsk’.

Should have known your best friend isn’t going to let this go easily.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been off the whole weekend. You may be able to trick Jimin but you can’t trick me.”

Still burying yourself under your blanket, the bed dips on your friend’s weight as he waits for your response. But you keep your silence, trying your best to even your breathing. You’ve cried enough after all.

“Hmm?” Jungkook stands up. “What’s this? Your diary?”

Abruptly, you fling yourself off the bed and grab your diary from his clutches.

“Go home, Jungkook. I’m not in the mood to deal with this.”

“You know I won’t until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m just...” Your shoulders droop in defeat. “Why?”

“Why what?”

You hate crying in front of anyone. But it’s as if a dam broke, your tears do not stop falling while you babble, “Why did he pretend to not know me? Why did he deny? Why—”

Jungkook blinks repeatedly at your sudden change. “W-wait! Why are you crying? I don’t under—”

“Park Jimin!” Your sudden outburst flusters him further. “The guy who you’re friends with and who you recommended for me to work with! That’s who!”

“But—”

“He‘s Mochi.”

Jungkook looks dumbfounded for a moment before your words register inside his head. “M-Mochi?”

Like a petulant child, you climb on your bed once more and hide your diary beneath your pillow. “Leave me alone, Kook.”

With a defeated sigh, Jungkook trudges out of your room, leaving you once again drowning in your thoughts.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Jimin has always loved mornings, especially when he is able to quietly bake on what most people would call ungodly hours. There is something enjoyable about being fully awake during this time when no sounds of passing vehicles can distract him, making him feel at ease.

He had started appreciating the little things in life when you — who once stared up at him with curious eyes, expression lightening up when he made a cup of hot chocolate for you — taught him to.

Chuckling to himself, his mind drifts back to the time you first entered his bakery. Gods, he should have known it was you. But you were so different, he could hardly comprehend how much you had grown.

Gone was your happy-go-lucky self. He was stunned when you suddenly snapped at him. Your younger self would probably respond with a smile and drone on about how much you love cinnamon rolls. For a second, his heart had hoped. Maybe you remembered him after all these years?

Yet that hope dissipated in an instant when you merely apologised and ran out. Moreover, you didn’t return to his bakery after buying the cinnamon rolls, he thought he had screwed things up by attempting to start a conversation with you. Or maybe that person wasn’t really you. Just someone who looks a lot like you. He still had his suspicions after all.

However, his suspicions were gone the moment you introduced yourself, leaving him speechless. Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t hope — at least for a bit — that you would remember him when he mentioned his name.

That was why the moment you appeared once more to work as a part-timer, he was ecstatic. No words can explain it.

He started to look forward to work every day — coming to his own bakery to see you even when you didn’t remember him, but he would still gladly take whatever he can to be around you.

Once he sets the tray of unbaked cinnamon rolls into the oven, his phone buzzes. As soon as he reads the text, his heart drops a little.

[ 7:08 AM ] You: Sorry, I cant come to work today. Not feeling well.

He types, ‘That’s okay. get well soon, y/n :)’

But it left undelivered. Did your phone die? He wonders.

Jimin can’t help shake the weird feeling bubbling inside. So, he messages Jungkook.

[ 7:15 AM ] Jimin: y/n isn’t feeling well today. do u mind checking up on her ???

But of course, Jungkook didn’t read the message until a few hours later. That boy enjoys gaming all night.

[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: what?

[ 12:03 PM ] Jungkook: for real ?? since when does she get sick? that girl has a fucking high immunity. she never even once got a cold during the semester

Jimin furrowed his brows at that.

[ 12:04 PM ] Jimin: still, go check up on her pls. she’s ur friend too

[ 12:04 PM ] Jungkook: yeah, omw

It hasn’t even been an hour later when Jungkook rushes into the bakery — earning surprised and curious glances from the customers who were chattering among themselves. “Hyung—“ he catches his breath as he stands in front of the counter. “I think you need to fix—“ Huff. “—I mean go to Y/N’s house yourself.

Jimin blinks in confusion.

“You... You’re Mochi, aren’t you?”

At the mention of that name, blood drains from Jimin’s face instantly.

She remembers...?

“How did you—”

“What matters is, you need to fix it, hyung. You’re the only one who can. She’s not herself, right now. I've known her for a few years and it takes a lot for her to react like this. So, please, you should talk about it.”

“Okay,” Jimin breathes out. “Do you mind closing the cafe once the customers are all done?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, just go to her, hyung. I’ll handle everything here.”

[ when you were fifteen: before the accident ]

“I wish you can teach me math all the time, Mochi,” you giggle, leaning back on the cafe chair. “Everything is easier when you explain it.”

Jimin chuckles at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one not paying attention in class.”

Shaking your head rapidly, you deny, “Of course I paid attention! It’s just... I don’t know… It was really boring when my teacher was teaching. He just drones on and on without stopping.”

With an amused hum, Jimin stands up. “I’ll get ready to leave. I’ll walk you home.”

After a few minutes, you head out of the cafe with Jimin behind you. Shivering against the cool night air, you draw closer to the boy. Instinctively, Jimin offers you his open hand which you accepted with no hesitance.

Little did he know, every time he does this, it makes your heart beat a little faster at the way your hand fits well in his. And you savour it.

The build up of feelings has been going on for a while now. Maybe a few months. You’ve developed a crush on him. Like, how can you not? Jimin possesses charming qualities that no one else has. Not to mention how kind and warm of a person he is.

Meetings in the cafe had you wishing they were dates instead. And you had to let him know.

And tell him you did.

He blinks at first, words sinking into him. Mochi, I think I like you. Like, really, really like you.

His cheeks are pink, you weren’t sure if it's from the cold or his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.”

Of course. What were you expecting? He only sees you as a little sister.

“No, that’s okay,” you reply quickly, but your heart drops. “It’s just… You know, I wanted to tell you know because you’re really cool, Mochi.”

“Y/N… Listen, this is not a good time—” Abruptly, he stops, catching your wrist on his. “I want you to hide in the playground.”

“What?”

“Hide, please. I will explain everything later.”

You want to run away from him. But the pleading look on his face makes you listen.

“There he is!” You hear an unfamiliar shout.

Cursing under his breath, Jimin quickly pushes you under the slide. “Wait here.”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

[ Present time ]

Jimin reaches your house, his heart beating fast against his chest with a box of cinnamon rolls in hand.

You are home alone and Jungkook has left the door unlocked.

Letting himself in, Jimin glances around. Everything still looks the same as back then. He went to your house once to tutor you. And he still can remember that day clearly.

Climbing up the stairs, he reaches your room. With shaking hands, he knocks on the door.

Silence.

A moment or two passes then your door opens. Jimin braces for the anger you’d throw at him.

But nothing comes.

You merely stand there, eyes glassy as they lock on his.

“Y/N...” He mutters, torn between to reach out or not. But you leave the door open as you sit on your bed. Jimin enters your familiar room, still surprised at how it still looks the same. And his eyes fall on a notebook — the notebook you never let him read — on the table.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice trembling.

“I wanted to check up on you—”

“Why?”

Jimin knows at once what you are asking.

He approaches you sitting on the edge of the bed. He kneels down, peering up with those chocolate eyes of his to meet your downcast stare — like those times when he wants to talk to you and you refuse to look at him.

“Do… Do you still remember me?” Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

“Y/N…” The lack of surprise in his voice answers it. He still remembers you as you recall the once shocked expression on his face when you first introduce yourself. Now, it all made sense.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” A sob escapes your lips. “Do you not want me to remember—”

He shakes his head, denying it quickly. “No! Of course not. I just… I was ecstatic actually when it was you who came to work for me.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Voice cracking. “You knew me—”

Clearly in conflict, he sighs, “I don’t want you to remember your traumatic memories… Remembering me might cause you more pain.”

“But it didn’t. Those memories, from what I can remember there’s nothing—”

“That’s what your parents told me, Y/N.”

Eyes widening, you gape at him as tears cascade down your face.

“You were seriously injured back then. The doctor said it will be best for you to let your own memories come to you in their own time. And I had to leave this place... I came by after your operation and... I wanted to say goodbye but I was told it was best to not see you any longer to prevent anymore distress—”

“But you are important to me!” You cut him off. Then turning quieter, “You are important to me…” You say between sobs.

Covering your eyes with your hand, you whimper when Jimin engulfs you in a hug. “I’m sorry…” He murmurs, caressing your head. “I’m so sorry…”

His heart breaks at your current state, tightening his hold on you, who’s crying into his chest. Years of buried regret and longing resurface. He had envisioned many times on how you would remember him. But he fails to realise how much it can hurt you when your memories return. If only he can turn back time, he will take that chance to save you from the misery of your memory loss.

Yet, all he can do now is to hold you close, begging you for forgiveness and hope that you’d let him stay by your side.

“So, let me get this straight, you—” Jungkook points his straw at you. “—and Jimin hyung were childhood friends—” He pierces the plastic cover of his milk tea. “—and he used to tutor you in a cafe.”

Nodding, you purse your lips and enjoy your own drink.

You had taken a few days off after the reconciliation to collect your thoughts and confront your parents about what had happened. They have come into terms with their protectiveness of you staying out very late. And you have managed to convince them to let you stay out late as long as you let them know.

You were planning to stay in bed all day if it wasn’t for Jungkook who barged into your room like he owns the place, after he claimed that Jimin lets him off from work early — which you doubt honestly, it’s more of Jungkook escaping from work — and decided to drag you to the nearest milk tea shop.

“Is something weird?” you blurt out.

“Did you by any chance, I don’t know...” Jungkook mutters. “Have feelings for each other?”

You nearly choke on your tapioca pearl and rapidly you shake your head. “No! That’s—”

Jungkook narrows his stare at you, sipping his drink as you continue to blabber, “I mean, I knew him since I was like, what? Twelve? He never sees me that way.”

“Maybe he didn’t back then.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean both of you are adults now. Aren’t things different?”

You snort at his words. “He always sees the little girl in me, Jungkook. So, please, don’t make things weird, alright? I can literally see your head gearing.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh. “Alright, if you say so. But how about you?”

Sipping your drink, you lift a brow at him.

“Do you like him?”

“Of course, I do.”

“I meant like, like him.”

“Kookie, what are you? Five?”

He snorts at your response. “Five heads taller than you—” Your glare shuts him up. “Okay, but do you see him as someone special?”

An exasperated sigh escapes your lips. “Why are we discussing this? We’re just friends. Who coincidentally are childhood friends as well.”

“You sure?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh once more. “What are you expecting me to say?”

“What do you think of him?”

Almost at once, the words flow easily out of your mouth. “He’s a caring person and he knows how to comfort someone when they’re having a bad day.”

“You mean, he knows how to comfort you when you’re having a bad day yourself,” Jungkook chuckles.

You blink at that.

“Look, I’m not implying anything but he was worried as hell when I told him about you the other day. Even nearly left his bakery without supervision. That’s when yours truly—” He points at himself. “—came in.”

And the question that swims in the back of your mind disappears. “So, it is you, you overgrown rabbit. You told him about me—”

“Well, you can’t blame me. You should be thanking me instead. It’s because of me you both finally reconciled. Admit it, you’re happy — happier, in fact.”

And you can’t deny it. Jungkook has been one of those people who’d look out for you. Yes, even when he can be a pain in the ass sometimes, or just loves to hear the “piping hot” tea of what’s happening in your life.

Sighing in defeat, you murmur, “Even if I do like him...” You shake your head. “No, it shouldn’t even matter in the first place.”

Noticing your shuttering expression, Jungkook thankfully does not press the subject further. Nor does he question why. And you are grateful for him.

“Interesting. So, you do like him.”

Scratch that, your best friend is still a pain in the ass.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Standing in front of the bakery cafe, you released a deep breath.

Through the glass door, Jungkook is helping out at the cashier counter, serving beverages and desserts to dine-in customers. However, Jimin is nowhere in sight.

Releasing a deep breath, the bell of the door rings which signals your entrance. Jungkook notices you at once before he points to the kitchen.

You rush inside — stopping abruptly a few steps away from him — now, regarding the man differently. He was the boy who has been your comfort for so many occasions after all.

Jimin is icing cupcakes, his eyes focusing on his task and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

With your memories — of kindness, warmth, and friendship — now fully returned, you remember how you were always enamoured watching Jimin work. You’d watch him make drinks in the cafe when you had no homework to do. You’d sit at the bar, munching on cookies-of-the-day as your eyes followed Jimin’s movements.

A few moments pass, Jimin’s gaze shifts to you briefly and double-takes. He curses under his breath, cupcake slipping from his grip — icing spilling on the marble counter. “Hey, you’re back—” He quickly grabs a cloth and wipes off the cream before he turns to face you properly, grinning from ear-to-ear. “—you didn’t tell me you’re coming in today.”

He opens his arms and your legs move of its own accord, following your instinct as you close the distance between you and him — wrapping your arms around his waist.

You weren’t surprised at how your younger self used to have a big fat crush on him. He was and always will still be your Mochi. The guy who treated you to your favourite sweets, who knows how you like your caramel macchiato the best, and who never fails to put butterflies in your stomach.

Breathing his sweet scent, you remember the time you’d ask him for hugs whenever you were down and your younger self had even claimed once that his hugs were magical as it was written in your diary. To quote it, “Mochi gives the BEST BEST hugs in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD”.

“Your hugs…” you mumble, eyes closed. “They’re still the best…”

Jimin merely tightens his hold on you. That is until a force — appearing in the form of Jeon Jungkook — shatters the serene atmosphere, bringing you back to reality. “Hyung! Oh—”

Abruptly, you both pull away from each other. Jungkook stands awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“What is it?” Jimin breaks the silence, composed as ever.

“Uh, need more cupcakes. The ones on the display are finished…”

“Right,” Jimin turns to you. “Y/N, can you help me ice the rest of the cupcakes?”

Nodding, you turn to the employee’s room, putting your things in the locker and grabbing an apron.

Hugging Jimin seems so natural that you fail to consider how weird it looks to the people around you. Jungkook’s awkward silence proves that.

Your thoughts are swimming in confusion. And once again those butterflies appear in your stomach. Fanning your heated cheeks with your hands, you take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

Your childhood crush is gone. You’re just happy to have Mochi back in your life. That’s all. That should be all.

One afternoon, you mindlessly clean up the kitchen. Due to the public holiday, the bakery is closing earlier, and your thoughts have drifted back to the past.

You remember the night of the incident when Jimin walked you home after he had lost those men who chased after him. He stopped you for a moment, breaking the silence. “You okay?” Warm concern lacing his tone.

Jaw clenching, you mumbled. “Just a scratch.” Reluctant to give him any longer response.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have shoved you harshly before.” He crouched, inspecting your knees before he peered up to meet your stare.

“It’s fine.”

When you were just a few blocks away from home, Jimin broke the silence. “Listen Y/N—” His footsteps faltered as he reached to touch your shoulder. “—about earlier, I think you shouldn’t have feelings for me, I—”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his, hurt consuming you. “I shouldn’t have feelings for you?”

You wished Jimin had forgotten your spontaneous confession as he nodded, hesitantly.

“Well, I can’t control my feelings. So, just let it be. It’ll be fine.” You glanced at him before walking faster.

The rest of the trip home was tense, full of unanswered questions. Who were those men? Why did they chase after Jimin? Is it really that bad to have feelings for him? Who gave him the right to dictate your feelings?

You felt so childish back then. Recalling the memories makes you cringe at your younger self for overreacting. But you suppose it’s normal for a fifteen year-old girl. And you were able to sense that Jimin wanted to ease the tense atmosphere. But you were too hurt to even give him a chance. You needed time to process what happened that day.

However, one minute Jimin had stopped you again, desperate to appease you. And the next minute, someone ran towards him with a bat in hand. It’s as if time slowed down, you moved before a harsh impact landed on you.

Your mind brings you back to reality, and instinctively you touch the part where your head was struck with your free hand.

“Y/N? Are you done cleaning up?”

Jimin’s voice startles you and you nearly drop the mop’s handle from your grasp.

“Yes,” you manage to say. And somehow you can’t look at him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” Out of instinct, he cups your face to look at you in the eye. And hell, your heartbeat gradually increases as you can smell the sweet scent of bread from him along with a tinge of his cinnamon scent.

Mind blanking out at the close proximity, the only intelligible response you can say is, uhhh. Your grip on the mop handle tightens as your palm grows clammy.

He’s gorgeous. That’s one thing for sure.

“Hey, why are you blushing?”

Blinking rapidly, you watch his eyes turn into those crescent moons and a giggle escapes his lips as he pulls away, grabbing the mop from your hold.

“I’ll put this back. You nearly snapped it in half, you know.”

“Yeah,” you nod, mind whirling and you blabber the first thing in your mind. “I have a pet fish.”

“Huh?”

Realising how random you sounded, you clear your throat. “I just remember I had to come home early today, since Mr. Goldy is waiting for me.”

“Ooh, that’s—”

But you’ve run for the lockers, quickly changing out of your work attire.

“Thanks for today, Mochi. See you tomorrow!” You say and run out of the bakery without sparing him another glance.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“What are you exactly doing here?”

Unflinching, you answer your best friend monotonously, “Buying a fish.”

“You don’t have a tank at home.”

“Exactly, that’s why I’m looking for one now.”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

Jungkook lets out a sigh. “You’ve been acting weird all week, Y/N.”

You ignore his words, eyes scanning through the fishes of different colours and kinds.

“Oh! These ones are pretty.” Jungkook comments, earning your attention.

“Excuse me?” You call one of the workers there. “I was wondering if this fish is suitable for beginners.”

The worker nods, smiling. “Yes, these are what we call the Betta fish. Their scales are beautiful and they are also easy to take care of. Would you like to purchase them?”

You respond with a brief ‘yes’.

“Now, all you need is a tank,” Jungkook says.

“We provide delivery services for the tank. I’d recommend buying this one.” The worker points at one of the tanks. “In the meantime, you can purchase the fishbowl for now.”

And with that you have a new pet fish and a brand new fish bowl in hand — specifically Jungkook’s, because you gotta put those muscles into good use — and you head back home. On the way back, Jungkook suddenly clears his throat. “So… What’s up with you?”

“What?”

“Let me summarise what just happened,” he says. “I had the day off today, and suddenly you called me to meet you in a fish store, and you have been acting all weird and somehow out of all the nice shades of blue fishes in the tank, you chose the ugly yellow—”

You kick his shin in retaliation. “It’s not yellow, it’s gold, dumbass. How dare you say that in front of Lady Goldilocks.”

“Oh, wow, now it even has a name.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I seriously can’t believe you chose this one out of all the other colours. It reminds me of Jimin hyung—” And he gapes at you. “No way. Is it because he likes this colour?”

You blink in realisation. Jimin does like this colour.

“Okay, ‘fess up. What’s up with you?”

You let out a defeated sigh. “I like him.”

Jungkook looks unamused.

“I mean like, like him. And I need to get over him.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Why would Hyung want that?””

“I shouldn’t like him, Kook. He told me once and, I don’t know, I just can’t control my feelings. I don’t want to lose him again and I’m scared that he’ll be gone if he knows—”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Jungkook grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “—I can understand what you’re feeling, Y/N. How about let me prove to you that Jimin won’t be gone even when you have feelings for him?”

“I swear, Jeon Jungkook, if you utter a single word about this conversation—”

“No!” He denies repeatedly. “I won’t. Promise. I can prove it to you another way. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, then. How?”

“I have a plan. To take the title as your number one best friend once and for all—”

“Who says you are even at the top?”

“Aren’t I? You told me once.” Jungkook fishes his phone out of his jacket, taps a few times on his screen before he shows you a video of your drunk self a few months ago after exam week.

“Kookieee, I think you’re my number one best friend! So proud to have someone like you in my life—”

You try to reach for his phone, cheeks burning in embarrassment, as you shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster. However, Jungkook being Jungkook merely cackles at that. Your voice from the video still continues, “—you’re like Mochi—” Your present self tenses at that.

“Who’s Mochi?” Jungkook asked curiously in the video.

“Shhhhh… We don’t speak of that name here, m’kay? Mochi is gone. So you are best friend number one!”

Jungkook stops the video, tucking his phone back to his pocket. “I asked you once who Mochi was when you were sober. But you didn’t remember back then. So I never asked again until you mentioned the name ‘Mochi’ once more a few days ago.”

Gaping, you stop walking as the stunned silence falls over you.

“I think your subconscious had always known about him. And it shows how special he is to you.” When you’re about to deny that, Jungkook shushes you. “Don’t try to deny, Y/N. Even before you knew he was Mochi you already liked him.”

“I hate that you’re starting to look like a rooster. Were you always this cocky?”

Your best friend merely shrugs. “So, here’s the plan. As I was saying, with my ‘number one best friend’ title under threat, we’re going to demote Jimin as your boyfriend! It’s a win-win situation!”

“What? I never even asked for him to be my boyfriend but wait— Don’t you mean promote?”

“Y/N, as much as I love your dumb ass, you tend to be quite demanding with people. Hopefully, he knows how to handle your present self.”

“Jeon Jungkook, please don’t make me regret this.”

A few days after the conversation with Jungkook, the boy gets to work as fast as possible, and by work, it means work to get on Jimin’s nerves instead of actually being helpful in the cafe.

Jungkook has become noticeably clingy, or overall, just more touchy with you. It’s not like it’s anything new in all honesty. Throughout college, the relationship between the both of you is purely platonic. Your other college friends knew this and seeing the both of you cuddle wouldn’t be a strange sight. Jimin, however, isn’t one of your college friends and Jungkook seems to have taken advantage of this. Thus, he begins to work in the bakery almost every day, claiming just to see you.

At first Jimin showed no reaction since Jungkook is a good friend of his. But he has grown visibly irritated lately while Jungkook revels in pressing the older one’s buttons further.

“Jungkook…”

“Hmm?”

“Can you please stop invading my personal space?”

“But it’s not going to work if I don’t— Oof!” You shove him away before going back to your task — placing the cupcakes on the display tray — annoyance building up at Jungkook’s disruptions.

“I’m going to file a restraining order on you at this rate.”

He huffs, moving towards you once more. “Don’t you want to prove that Jimin is going to be pissed if he sees me being affectionate to you?”

You shake your head. “I just want to work in peace.”

“Hmph. You’re no fun.”

“Cuz you’re the one not working.”

“Hey, I’m helping here voluntarily.”

You ignore his words, focusing on your task while Jungkook starts whining for you to give him attention. “Kook, I fucking swear if you don’t get your hands off—”

Jimin’s voice rings “Y/N, are the cupcakes...” He trails as soon as he enters the kitchen, freezing at the sight of Jungkook wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his dumb head on the crook of your neck.

“He’s going to rage,” Jungkook whispers, laughing softly.

“Uh, Jungkook can I talk to you?” Jimin asks, eyes noticeably narrowing as his tone tenses.

“Finally,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, before he lets go of you and faces Jimin. “Sure, Hyung.”

You take that cue to leave, bringing the freshly iced cupcakes to the display counter, leaving Jungkook and Jimin alone in the kitchen.

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

“What’s been going on with you lately? You come here to work everyday but all I can see is you busy flirting with Y/N.” Jimin throws the younger one an unamused glare.

Jungkook answers easily, “I do my job, Hyung. And so what if I do flirt with Y/N?”

“You can’t,” Jimin blurts out, earning a questioning look from Jungkook. “You just can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Do you like Y/N?”

“Of course, she’s my best friend.”

Jimin shoots Jungkook another unamused look at his answer.

“I’m going to tell her how I feel in three days,” Jungkook continues.

Jimin’s stomach drops at that statement. However, at the same time the urge to let you know how he truly feels increases. But the thought of the impending rejection after hurting you and causing your memory loss makes him think twice.

Maybe Jungkook deserves you more than him — he can protect and support you while Jimin has failed.

With a shaky breath, Jimin mutters, “Take care of her, alright?”

Obviously, his response catches Jungkook off guard. “What?”

“Take good care of Y/N, JK. I’m seriously counting on you.”

“Wait—“ Jungkook looks downright flustered at the unexpected response. “Hyung, wait.”

“What?” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be confused.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Just give me an honest answer, hyung. No lies.”

A pause.

“Do you like Y/N? As in more than friends?”

Jimin nods without hesitance.

Jungkook mumbles something under his breath that Jimin is sure it sounds like, freaking idiots.

“Go tell her how you feel, Hyung. And tell her as soon as possible.”

“But you—”

“It’s to push you to confess to her. I don’t see Y/N that way.” Jungkook sighs. “Honestly, what would the both of you be without me?”

Jimin stands in the kitchen, speechless, as Jungkook continues to ramble how significant his role is in between your relationship and how you and Jimin owe him so much.

“So, yes, go tell her how you feel, hyung. She’ll listen to whatever you’ll say.”

With a newfound resolve, hope sparks in Jimin’s heart. “I will.”

To say that Jimin is nervous would be an understatement. He had barely slept a wink last night, thinking of all the words and how he would explain why he had left so suddenly and confess his feelings to you. Jungkook has been a supportive friend, even if he does push Jimin’s buttons along the way. However, Jimin knows that it was his own way of showing encouragement.

You are cleaning the rest of the tables of the cafe and Jimin can’t take his eyes off you, staring at you through the small window opening between the kitchen and the counter area.

“Are we done for today, Mochi?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydream.

“Yeah!” Jimin continues to wipe the kitchen counter quickly, replying almost too enthusiastically before he clears his throat. “Do you have plans tonight, Y/N?”

You enter the kitchen and once again Jimin’s heartbeat rises. “Nope. I’m going straight back home after this. Lady Goldilocks is waiting for me.”

Lady Goldilocks. Jimin chuckles at the mention of your fish’s name. He wonders if one day he’s able to see the pet fish for himself. He had asked what happened to Mr Goldy and you had become flustered at that since you didn’t know the fish was female. So, now, you have changed the fish’s name. Yet, somehow Jimin got an inkling that there is more to the story. He had asked Jungkook — to which the boy had valiantly refused to utter a word about it and had babbled, “Huh? Fish? What fish? Is that for dinner?”

Once the both of you finished closing up the bakery cafe, Jimin taps on your shoulder before you had the chance to go back home.

“May I walk you home?”

You blink, processing his words then nodding rapidly. “S-Sure.”

Jimin smiles warmly at you. It’s easy in fact. Just being in your presence always brings happiness into his heart. You had grown into an amazing person and even more attractive.

Something about you had always captivated Jimin since the first time you met him in the cafe where he used to do his part time work. Your curious eyes were always following him as he took the customers’ orders and honestly, it was very endearing.

Comfortable silence falls upon you both, walking through the asphalt pathway and naturally, Jimin opens his palms, extending it towards you.

You stare at that for a moment and clasp his hand with yours. Jimin weaves your fingers together, bringing you closer to him as you continue to walk back home.

“Do you mind if we take a little detour?”

You nod at his words.

Once Jimin reaches the destination, he can sense your eyes glance curiously at the empty hill. He pulls you up onto the top of the hill, sitting down on the grass while he pats the space next to him and you follow suit.

“Look up,” Jimin whispers, and you did.

A quiet gasp escapes your lips at the sight of twinkling stars that scatters across the dark sky.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jimin voices out. “Someone made me realise how beautiful the stars are…” He falters. “A-And she had never left my mind all those years. One of my deepest regrets is that I wasn’t able to say goodbye when I had to leave.”

You hear his words, yet you stay silent — an encouragement for him to continue to speak what’s on his mind.

“My family was in a difficult financial position back then and my dad had done things I wasn’t proud of…” Jimin’s eyes turn glassy and faraway, even when he sets his gaze up. “And one of them is that he had made a deal with loan sharks without the guarantee of paying them back… And of course, they were angry.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“I once thought that probably I could still stay here back then. Even more so when I met you. But I was wrong. Those men started to chase after me and because of that, you—” He shudders. “—got injured. And that night my parents had made plans to leave without me and my brother knowing.”

He turns to look at you. “I never got to apologise to you for causing that. I should be the one to protect you but… I failed. For that, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Jimin…” You say softly. “It’s not your fault. I was the one who jumped in front of you when the man came after you. It’s my own choice because you are special to me.”

“But I could have—”

You shush him with a pointer finger in front of his lips for a few moments. “You don’t have to be sorry anymore, Mochi. It’s not your fault. And what matters now is to focus on the present and look to the future, right?”

He nods, emotions swimming inside his chocolate eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought—”

“For telling you that you shouldn’t have feelings for me.”

And you lapse into silence. He remembers…?

“I hate that that has hurt you. I shouldn’t have said that. But I was happy but desperate too since my family—”

“Jimin.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“What do you see me as, now?”

He blinks. All the practiced words on how he would tell you his feelings dissipate from his mind as he blankly stares at you. “I… I like you.” His voice grows quieter. “More than friends…”

“And if I said you shouldn’t have feelings for me?”

A flash of hurt crosses his eyes briefly. But he answers, nonetheless, “I would do what you want.”

“So, you reciprocate my feelings now?”

“H-huh?”

“I like you too. More than friends. In fact, I think my feelings have grown for you ever since I found out you’re Mochi.”

It takes a few moments for Jimin to process your words. He gapes, mouth opening and closing.

“You are resembling Lady Goldilocks right now.”

“What?”

Your cheeks flush. “Lady Goldilocks is a Betta fish. She was the golden one in a tank full of her blue siblings. Jungkook tried persuading me to choose the blue ones since they were more attractive to look at. But all I could see is the gold one since it reminded me of you.”

“I like golden colours…” Jimin mumbles in realisation.

“Exactly,” you let out a sheepish laugh, eyes turning to look back up into the sky. Before Jimin can respond, your eyes brighten up. “Look! A shooting star!”

Jimin snaps his gaze up as well.

“Hurry, make a wish!” You then close your eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear. Jimin follows suit, making his own wish.

As soon as you both finish making your wishes, you turn to face him once more.

“Are you still sorry for saying that to me?”

Jimin nods, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. Hell, he thinks he would always regret hurting you that time.

“I know how you can make it up to me then.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

“W-What?” He splutters.

“Unless you don’t want—“ Yet, your words die on your throat as Jimin moves closer to you, eliminating the distance between you both as he cups your face just like that time in the bakery.

Without another word, he leans down, pressing his lips on yours softly while you place your hands on top of his before he presses further, brows furrowing as he kisses you fervently. For the time being, all that matters is just you and him. He caresses your cheeks and you run your hands down to wrap around his waist until you can feel his heart beating against his chest.

After pulling away — both of you catching your breaths — Jimin presses his forehead against yours, running his thumb over your lips while you were unable to open your eyes for a few moments at the burst of emotions that is coursing through you.

“I’ve imagined this moment so many times,” he admits. “My wish finally came true.” And you smile at that.

“My wish also came true because of you, Mochi...”

✧༺♡༻∞　　∞༺♡༻✧

Sitting on one of the tables, your eyes can’t take themselves off Jimin as he serves customers. Today is your day off and you decided to pay him a visit in the bakery.

“You’re drooling.”

Your gaze snaps up to your best friend who sits across you after placing a cinnamon roll on the table for you. Jungkook continues, “I swear I’m going to vomit one of these days if I see you or Jimin hyung throwing each other— what was that called? It’s an old term— Oh! Goo-goo eyes one more time.”

“Shut up, Jeon. I’m not.” You reach for the roll, taking a bite.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right, you basically either stare at him like he placed stars in the sky or like you want to tear off his clothes—”

You choke on the roll, quickly reaching for your glass of water before you throw your napkin at his face. Jungkook cackles at that before he resumes his act, sighing. “This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have intervened. I didn’t know you’d be like this. My best friend is so uncool now.”

“Y/N is what?” You perk up at Jimin’s voice.

“Whipped,” Jungkook mutters before he takes his cue to leave. He stands up, passing by Jimin after shooting the older one a teasing glance.

Jimin sits across from you, and he instinctively reaches for your hand on the table. “How was your day?” And you swear you can hear Jungkook making a gagging sound amidst the chatter of the customers.

“Good. I finished my chores at home earlier today. So, I thought I would come visit.”

Minutes pass by quickly as you chatter with Jimin. He had almost forgotten to go back to work until Jungkook reminded him. When it is time to close up the bakery, you watch him wash the remaining mixing bowls while perching on one of the cleaned counters of the kitchen.

“You know, I could use some help,” Jimin teases, drying his hands on his apron.

A smile curls up on the corner of your lips, eyes following his movements — drawing closer to where you are. “Well, I think you got it all handled, Mochi.”

Once he reaches you, he pulls you to wrap your legs around his waist while your arms rest on his shoulders — encircling around his neck. You both stare at each other and he pushes a strand of stray hair away from your face, tucking it behind an ear while his other hand settles on your waist.

“Sometimes, I still can’t believe that you’re really here with me,” You admit. “Just like a sweet dream.”

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not, Y/N...” He leans to give you a chaste kiss. “... we’ll make up for the lost time we didn’t spend together.”

“Promise?”

He softly smiles at you. “Promise.”

author’s note: this was originally intended to be posted on jimin’s birthday but well i decided to add more stuff in it. thus, i am late alskflsdda so yes, i hope you guys enjoy this fic and feedbacks are always appreciated !! thank you for reading ♡

#btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #magicshopnet #bangtanidx #bangtanuniversity #btsghostie #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin scenarios #park jimin #bangtan scenarios #promptlyyourscafe #amourville series

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liv-laugh-die · 3 years ago

Text

||Admiring|| 💖Miya Osamu x Gn!reader

trope: strangers meeting in the park (ik its random bear with me😭)

warnings: its not proofread all the way through (im sorry im tired), so theres probably grammatical errors or typos but other than that none

genre: fluff pretty much just sappy stuff

pairing/s: osamu x gn!reader

wc: about 2.5k

a/n: oh my god idk where i came up with this but i think its cute so :p i hope you enjoy!!

You stared at your blank computer screen, hope of finishing your assignment before its due date at midnight slowly vanishing.

The clock on your desk read 11:27pm, the green lines wavering in your vision as your eyes slowly drooped, trying to drag you into the depths of slumber. You wanted to sleep, you really did, but you knew there was no way you could give up writing your essay, even now, knowing you weren’t going to submit it on time, because you would stress too much about it if you didn’t at least try to complete it before the due date.

Pushing yourself away from your desk, your chair squeaking against the floor ever so slightly in your dead silent dorm room, you tried to think of some excuse that your professor might believe. You doubted there was anything you could think of, but hey, your professor was better than what your roommates’ had mentioned theirs being, and you were grateful for that. Maybe you could tell him that you were exhausted from working extra hours at your job since you had had to cover your coworker’s shift and that’s why you couldn’t complete your essay on time? Or, maybe you could get away with a simple “I was lacking interest in the material, and couldn’t understand anything, and I didn’t ask for help because I knew that you are such a busy man trying to do so many things at once. Another hopeless near college drop-out wasn’t something I thought you needed on your hands.”

....Maybe not the latter.

You sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair, practically feeling it screaming at you to wash it. You barely had time in the mornings to take showers anymore, and when you took them at night, you never had the strength to wash your hair, always knowing that putting a hat on overtop or throwing on your hoodie would make it seem fine on the outside, and that was good enough for you. As long as you looked at least decent and somewhat presentable.

Your dorm room was fairly small, like every other one, but the lack of furniture made it seem larger than the rest. Nothing more than you and your roommate’s joint desk, the mini fridge in the corner, and the beds filled the space. You almost tripped over your backpack lying next to the bunk bed pushed up against the wall, falling to what would’ve been inches away from your roommate’s sleeping body.

In an attempt not to disturb them, you tiptoed through the room, stepping over the occasional heap of clothes or homework, until you reached the bathroom. You fumbled over the door knob before almost tumbling into the small space. Glancing in the mirror, you didn’t fail to notice your messy hair, the dark circles tracing beneath your eyes, or the way you looked like you were seconds away from passing out. The sound of running water rang in your ears as you turned on the sink faucet, cupping your hands together and bringing your face down to meet them, rubbing the cold water all over you in an attempt to keep you awake for just a few moments longer.

Your eyes returned back to the mirror as you sighed at your dripping wet face. There was no way possible you were going to finish your assignment on time. You knew it, your roommate knew it before they passed out, and you had noticed your professor’s wary glance this morning in class as a sign that he knew it too.

An idea sprang into your head, part of you dreading the optimism that seemed to seep through your brain slowly. You didn’t feel like being energetic right now.

---an hour later---

You weren’t exactly sure how, when, or why you decided it would be a good idea to take a shower (you did end up washing your hair, thank god), get your things together in your bag, and head to the off-campus coffee shop (since the one on-campus had already closed), but you found yourself with a warm cup of coffee in hand as you exited the shop, the cold midnight air enveloping you in an unwelcome embrace.

You shivered. The only thing your spontaneous brain had forgotten had to have been your jacket, the one thing your normal brain would’ve remembered if it weren’t already past midnight and if you weren’t majorly sleep-deprived.

You most certainly weren’t done with your essay yet, nor was there any possible way for you to finish it on time since it was now approximately thirteen minutes past the due time, but you let yourself breathe for now.

There weren’t many people out at this hour, and it made the usual busy city streets seemed like a ghost town. There were a few restaurants still open as you strolled along the sidewalk, their lights responsible for illuminating more than half the area in front of you. You passed by an onigiri shop your friend had recommended to you, but you just weren’t that hungry. Most nights, you’d kill for a midnight snack, but your single shot of espresso coffee was satisfying your needs for now.

You decided to head to the park after seeing a rabbit hop its way across the vacant street and into the bushes in that direction. The fresh air was nice and cool against your dry and croaky lungs, and your ears needed a different sound than that of you miserably attempting to touch type quickly, your fingers rapping against the keyboard with vigor.

A stream nearby flowed softly, the dripping of the water against the rocks complimenting the noise of the crickets chirping in sync just downstream. Your footsteps cut through the grass slowly, not bothering to follow the stone path. The park was a nice change of scenery. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been here by yourself in peace, it was always you and your rambunctious friends who ran through every now and then just to see the dogs running through the sprinklers, or the occasional poor cat whose owner dragged them out into the daylight for exercise. This was peaceful, though, and you appreciated that.

A few more rabbits crossed your path, giving you that wide-eyed, side glance before darting off into the darkness, outside the reach of the lampposts emitting light. The sound of the stream soon faded out as you continued to walk through the park, sipping your coffee every so often. The warmth from your cup was soon dying out, and you figured you’d have to start walking back to your university sooner or later. Maybe you could crash at your friend’s house who lived just off campus, though you had forgotten your phone back at your dorm and had no alarm, no laptop to complete your work, and no contact with anyone else who might worry where you’d be. You had really no choice but to trek back to your dorm in the darkness, cutting your peaceful visit to the park short.

You let yourself have a few more minutes of stress free relaxing as you sat down on a bench just before the ground let out into a downhill slope overlooking the rest of the city below. The trees around you swayed in the breeze, and for a moment, you thought it was the wind talking, and not an actual human being who had somehow made his way beside you without gathering your attention.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be up at this hour,” the stranger mumbled. You glanced up, almost startled that, indeed, someone else was actually awake and strolling through the park.

The boy couldn’t have been much older than you were, maybe the same age. He had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, the wind tousled his dark hair ever so slightly, and the moonlight played along, illuminating his face just so you could actually see how gorgeous he was.

You cleared your throat, averting your eyes back to the ground as you shifted over, creating more space on the bench in case he wanted to sit down beside you. “I decided to actually take care of myself for once and give myself some time to breathe before facing the wrath of my professor tomorrow when he finds out I didn’t turn in my essay on time.” You let out a low, breathy chuckle, not exactly sure of what would happen next.

The guy sat down on the bench next to you, though he made sure to give you some personal space, which you were grateful for. He laughed along with you a bit, and you could tell just from his tone just how tired he really was.

You gave him a side glance, raising an eyebrow. “So, what the stressful thing that brought you here in the middle of the night?”

He smiled half-heartedly, eyes trained on the moon. “Work stuff. Jus’ been busy, I guess.” He shrugged.

You waited for him to continue on, but he stayed silent. You didn’t complain, though. Wasn’t your whole reason for coming out here in the dead of the night for some quiet? Plus, it wasn’t awkward either. You were comfortable sitting next to this stranger.

“What do you do for work?” You waited a little longer than necessary to ask, but he didn’t seem to mind the long pause.

“I own a restaurant a few blocks away. I love the job, it’s just tiring havin’ to deal with rude customers like my brother who won’t get the hint and get out sometimes. I got into an argument with him earlier today and he just wouldn’t shut it.” He rolled his eyes and took his hands out of his pockets, making eye contact with you as he went on about his day, and you couldn’t help but smile at his passion. “The guy thinks he can just walk in when I’m working with a new employee and just act like he runs the place! Quite stupid if you ask me. Such a jerk, he is. Thinkin’ about just banning him from the place, really.”

You snorted. “He really bugs you that much, huh?”

The guy smirked at your laugh, admiring it, though you would never had guess that was what flashed across his face in a million years. He nodded. “Yeah, ‘course I love ‘im ‘cause he’s my twin and my best friend, but he really knows how to annoy the hell outta me.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just get a sign in the window that says “no shirt, no shoes, no service” and cross it out and write my brother’s name instead,” he reasoned, and the pondering look in his eyes made you wonder if he was actually considering the idea.

You smiled. “You’re funny.”

“You say that like ya weren’t expectin’ it.”

A laugh made its way out your lips. “Well, when you’re approached by a stranger in the middle of the night you sort of expect the worst.”

The guy glanced off in the distance, away from you, furrowing his eyebrows. “Sorry, didn’t think of that comin’ off that way.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m funny then, and not some creep, eh?”

You nodded, the smile on your face not fading as he changed topics.

“So, what’s your essay on? Any way I can help ya finish it?”

You shook your head dismissively. “Oh, no. It was due thirty minutes ago.” You quickly explained the topic you were writing about in class before getting side tracked. “My professor had said he would allow it to be turned in the next morning, but I doubt he actually meant it.”

He smiled a wide grin, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. “You go to the university nearby, right?”

You nodded in confirmation, raising an eyebrow. “If I’ve got any luck, there’s a chance you go there too?”

He laughed a little, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t, sorry. I’ve visited campus a few times because some of my friends go there, but I just usually focus on work.”

His gaze was tilted upwards towards the sky, and you couldn’t help but admire how the exhaustion still shone in his eyes, but somehow that same passion gleamed there too just mentioning what he did for a living. You wished you were that passionate about something that would actually support you financially in the future and make you happy.

When he glanced back at you, you were still taking his essence in, and he made a look of confusion. “What?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Nothing. I just admire that you can dedicate yourself to something and make it seem so easy.” He looked at you, interested to hear what you had to say, even though you were sure you couldn’t be the first person to tell him this. “I haven’t even known you for more than ten minutes and I can already tell you’re passionate about what you do and if you’re stressed about it, it must mean you’re dedicated to seeing your work through, and that’s more than enough to admire and appreciate, especially when that can be so difficult sometimes.” You finished your short tangent, looking back up at him to see him staring intently at you, seemingly in awe of what you’d just said. You felt a blush creep onto your face as you quickly blurted out, “Sorry- I didn’t mean to be so straightforward and weird like that- I sound like some crazy secret admirer or something...”

The crickets chirped in the silence between the two of you, and it felt like it would never end.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t mind havin’ a secret admirer. I mean, wouldn’t be so secret, but...” You saw the smile creep up onto his face. “It’s nice being appreciated. Nobody really tells me that kind o’ stuff, so... thanks, I guess.”

The heat on your cheeks didn’t go away by any means, but you grew more comfortable with it as you mumbled, “Maybe I wouldn’t mind admiring you.”

Now, it was the boy’s turn to blush, and you smiled at how his cheeks grew redder with every passing second, and how his subtle grin spoke a thousand words he didn’t need to say.

“Miya Osamu.” The boy’s hand came into your view as he extended it for you to shake. “I own Onigiri Miya across from the grocery outlet.”

You smirked, grasping his hand in yours as you said, “L/N Y/N. I own an official license for being a horrible driver and an ID that proves I’m a sleep-deprived college student and that’s about it.”

He laughed, shaking your hand and standing up, letting go too soon for your liking.

Because for some weird reason, his hand felt right in yours.

Osamu said a quick goodbye, mentioning something about how he should get going and how you should get some sleep before he disappeared down the stone path back into the darkness.

You stood up not too long after he’d left, your coffee now entirely cold as you plopped the half full cup into the trash can on your walk back to your dorm, not needing the pathetic warmth anymore. Your heart was beating fast and the feeling of Osamu’s hand resting in yours lingered on your palm, and that kept you warm enough.

Maybe you’d be visiting that onigiri place your friend recommended to you a little sooner than you’d originally planned, and maybe more often than you would’ve expected.

#osamu miya x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #hq #miya osamu #osamu #osamu x reader #oml i actually like this #ahhhh its cute #since when have i been motivated #i hope this doesnt flop *sob*

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ressyfaerie · 4 years ago

Text

OKAY YALL.

I haven’t been paying attention at all.

Do you want to be really angry,

Like really, really angry?

I’m putting this in a read more since there’s going to be a LOT and it may start a FIRE.

It was a lonely snowy night in the north of British Columbia Canada.

Just kidding.

For real though- I had no internet! We could only watch TV on satellite (the only anime I watched was on YTV). If it snowed in the winter we had to go outside and brush the snow off the satellite to continue watching Beyblade or Inuyasha.

So I was 5-6 when I first started watching Beyblade. Of course I LOVED IT. I would rush home to try to watch it everyday. Beyblade has just airing and it was a HIT. I watched season 1 religiously, I actually don’t remember watching much of V-force or G-rev but that’s probably because it wasn’t made yet lmao.

I grew up in a small town, whatever you’re imagining, imagine it smaller. (I could write a whole essay on the social hierarchy of Port Ed in the early 2000s but I’ll keep it short for now) White kids= rich/ pretentious, Native kids=poor. I didn’t like the attitude of most of the white girls, so I mostly made friends with the native kids (I miss yall btw) but anyways, this is where you’re going to get angry.

So I didn’t know what Japanese WAS. Like I knew what Chinese was (Small town surrounded by racists? Who would have guessed?) I don’t even think I knew Japanese existed, but any other anime I watched (Sailor moon, Inuyasha, Gundam Wing) most of the characters were white representing or had extremely light skin tones.

So what the heck was 5 year old me supposed to do with beyblade? Which was a show filled with lots of different ethnicities? 5 year old me was obsessed with beyblade, tearing apart every episode I saw, so I gathered: Max=American, Ray=Chinese, Kai=Russian (Because that’s what matched with all their championships, makes sense to a kid right?)

But what WAS Japanese? I dunno? But you know who Tyson looked like?

My chubby native friends.

THAT’S RIGHT

YALL ARE DEBATING BIRACIAL KAI

LITTLE ME THOUGHT TYSON WAS NATIVE FOR YEEEAAAARRRSSSSS.

I’m laughing as I write this, when I learned Japan was indeed a real place, it didn’t dawn on me immediately. It still took finding beyblade online when I was like 11, re-watching it and being like ‘huh’. (Note: Remember when beyblade was on youtube but each episode was like 4 parts? Good times.)

So, on the topic of Kai.

First of all, I need to point something out that I deem obvious, but must be said.

Beyblade (As well as many other shows from long ago (Yugioh, Naruto, Inuyasha, and Sailor moon come to mind), a lot of us latched on to these shows so hard because of trauma or lonely childhoods. Which means a lot of us find our connections to these shows or characters very personal, which is why it’s hard to break headcannons. It’s more than a fandom for us, and any of us who feel this way, are risking their comfort show to involve themselves in the fandom (This is why I believe a lot of beyblade fans don’t interact with fandom, and I go out of my way to warmly welcome all whenever I can)

It needs to be said, that you owe no explanation to anyone, and neither do I, nor do I apologize for my headcannons.

With this being said, I knew eventually the fandom would blow up (as it has many times, over the idea of biracial Kai/ Kai with Russian ancestry/ Japanese Kai), now that it has hit so close to home, I feel the need to validate my decision to make Kai biracial in my two long main fics. However, it needs to be stated, I am not doing this to validate myself, but because I simply want to talk about it, I’m not explaining, or apologizing, simply stating some facts, and how I feel.

For a lot of us, these characters are so personal and we’ve kept them for so long that they’re verging on OC’s, this is NOT YOUR JOB to point out! Although I believe my Kai is very close to canon, there’s many things that aren’t, regardless, myself and many others, still belong to the fandom.

Back to my childhood:

FINALLY DIAL-UP INTERNET!

The first thing I did when I learned how to read and had private access to internet was google ‘Kai Beyblade’, if you asked, I probably would have said a child’s equivalent to ‘“fuck you that’s why”.

I learned his last name was Hiwatari, and man, I thought that was SO COOL. But that wasn’t a Russian name was it? I dived further, I don’t think the beyblade wiki even existed at this point, I think I was reading everything off of wikipedia. What I read was: Kai’s father was Russian and his mother was Japanese. I didn’t think too much of it, I mean, it made sense. It would explain Voltaire’s connection to Russia. Later on I realised it made more sense for Kai’s mother to be Russian since the Hiwatari name is Japanese and would most likely come from his grandfather, and for some reason, I was convinced Susumu was Voltaire’s son. The idea of Voltaire marrying his son off to some Russian heiress made so much sense to me. I never read fics, my ideas were definitely influenced by wiki edits, I had no reason to doubt it, or think any differently, I think a lot of people followed the same footsteps. It’s interesting to think that’s how headcanons became universal back in the day.

I learned the manga existed after a trip to Metrotown Vancouver where I bought every volume they had (3 lmao) (I still haven’t read every volume, and will when I can afford them).

I just always assumed Kai was biracial, IT JUST MADE SENSE. Kai’s family’s deep ties to Russia, the reason why he knew Russian (regardless of the Abbey), his figure compared to Tyson’s in season 1, I had no reason to doubt it, and it seemed the Dub side of the internet agreed!

When I wrote my fanfics at 18-19, 5 (years ago now, wow), I still assumed Kai was biracial. Only recently have I dived into the fandom and got into every side (Sub, Dub, Manga). I learned there’s 3 things Dub/Sub/Manga people will instantly fight over: Kai’s race, character’s names, and their ages.

The reason these three things are so debated is because of the dramatically different storylines/ differences in language versions. The Dub and Sub are two completely different shows when played side by side. I am most familiar with the Dub, as it stays close to my heart, which influences most of my headcanons.

I still headcanon Kai as biracial. We actually don’t know much about his parents, and canon is very loosey goosey. We’re learning more in Rising, but I highly doubt Takao Aoki is going to be like “AND THEN KAI’S MOM WENT TO VISIT HER RUSSIAN FAMILY IS RUSSIA BECAUSE SHE IS RUSSIAN” I’m not going to go into super detail why I think it’s likely that Kai is biracial, but you know what? It doesn’t really matter. This fandom is old, and being from the early 2000’s that means the dub is much different, which means there are MULTIPLE versions of canons. I guarantee you, in every version there is something problematic, and one of the least important ones, is whether or not the fandom white-washes Kai by making him biracial (Maybe full Russia could be an issue, but you know what? Does it really matter?). You know what DOES MATTER. What they did to Eddy, they did that boy dirty.

I mean they LITERALLY white-washed him. LIKE.

Also changing Tyson/ Takao’s skin tone in G-rev/ V-force will forever annoy me; that might be an asian skin whitening thing though, still, problematic.

But anyways, in the end I’m sure the reason why the English fandom so frequently headcanons Kai as biracial is not because of white-washing, but because of the time the Dub was created.

The early 2000’s was an interesting time. Some towns were still stuck in the 90’s, lots of kids had no access to the internet, and when they finally DID, they did not use it wisely. Misinformation was spread easily. Not many people in America read the manga, and very few people watched the Sub.

People like me, young and old, filled in the gaps that were missing.

It’s been 20 YEARS GUYS. A lot has changed. Headcanons that aren’t problematic will stick. As long as it’s not hurting anybody, or anyone else, it’s really not a bad thing.

Our main focus should be to keep the fandom going! We can’t die, we’ve been together too long to die and I refuse to let it happen, where will I get my serotonin from??

Here’s a pic of my love to end it off:

Dumb idiot loser fuckin smiles fucking lunatic.

#ressyfaerie #beyblade thoughts #on the subject of kai biracial headcanons and how they came to be #yall dont forget ive been here for the loooooonnggg ride #i was seeing the wikipedia edits ages ago #the passive aggressive edits were what gave me life

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

for the meet ugly asks, 08 with the ot4 if that’s ok? (the note in the locker one, in case I have the wrong number). rating up to you! :)

Here you go! I went NSFW

Joseph is not missing his chance. Not again.

If he’s keeping count, which he’s certainly not, he’s missed fifty-two chances between fifth grade and now.

Barclay’s family moved next door in the summer of 1951, causing eleven year old Joseph to learn very quickly what it’s like to have someone whose side you never want to leave. Lucky for him, Barclay felt the same way; they were in the same boyscout troop, were each others first choice for sleep overs or outings where they were allowed to take one friend. When they hit high school, Barclay went out for football because Joseph did (and Joseph did because that’s what upstanding young men do). They played together all four years, Barclays growth spurt rendering him doubly dangerous on defense and the dominant source of Joseph’s late-night fantasies. Joseph did debate club alone, but Barclay joined him for chess club. And when Barclay bought his car, his first stop was to take Joseph cruising, just the two of them.

Unluckily, Joseph’s never worked up the nerve to tell Barclay how he feels. This may be why he hasn’t had a date since the spring hop two years ago, while Barclay’s had quite a few (cheerleaders and band boys alike can’t seem to resist his physique and general gentleness).

That all changes today. Joseph slipped a note into Barclays locker right before lunch that conveyed all relevant information.

Dear you,

Drive in on Friday? We can park in the back row.

Love,

Joseph.

He’s sitting in his normal spot on the bench near the cafeteria, doing his best impersonation of someone who’s heart isn’t in his throat.

As he’s scanning the crowd, none other than Duck Newton begins weaving his way over to him, leather jacket reflecting the sun and his black hair combed back as always. Joseph was wary of him for years--as any good square is of kids from the rough side of town--until they got paired together in biology their senior year. Duck, who seems not to give a shit about school the rest of the time, is incredibly good at science. And he’s funny, nearly got them both kept after class for cracking a joke that made Joseph lose his breath laughing.

The problem is, right now he’s waving a very familiar piece of paper.

“Gotta say, I’m pretty fuckin flattered, Joe. But, uh” he leans on the table, smiling playfully, “I gotta make sure ‘Drid is okay with me playin backseat bingo with someone who ain’t him.”

“Um.” Joseph shakes his head, trying not to focus on the idea of Duck holding his head in his lap in the dark corner of the drive in, “I, I’m so sorry. I must have been nervous enough to put the note in the wrong locker. Not, not that you’re not a catch.”

Duck raises his eyebrow, “1650 or 1652?”

“1652.”

“Huh. Well, I got shop class with Barclay. You want me to just give it to him?”

“No.” Joseph holds out his hand.

Duck places the letter in it with a shrug, “Suit yourself, slick. See you later.”

Joseph rips the letter to shreds, tosses it in the trash, and hopes that’s the end of this humiliating error.

It’s not.

“Hello, Joseph.” Indrid Cold rests a shoulder on the locker next to his. There’s no one in Kepler High quite like him; his family moved from California three years ago, which most people use as the explanation for Indrid’s red glasses, crystal necklace, and pale hair that is always a quarter-inch shy of the principal writing him up for it. He’s never struck Joseph as the kind to fight, but he did mistakenly proposition his boyfriend three hours ago.

“Indrid. How can I help you?”

The taller boy hands him a folded slip of notebook paper, “By taking me up on this invitation.”

Before Joseph can ask any questions, Indrid is disappearing down the hall. The paper contains a hand drawn map to an X, under which is the word “Bash” but nothing else. Joseph has never been invited to any kind of party that needed a secret map. He mostly just gets invited to get togethers because he’s the captain of the football team. No one talks to him once he’s there. Well, except Barclay.

He stares at the map; he doesn’t have to be home until ten. He’s never going to get a chance to make the scene like this again.

Joseph shuts his locker and hurries to his car.

------------------------------------------------------

Indrid’s remarkably accurate map leads him to a dirt parking lot beneath the sign for Amnesty Point. As he follows the signs for the “beach house,” a Coaster’s song drifts through the air, underscored by splashes from the lake to his right. He’s deep in the woods on the wrong side of the tracks, but even so he’s unprepared for how everyone lounging around the weathered picnic tables on a shaded patio stops talking and stares at him.

“Who the fuck invited the square?” Someone whispers, making him wish he hadn’t left the map in the car.

“Joseph?”

He turns so fast the gravel flies. Barclay, clad in a grease-stained apron, is smiling so bright it evaporates his nervousness.

“Hi, big guy.”

His friend hoists him in a hug, “I’m so glad you’re here, Indrid said he invited you but I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“He piqued my curiosity. Um, is this the new job you were so cagey about?”

“Yep. Mama--she runs this place--pays real well, but tries to keep Amnesty Point kinda secret. Cops just love busting places like this up for no reason.”

Joseph nods, still a little hurt Barclay didn’t trust him enough to share where he worked. His friend must notice the dip in his smile before he hides it, because he adds, “It’s gonna be even better working here now that you know where to find me. Listen, um, I gotta get back before Jake sets something on fire, but the burger stand closes at eight. I’ll come find you after that. Duck and Indrid are down by the dock, if you want company.”

He absolutely does, since the alternative is looking even more out of place by being the only person here alone.

When he hits the grey sand, Duck is just pulling himself back onto dry land. The half moon scars on his chest are the only reminders of the trip he took to San Francisco last summer.

“Glad you showed up, slick. Day like this, the water is the only nice place to be.”

“I wish I’d known, I would have brought my swim shorts.” Maybe if he rolls up his pant legs he can get some relief from the heat…

“Could just go in your boxers. I won’t tell.” Duck winks.

“Nothing is also allowed.” Indrid lilts, floating past on his back.

Joseph looks at him, then at the planks of the dock because Indrid is also demonstrating that second option without a care.

Duck snickers, “sugar, put somethin on, you’re scandalizin’ the poor guy.”

“Very well. But I demand help with the sunblock in payment for quashing my self-expression this way.”

“You’re soundin like your pops there, ‘Drid.”

“....ugh, you’re right.” A splash and the soft fwup of a towel, “alright, Joseph, I’m decent.” He is, but his swim shorts leave very little to the imagination. Joseph stares a moment too long, notices Duck smirking when he looks away.

The greaser holds out a bottle of sunblock and they get to work.

“Goddamn, this wouldn’t take so long if you weren’t so fuckin long everywhere.”

“You’ve never complained about that before.” Indrid grins, red sunglasses hiding his eyes. He doesn’t lift a finger to help them, but Duck seems to get a kick from it. Joseph wonders if he spoils Indrid like this in everything they do. If Indrid ever does it back.

(If either of them would do it for him).

They spend the evening talking, Duck skipping stones and Indrid sunning himself while Joseph dangles his legs in the water. When they get back to the beach house Joseph receives fewer stares, Duck and Indrid’s company substituting for cool. He and Duck get a real dinner, but Indrid opts to down three Cokes in place of a meal.

When Barclay closes up shop, he’s immediately at Joseph’s side. Joseph is about to suggest they all go for a walk when Indrid winks at Barclay and steers Duck towards the trees with a promise to see Joseph at school tomorrow.

“You get on okay while I was working?” Barclay starts them on a path towards the edge of the point.

“I did. It was actually really nice just to spend time talking with people who like me. Or at least don’t hate me enough to shove me in the water fully clothed.”

“Nah, they’re not those kind of guys. Hell, it was their idea to invite you here. I was, uh, I was too shy.”

He stops, turning to face Barclay, “what do mean?”

“Duck told me about the note.”

“Oh lord.”

“Not on purpose, he just mentioned he’d seen you and when I asked how you were doing, well, you know he can’t lie for shit. So Indrid suggested we invite you out here.”

“Out of pity?”

“No.” Barclay frowns, sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “Joseph, why didn’t you just ask me out in person?”

“I was too nervous. I thought it might ruin everything.”

“Not a chance, blue eyes.” Barclay rumbles. Then he’s kissing him, gentle and slow, whimpering when Joseph kisses back and cups his face. When they part, he’s certain there’s nothing but air under his feet.

“Can we do that again?”

“Not tonight. Your curfew is still ten.”

“Shit, you’re right, if I don’t get on the road I’ll be late.”

“Lemme walk you to your car. I gotta hang around since I’m Indrid and Duck’s ride home tonight.”

“Do you want to go get them so we can all leave together?”

Barclay chuckles, tips his head towards the woods where a faint, rhythmic grunting cane be heard.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, not gonna ruin their fun.” He pulls Joseph into a much more heated kiss, then sighs, “get home safe, blue eyes.”

---------------------------------------------------------

Joseph suffered through both the personal hygiene class at school and his father’s lecture on what to expect now that he was truly a man. But nothing in either of those taught him what to do if he’s so hot under the collar he can’t focus but the guy who’s causing it won’t just fuck him.

He and Barclay have gone out every Friday for the last month, steaming up the car windows with their kissing sessions. They tried to work out who was supposed to give who their varsity jacket and settled on just trading, Joseph smiling whenever he spots Barclays name on his back. And Barclay tells everyone Joseph is his boyfriend with a level of pride he never gave their state football wins.

But he won’t go all the way with him. One Sunday afternoon they were listening to records in Barclays room when the larger boy rolled across the rug to straddle Joseph. His hands were hot and a little rough on his cock, Joseph moaning into his mouth as he came in under a minute. Before he could reciprocate, the front door banged open, announcing the return of Barclay’s parents. His boyfriend told him not to worry about it and kissed him on the cheek.

He’s worried Barclay loves him but doesn’t want him. He’s worried that if he ever does, Joseph will embarrass himself, be so inexperienced and inelegant he’ll turn him off forever. He wonders if he can entice Barclay to ask him to fuck so he doesn’t have to admit the embarssing intensity of his desire.

“Duck? Do you, um, do you think I’d look better if I dressed like you?”

The greaser looks up from his notes, “Maybe? I mean, I dress like this because I dig it. You wanna try it, go wild.”

Joseph nods, intending to drop it. Instead, he slows his stride by Duck during their laps in gym.

“It’s just, I’m worried I’m too square for anyone to be really into me.”

“Joe, what the fuck is this about?”

“Newton, I heard that! That’s an extra lap.”

“Son of uh, hold on, are you worried about Barclay? Because he’s so into your goody-goody thing I’m surprised he ain’t asked you to fuck him with your report card.”

“Stern, you’re done, get off the track!”

He jogs to the bleachers, Duck’s words rattling around long after he’s hit the locker room.

“You’re really worried about this, ain’t you? You’re smart, slick, but I swear sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” Duck is behind him, still in his gym clothes while Joseph is half changed out of them. They’re both dawdling, the locker room empty save for some other stragglers near the bathroom.

“Duck, if I were in high demand, I’d be getting more, um, attention than I-”

His sentence is cut short by Duck yanking him down into a kiss, lips salty with sweat and so demanding Joseph wants to get on his knees.

Duck pulls back, pats his cheek, “Like I said; right in front of you.”

With that he waves and leaves the room the back way. Joseph can’t even be mad for cutting school; right now, he’s almost ready to follow him.

-------------------------------------------------

“I really must thank you again.” Indrid clears the low table of his math notes, “my focus is such that I struggle with math much more than I’d like. Having someone sit and walk me through it in a calm setting helps a great deal.”

“I’m always happy. Barclay can too, if you ever can’t get a hold of me.”

“Oh, I know he can. He helped me last year.” Indrid stretches his legs; they’re on the floor of his VW Westfalia. His parents let him live in it on the property behind their one-story house as long as he continues to be a cooperative member of the household.

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was only a few times, though he often lingered when we were through.” Indrid’s emphasis makes Joseph blush.

“Duck and I weren’t going steady yet. And my cocksucking skills are not the stuff of legend for nothing.” Indrid smiles, dreamily.

“Oh. Um.” Joseph shifts his notebook into his lap.

Indrid sits up straighter, “I apologize. I, ah, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not sure that’s what this is.”

Indrid cocks his head, “No? Envy perhaps? After all, you’ve had years to dream about him, to hope you’d be the first, and here comes a skinny little freak from the coast to beat you to it.”

“You’re not a freak” Joseph says softly, “I, I can’t say I blame Barclay for taking you up on it.”

“He does have excellent taste” Indrid looks pointedly over his glasses at him. The heat under his skin doubles as Indrid crawls forward, “you know, Duck and I have an...understanding. But if you and Barclay do not, I can stop. I mean, I can stop regardless, if you don’t want this.” He lowers to his belly between Joseph’s legs, nuzzles his fly with a hum.

“I, I--ohlord” He moans when Indrid mouths at his slacks; he’s getting hard, if he had his way he’d lay down and let Indrid suck him off until he came on his glasses. But he knows he won’t enjoy it if he isn’t sure how Barclay feels.

“I, we should stop. Please.”

Indrid sits up, smiling, “Of course. Would you like to stay for dinner? My mother is making fish stew instead of tofu salad for once.”

“...I’d love to.”

---------------------------------------------

“I didn’t know Amnesty owned all this.” Joseph let’s Barclay guide him through the trees.

“Yeah, Mama’s family bought it years ago and she’s hung onto it through some seriously nasty shit. Hah, there they are.” Barclay waves to Duck and Indrid, resting against each other on a massive, checkered blanket. His boyfriend sets the picnic basket down and then, confusingly, turns off the lantern Duck brought.

“Okay, baby, there’s something I’ve got to ask” Barclay looks at him, “do you think I don’t wanna make it with you?”

“Truthfully? Yes. You, you’ve barely gone beyond some heavy petting, meanwhile Indrid was offering to blow me.” He slaps a hand over his mouth; there go all three of these relationships.

Barclay shrugs, “He told me about that.”

“Honesty is important. Most of the time.” Indrid grins.

“Blue eyes, I’m crazy about you. I’ve just been going slow because I was afraid I’d stress you out. I know how you get, Joseph. You put so much pressure on yourself to do everything right, I was worried you’d try so hard to be perfect for me that you wouldn’t enjoy it at all.”

Joseph stares into deep brown eyes, eyes he’s loved since he was a boy. Then he laughs softly, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder, “You really do know me well, you know that.”

“Oh, oh baby” Barclay holds him closer, “you really think there was a way of touching me that’d disappoint me? Fuck, just getting to kiss you makes me the happiest guy in the state.”

“That being said” Duck drawls, “aint there somethin about practice makin perfect?”

“I, are, is this really what you three want?”

“Yes” Indrid nods, “but if you don’t, well, we shall never speak of it again.”

“I do. Sweet fucking christ I do.” He kisses Barclay ferociously as the other two scoot closer.

“Hmm, I believe we should let seniority decide. Barclay, what’s your preference?”

His boyfriend pulls back, kissing his jaw, “Do you wanna blow me, blue eyes?”

“So badly.”

“That settles that. Duck, what about--ah, I see you’re already taking off your pants, so I guess you’re fucking hm. He’s fucking you? Ah, semantics.” Indrid waves his hand dismissively.

“Wait, does, do we have a rubber?”

Duck pulls one from his wallet, “never leave to see this one without one. I know how he is.”

Indrid pecks his cheek, then grins, “I believe, Joseph, that leaves me to help you with your hand jobs.”

“Fuck, yes.”

“On your back, baby.” Barclays nudges him and he falls onto the blanket. For a moment only the trees and stars look down on him; then Barclays face fills his vision as his hands open his fly and guide his cock out.

“AHshit, shit that’s good.” He bucks as his boyfriend jerks him off steadily, his cock standing at attention in a matter of seconds.

“Okay big fella, you go get your dick sucked.” Duck straddles him. He’s down to only his undershirt, his muscular thighs, soft belly, and strong arms on full displays as he rolls the condom down.

“You’re so handsome” Joseph sighs.

Duck seems to blush, “Thanks, slick. Not bad yourself.”

“I mean it, really, you’re incredible” he paws his legs, grabs his shirt and pulls him down into the kiss. Duck giggles into his mouth, then sinks down onto his cock. Joseph decides he is never, never letting go of the man above him; his weight is so comforting, his body so perfect, the way his laughs morph into moans so charming.

“G-great thing about this position” Duck gasps, “is you don’t gotta do much besides let me ride you. That’s why it’s ‘Drid’s favorite.”

“Second favorite; you on my face is my first. Speaking of which” he kneels, gently lifts Joseph’s head into his hands while Barclay sits cross-legged on the other side of his head. His cock is thick and long, so mouthwatering Joseph opens his mouth without being told.

“Fuck, baby, wanted this so long.” Barclay guides his cock between his lips when Indrid turns his head. The skinnier man keeps supporting him as his tongue registers skin, sweat, Barclay and he whines for more.

“Easy, blue eyes, fuck, you’re doing great.”

“I’ll say. Fuck, can’t believe you been keepin this dick all to yourself, Joe.”

“I got my haAAnds on it once.”

“Clearly you should have done it more” Indrid purrs, hips moving slightly, “as soon as someone plays with it, he sucks cock very nicely.”

“No fuckin kiddin. Baby, baby, yeah, suck like that.”

Indrid shifts behind him, “Barclay, hold him a moment, there’s been a change of plans.” A zipper goes as Barclay cradles him. Then Indrid’s fingers are back, turning him to face a second, narrower cock.

“Handjobs can wait.” Indrid pulls him forward, moaning high when he sucks the head, “oooh, yes, that’s it.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna fuckin combust watchin you do that.” Duck bounces more deliberately and Joseph yelps joyfully around Indrid’s cock. He’s already close to cumming, the feeling of Duck around him and Indrid inside him flooding the rest of him with pleasure.

Indrid pulls his head back, starts to turn him towards Barclays, when it punches through him. He moans, pushes up into Duck as the shorter man laughs.

“I, I came first, I’m sorry, this is one of the things-”

“Shush” Barclay helps him up as Duck climbs of him, “that was fucking incredible, and you’re not done yet.”

“On your knees, facing us. Unless, sweetheart, do you-”

Duck’s hand is already between his legs, “I’m gonna enjoy the show.”

“Mmm, which means I get to enjoy you enjoying it. Barclay, turn slightly, like this.”

“Why, oh, oh I got it, fuck, you’re a fucking genius.”

Joseph agrees, though he’s going a bit cross-eyed. So he closes them, lets first Indrid and then Barclay press their cock into his mouth. It’s a stretch, his jaw aching instantly, but it’s the best he’s ever felt. They can’t push more than the heads in, so he concentrates on sucking and licking, pre-cum collecting on his tongue and spit seeping down his chin. Duck grunts behind him, offering running commentary on Indrid’s appearance and Joseph's voice. Barclay shoves both hands into his hair while Indrid keeps one on his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, Joseph, baby, this is fucking aces, gonna paint your whole fucking stomach white.”

“Ahnnn, agreed” Indrid pants, “your mouth was made for this, ohyes, that’s it, mmm, this is even better, feeling your cock against mine dearest, oh, oh” Indrid cums, bitterness hitting his tongue, and when he tries to swallow he gasps and gags instead.

“Fuck” Barclay grunts and then another burst of cum fills his mouth. He gasps for air as they pull out, sending some down his chin. He wipes ineffectively at it with the back of his hand.

“Here” Duck, underwear back on, cleans his lips with a napkin.

“Th-thank you.”

“Of course.” Duck kisses him as Indrid flops on his belly and Barclay curls his arms around Joseph.

“Gotta say, blue eyes, don’t think you got anything to worry about when it comes to making it good for me. Or, uh, us.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Joseph rests against him, then jolts up, “shit, what time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Shit!”

“Don’t worry” Indrid nestles next to his knees, “we’ll say I had car trouble and you two came to my aid.”

Joseph relaxes back among his boyfriends, “Good call. Just, um, don’t let Duck talk?”

“Only if I get an extra kiss for keepin my mouth shut.”

“Deal.”

#OT4: Government Men and There Cryptid Boyfriends #Indruck #agent stern/duck newton #sternclay #50s au #inclay #meet ugly #reader request #trans duck newton

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