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frankcastlescumslut · 3 years ago

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On The Sea - Chapter Seven: On the Sea

You wonder if Frank can smell the putrid scent, turning his nose in disgust at your selfishness. The monthly visits comforted you, not her; they licked your wounds, not hers. Had you sentenced her to greet the fate of her father, marked by a kiss on the cheek? Was it you that doomed her from conception, fueled by self absorbed motives to resuscitate a corpse? Perhaps you deserved the throbbing pain from the bullet sized wound in your skull.

summary: It was a confession, and you didn’t bite your tongue. Whether you knew it or not, the desires of your heart were laid at his feet, and the dragon held its breath.

warnings: ANGST, fighting, tiny tiny violence (Miss Honey shoves Frank while she’s upset), fluff towards the end, lots of religious imagery

A/N: hiiii please don’t hate me for this chapter… it hurts me. this chapter/whole fic is based off of THIS SONG, so feel free to listen if you would like to get the full effect :) (honorable mention)

REBLOGS/FEEDBACK/COMMENTS/LIKES are literally so appreciated- I always look forward to what you guys think, and I live for your theories. thank you to anyone who takes the time to read and interact!!

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

Droplets of blood from your split knuckles splatter against the floor, seeping into the cracks that paint your path towards escape. Towards relief.

It was ridiculous, actually- the position you found yourself in. Mythical monsters, bleached bones of clanking skeletons, ghosts and corpses of dead men surrounding you in your anguish, pointing rotten fingers in your direction and barking laughs at your misfortune. Was it karma? Or maybe a punishable debt?

There was no definitive answer. No legitimate explanation to soften the blow from shitty cards slicing invisible cuts in the small space between each rib- one uneven, infected gnash just below the abdomen and right above the fleshy mons. There was just you, a shell of a woman, worn from anger that could be traced back to each helix of your genetic makeup, running from your penance.

You would run if you could- stretching each fiber of muscle past its potential, towards the innocent lamb being fattened for slaughter as each second ticks towards the right, teasing you with the sound of vibrating sheers. The searing burn of your lungs would act as an antidote for the chunks of missing flesh from your heart, a dragon’s tooth lodged between atriums.

You can’t breathe; the air becomes weighted and chalky as the falling ash collects in your throat, your home succumbing to the dragon’s flames as it hurls fire from the chasm of its long neck. It laughs from behind the frame of a once sturdy man, now slacking under the pressure of colliding worlds, as your desperate attempts to disrupt a blood sacrifice fail.

The doorknob burns the palm of your hand.

“You tracked my car.” The realization causes your spare hand to feel empty, missing the feel of weighted keys. Your attention had been so diverted between the shock of your fortress crumbling and waves crashing into your chest that you hadn’t realized you were essentially ripped away from your seclusion, your fantasy, with no life vest in sight.

“You tracked my car.” Frank cowers beneath your intense stare as he emerges from the opening of the hallway, unwilling to meet your eye, studying the red liquid that drips from your fingertips. Your nostrils flare at his silent answer, unwilling to accept his cowardice.

Erosion would feel better than this- a slow, gradual process of purification, revealing the vasculature of your heart, stuffed with plaque. Instead, you were falling backwards, watching the rippling waves grow further apart as your body disappears into the darkness between tectonic plates- your skin bubbling and melting as the boiling springs welcome you.

A half empty glass that sat atop the kitchen island became victim to your rage, exploding against a cabinet door like the salty spray of a wave crashing into molten stone.

Shards of glass fight through layers of scarred skin and strained muscles in search of Frank’s engorged heart as he watches you pace through the living room, fear and panic oozing from your wounds.

God, he wanted you- wanted nothing more than to interrupt your valiant march, to shield you from the falling pieces of rubble that cracked and crumbled from the groaning ceiling. His heart thumped against his sternum, wishing to rip through its cage and find a new home in your barren womb, stitching together the jagged flesh in the process.

The walls inch closer to you, forcing the dragon and the man to shuffle forwards, the chain around his ankles clinking together like brittle, calcified remains. You could feel your bones stretch under the pressure, forcing you to chip away at the cement that plastered your frame. The fabric that clothed you left indentations of thick threads as it dug into your skin while you expanded, your spine eventually resting against the ceiling.

Your lungs contracted in your attempt to grow smaller, but the flesh of your throat burned with each sob. It felt as if a spotlight flooded your senses, the failures of protecting your daughter searing into your skin with each ray of artificial light reflecting off of your gilded shell.

Splinters of wood pierce your feet as the floor crumbles beneath your stride; you miss the way Frank holds the air in his lungs as the dragon stumbles.

He watches through wet, heavy lashes, trying to balance the scales between his head and heart, fighting each organ as he stretches himself in two- one part desperate to touch you, the other afraid of encroaching upon your purge.

His ears ring as your chest heaves, mucus and sticky membranes shaking with each panicked cough, while breathy sobs fill the room. Regret weighs heavy on his shoulders, causing him to slump forward, the reality of his paranoia and miscalculation on full display as panic ripples off of your shaking body.

The rattling of chains that adorned Frank’s ankles pierced through the delicate skin surrounding your eardrums, interrupting the way you welcomed the burning water that rushed through your nose and filtered through the branches of your lungs.

“I’m a good mom.” You lie to yourself through swollen lips, your face hardening underneath the feeble attempt to convince not only yourself, but the childless Father that remained shackled to your storm.

“I know.”

“I had to leave. I had no choice. They would have killed her, or me.”

“I know.” His voice is gentle, laced with sincerity, fully understanding of your sins, and yet it feels as if his heel dug into the sopping wound that marks your crossed feet.

“I see her. Every month,” you have to emphasize the frequency of your betrayals, but you aren’t sure if it’s a wet tongue to your wounds or isopropyl alcohol cleaning the guilt. “She knows who I am. Her first word was ‘dada’.” The memory stings. “It was ‘dada’.” You don’t even process the way your teeth latch onto the skin below your lip as you nod absentmindedly, entranced by the sting of remembrance.

Although he wasn’t there, he remembers; he remembers that familiar swelling in his chest all too well. The balloon that just kept growing- inflating as soon as crossed lines on a little stick spelled his last name, when the fuzzy grey picture painted his future, when his little girl called for him for the first time, collapsing into his arms after three wobbly steps. It never deflated, even when their bodies did.

“Her dad is dead, and that was her first word. Isn’t that funny?” A single tear falls from your lashes and ricochets off of your cheek as you acknowledge Frank’s presence, the sound of shackles dragging against the wooden floor peeling your consciousness away from your solitude.

“Her dad is dead,” you repeat yourself, although you aren’t sure why. Maybe saying it out loud would make it real, somehow- as if the wallowing fog that blanketed your heart didn’t exist. “And she says ‘dada’.”

His organs felt pulverized; completely indistinguishable as your pain spilled and bounced off of your cheeks, landing in droplets at his feet. The familiar strain of heartstrings tugging against the pumping flesh, the exertion they had felt three times too many, began controlling his ligaments- unable to stop the hand that reached for you.

“It’s gonna be okay,” his voice croaked, weak from silence. He believed himself; he believed it would be okay, somehow, eventually- but his comfort fell short, and rightfully so.

“How? How is it going to be okay?” The large hand that intruded your space fell against his body with ease as you pushed the comfort away.

The battered floorboards weep under your stride, the circular markings of identification practically molded into the wood.

Frank notes the way the apartment teeters in the short lived silence, bracing himself for whatever wave you would throw towards him- ready to welcome your storm.

“You know they do safety procedures? In school?” You watch the way your feet melt into the floor like wet, heavy sand, suctioning you in place to stare at the brown eyed man. “Safety procedures,” you start, swallowing the sadness. “Like, ‘what’s your address?’, ‘who do you call in an emergency?’, ‘what’s your mom’s phone number?’” Your thighs ache as your heavy hands land against them in defeat.

“What am I supposed to say?” He doesn’t know. “Which one do I teach her?” He isn’t sure. “Which fucking burner number do I tell her?” A barstool clatters to the ground in response, hardly standing a chance against the sole of your foot.

“And how about,” you huff, swiping whatever empty envelopes and discarded magazines off the kitchen island. “How about, ‘what’s your mom’s name?’“ The laugh that leaves your throat comes out like billows of cotton, regurgitated from the depths of your womb.

“What a fucking joke.” Porcelain shatters against the floor, reminiscent of the organ that resides in your chest.

A part of you is envious of the plate. Pieces of uneven glass could fit together again, sealed with gold, turned into a gilded imperfection, and yet, you couldn’t. You didn’t fit anywhere. No matter how hard you tried, how desperately you wanted to believe, nothing would fit against you except for a disfigured seed that latched to your roots, begging to be watered.

“How am I supposed to have a kid, right?” You’re not sure who you’re talking to- the ghost of a man, or the rotten corpse. “How am I supposed to have a kid when she can’t even know my real name? What,” Frank catches your swollen eyes for a brief second as your body slackens ever so slightly. “Is she supposed to call me Honey? Call you fuckin’ Pete?’” Your arms fly in his direction at your confession, dropping with defeat.

It was a confession, and you didn’t bite your tongue. Whether you knew it or not, the desires of your heart were laid at his feet, and the dragon held its breath.

He wasn’t sure if he heard you properly- had you hinted at the possibility of introducing him to a part of your world that remained untouched- sinless and pure? A part that had been stored away in some glass box, just out of reach? Was there a part of you that longed to weave and intertwine a pulsing cord with his snagged thread?

The answer was yes, of course. It was an easy answer; one that came to you faster than you’d care to admit, but nonetheless, it was still true. It was still true that you would split yourself into two currents if it meant he would at least be caught in one.

“I can’t-“ a sob gets lodged in your throat and your shoulders shrug in defeat. “I don’t know how to do that.” Do what? “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be a mom like that, Frank.”

Hypothetical scenarios flicker through your senses, nailing your feet to the cross you carved for your sacrificial lamb. Would she have the opportunity to go to school, to memorize integral information, to truly know you? Would your lamb be fattened by wool or gashed and smeared above doorframes?

“You don’t have to know.” Your grief transmuted into waves of anger as Frank spoke carefully, prying the soles of your feet from rusted nails.

“Yeah? Then what?” Did he truly believe you would be so reckless to not have every detail of her life calculated? Your vision blurred, the rods and cones in your retina turning everything red. “She gets killed? They find her at a park and kill her?”

Frank’s body stiffens. The shackles around his ankles freeze over, unlatching on their own and falling to the floor with a clatter.

The gasp that left your lips and the slap of your palm cupping your mouth reverberated throughout the apartment, bouncing off of cracked stucco and cement.

This was it. This was the moment you had prepared for. This was the piece of flimsy plastic that managed to pierce through ligaments and nerve endings of a humped beast.

It wasn’t that you welcomed the end, per se, but it was inevitable- wasn’t it? There was no happy ending for you- not that you particularly deserved one, anyhow. Happy endings existed in works of fiction where dragons were slain instead of being fed by the protagonist, each wave of guilt and shame acting as fuel for its giant body.

You hope that Frank would do you the honor of smashing tectonic plates together, your melting body lodged between. Yet even in your selfishness, you knew that you fucked up. You drew a line in dry sand and leapt over it, throwing a stone somewhere behind your head.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry,” you start, regret pooling on your waterline. “I shouldn’t- I didn’t-“

“No, you’re right.” His voice was even, cutting a vertical line from your navel to the bottom of your sternum.

“No. No, that was too-“ The apartment grows dark as your eyelids squeeze shut, wincing as the vertical line splits into two opposing diagonal lines, ending at your collarbones.

“I understand.” He peels back the delicate skin, exposing your deformed heart that pounds behind a calcified cage, your nose and mouth completely smothered as the flap of flesh drapes over your face.

It’s suffocating; your scent travels through your nostrils, burning the tiny hairs that have the displeasure of staking you to reality. None of it makes sense- why isn’t he shoving the sawed off barrel of gun into your forehead, reminding you your debt is due? Why isn’t he kissing your cheek in exchange for some coins, watching as your body hangs from a meat hook? Why isn’t he-

“God damnit.” He hardly catches your defeat as you whisper to yourself. “God damnit!” A rush of wind collides with him as you turn your back, cyclonic waves forming in your wake.

If walls could talk, they would laugh in unison at your current state.

Frank watches the way your body disappears under the weight of toppling waves, your fingers laced through the roots of your hair, tugging and pulling to feel something- anything else. The ligaments and tendons stretch and pull as he flexes his fingers and toes, swallowing back the urge to breathe life into your lungs.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just doesn’t know how. He’s a man that acts first and thinks later, making amends with the consequences when it was most convenient, but now? Now he was the water that filled your lungs. He was the pressure against your chest that caused your eyes to bulge, peeling the lids back while you watched helplessly as your daughter’s body became decorated with bullet-sized holes.

Your hands blur as they loosen at the joints of your wrist, mimicking the sounds of a hummingbird’s wings as they flap against your side. The futile attempt to rewire your short circuiting brain had only deepened your frustrations.

“Be mad!” Frank appeared as a glimmering light in front of you, apparent even as your eyes rolled back like a shark’s, failing to cease its attack. “Be mad at me!” Your wrists pinch uncomfortably as you shove your palms into his sturdy chest.

He would take it- take anything from you, especially this- especially the way your self hatred seeped from your pores and clogged his.

“Tell me I’m a bad person!” You grunt into the force. “Tell me I’m a bad mom!” You aren’t. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit for abandoning my daughter!” You aren’t. “Tell me I’m the most selfish person you’ve ever met!” You aren’t.

The brute force of your emotions couldn’t move the broken man, no matter how hard your clenched fists fell against his chest. The only sign of life came from furrowed brows and brown eyes that scanned over your storms. His heartbeat was a thready pulse, and you fought to resuscitate him.

“Tell me you hate me for giving up! Tell me you hate me because it wasn’t a hard choice!” The back of your throat burns as you gasp, inhaling thick, black smoke. “Tell me you hate me for making a choice that you didn’t have!”

The apartment walls crumble as you cry out, and the hot tears that spill from your lashes join the rising waters that hide your ankles.

It hurt; the way your heart had been split in multiple pieces- rotting away in a buried brine, resting in the sticky palm of a toddler, thrumming in the musculature of a burdened man- everything hurt. It hurt, and yet you still tried your hand at sewing, welcoming the pain of pin pricks. You had done your best to thread alternating fabrics and textiles to pull the pieces in a way that resembled an organ, but Frank’s material always had a funny way of bunching together and splaying into four individual pieces.

This is what you had been preparing for all along, you think. You waited for the day that Frank would unearth your biggest failure- abandoning the innocent lamb as it stared at the fallen shepherd's staff, and turn his back towards you in repayment. The choice you made slept peacefully under a soft blanket and the rotation of a mobile, while his choices laid six feet below the ground, blanketed under wet soil.

“Tell me you hate me and never want to see me again!” Salty tears fall from his eyes as your fists meet his chest, joining the flooding water that kisses the back of your knees.

He would let you hit him over and over and over and over if it meant he could absorb your pain, but this was entirely different. This wasn’t pain, this was agony.

“Tell me-“ your neck strains as you look towards the ceiling, sucking air through a small hole in your trachea. Tears burn trails into your cheeks as you sob. “Tell me you hate me!” The muscles of your neck relax as you find his sympathetic gaze.

Water splashes around your body as his heel crashes into the back of your knee, sending you falling towards the vastness.

You’re drenched in sadness.

Regret.

Guilt.

Shame.

Anguish.

You’re suffocating underneath the weight of your decisions and the muscular arms that surround you, cradling you as the currents pound into your fragile frame.

“Tell me you hate me!” You beg him, watching through blurred vision as the dragon hurls fire in your direction.

“I love you.” He doesn’t wince as flames lick his back.

“Tell me you hate me!” Sobs wrack through your body as you scan his face, apologizing with each breathy inhale.

“I love you.”

“Tell me you hate me.”

“I love you.” A hand cups your face, and your cheeks cool as his thumb wipes at the emotion.

“Tell me you hate me.” It leaves as a hiccup, halted by the

gentle touch of lips pressing into your head.

“I love you.”

“Tell me-“ You aren’t sure if you’re pleading with the man that rocks you on the floor of your living room or the toddler that sleeps with a stuffed lamb, miles away.

“I love you.”

He means it. He loves you with every fiber of his being and every extension of himself- every alias, title, nickname- it doesn’t matter. The love he has for you holds no earthly obligations or regulation; it could not be stopped by the promise and finality of death, but it can break his heart in a new way- and it does.

Maybe it was selfish of him to wonder how much of you he hadn’t experienced yet. How many pieces of cubed flesh had you hidden away due to selfless acts of love, and how did he miss the sweet scent of laundry detergent, formulated for sensitive skin? Had he overlooked the dried stains of pureed food and the acidic smell of dried vomit that lingered on your clothes? Were the declarations of love in your worn out journal for someone whose molars peeked beneath squishy gums?

The realization smacks against his scorched back like a heavy wave, steam hissing and billowing around his silhouette as he hunches over your incapacitated body, rocking back and forth as the tide ebbs and flows.

“I love you.” The neckline of Frank’s cotton shirt sticks to his skin as your tears soak the fabric, heeding his affections.

There aren’t enough words in the English language for you to use that would justify your dishonesty, you know that. You withheld a piece of your heart to spare the childless Father, effectively minimizing the risk of the dragon’s head multiplying. Still, you returned once a month, growing smaller and smaller in the process, pushing through for him and for her.

His heart breaks, anyways, and he doesn’t expect to see himself when he looks down into his lap- like some circular, empty shell that waits to become a home. The familiar grief, that gnawing little monster that feasts on pulsing organs- it festers and permeates, floating from one graveyard to another.

You fold in half, wishing to disappear and be swept away by a forceful tide, hiccuping into each rock of Frank’s melodic flow.

“C’mon sweetheart, breathe for me.” He knows he’s probably suffocating you as you burrow into him, but it was the only way he could ensure you wouldn’t slip from his grasp, even though you were a finely granulated speck of sand.

As much as it hurt, as much as you rejected the idea of being worthy of love and tenderness, you couldn’t help but melt into him, relaxing into his secure hold.

“There you go, just breathe.” His voice acts as an anchor, fastening you to the ocean floor as bubbles escape from your nostrils, floating to the surface in search of relief.

chapter eight

A/N: so…. what are we thinking…. were you correct about what the dragon symbolizes? how are we feeling? the next chapter will be a lot better<3

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #frank castle angst #frank castle on the sea #on the sea #frank castle hurt/comfort #the punisher x female reader #the punisher angst #the punisher series #the punisher fanfiction

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yurimother · 4 years ago

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The Best Yuri of 2020

2020 was hell in every way, and many of us are looking forward to new possibilities and advances in 2021. However, the year brought us many small moments and gifts worth celebrating. Among these, the explosive growth and change within the Yuri genre are among the most precious and most outstanding achievements. This second century of Yuri opened with a bang, as phenomenal new works, creators, and moments made their mark and helped change the future genre.

This annual list is a celebration of just a handful of the fantastic titles, people, and events in Yuri. There are likely some even greater ones that did not make the list because there is so much content in both English and Japanese that even I cannot keep up. However, among the troves of treasure, these titles stood out as shining examples of Yuri excellence. Some were released this year, others were recently adapted into English, and still, others are established titles that rose to prominence to dominate the conversation and my mind this year, but every one of them is worthy of being on this list and in your heart.

Here is the Best Yuri of 2020!

15: The Curse of Kudan Remastered

Japanese Yuri visual novel developers show no sign of slowing down as they continue to push to new heights and try new ideas. These are the same amazing people who brought us the delightful educational Yuri game The Expression Amrilato and the hilarious and surprisingly queer OshiRabu: Waifus Over Husbando’s. However, this most recent release, The Curse of Kudan Remastered, is their best work yet. Released near Halloween, this game brings a new edge of dark mystery and the occult to Yuri audiences worldwide.

The Curse of Kudan is available on MangaGamer, JAST USA, Denpasoft, and Sekai Project.

14: Adachi and Shimamura

English audiences were finally treated this year to Hitoma Iruma’s long-running and wildly successful Yuri light novel series, Adachi and Shimamura. Although the story struggles to gain traction, dedicated readers’ have their patience rewarded with a sweet tale full of gay pining. Alternatively, you can jump into its stellar anime adaptation, with gorgeous visuals and realized characters you will actually be willing to put up with the annoying Yashiro just to see where the title characters go. The series shows no sign of slowing down either, as the manga adaptation is coming to Western audiences next year.

Adachi and Shimamura is available to stream on Funimation. The light novel series is published by Seven Seas - https://amzn.to/3rTSZTK

Honorable Mention: Happy Go Lucky Days

The OVA adaptation of Fragtime got most of the attention this year. Still, director Takuya Satou and Pony Canyon also gave us this much-overlooked “love is love” anthology movie based on Takako Shimura’s manga (Sweet Blue Flowers, Wandering Son). The first short in the film, “Happy,” is easily the best Yuri anime of the year. It follows the beautiful yet realistic queer love story of two women hooking up at a mutual ex-girlfriend’s wedding, only for the relationship to blossom and warm viewers’ hearts. Sadly, while stylized, the budget demanded the animation cut a few too many corners. Additionally, the subsequent stories are at best tedious and at worst alarmingly problematic, which is why Happy Go Lucky Days only gets an honorable mention.

The OVA is streaming on HIDIVE

13: Mieri Hiranishi

The Yuri scene has many colorful creators with a breadth of different ideas and stories in the genre, yet few have provided as much humor and joy as Mieri. This talented creator spectacularly tumbled into the scene with her manga essay The Moment I Realized I Wasn’t Straight, which embodies the brutal honesty and realism of Nagata Kabi and matches it with exaggerated hilarity. She continues to chronicle her painful struggles of being a butch girl in love with butch girls in the monthly series The Girl that Can’t Get a Girlfriend. Alternatively, you can follow her on Twitter for just as much heart and laughter.

Read The Girl that Can’t get a Girlfriend on Tapas and Webtoon.

12: My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

My Next Life as a Villainess has what can only be described as volcanic bisexual energy. Every character protagonist Catarina Claes encounters is entirely enthralled by her. Of course, she is far too preoccupied with her quest to avoid doom flags and change her ultimate fate to notice any romantic interest. The series is rewarding and well structured, as views are just as focused on how Catarina plans to avoid certain doom as they are with the various romantic misses her band of companions cooks up. While the “friendship ending” did not capitalize on its Yuri potential, it was perhaps the most satisfying possibility for this crazy harem, at least until season two comes out, which looks, unfortunately, to be significantly less queer.

My Next Life as a Villainess is streaming on Crunchyroll

11: Love Me for Who I Am

Kata Konayama’s manga series is less Yuri than a general LGBT work, but it has a lesbian character and explores her identity and struggles in great detail. Few titles before have captured the exciting and nervous waves of emotions that young people feel as they explore gender and sexual identities and try to find themselves. This heartfelt and extremely queer series rubberbands between cute moe dress up to tragic and gripping backstory, keeping readers on their toes the whole time.

Love me for Who I Am is published by Seven Seas - https://amzn.to/3rTSZTK

10: A Summer’s End – Hong Kong 1986

Oracle and Bone’s debut visual novel, A Summer’s End, is set in a vibrant and electric 1980’s Hong Kong. Drawing inspiration from classic Asian cinema, music, and fashion. The worlds of Michelle, a young office worker, and a free-spirited woman named Same collide. The two struggle to comprehend and accept each other’s feelings just as they struggle against society’s expectations and prejudices. An incredibly thoughtful and touching adventure, the creators incorporated vital contemporary elements include Asian LGBTQ rights and growing political unrest in Hong Kong, into this illustrious game.

The visual novel is available on Steam.

Honorable Mention: Goodbye, My Rose Garden

In the same vein as A Summer’s End, Goodbye, My Rose Garden is a beautiful period piece that incorporates LGBT views into its shattering narrative. The story follows a bright-eyed immigrant, Hanako, wanting to make a new life in England as an author at the dawn of the twentieth century. She takes a job as a maid to noblewoman Alice, but their relationship takes a turn when Alice asks Hanako to kill her. This poignant tale is beautiful and an honest depiction of love and its conflict with responsibility and society.

Goodbye, My Rose Garden is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/3hFSyaG

9: Shio Usui

Usui’s hit Shaikaijin Yuri manga Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon could easily take this spot even though it is not even out in English until February 2021. The manga is already making waves and receiving constant praise. The characters and their journey to discover love and self-acceptance are as charming as they are relatable and grounded. However, it is the creator, Usui, who really deserves acclaim. Not just for their work on Doughnuts, but having a second serialized story, Onna Tomodachi to Kekkon Shitemita, in monthly Yuri magazine Comic Yuri Hime simultaneously. It is even more remarkable when you consider these two iconic stories are Usui’s first long-running works, as they only contributed one-shots before.

8: Bloom Into You: Regarding Saeki Sayaka

Bloom Into You is possibly the most iconic Yuri series in the past decade, and while the manga deserves its own place on this list, the best thing to come out of the series as a whole is easily the light novels. This trilogy by Adachi and Shimamura creator Hitoma Iruma dives deep into supporting cast member Sayaka. Readers are treated to a delightful journey as she discovers her sexuality, experiences heartbreak, and finally finds herself breaking free and falling in love. With the help of gorgeous illustrations by Nakatani Nio herself, Iruma masterfully captures Sayaka’s unique voice and emotions in this wonderful series. Whether a fan of the originals or not, every Yurijin must check out Regarding Saeki Sayaka.

The light novel series is published by Seven Seas - https://amzn.to/3hFSyaG

7: Our Teachers are Dating

The best a Yuri can get. This workplace romance follows two teachers at the start of a new relationship taking nervous yet enthusiastic first steps, including saying I love you, going on their first date, and even sleeping together. It is so heartfelt and salacious that readers will squeal the whole time. Additionally, our heroines are supported in their relationship by everyone they know, their students, colleagues, and even the principal. It is a perfect world for these two lovebirds! Our Teachers are Dating would easily be number one or two in any other year, but the competition is fierce in 2020. So even though this is only number seven, it is still a master class Yuri manga.

The manga is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/38XY3O9

6: Amongst Us

Who would have thought that a comedy alternative universe story spinoff of a fantasy action series would be the single best Yuri webcomic this year? Shilin’s astounding artwork illustrations the hilarious and irresistible journey of girlfriends Blackbird and Veloce. These two eccentric young women get into all kinds of everyday mischief that bounces between tender and touching romance, completely outrageous comedy, and downright thirst-inducing sorcery. Seriously, you should buy the first volume for Veloce’s back muscles alone. The storyline skips between time, but both their established relationship and their meeting as teenagers are adorkable and captivating.

Amongst Us is available online free on Webtoon and the comic’s website. The first volume is in paperback on Shilin’s site.

Honorable Mention: Éclair

There are a lot of Yuri anthologies out there, and they have done some beautiful things. Many focus on themes like Syrup. Others collect a series of stories by an author into one bound work. However, out of all of them, Éclair is the most successful. ASCII Media Works took some of the genre’s most extraordinary creators and let them do whatever they wanted, and the results are spectacular. The incredible talent behind Éclair somehow packs a full volume’s worth of story and character into just a few pages with every chapter. While the first volume came overseas a few years ago, Yen Press gave Yurijin a gift this year by releasing the entire rest of the series in which readers can get lost.

The anthology series is published by Yen Press - https://amzn.to/38XY3O9

5: I’m in Love with the Villainess

A small trend of isekai Yuri with villainesses emerged recently, and I honestly had few hopes of I’m in Love with the Villainess. The series is pretty popular, but I often find that this does not denote quality, and with isekai having some institutional issues, I suspected this would fall flat. Then the volume three cover showcased an incredible accomplishment, allowing for a lesbian relationship to blossom into a family with children, and it blew me away. Finally, I read volume one and realized that the series has incredible character, some of the best world-building I have ever seen in a light novel, thoughtful discussions of inequality and societal issues, and most impressively, open and frank discussion of queer identity and life Yuri has ever seen! This one is something special.

The series is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/3nedvdZ

4: The Last of Us Part II

Yes, I know this one is not Yuri and that a portion of the population despises this game and will likely be exceptionally angry at me for including it. However, I maintain that it was an incredibly challenging masterpiece. Naughty Dog did not take the easy route out and delivered one of the most devastating media experiences I have ever seen. As I said in my article about the game, playing it changed me, and it sticks with me to this day. The Last of Us Part II earns its spot on this list because it pushed boundaries more with LGBTQ inclusion than any other AAA game. From brave inclusion of LGBTQ themes to queer characters and storylines at its center, the game changes gaming and it will never go back.

The Last of Us Part II is available on PlayStation 4

3: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

She-Ra feels like the culmination of all the LGBTQ progress western cartoons have made over the past few years. From The Legend of Korra to Steven Universe, young people are finally seeing more LGBTQ people represented on the small screen. This epic fantasy concluded with an amazing and powerful lesbian romance, delivering on its queer promise and revolutionized representation in a trope-defying crescendo.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is streaming on Netflix

2: The Conditions of Paradise

The greatest single Yuri work of all in 2020 was the English release of Akiko Morishima’s breakthrough manga, The Conditions of Paradise. Initially released in 2007, this anthology detailed the love between adult women. It was in every way a manga ahead of its time, and seeing it finally get a small piece of the recognition it deserves overseas is a true gift. The fact that we can own this legendary piece of Yuri history and Morishima’s other anthologies is nothing short of a blessing from the Yuri goddess.

The Conditions of Paradise is published by Seven Seas Entertainment - https://amzn.to/38bh4xq

Honorable Mention: Otherside Picnic

This eerie sci-fi horror series combines the best of pulse-pounding thrillers, complex and intelligent hard science fiction, and exciting Yuri romance. Author Iori Miyazawa spends as much time crafting a well-paced and intriguing narrative about a mysterious world where occult creatures roam as he does establishing two believable and grounded heroes in Sorawo and Toriko. The romance between the two may be slow to start, but their chemistry is undeniable and as the stakes and story build, so too does their relationship. Not only are the light novels incredible, but the series’ manga adaptation is coming soon to the West as well as an upcoming TV anime in early 2021.

Otherside Picnic is streaming on Funimation. The light novels are published by J-Novel Club - https://amzn.to/3niiv1g

1. Yuri subgenres

For a long time, Yuri was not a genre of its own, but elements of romances or bonds between women found in other works. Now, thanks to an increasing library of works, the advent of social media, and a wider audience, Yuri is a genre on its own, with many creators telling different stories in different styles. However, 2020 saw the continued emergence of something extraordinary, subgenres. Yuri is now so vast, we can actually categorize the works within. Depending on their characters, like classic schoolgirl romances or spicy shakaijin office affairs, their world, such as fantasy or isekai series and thrilling science fiction adventures, and even other elements within. One of my personal favorites is the feminist Yuri that emerges from titles like Sexiled, where women celebrate the accomplishments of other women and dismantle power structures stacked against them. Now, no matter what kind of Yurijin you are, there is something for you to love.

I am happy to leave 2020 behind, but I bring with me a renewed love and admiration for Yuri. 2021 looks to be a somehow even better year for the genre, and I am thrilled to experience every minute of it that I can. Yuri has transformed into something far greater than I ever thought it would be, and let us all enjoy its evolution and expansion together in 2021.

#yuri #manga #anime #top 10 #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#queer #gay #girls love #gl #adachi and shimamura #otherside picnic #lists #2020 #happy new year #2021 #new year

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wormstacheangel · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 1: Harvest

wc: 1.7k tags: fluff with the side of tiny case fic, established relationship, spoilers but cw they are drugged with cider,

It was a long hunt. One that they accepted as their last one, but, of course, they can never sit still enough not to take an easy local hunt. By local, he means a two-day trip away, but still, they saved a couple of old folks from a ghost, which was fun. Dean sure enjoyed getting thrown around until Cas finally burned the dentures.

Like he said, long hunt.

They stayed at a nice little Airbnb overnight. During breakfast, their waitress told them of the Harvest Festival a town over. Cas was still a little bruised up, but Dean convinced him to go, at least to try their famous apple cider.

“We’ll make a day of it! Just me and you.” With that, Cas agreed, taking Dean’s waiting hand across the table.

The festival was lively when they arrived in the afternoon, with more people than they expected considering the small town they were in but apparently when they say famous they meant it. The tents lined up with food from funnel cakes, donuts, chicken, and some pumpkin spice beer that Dean chugged down even though it tasted like shit.

They eventually ended up with bags filled with treats and souvenirs to take home to the kids--Sam and Eileen fall into the kids’ category. They each held a bag while Dean held Cas’ hand tight in his own, dragging him around from seller to seller, buying and tasting as he went.

“We should start heading home, or soon you’ll be too full to drive.” Cas teased as Dean finished off their bag of apple crisps. “You think we’re feeding an army.”

“Considering how Jack eats, we might as well be.”

“He gets that from you, you know.”

They continued their banter as they made their way out of the festival and to the parking lot.

Then they were stopped by a woman wearing a volunteer pumpkin shirt, “Aw, leaving so soon? Don’t ya wanna stay for the fireworks?”

That quickly took Dean’s attention, brightening up his whole face so much that once again, Cas couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. Instead, earning himself a small kiss on the cheek as a thank you before being was dragged to the car to drop off their items.

Once back in the festival, they walked around until another volunteer told them about the amazing view of the fireworks at the middle of the corn maze.

“It’s a small maze, but in the middle is a little hill. So it’s usually first-come, first-serve. But I haven’t heard of anyone taking it as of now.”

Once again, Dean was easily hooked in and took Cas along for the ride. Not that he was complaining. He enjoyed watching Dean get excited over small things, things he wouldn’t have permitted himself to get excited for before. Of course, it helped when Dean hooked his arm around Cas’s waist to tug him close, whispering, “Ever kissed someone in a corn maze, Cas?”

“You know I haven’t, Dean.”

That did it for Cas. A promise of a spectacular kiss that will put the fireworks to shame.

At the entrance of the maze stood a cider cart, and Cas made a beeline for it. “I at least wanna be warm if you are going to make me walk around in the cold.”

“On the house.” The saleswoman winked at them, and something uneasy passed through them, but they ignored it as she motioned them to go right on in that the fireworks should be starting soon.

They took their hot cider and walked right in, taking hold of their hands as they walked through the maze in comforting silence. Watching the sky above them change from orange and pinks to the dark night sky.

When the maze opened up to a clearing, Dean started to run—taking the small space on top. It was tall enough to see over the cornstalk and watch the lights twinkle from the festival up ahead. They could even see groups of people exiting the maze from their left, and for a second, Dean wondered why they didn’t run into anybody on their walkover. It looked like a lot of people were going through the maze, but nobody passed them.

That thought was quickly dismissed as the first firework lit up the sky, cheers from the crowd echoed the loud boom, and Dean felt secure with an arm hooking around his shoulders to bring him in closer. So they sat there watching the firework show and polishing off their now cold cider until Cas couldn’t wait another second.

Gently, he turned Dean’s face just enough so they could start the kiss slowly. The snap crackle pop of the fireworks above their heads just kept lighting up the fuse between them until Cas asked for them to find another place to spend the night.

“Should we go now?” Dean kissed down Cas’s jaw, feeling the hastily nods instead of seeing it. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

They both stood up and took one last look at the view before they got down. Turning left, where they were sure they saw the other folks exit from before. Every few steps, they pulled each other for another kiss-- smiling into them like giddy newlyweds--until they started to realize they’ve been walking for way too long.

The fireworks had long been over, and they soon realized it was their only source of light. It soon became so hard to see anything that they didn’t dare let go of each other’s hands. They tried to go back to the hill to see if maybe they could see the trail from there, but it was like it never existed in the first place.

“Fuck!” They turned the corner to find another dead-end. “Isn’t this shit for children!”

“You know we haven’t seen or heard anyone in a while. Not since-”

“We came in here. I know. I was thinking the same thing earlier when we were on the hill.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Cause you stuck your tongue in my mouth and impending doom took a backseat.”

They started to run, calling out for help as they did, but it only felt like they were going in circles.

Then Dean yelled, “Hallelujah!” When a flashlight shined into their faces.

“There you two are. It’s time to go.” The old man sounded so relieved to find them. He didn’t look sinister. He didn’t even make it sound like they were gone for that long. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. We got lost, I guess.” Dean shrugged, watching as Cas stared ahead of him.

“Many people do. But they always find their way out, though.”

They followed the man out of the maze while Dean’s knuckles brushed alongside Cas’. They were listening to the man recite a memory when suddenly Cas tugged at Dean’s arm.

“Dean.” It was a shocking gasp.

“Cas?” Dean turned around to watch; Cas’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before dropping like a ragdoll. “Cas!”

And just like that, Cas was out to the world.

Dean fell to his knees to take Cas into his arms, but it was useless. He was heavy, and Dean’s body was starting to tingle, his muscles becoming weaker with every passing second.

“Don’t you worry about your little friend.” The man flashed his light on Dean’s face. Blinding him, but Dean kept glaring up at him. “Just like you, he won’t feel a thing.”

“What did you do to him?” He tried to growl, but it came out too breathless for it to be threatening.

“Same thing we did to you. Same thing we do every year to a couple of tourists.”

Dean could feel himself slipping out of consciousness, but he kept trying to shield Cas from whatever was coming.

“Don’t fight it, boy.” The man walked over to him, raising his flashlight high above his head. “Hate it when they struggle.”

And with a single hit, Dean was knocked out. Falling over Cas. Hoping that at least he gets killed first this time around.

Dean woke up again when he felt someone kicking his legs with little to no effort. His arms were numb, and he realized it was because they were pulled back and tied around some huge boulder.

“Dean?”

Dean recognized the voice and happily groaned out a complaint. “Hate small towns. Creeps. All of them.”

Cas chuckled in relief. “Glad you’re okay.”

Dean blinked a couple of times before his eyes focused, looking across from him to find Cas in the same position as him. Cas looked dirty, a few scratches on his face from being dragged, which made Dean furious—tugging at the ropes that hold him back from checking for any more injuries.

“Fuck! Shit! You okay? They hurt you?”

“Not as much as they did you.” Dean didn’t feel much pain besides the stretch on his shoulders and a raging headache. “I guess that’s not true. You have a swell on your head.”

“Yeah, well, I went down swinging. Unlike you.” Cas didn’t look amused, but he looked concerned. Dean followed his gaze, looking for an explanation or a way out. “I guess we’re either bait or dinner.”

“I’m used to being bait.”

“And I’m used to being dinner. Well, aren’t we a match made in heaven?” This time Cas glared, and weirdly enough, it made Dean relax a little. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

The plan was simple, while Cas may not be a full-powered-up angel, he was still an angel. And he was stronger than an average human. So with a little more force, Cas had his arms free, rubbing his wrist while shrugging at Dean, “I always see humans do this.”

“Yeah, cause it hurts, so if you can just-” Dean motioned for his arms and Cas quickly reached to untie him. Then, when they were both free, they once again started to look around the empty cornfield. “I say leave now and call for backup; come back in the morning.”

“Considering we have no weapons, I think that would be for the best.”

“So much for date night.” Dean took Cas’s hand, and they quickly started to get themselves out of there. Running like maniacs as they pushed through the endless corn.

“I actually enjoyed myself today. You know, before the whole being drugged and left for dead part.”

“Really? That was my favorite part.” Dean joked, squeezing Cas’s hand as they made their way to safety. “You think all the stuff we bought was drugged?”

“Won’t stop me from having another donut.”

“Man, I love you.”

#suptober21 #wormstachewrites #fic #destiel #deancas #sorry its so late. work today was draining emotionally #established destiel #case fic

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cherri-cherri · 4 years ago

Text

× Little Flower ×

-----------×-----------

Pairings - Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis - No one was allowed to touch you as you were his. Those who dared would suffer a fate worse than death...

Warnings - Possible Grammar Errors, Slight Gore, Swear Words

A/N - This fic here is pretty short but I wanted to write this after having a weird dream with flowers and Sukuna. I honestly have mixed feelings about this one but I hope you all enjoy! - 🍒

----------------×----------------

"Speak, girl. Do you know why you stand here on trial here today?" A voice called out to you from above but you simply kept your head hanging down to stare at the stacks of dry wood pressed under your feet. Your body ached due to the countless bruises and cuts littering your skin and the tightness of the ropes cutting into your bound wrists weren't helping at all in the slightest.

"Y/N L/N, do you understand why you stand before us?" The voice repeated again, this time a rough hand grabbing ahold of your hair and gripping it tightly, forcing you to stare up at the man before you.

"Cat has your tongue? Well then, let me remind you that you were caught giving aid to the king of curses. No doubt spreading your legs for him like that harlot you are" his words only mirrored the disgusted look in his cold grey eyes, glaring down at you as his grip on your hair only tightened. Sad to think that you would be used to this knowing your uncle was not a kind or gentle man and yet his words only stung.

"...I did no such thing....He was hurt and I was trying to help, I was–" Letting out a yelp as your cheek burned from the slap your uncle gave you, you felt tears prickling your eyes as he leaned in closer.

"Liar!! Someone saw you with him, saw you hold him! It is obvious that your vile ways allowed him to take over your mind and possess you!" Yelling at the top of his lungs, you heard others around you cheering the man on as some even chimed in. So many hateful words, so many people who you believed to friends and family only for all of them to look at you with such disdain and anger. Tears began to form until your uncle released you and stepped away, "There is only one way to save your soul now before he swallows it whole. The flames will send you to the afterlife and maybe then, you will be saved."

Your heart dropped after hearing that. You were going to die, all because of giving a monster sanctuary, all because you tried to be kind. Men carrying large clay pots came to the stake you were bound to and then began splashing you with oil. Coughing as the liquid was poured ontop of your head, you heard the chanting of the people all around you, screaming and yelling for your death over and over again as your uncle came walking back towards you while holding up a lit torch.

This was the end. Your miserable life ending at such a horrible note, it made you let out a small saddened chuckle as you slowly closed your eyes and waited for the fire to engulf your completely until nothing but ash reminded.

You waited..

And waited..

The ropes wrapped around your wrists were soon sliced off and at the same time, you hear a few thuds collapsing onto gravel not too far away from you. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself staring at your uncle. Your now headless uncle. The blood erupting from his neck like a geyser as the body slumped down to its knees, occasionally twitching as the blood sprayed across your face and ragged dress. The color drained from your face completely as you stared down at the blood on your clothes, horrified until a large tattooed around wrapped itself around your waist. Freezing completely, you looked back forward to see the villagers beginning to flee until those who even took a step back were diced into cubed pieces.

"Any human who moves another muscle will die." A rough voice called out behind you, sending your heart to panic. Turning your head slightly to the side, you saw him.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

His eyes darted down towards you, crimson hues staring into your watery E/C eyes and he simply gave you a toothy grin. "Come on now, Y/N, you shouldn't give such a frightened look to your knight in shining armor. I just saved your life."

"Y-you killed them.. " you muttered, causing Sukuna to roll his eyes as he lifted you in the air before placing you down onto his shoulder to carry you. "And? I don't see what's wrong here. You're alive, they're dead. Now that we've been over that, I think you owe me a reward—"

"I knew it..." a woman said from the crowd, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping her fists. She stared at the two of you with fear in her eyes, more so you than Sukuna. "Y-you were sleeping with him..you dirty whore...letting a monster in this village. Letting a curse spread in this village!" As she screamed out, blood soon enough trickled down her lips as she felt a pain in her chest before a growing numbness. Looking down, the woman saw nothing but a gaping hole in the middle of her chest, blood dribbling down the emptiness to the stomach until she slowly collapsed on her back. Others around her screamed out, some moving from the places they were standing before being sliced in half or trisected into parts. You gasped out, covering your mouth as you felt bile rising up.

"S-she did nothing wrong!" You yelled to Sukuna as he only stared at the remaining people in the crowd with a smirk. "Wrong...As far as I see, everyone here has committed a great sin."

Crimson stained the once grey pathway as people are killed by the curse one after another. A few brave (or foolish) souls attempted to even rush at Sukuna only to make it as far as five steps forward before their insides became their outsides. A woman tried to beg for her life by offering herself as Sukuna's personal slave, even going as far as to give away to lives of her children but once again it proved nothing as she too was killed.

It didn't take long for Sukuna to kill off the rest of the villagers, regardless of their age or even if they were innocent or not. They were all killed and slaughtered brutally without mercy, their blood mixing together as the smell of their corpses began to reek. You stared down at the headless corpse of your uncle, eyes dulled as you thought perhaps it would've been better if the fire had claimed you. Then no one wouldve been killed. No, no that wasn't true.

It would've been better if you never met him. If you simply continued on your way and left him bleeding out for the shamans to find. If you had never opened your heart to the curse..then no one would've died. Then no one would've been killed. Feeling a hand brush your hair gently with his nails and combing a strain behind your ear, you were snapped out of your thoughts. Sukuna pulled you closer towards him with one arm and wrapped each of his arms around your small frame before pressing his lips onto your forehead.

"They didn't have to die..." your voice was practically a whisper at this point, hoarse and dry from the screaming and begging for him to stop. Sukuna merely chuckled as he released you, "Do you feel guilty?"

"What sort of question is that supposed to be? Of course I do...." Saying that you didn't would only be half of the truth. Sure you were angry with how they were so quick to hurt you and kill you but then again, if you knew this was what Sukuna was capable, you would've accepted the punishment. You should've listened, should've stayed away from him that night yet apart of you knew that this perhaps wouldn't have changed much.

"I don't see why when because of you, your people get to live on..."

Those words got your attention as they left you confused. Before you could even question him however, you heard a small weak voice speaking out towards it. "You've doomed us all, girl..."

You could've swore that it was your uncle speaking to you and yet you knew that was impossible seeing as his vocal cords were severed alongside his head. But when your eyes slowly looked over to the severed head, you saw a large flower growing where the blood pooled over. It might have been beautiful if it wasnt for the fact that your uncle's face was on the flower, darkened eyes staring at you. Gasping out, you covered you mouth and took a step back, pressing your back into the warm chest of Sukuna as he pointed over towards the other bodies littered around the execution ground.

A variety of flowers had sprouted forth from the blood soaked ground, each with the faces of the dead villagers as they yelled and screamed out in agony at you. So many cried out your name, children who were unfortunately brought here wailed as their mothers simply screamed out multiple swears at you. Speechless, you froze at the sight as more flowers simply began to grow up around the two of you and were only spreading. Small vines began to creep towards you, only to be sliced away when it got too far, not to you but to Sukuna.

"Regret, anger, hatred, sadness. So much negative energy, so much rage here. I wanted to repay my little flower and what else to gift her with than a garden of her own." He hunching over and reaching for one the screaming flowers, he plucked it forth from the ground as the face on it contorted in pain before it began to beg for mercy. "Flowers for my flower. Though none of this compare to you." Sukuna chuckled, placing the plant onto the back of your ear before combing a strand of your hair.

You felt disgusted as the flower's voice grew more and more faint, it practically whispering in your ear for himself to be spared such a fate. You could do nothing but silently say how sorry you were yet your hushed apologies were drowned out by the voices of your new cursed garden.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk angst #jjk sukuna

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akampana · 3 years ago

Note

“You said I had nice lips? Who says that” for Cù alter and Artoria ?

I read you’re earlier story about the two of them being friends in high school and the part about her jumping from the balcony and Scathach driving away like a mad woman was just perfect

(A/N): U have no idea how happy it makes me that ppl like my cutoria stuff its literally mostly just me out here filling up the tag ;_; aaaaaa

funny how things turned out____________

Words: 4k

Characters: Cú Chulainn Alter | Berserker, Artoria Pendragon | Saber

Ship: Cutoria

Tags: FWB to Lovers?, College AU, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Fluff with light Angst, this is as comedic as things get with me

_____________

“Arturia,” Cú voiced, extending the vowel just long enough for it to be suspicious. Five feet away, the addressee groaned with her entire being, much like she usually did after a full body workout. There was no escaping for her now, not when the tattooed delinquent used that stern, deceptively sing-songy tune. She might as well have chained herself to the couch, because come hell or high water, Arturia was not going anywhere.

She knew exactly what he would ask before he asked it. Much as she liked to maintain the poise and grace she had grown up practicing, the business major would gladly throw it away if it meant she could hightail it out of here. All she needed was an open door. Maybe even a window. She’d survive a drop from the second floor, right? Scáthach’s house didn’t go up too high–

“‘Turia,” the young man repeated, snapping his polished nails in front of her eyes. The tattoos that ran down his shoulders and arms rippled as he tensed, the beginnings of irritation crawling up his expression.

“Ya gonna make this difficult?”

Arturia bit her lip. She’d known Cú had a short temper long before they began…whatever this ‘not-relationship’ was, but for the most part, she hadn’t evoked that side of him too often. It helped that her presence naturally tended to project a sense of tranquility, but obviously that little talent couldn’t help her now.

With one last longing look at the window, the woman finally shook her head, accepting her impending doom.

“Good,” he said, bringing a half-finished cigarette back to his slightly upturned lips. Maybe it was the sadist in him, but every time he successfully coaxed his hard-headed shortstop into submission he felt like a god. Doubly so, if he earned the bonus of a pretty little blush on her cheeks. Triply so, if the aforementioned blush was a result of anger.

“Well?,” he encouraged amusedly, knocking pizza boxes, records, and several wrappers of his sheets before perching the petite ball of rage upon them. “Gonna tell me why the bitch couldn’t stop laughing all day? Her cackles hurt my ears. Like a fucking banshee.”

Arturia grimaced, trying and failing to turn away because his palm demanded she look up at him. He’d just confirmed her fears. Apparently, the news of the afternoon’s incident had traveled far enough even Cú’s clingy ex-turned-reluctant-friend had caught wind of it. Then again, she supposed Medb Bombshell might’ve had a hand in orchestrating the entire scene, considering she was all up in their business for twenty hours on a good day. She could only pray the news would fly over the entire student body’s heads, but honestly, she’d be lucky if it stayed within the confines of her college.

“Who else have you heard from?” She was stalling.

“Arjuna, Hans, Emiya. Answer the question.” He knew she was stalling.

Cú shoved his thumb between her teeth before she could chew on her lips again. She colored five hundred different shades of red as he stifled a low chuckle. He was only helping. There wouldn’t be much there for him to kiss later if she kept up that stupid habit.

“Come ooooon. What’s that thing ya always say?” he asked sarcastically, boldly playing with the soft muscle that lived behind her canines. “Rip the bandage off so it hurts more yada yada…”

“Nghfft–That’s not how it goes,” she shot back, smacking his hand out of her mouth like a baby batted away an offending toy.

There was some merit to following Cú’s advice. At least the issue would finally be over with. Yes, she’d suffer for a while, but surely telling him would finally bring relief to her heart. The poor thing nearly suffered several attacks whenever someone in the vicinity pulled out a phone. Besides, she’d rather he heard the whole story from her than over the campus internet community. Damn social media and its accessibility. Damn it all to hell.

“Do you…” the sophomore murmured, a far cry away from her usual confident tone, “Do you remember the other day? In the locker rooms?”

Cú’s grin turned feral. Oh yes, he remembered. He remembered quite well. He hated rugby (because his ex enlisted him for one), but it came with many benefits like a scholarship, an endless supply of sports apparel and Gatorade, and most importantly, keys to a large and thoroughly abused locker room that he and Arturia took full advantage of. Tuesday's itinerary even included a long and very steamy shower, if the junior recalled correctly.

“Ya were mad yer lips got all swollen,” he answered, pure glee lighting up his ruby irises as he took another drag of his cig. The moment had been completely unplanned. Arturia had just somehow decided to visit him after a class presentation, which meant she’d been dressed in businesswear. Suits hadn’t really been a turn-on for him up until the other day, but he was glad to say that since then, he’d joined the men of culture who praised ties, slacks, and pencil skirts. Honestly, she should have known better than to show up looking all pretty when he was fresh off the field. He got so excited he had to bully the freshmen out of the showers to her great–but short-lived–disapproval .

He hummed, reliving the pleasant memory. “Yer a real brat sometimes, y’know. I’m bloody sure I did real good sticking my tongue down your throa–”

“Alright–Alright!” Arturia cut him off, beet red, waving her hands in front of his face. Oh, how he loved upsetting her composure. He really ought not to derive so much pleasure from getting a rile out of her–as small things tended to lash out all the more violently when cornered–but he couldn’t help it. She was so reserved most of the time. So much so that he was sure no one else had even seen the various degrees of her happiness, but he was getting sidetracked.

His not-girlfriend sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you remember that, then I am quite certain you recall why I had to leave right after,” she paused, not really expecting Cú to have paid that much attention in their high. When he gave her a stare blank as a piece of bond paper, she said, “Jeanne invited me for an pre-recorded radio interview for one of her electives earlier that day. I accepted, thinking she had selected me as an interviewee so I could speak about my major.”

Arturia then paused and reached into her skirt pocket for her phone, where a video was already waiting when she unlocked the screen. Clearly, she liked the idea of showing him the said video as much as she liked accounting, which was…well, not much.

“They hadn’t the time to properly brief me, thanks to our…rendezvous, so I was rather unfortunately put on the spot when they asked the questions,” she explained, dropping the phone into his waiting hand. She was shaking like a leaf, something very uncharacteristic of her, but Cú’s curiosity trumped his concern. He pressed play.

The clip was only about a few minutes long. In frame was Jeanne, sitting across Arturia at what seemed to be one of the university’s many cafés. It was clear that his jade-eyed partner had tried her best to freshen up her appearance, but with her damp hair, skewed tie, and lack of concealer on her neck, it was clear she hadn’t done the best job. Still, to most, including her interviewer, Arturia could pass for being extremely lacking in sleep, hence the disheveled mien. More discerning eyes, however, observed her subtly puffy lips and knew it was only another set of lips that could make them that way.

“Oh?” Cú snickered, hardly believing there existed solid evidence of the straight-laced Arturia Pendragon getting some. And fresh out of it too. No wonder Medb was hysterical.

“It gets worse,” Arturia groaned, tucking her head into her arms and knees like a perched bird. “So much worse.”

“So, Ms. Pendragon, you are in a relationship, correct?” the phone chimed in Jeanne’s unmistakable French accent. She’d asked it just loud enough that half the café was suddenly at attention, including a familiar pink-haired blogger.

“I wh–Jeanne? I believed this was a serious interview, I–” Arturia quickly shot back, but her voice was drowned out by the former’s shy and equally embarrassed insistence.

“It is, okay? Please a-answer the question!” she interjected, basically force-feeding Arturia three mouthfuls of microphone while the latter tried to swat the offending device away.

“Yes? N-No–I…do not know?!” she hurriedly answered, obviously surprised at how strong the devout catholic had gotten over the last few months. What in the Lord’s name did they do at Christian Youth Camp? Arturia, still physically exhausted from her…prior activities barely had a chance.

“Oui, then,” Jeanne insisted, and for some reason Cú felt his heart skip a beat, even if Arturia wasn’t really…hm. “Moving on!”

However disarmed Jeanne’s statement made him, it had done the same to video Arturia tenfold. She was a stuttering, red faced mess, the pixels on her cheeks practically the neon of night clubs. Even her present self, who was deep in her seventh unladylike groan of the day glowed a red he would never wear, and he was the one sporting crimson face tattoos and an obscene amount of piercings. To make the situation worse, the café’s entire customer base decided to coo and whistle at her. Poor Arturia looked like a tea kettle right at the brink of boiling. Any moment she was gonna squeal.

Over the hollers, Jeanne apologetically continued the interview as Arturia tried her best not to hyperventilate. This was way too much emotion to handle for one day. She’d blown her quota out of the water. It was back to stoicism for the next week, creative electives be damned.

“What do you like most about your boyfriend?” the frenchwoman asked, forgetting she wasn’t supposed to be revealing anything about her interviewee’s sexuality, and certainly not about Cú.

“I-I mean girlfri–S.O.! Your S.O.!” she followed up, smacking her head. Arturia probably wouldn’t be mad at her for this, but still, her guilt suddenly skyrocketed. Her last fumble finally pushed Arturia over the edge. Her kettle was boiling. Glass overflowing. Balloon bursting. Their uninvited audience was now at the edge of their seats cheering for the poor business student to answer.

Brain sufficiently fried, Arturia scrambled to for a lie, brain desperately latching onto the closest available memory.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Cú screamed, doubling over onto his dusty carpet with two tattooed arms clutching his rapidly undulating torso. The phone had fallen from his hands, forgotten in the sudden out-of-character fit that had forcibly overtaken the tall delinquent’s body like a possession. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he banged his fists on the floor, trying and failing to suck in enough air to breath.

“You–HA!--You said I had nice LIPS?!?! WHO SAYS THAT?!?” he shouted at his horribly cringing not-girlfriend, chuckles erupting between every word. He was pointing at her like a kid bully now, rolling around on the floor like an idiot, sharp teeth on full display. And like the bullied, Arturia puffed up her cheeks and groaned.

“You know, Cú,” she warned, her serious tone completely flying over the head of the manic wheezing hyena currently making hilarious love to the carpet. “You do hold some fault in this situation–”

“Why? ‘Cause of my nice lips?” he countered, breathless but still shaking from the adrenaline rush.

“Nice lips. Nice lips. Nice lips,” her traitorous phone chimed in unhelpfully in her voice, sending the rugby team’s ace onto another level of mad glee. For the nth time, Arturia groaned.

...

Later, when he had finally calmed down (special thanks to Scáthach for banging at his door with a noise complaint), Arturia found herself tucked under a stone-faced, but obviously happy Cú, who had convinced her the exams were a worry for another day by literally pinning her under his weight. He was still replaying the stupid video, but the hilarity had long passed.

“Yer fucking lucky this was a campus radio gig, shortie. Ya looked like an ugly tomato,” the older one teased, flicking her nose with a polished fingernail.

Arturia smacked his hand away, but to his dismay, she didn’t take the bait. A shame, he was looking forward to her scathing, hifalutin, meticulously worded comebacks. She also tended to speak with a thicker Welsh accent when she was annoyed. Instead, she looked over to the side, refusing to meet his eyes.

“It was funny, ya gotta admit,” he said, irritation rising as he realized he might have to apologize. He hated apologies. He didn’t make fun of her that much, did he?

“‘Tisn’t that, Cú,” she replied, eliciting a subtle sigh of relief from the unwilling jock.

“Ya gonna make me ask?” he muttered at her silence.

Arturia bit her lip. He really had to get her out of that habit. The poor flesh wouldn’t be able to stand both her fidgeting and his teeth. Sighing, she met his eyes with serious forest orbs. It was the kind of gaze she used during her presentations in class, but softer. Fonder.

“I thought you’d be more cross with me,” she admitted, glancing at the phone to clarify what she meant. Honestly, he had no idea what the brit was on about. Logically, she should have been pissed off, considering he hadn’t let the issue go for what, three hours? Four?

As he met her gaze with one uncomprehending, she lightly pushed on his chest. They both sat up, facing each other on Cú’s rickety bed.

“You were adamant about not wanting to be attached to me when this started. No labels, we agreed,” she said, putting her phone, with the interview thumbnail still displayed upon it, between them. “This interview implies otherwise.”

Cú’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Even if Arturia had not directly confirmed whether he was her boyfriend or not, Jeanne’s poor phrasing of the question certainly alluded to it. She was right. He just…didn’t notice. It wasn’t that he was too caught up in the comedy to realize it either. They must have watched the video at least twenty times now. Twelve repetitions in, he wasn’t even audibly chuckling anymore.

He should have noticed. Relationships had been a touchy subject for him following the possessive disaster that was his last. Even though he’d forgiven the ostentatious pinkette following her decision to finally see a shrink instead of terrorizing men, he couldn’t forget how…controlled he felt back then. After Medb, it had been one night stands, fleeting fancies he cut off before he could get too attached, and a bunch of other people he didn’t even remember.

Arturias recounting of their agreement, though brief, was rather suitable. It had been a few weeks after Cú (his older brother, not himself, who knew Arturia through his boyfriend) had introduced them at a frat-hosted formal dinner. Before they even had their foot in the door, he slammed down a full dictionary’s worth of words detailing his boundaries and what the two of them wouldn’t be. Frankly, Cú was surprised the short girl didn’t run away that second. Hell, he still couldn’t believe she came back when he texted the following night. And again the next week. Before he knew it, he was a junior and she was still around.

Now, she didn’t even have to knock when he invited her to his house. He climbed through her dorm window. She brought him soup when he got sick. He got her pizza. She helped him study. He took her to his games. They watched movies. They got groceries together. They both sucked at cooking.

Fuck. Had he been tricked into a relationship?

“Are you angry at me after all?” she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. As red clashed against green, he realized he was a complete fool for ever letting that thought cross his mind. He hadn’t been deceived at all. Arturia was too stupidly good to even attempt such a thing. She kept Jeanne’s devout catholic tushie in her posse, for goodness’ sake. Even if she somehow hated him, he doubted the blonde would ever manipulate him like that.

So what, then? Had his brother set him up? Was this all some elaborate plan Medb concocted to coax him back into her arms? Some drama Hans’s theater friend had arranged? Or maybe...

Maybe Cú had just stumbled across the kind of person that he wouldn’t mind being in a relationship with–that he wanted to be in a relationship with. Everything had just fallen into place so naturally, he never stopped to question where this…this thing was going.

“No,” he stated after a tense period of silence. His attempts at nonchalance failed miserably. “Wasn’t yer fault, idiot. I ain’t blaming ya for that.”

Come to think of it, he’d never actually asked the tiny woman across from him her own opinion on coupling up. He’d just shoved his own views into her hands a year ago and she accepted them. Good god, he was getting a migraine from all this nonsense. Since when did he care so much anyway? He wasn’t supposed to. She wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a solution to his cravings.

Then, the scene suddenly dawned on him. Arturia was here this afternoon because he had asked her to come, but it wasn’t a booty call. Hell, it had been hours and he hadn’t even thought of coaxing her clothes off. He’d invited Arturia because he wanted her around, because he wanted to hear what Medb told him about straight from her mouth, because he wanted to see how she’d react. Why would that have mattered to him? Unless he–unless…

Oh, fuck.

“‘Bout you? Aren’t ya even a bit pissed off you’ll be known as my “girlfriend”?” he asked, not knowing why sitting this close to her suddenly felt awkward, when he’d literally been in her pants just the other day. She tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy, as if the answer should have been obvious to him.

“That is not what you want, of course I’d be quite irate–”

“But what do you want?” he interrupted impatiently, refusing to break their eye contact. She was such a pain sometimes, this tiny girl, always going on and on about what was right and what was proper, and what was appropriate and what was polite, jeez. Even in his less rebellious alternative days he wasn’t quite so straight and narrow.

His question made her stiffen, and for the first time in the many months he’d known her she looked like she wanted to curl in on herself like a wilting flower.

“I do not think it wise to discuss this,” she answered hurriedly, shuffling off of the bed to find her sneakers. “We have made the terms of this arrangement clear before. I apologize for bringing it up–”

Cú grabbed her wrist with the same grip he used on footballs, preventing any chance of escape. Even when the blonde pulled on her arm, she knew it was futile. She should have known better than to broach the subject. She’d just been too distracted by the video she didn’t realize she’d tripped into her own trap. It was impossible to get away now.

Arturia quashed the giddy feeling that bubbled to the surface when they locked eyes. It had been getting stronger the last month, almost too strong to bear. Logic told her she’d be wise to end this “arrangement” with him before it got worse, but like an idiot, she stayed.

When they started this all, she only agreed because she didn’t think she could fall for him. He was crass and rude and terribly serious and on top of all that, he was the younger brother of one of her friends. Even physically, they looked like the worst match, with his alternative style and her plain preferences. But that also made him a good secret. No one would ever suspect anything between them, and she could deal with the aftermath of her last relationship in peace.

Within the third month, however, she’d stopped thinking of her ex entirely, even if she still saw the archer quite often in athletic meets. On the sixth, her attention had shifted completely, the grayish eyes that haunted her dreams replaced by piercing ruby ones. On the ninth, Cú had become more than a bandage on a wound, or a salve to a burn. His room had legitimately become her home too, untidy as he liked to keep it.

She’d been wrong and terribly shallow to evaluate him with what she saw on the surface when they first met. He was a soul that lived in the shadow of his brother, a bit bitter, but still seeking for the chance to prove himself. He wasn’t unkind, just frank and a little harsh with his criticism. Like her, he was still trying to redefine who he was after being with someone who thoroughly changed him. It made him grumpier than most, but who could blame him for that? She, of all people, who was still trying to unlearn the impossible desire to be who others expected her to be, knew exactly how difficult finding oneself could be.

In knowing him, in learning more about him, in spending more time with him, her feelings had grown without her consent, slowly spreading throughout her consciousness like grass in a fertile field. And though she’d kissed him more times than she could count, though she knew his body more than she knew her own…she began to crave holding his hand and staying for breakfast the morning after, and evenings like this, where they simply enjoyed each other’s company without the passionate need to reach for the rubbers in his bedside table.

But that’s not what he wanted.

“I want something you can not give me,” she declared, pulling on her arm to get free, “And I accept that–”

“Damn it,” he interrupted, roughly yanking her toward him til he captured her mouth with his. His arms locked around her back as he pulled her body as close as he could. He tangled his fingers in her hair, anchoring her to him so she couldn’t leave.

“Damn you, shortie.” His voice was low, the words whispered between heated breaths and quiet whimpers. Arturia’s will to escape melted like ice in the summer sun, her attempts at pushing at his chest whittling away with every moment that passed. Cú didn’t know what it was, but something had reached forward and latched onto his heart and hers, never again to let go. As he deepened the kiss, he knew his life was about to change once more, irreparably, irrevocably, but he knew neither of them had the strength to resist it.

“Give…” Cú huffed breathlessly, pulling away till only their foreheads touched. Arturia stared at him with eyes full of guilt and sorrow, both emotions he hoped he’d never evoke in her again. But there was love in her sea-green eyes, Cú could feel it, warm as she had been to him all this time, he was sure of it.

The man spent so long wallowing in the murky depths of his last relationship, he didn’t recognize the sunshine disguised in pressed clothes and blonde hair. Now that he did, he wasn’t letting her go. He didn’t care if it was selfish.

“...Give me time,” he demanded, weaving his fingers in between hers.

The junior knew how unfair he was being, asking her to wait, but it was necessary. Cú wasn’t ready. He had a mountain of leftover baggage to unpack before he could even think of asking her to be his. They’d been helping each other out in their arrangement, but there was no way in hell he was saddling her with the brunt of his issues.

With her free hand, Arturia touched the soft pads of her fingers to his lips, soothing the rough, chapped skin. She could hardly believe this conversation had all started with a stupid video. It seemed to matter so little now.

“Alright,” she whispered, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. She still had more healing to do herself, but she was glad she didn’t have to do it alone. She moved slowly, leaning in for another kiss. “Besides…I believe I need some time too.”

________

wheeee hope you liked this! im super fond of college au cutoria. it just seems to fit them so well. Also omg im happy u still remember that fic, anon its been a while since i posted that ahahaha

anyway, hope yall are doing great, get some sunshine, stay healthy mahdudes

-akampana

#oblivious idiots asks #fate #fgo #fate grand order #arturia pendragon #saber #artoria pendragon #arturia #cu chulainn #cu chulainn alter #fanfic #fate fanfic #cu alter #berserker #cutoria #cuturia

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hehebread · 3 years ago

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[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

#dekubaku #dkbk #bakudeku #bkdk #bnha #mha #boku no hero fic #boku no hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #prompt fill #icewrites

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underkita-archive · 4 years ago

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polyester

kita shinsuke | w.c 2k

a/n: sigh pain,, this is inspired by the song heather by conan gray! i was walking my dog when the song came on and i was like huh, what if i just write a leetle something? which became u know,, 2k words,,,, anyway uh note that this not really an x reader fic,,,

now with the companion piece cotton

set post-timeskip

warnings: just sad, poor use of past tense honestly i struggled so hard, unrequited feelings/love, some tears being shed, feelings of regret

On the second day of your first year of high school you meet Kita Shinsuke.

Quiet, collected, Kita Shinsuke.

It had been completely by luck of the draw. You could remember your nerves, still afraid of navigating the ins and outs of high school when there was a gentle tap on your shoulder in the first year hallway.

“You dropped this.” He’d placed the notebook in your hands before you could stutter out a thank you, left to watch as he approached the Miya twins with a stern look.

To call it love at first sight may have been an exaggeration, but at the time you couldn’t help but color it as such.

His cool demeanor and dedication to a sport that hardly rewarded him was far more admirable than you would’ve liked to admit. So you had found yourself at few more volleyball matches than someone who never cared for the sport.

And when Miya Atsumu came careening into the classroom one frigid morning spouting nonsense and demanding one of the girls in your class volunteer to be the volleyball club’s team manager you couldn’t have stopped yourself from raising your hand if you tried.

He wasn’t even captain yet, but the two of you worked closely. Staying behind to clean up after the raucous first years, careless second years and overworked third years.

The only ones dedicated enough.

Somewhere in between those late nights cleaning and those early mornings prepping, between the quiet whispers and watching him become more and more dependable.

You had fallen in love.

It hadn’t surprised you, you knew you were doomed from the start. Since that one lucky day in the first year hallway, you knew it had been a matter of when not if.

There had been more than enough opportunities to confess your feelings, to free yourself of the endless nights of pining, of being tormented by all the what ifs and almosts.

Yet you watched in perfect silence as your first year melted away. Watched as Kita earned the right to being called captain, and let yourself be consumed by the role of the doting team manager.

Once again you had found yourself letting the months roll by, allowing your feelings to rot away at your insides, suffering in the way he seemed to form a kind smile solely for you, living for the quiet praise and approving nods he’d occasionally offer.

“Why don’t you just confess?” Your friend had said, tired of the sad way you would carry yourself after a particularly taxing day of spending too much time in Kita’s proximity.

“Nationals, I’ll tell him when we win nationals.” You promised, trying to convince yourself that it would be the right time, a poor attempt at trying to conjure up a speck of bravery.

By the time Nationals had arrived you had prepared your heart to the best of your ability, ready to see your team take their rightful spot as the champions.

And when they didn’t, whatever courage you had cobbled together shattered. So you sulked. Standing on the balcony of the hotel, staring up at the light polluted Tokyo sky, shaking from the biting cold.

“You’ll get sick like that.” You hadn’t thought your blood could run any colder until his voice interrupted whatever pitiful thoughts had been running through your mind.

“I-It’s...fine.” You hoped he chalked down the stammer in your words from the weather over nerves.

“Mmm. Don’t stay out here too long.” You nodded your head, keeping your eyes focused on a flickering star struggling to make its presence known when there was a weight on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but snap your eyes down, the familiar shade of maroon now hanging over your body.

And what should’ve finally been said that night was left in the air, left struggling like that little star in the sky.

With a heavy heart you watched him graduate, watched as time kept moving without bothering to let you catch up.

◇ ◆ ◇

Years later you can say with confidence that your school girl crush has aptly faded, telling yourself that there was never a need to confess.

Until your phone beeps late one Thursday night.

Engagement dinner.

Your eyes scan over the text, once, twice, again and again until you lose count, until your chest feels tight and your face burns and what were once feelings you thought had faded start rearing their ugly head.

You won’t allow whatever leftover hormonal thoughts poke and prod at what you’ve built up. You’re older, wiser and most importantly you’ve moved on.

So you clean up nicely, put on something nice but not too nice, just a touch of perfume and only check twice in the mirror before you walk out the door to call a Lyft.

The restaurant is unfamiliar, nestled in a cute little neighborhood. It’s fitting for Kita, it’s homey and cozy but nice enough for the occasion.

You try not to choke as he approaches you, a grin too large splaying across his usually serious face, oddly enough it fits, furthermore it hurts.

It takes you a second too long to notice the woman beside him, the sight of his arm tucked behind her back as she curls into his side, she offers you a shy yet refined smile. You barely catch her name, the overwhelming sensation of the past creeping up on you, tearing down whatever walls you had carefully built over the years.

They show you to the table, Aran, Akagi and Gin already there with their charming and familiar smiles, yet the lovely reunion is unable to distract you from the way he pulls out her chair, making sure she’s properly settled before he takes his place beside her once more.

You think of the maroon jacket that had weighed so comfortably on your shoulders that freezing Tokyo night, you think of the words that laid on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far as Kita patted your head and returned back inside.

The lost opportunity.

Only to have the once sweet memory dashed away at the lightness of your left ring finger, as you’re forced to witness the woman beside Kita rest a perfectly manicured hand atop his, the ruby gemstone set on a golden band gleaming so beautifully in the low restaurant lighting.

“Captain! Sorry we’re late! Congratulations.” Miya Atsumu with his usual loudmouth tears through your concealed pity party, a small smile finding its way to your lips at the way Osamu trudges behind him with that special irritated look reserved solely for his brother.

“It’s just Kita, I haven’t been your captain in years.” He rises from his seat, taking his bride-to-be’s hand and introducing her to the ever famous Miya twins.

“Sure sure, manager-chan! Looking good!” He’s by your side in seconds, thick arms already pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“You’re gonna break her ‘Tsumu.”

“Shut it ‘Samu, I would never.” His hold only tightens at the statement, the rippling of his muscles against your body causing an undeniable rush of heat to bloom across your body.

“Enough of that.” You laugh, wiggling out of his grip with an exasperated laugh.

A few more former players of Inarizaki pour into the restaurant, old memories tossed around with endearing fondness and one too many congratulatory toasts leaves your heart aching worse than before, regret eating away at you, the inevitable question of what if cycling though your thoughts.

“Doing okay?” Atsumu’s closeness is nothing new, somewhere over the years your boundaries had skewed, his face being a little too close was to be expected at this point.

“Sure.” It’s a noncommittal reply that Atsumu would normally call you out on, but he accepts it only after letting his gaze linger on you for a moment.

The minutes tick by as Kita retells the picturesque proposal he had carefully planned, unfiltered adoration and fondness adorning his eyes.

Lovestruck.

An expression you had wished this man to have focused on you just a few years ago.

What if?

The question taunts you, what if you hadn’t been a coward? What if you had said it that night? Or any other moment spent by his side? Would it be you?

Another sip of the bitter wine offers no reprieve from the taunting thoughts, whatever mask you had been donning the entirety of the night starts to wear down, you can feel it slipping out of place.

“Boy am I sweatin’!” Atsumu barks out, knocking his shoulder against yours, true enough his cheeks are tinted a soft blush, eyes glossy from one too many beers.

The exclamation causes a few snorts and chuckles around the table, a scathing comment from Osamu and a faux jeer from Suna.

“Maybe you need a walk.” You mumble, picking at the food you had long abandoned earlier in the meal.

“Ya know what? You might be onto somethin’, let’s go.” His fingers are around your wrist before you can register what he’s saying.

“Atsumu what?”

“C’mon, say bye!”

“Atsumu!”

“You be safe, thank you for coming.” Your head spins as Kita offers that same smile, still a little too wide as he offers a nod and turns back to his fiancee. Atsumu tugs at you again, only for you to shake him off, turning properly to the happy couple.

“Congratulations Kita-san. I wish you both,” You swallow the bitter lump in your throat, “I wish you both unending happiness.”

You’re turning on your heel before you can receive a reply, biting back whatever pent up emotions threaten to spill over as you rush out of the restaurant, practically running down the sidewalk fueled by the desperate need to get as far as you possibly can.

“Hey hey slow down!” You don’t bother slowing, let alone stopping, knowing fully well the professional athlete chasing after you will catch up in a matter of seconds. “I said slow down.”

The second his hand touches your shoulder whatever walls left standing come crumbling down.

“It hurts.” It’s nothing more than a whisper before he’s turning you around to face him, a hand still planted on your shoulder as the tears that have been welled up for nearly five years begin to fall. The tears you hadn’t allowed yourself to shed.

“I know.” His voice is pained as he draws you closer, letting you close the distance as you lean against him. The trail of tears burns against your cheeks, they’re filled with shame, with unspoken words, with unrequited love.

It’s almost poetic, the way you two stand there in a broken silence under the flickering light of one of the odd stores dotting the street. It feels like hours pass by, the initial ache in your chest starting to lessen as you meet his gaze.

“Could you... consider me?” There’s something profoundly sad in his eyes, an exhaustion from years spent quietly resigned from confessing a truth that you were all too familiar with dotting his expression.

“I,” can’t, “don’t know.”

“I know that I’m not him, I don’t think I can be anything close, but just, do you think you could?” There isn’t the slightest trace of his boyish charm nor the cool demeanor he normally holds in serious situations. He feels smaller, more exposed and for the first time in all your years of knowing him.

You can see weakness.

“I can’t make any promises.” It feels almost too soon, a little rushed for you to be able to make sense of anything that’s transpired, you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want to lead him on.

“I can wait,” a wistful quirk of his lips rekindles the ache from before as an expression you’ve surely worn in the past washes over his face, “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

And in a matter of two, maybe three seconds, the world seems to tilt, just a few degrees, just enough for the angle to change, for that memory of the muddled Tokyo sky to shift a few inches to the right from the struggling star to the one shining in softly in the distance.

Your hand moves before you can even think, fingers curling around Atsumu’s chilled ones, intertwining them carefully as you offer him something akin to understanding, something a little deeper, not quite sure what you’re truly conveying.

“Just for a little bit longer.”

#miki writes #sad miki #angst #under.kita #inarizaki #i honestly hurt my own damn self w this #honestly maybe it's not that bad and i'm just sensitive?#idk i just #this was v therapeutic to write #i've been hating writing as of late and this just #idk it made me write #and i liked that?#there's going to be a companion piece to this at some point #idk when #but yeah phew #sorry for my sins

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

Text

Kitchen Romance

➜ Words: 11.1k

➜ Genres: 95% Fluff, 5% Angst, Chef!AU

➜ Summary: You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors' ancestors were matchmakers and it's all because of a special, inborn gift. A gift that allows you to see each person's fated ones above their heads. But it's not so much a gift when one day, your boss walks in with YOU above him.

cr.

The kitchen is in chaos.

The heat swelters in the still air, stifling with the summer warmth that’s forced most people indoors with air conditioning. But here, there’s no such privilege. Not when open fires on frying pans were at every stovetop and grease was splattering everyone like a water fountain show. You feel yourself being roasted alive, a layer of oil sitting on top of your skin, and there’s barely a moment to wipe away the sweat rolling from your hairline. Your hands are wrinkled as you scrub down the nth dish from the pile that’s stacked above your head, but before you can finish, Taehyung’s desperately calling out for you. You shout back at him that you’re coming and then you’re helping him peel the potatoes. There’s no room to complain. Especially not when— “What is this?!” For a moment, time itself stops. The pandemonium halts, fire flickering, knives held mid-air. Everyone’s head has swiveled over to the dark-haired man standing at the end of the island. Kim Seokjin holds up a plate of baked salmon with methi prawns. His plump lips are pulled downwards. That’s never a good sign. “The presentation is sloppy!” he yells and you flinch from the sheer volume of his booming voice. “Are you people blind?! We can’t serve this! It’s an embarrassment! Do it again!” “Yes, chef!” Everyone apologizes, including you, and Seokjin huffs, moving out of the kitchen. Namjoon, sous-chef, shakes his head. “Focus! Dinner service hasn't even begun yet!” Luckily, everyone’s on edge and meticulous enough with Seokjin walking around and scrutinizing every action that the rest of the night goes off without another hitch. By the end, you’re finishing up on cleaning and washing the dishes. “Good night, Y/N.” Jihyo waves, bag strap slung on her shoulder. “See you.” You muster a smile while you keep scrubbing. “Bye.” “Night,” Yoongi says while Taehyung fixes you a grin. You watch them leave and then focus on completing the rest of your tasks. It’s not long before you’re switching all the lights off and changing from your uniform. The walk back to your apartment proves to be excruciating. You’re beyond exhausted, lugging your legs along to carry the rest of your body while forcing your eyes to remain open, so you can at least see where you’re going. When the door opens, you immediately jump into the shower to wash off the grime, nearly falling asleep in the process. By the time you flop onto your bed, your hair is still dripping wet, but as your muscles ease into the mattress, you’re knocked out into a deep slumber. Rest is merely a blink of time. The alarm on your phone is blaring before you can dream or feel even remotely refreshed. It’s deafening to your ears and you reach over to shut it off. Finding the sun already up in the sky, you force yourself to sit up, get ready, grab breakfast and eat on your way to work. “If it’s too hard, you should come home,” the voice on the other side of the line coaxes. “Your dad and I are so worried about you sometimes.” “I’m fine, mom.” You’re chewing in your cheek, phone sandwiched between your ear and your shoulder as you parade down the block. “Trust me.” “Have you at least been eating well?” You glance at the granola bar in hand. “Yeah. Sort of.” “The city is scary. There’s no shame in coming home, dear. Your grandma misses you a lot. She always asks about you.” “I’m fine, mom,” you reassure her for the second time. “I really am. And tell grandma—” Accidentally, your shoulder collides with a businessman’s. Apologies spring from you, but rather than looking at the stranger like you should be, your eyes unintentionally wander above his head. To the cloud of fog. And a woman’s smiling face you see emerge from it. The man’s brows lift at how you’re staring into space and he moves out of the way. You’re forced out of your trance and you continue to apologize until he’s completely gone from sight. You damn yourself for not being more careful. You come from a long line of matchmakers. Your ancestors’ ancestors were matchmakers. Your mother once told you that back in the day, some peasants in your family couldn’t sew, sell or do any labour, so they begged heavens and out of pity, they were granted a small gift. A gift that’s been passed down to every generation since. While you’re not sure if the story is true or not, what’s certain is that from the moment you were born, you could see a cloud of fog above everyone’s head. It’s like speech bubbles or thought bubbles in comic strips. But instead of words, the fog comes with another person’s face. It’s the one who they’re meant to be with. Ironically enough, you’ve never seen one above your own head. Though you’ve come to accept that. Romance will never be a major aspect of your life, so you’ve switched gears into focusing on your career and finding fulfillment elsewhere. You also knew early on that you didn’t want to be a matchmaker like the rest of your family. You want to be a— “Good morning, chef.” “Good morning.” Namjoon nods with a smile. “Things weren’t too bad yesterday, but let’s try to be less sloppy for dinner service tonight. Hoseok, what time is the shipment of seafood coming in?” Namjoon continues going through the daily routine, updating each person on the schedule and the shipments. But it’s not long during the morning meeting in the kitchen that the back door creaking can be heard. Instantly, everything comes to a halt. Everyone turns themselves and greets the head chef simultaneously. Seokjin rounds the corner. “We have a lot to do today, people. Tonight’s special is going to be watermelon with smoked salmon mousse—” You gasp. Automatically, your hands lift to cover your mouth, yet too late to muffle the loud noise. Your eyes are as large as saucers. Your heart stutters in your chest, nearly giving out. Instead of the polished brunette woman above Seokjin’s head that was always there, you see someone else. Someone very familiar that you’ve seen in the mirror a thousand times. You. You’re frozen — palms clammy, knees weak. And everyone’s turned around to stare, even Kim Seokjin himself. His brow is cocked and he eyes you intensely for daring to interrupt him. “Are you okay?” Jihyo whispers, leaning in and nudging you with her elbow. You start to breathe again, frantically. Yet no matter how much you gasp for air, you can’t feel the oxygen entering your lungs. But you force yourself to bow your head anyway, retaining an exterior that’s not oozing of sheer panic. “S-S-Sor..ry. I…. have something in my throat.” You clear it and Seokjin sighs, continuing with what he was saying. The first task is to wash the salad and it’s easy enough, but your eyes continue to wander up to the dark-haired, doe-eyed man from across the kitchen. Black shirt with a white apron around his waist, he emanates intimidation from his god-like looks alone and constant frown. Your eyes connect and you instantaneously whip yourself around. You start to sweat when Seokjin beelines to you. “Do you have an issue with me?” You shake your head furiously. “Then focus!” the man spits. “You’re drowning the salad!” You wince as he slams the faucet down. This can’t be. This can’t be it. It doesn’t make sense whatsoever. On your break, you’re crouched over by the bathrooms and much to your dismay, your mom is hysterically laughing at you. “Just because you never saw your match, doesn’t mean you’re alone, Y/N! Poor soul, where did you ever get that idea from? No one can see their own. I didn’t and neither did your aunt or grandma.” “Why didn’t you tell me that?” The syllables hiss out of you and you spare a glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s coming. You’ve come to accept that you would never be romantically involved with anyone. To find out that Seokjin, your boss, is your match out of everyone, it’s taking you for a hysteric spin. “I thought you already knew!” she exclaims on the other line. “Plus, nothing comes from knowing your own. But who is it? Are you going to bring them home? I would love to know what sort of person is going to end up with my dear daughter. Oh, your grandma will be so excited to hear the news!” “Now’s not the time, mom,” you grieve, palm pressed to your forehead. There’s an overwhelming urge to cry. “I’m never going to end up with him.” “You can’t change fate, Y/N.” “Fate changes all the time.” “Are you okay?” There’s a lower voice behind you and you flinch, turning around to see Hoseok’s alarmed expression. You stand up, apologizing internally as you hang up on your mom. “Sorry. It...was a family emergency. But everything’s fine.” “Okay. Well, Namjoon wants you to grab some more flour from the storage room.” “I’ll be right on it.” You swiftly return back to work before you risk losing your job any more than you have today. But all the while, you damn yourself. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened. You ending up with Kim Seokjin, the scary boss that notoriously fires people in your position, is the last thing you wanted to occur. It’s like you’re living in a nightmare where you’re the only one who’s aware of your own dire circumstances and inevitable doom. // “Would it be that bad if he fell in love with you?” Hyoyeon eyes you lazily from across the table as she stirs her drink with her straw. She’s one of your oldest friends who happen to live in the city and one of the few who knows about your gift. “Yes. It would be that bad!” You’re exasperated. You thought she would be up and arms about it like you are. “How could I ever look at my boss like that?!” “You never know,” Hyoyeon sing-songs much to your chagrin. “Don’t give me that. How would you like it if your boss fell in love with you?” “My boss is a Karen going into her sixties.” “Exactly.” Her lips pop off her straw, wearing a visage of distaste. “This and that aren’t the same, Y/N. I didn’t think Soobin would be with me and when you told me, I was mad. But look at us now! He’s not half bad.” “You’re married.” “Precisely.” She laughs, practically glowing from happiness. “And you know, Seokjin isn’t bad either. He’s like what? Only a few years older than you. Ambitious. Wealthy. Handsome. He did that one photoshoot for that magazine and he was so goddamn handsome. Like holy fuck, I almost got pregnant from just—” “Alright. I get it.” “—and he’s like one of the top chefs of the country. Imagine having that kind of food for the rest of your life.” “That’s not going to happen,” you mumble. If it changed once, it can change again. The more you think about it, the more assured you become. You’ll do everything in your power to change it. // The kitchen has fallen into a lull. Jihyo, the pantry chef, works on tossing salads while the butcher chef, Yoongi, is filleting fresh tuna. Sauté chef Hoseok is preparing his piccata sauce while you help Taehyung, the entremetier, with ingredients for the soup. Everyone has their designated roles here, most of which are fancier than yours. As a kitchen assistant, if you aren’t helping Taehyung then you’re washing dishes. But everyone needed to start from somewhere, so you aren’t going to complain. Working for Kim Seokjin is a privilege, albeit, he’s fearsome and hard to please. You clear your throat. “Has...anyone seen that woman lately?” Taehyung turns his head. “Who?” “That woman came to the restaurant a few times and was with Chef Kim....” A petite and dainty physique. Long, dark hair. Her eyes glimmered in the light and her pinked lips pulled softly when she greeted you all. She was poised, oozed of grace, sophistication, money. And she was the one who you saw above Seokjin’s head since you met him. Hell, you saw him above her head, and while you were surprised that in spite of his scariness, he actually had someone, they strangely suited each other well. They were supposed to be together. Until recently. You wonder what happened. What the change was. Why you’re suddenly his match now. Jihyo turns around, ears perked from the conversation. “Right! I haven’t seen her around lately either! I wondered if something happened.” “You mean Kim Jisoo?” Yoongi lolls his head to the side and when Taehyung gives a curious expression as to how he knows, he says, “Hoseok and I were sent to her flower shop to pick up an order once.” “Were they even dating?” Taehyung asks, looking up from where he’s chopping cucumbers. “They were,” Namjoon pipes up and you look towards him, having expected him to shut down the conversation around the head chef, but he merely smiles. “But I haven’t seen her recently either.” Jihyo hums. “I wonder if something happened.” “Maybe they broke up,” Yoongi offers absentmindedly. “Well, that wouldn’t be surprising.” Taehyung pauses and looks over to you, lifting a brow as if trying to find an ally. “He seems like he can be pretty hard to get along with.” But the opinion isn’t unpopular and there are several snickers throughout the kitchen. “Seokjin’s just serious about his work,” Hoseok says with a smile. “But they were pretty serious.” “Really?” You turn to Namjoon directly. It’s not often that you’d be so straightforward, but you want answers. You want explanations. “Did he ever say anything to you? On what could’ve happened?” He shakes his head and then there’s a loud boom of the backdoor. Your blood runs cold. Everyone’s eyes widen, but there’s no time to react or to take back what he could’ve heard. Seokjin walks in with his eyes narrowed in on you specifically. “If all of you have enough time to talk about my personal life, then you can work twice as hard and twice as fast tonight.” Everyone holds in their sighs. With your downcast head, your eyes search the floor. “I’m sorry, chef.” But the apology falls onto deaf ears. // It’s a busy shift. With your tail caught in between your legs, it’s either a cutting board in front of you with a knife in hand or plates and a rough sponge by the sink. Oil from the fryer nearby splashes onto you, the grease coating bowls staining your apron, the heat sticking your tied back hair to your scalp. Yet you wish you could do more. Not just chop bell peppers, finely mince garlic or prepare starches. Not just rinsing bowls to stack into the dishwasher and wash large pots and plates by hand. While you’ve become accustomed to knives, keeping a rapid and constant beat as you slice whatever is in front of you, you wish you could cook. Not just be an accessory to the kitchen. Or an extra member to assist the chefs. But for now, you count your blessings. Humming to yourself late at night while you finish. “What are you still doing here?” The crystal clear voice has you flinching, startled to death and you turn around to see Kim Seokjin in the flesh. White shirt rolled to his elbows, black trousers, expensive Rolex on his wrist that could pay the rest of your student loans with. You gawk at him. Speechless. Scared. He doesn’t wait for you to find your tongue, dismissing your silence. “Where are the others? They should be cleaning up too. Just because dinner service is over, doesn’t mean they can leave.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, no longer speaking to you but himself. “I won’t have anyone slacking in my kitchen.” “I-It’s fine, chef.” Your voice is barely a squeak, but you muster the courage, not wanting them to get yelled at tomorrow. You turn around, quickening up your scrubbing until your nails start to hurt. “I’m supposed to be washing the dishes anyway.” “It shouldn’t be taking you this long.” You wonder if he’s scolding you. It goes silent. “Finish up and go change,” Seokjin says shortly and you nod. It takes another ten minutes for the task to be completed and then you’re wiping down the counters before heading to the lockers to change out of your apron and uniform. Usually, you’d come out, turn off all the lights and begin the final trek home. But today, your blood runs cold. Your mouth fills with cotton when you step out. Against your own assumption, the head chef has not in fact left. Instead, Seokjin is leaning against the counter with his coat on, furiously tapping on his phone with his thick brows furrowed like they usually are. You swallow hard and bow your head as you pass him. “Good night, chef.” “Wait.” Immediately, you halt. He pockets his device. “Are you walking?” The absence of an answer is enough of an indication for him. “I’ll drive you. It’s dangerous to walk home at this time of night.” It isn’t a suggestion. It isn’t an offer either. It’s a command. And soon, you discover yourself in his expensive Mercedes. The vehicle is black, sleek and you’re afraid of touching the leather seats more than you have to in case you stain it with poverty and have him sue you for damages. Or fire you. “Turn left,” his fancy navigation system deadpans and it startles you. Yet Seokjin is undeterred and with one hand on the wheel, he turns at the light, allowing the car to roll smoothly over the pavement. The passing lamp posts’ glow also illuminate his features, his plump lips and the slope of his nose. If Hyoyeon was here she would be salivating at the sight, how his chin is lifted, head slightly cocked. You would be too, if you weren’t so afraid. Kim Seokjin exudes confidence and intimidation, rightfully so too. He’s worlds out of your league. And as your eyes stray from his profile to focus on the cloud above his head, your smiling expression still emerges. You don’t understand how someone like you can be with someone like him. “Is there something on my face?” His question leaking with annoyance shakes you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from him frantically to look out the window. “N-No.” The tense quietness that follows is enough that you want to bang your head against the dashboard and hope you get knocked out to spare you from this awkwardness. Then again, you might just end up with a bruise and his car repair bill which would be even wors— “You won’t be seeing Jisoo anymore,” Seokjin suddenly says and your head swivels to him. “She decided to cheat on me and that was a deal breaker, so I broke it off.” “Oh.” “I didn’t know you were one for gossip, but go ahead and tell the others if you’d like.” “I..I’m sorry.” Your downcast head faces your lap and you swallow hard. “It’s personal and I shouldn’t have intruded or asked. It was wrong and unprofessional of me for bringing it up.” “No.” There’s a moment of silence as he looks straight ahead. “It was wrong of me to act the way I did.” You blink wide-eyed and Seokjin parks at the curb. “My reaction was a bit uncalled for — it’s something I’m still working on.” You stare at him and finally, the man meets your gaze. “You can get out now.” “O-Oh.” You scramble out the car. “T-Thank you.” The moment the door shuts, he drives off. Fate can be changed. It’s rare, but choices influence futures and who someone ends up with can change depending on the actions they take. You just never expected Seokjin’s reason for the change to be so heartbreaking. Even if he stated it factually and his expression never wavered, you could sense it in his voice. The sadness you didn’t know he could possess. // “What made you think I would like him?” Jihyo is exasperated as she wipes down the counter and Taehyung grins as he sweeps the floor. “The guy literally kept on going about rock climbing, bungee jumping and skydiving. Do I look like an adrenaline junkie to you, Kim Taehyung?” “Hey, hey. Yeonjun is nice, okay? I just thought you would be into the rough look.” “Not at all. This is the last time I’m letting you set me up.” Yoongi smirks as he passes by. “I’ll take it that your blind date didn’t go well?” Jihyo glares at him. Hoseok turns around with an amused smile. “It was your fault with trusting Taehyung with this sort of thing. What kind of guy are you into? Maybe I could set you up with someone better.” She sighs wistfully. “I don’t even know anymore. I just want someone reliable and half decent.” In the meanwhile, your eyes flicker up to the cloud above her head. There’s a bright eyed young man there and you smile, unloading the dishwasher as you continue listening to their conversation. “See? It wasn’t my fault!” Taehyung pipes up to defend himself. “How am I supposed to know what kind of person you’d be into if you don’t know yourself?” “Oh, so you know?” “Of course I do!” He scoffs and becomes dreamy as he muses, “I want someone with long hair and dresses fashionably, someone who’s sweet and gentle, like a puppy.” But based on the person above him, they appear rougher around the edges with shorter hair and a frown. But you let Taehyung have it, not commenting a single word. You’ve learnt from experience that it doesn’t work well if you come out of nowhere and try to involve yourself. They continue talking about ideals, even Namjoon that pinches in he’s been seeing someone lately — an old friend who he went to school with that he never thought of romantically until recently. You’re having fun just listening in until the question is directed at you. “Me?” You laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know either. I haven’t really thought about it before.” “Oh, don’t give me that.” Taehyung nudges you. “Everyone has some idea.” But you’ve sincerely never considered it before. You always thought you would live in solitude without another companion and even came to terms with it. But things have changed. “I guess….someone kind and considerate. Thoughtful. I don’t care what they do, except that they have to be a good person.” It might be a generic answer, but as you think about Seokjin, you know you don’t want someone domineering and frightening. Yet from last night, Seokjin didn’t seem so daunting in the car. “Yeah, I can see that.” Jihyo nods. “What about Chef Kim?” you ask, eyes glistening in the light, curious beyond belief. “What do you think his ideal is?” The people around the kitchen hum, speculating over the boss’ preferences. They’re equally intrigued by the question. “Anyone who won’t shit their pants when he’s around,” Taehyung laughs as he finishes sweeping and pours the grime from the dustpan into the trash. As Yoongi wraps a bowl, he mindlessly offers, “He seems to like the serious type,” “What was Jisoo like?” Jihyo asks, tapping her chin with a frown. “Sophisticated,” Hoseok suggests and you look at him, breathing a sigh of relief. Out of all things, you were definitely not sophisticated. “Gentle.” “Sweet,” Namjoon says with confidence, having known the man the most after years of working together, “He likes the hard-working and earnest ones who prove themselves to be more than he expects.” As if summoning the devil himself, Kim Seokjin comes from the back area and walks straight through the kitchen. “Stop slacking,” he states in a monotone and everyone returns to their tasks with a simultaneous ‘yes, chef’. But as he passes by you, he pauses for a moment. “Everyone needs to leave on time today. If there’s anything that isn’t clean, you need to work together so that it is.” “Yes, chef,” sounds throughout the kitchen once more. You know being passive won’t solve anything. You need to actively do something that will repulse him, make it so he’ll vow never to get involved with you. If he makes the decision, fate itself will change and you won’t have to end up together. The only plausible strategy to repulse you have at the moment is to embody the reverse of what Seokjin’s ideals are. The opposite of what appeals to him — sophisticated, sweet and gentle. // It takes you a while to pinpoint what the exact opposite is. But you find it. Loud. Obnoxious. Aggressive. You need to be these things in a way that doesn’t get you fired, but just enough that it alters who his match is. Part of you isn't sure you have it in you to be this way, but it’s worth a shot. You’ll do anything to change fate. “What the hell are you still doing in my kitchen?” Seokjin is standing meters away, half shrouded in the darkness. Your eyes flicker up at him but you resume dicing the carrots into one inch lengths. Only half the blade is lifted off the wooden cutting board and it descends at a rapid rhythm, rather therapeutic to listen to. There’s an urge to cower down, but you channel your aggression, pretending it’s Taehyung and not Kim Seokjin — head chef with two Michelin stars — enough money to assassinate you and cover up the crime. “Everyone went out to have dinner together, but I came back to get a head start on prepping ingredients for tomorrow. I need the practice anyway. Why? Is it a problem?” The man’s brow is lifted at your upfront behaviour. “Get out. I’ll drive you back.” “I’m going to finish this first,” you retort without a breath to waste. Seokjin scoffs and puts down the keys he just grabbed. He sighs exhaustingly and you feel his stare burning into you. It’s hard to ignore it. You even start sweating until he moves towards the fridge, and that’s when you finally steal the chance to peek at him. “Are you going to eat? I can make you something.” “It’s fine.” He grabs two eggs, some shredded cabbage, a handful of spinach and a stick of butter. You don’t question it, solely focusing on your task until there’s sizzling on the pan and he leaves the stove to look over you. “Your technique is poor.” “What?!” Your voice is loud unintentionally, but you’re wholly shocked. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your knife skills. You’ve spent countless time on refining it and getting it to meet standards. “You could go faster,” he deadpans. “Your grip is too tense and you’re holding the knife too high up. You want to hold it at that balance point, so you have the most control over it and the weight is properly distributed.” Seokjin smoothly grabs a knife off the rack and holds it in front of you. You copy him. “It's easier to push the blade through when you're holding it there.” “Like this?” You begin chopping again and he hums. Against your will, a smile finds your features. It’s the first time he praised you— well...it’s less of a praise and more of a half-hearted noise of approval, but it still counts. Seokjin takes the pan from the heat and switches it off. He grabs a fork from the drawer to start eating and you look over, finishing the job. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your blatant ogling. “Do you have an issue?” You smile at him, stepping forward. “Can I have a bite?” Seokjin scoffs. But you lean over and he steps aside, allowing you to nab a fork from the drawer to take some. It’s not like you’re particularly hungry, but you’re curious as to what he’s made. It’s been a long time since you’ve had food from the head chef himself and asking him for his dinner might just be off-putting enough that he’ll hate you forever. It wouldn’t be impossible considering he’s so picky. You swear, one mistake is all it takes for him to hold a grudge till the day he dies. Yet, what you don’t expect is for the scrambled eggs to melt on your tongue. He’s sautéd the spinach, left the cabbage undercooked to add a crunch, and the eggs are fluffy in your mouth, a vivid gold that adds to the haphazard presentation. “This...this is delicious!” He chews in his cheek. “It’s something I eat when there’s nothing in the fridge.” You’re amazed. The fact that Kim Seokjin can’t recognize his own ingenuity is painful. “You should add this to the menu.” He scoffs. “You think I would add scrambled eggs next to the caviar and truffle? I think you forgot this is a fine dining restaurant.” “It’s fine,” you mumble. “I mean if it tastes good, it tastes good, right, chef?” A tiny smile fixes at his visage, tugging his plump lip upwards. “You sure have a lot more opinions tonight.” “Well, I’ve decided to speak my thoughts more,” you hum, scooping up another spoonful of his meal. Your eyes flicker up as you chew with your mouth wide open. “Why? Is it unattractive?” “It’s interesting,” he says with a smile that’s more visible until he barks, “Hurry up eating so I can drive you home.” You scoff at him as he walks away and you finish his dinner off. // Everyone’s on edge. “It’s more akin to pretentious artwork without any real flavour than real food,” Hoseok reads from his phone to the entire kitchen. “Head chef, Kim Seokjin, is not far from what his cooking lacks too. A pretentious and egotistical nature, it’s no wonder his personal life is in shambles.” Your fist tightens. Not only did the published article criticize his dishes, claiming it lost its touch and that he’s lost his roots, but they attacked his personality. His personal life. Going into detail of how his relationship was broken off unexpectedly. “Oh shit,” Taehyung exhales. “Was that really posted online for everyone to see?” Jihyo asks in a pitched voice, equally horrified and panicked. Hoseok nods and before anyone can say anything, the backdoor is heard. Without prompting, everyone swiftly moves to their station, not uttering a single peep. Seokjin comes in, his expression unchanged and he deadpans the usual greeting as he moves past the kitchen. Your face above his head hasn’t changed. But you know it’s not the time to dwell on it. For the rest of the shift, Taehyung’s on his best behaviour and neither Jihyo nor Yoongi make snarky comments. It’s come at a cost — the morale is lower than usual. The atmosphere is tense and even Namjoon’s earnest encouragement can’t help. Out of the corner of your eye, you can’t help but watch Seokjin. He doesn’t make mention to the article, yet by the deep furrow of his brow, you can tell he’s in a grumpy mood. It’s understandable. But you wonder why it seems like he’s less angry and more hurt. If it were you, you’d be furious. The personal details of your life outed publicly and not only were your skills scrutinized, but your personality too. Seokjin was cheated on and now chastised. Even if he’s resilient, it’s too much for anyone to take. It doesn’t look like he has friends to rely on either. “Are you coming, Y/N?” Jihyo asks, turning around as you linger behind her. The restaurant’s lights are turned off, the kitchen long cleaned and your clothes changed into a fresh pair that doesn’t reek of dish soap and fish. But you feel unsettled. Like there’s still one more thing you haven’t finished doing. “No, it’s alright. I forgot something. You can go right ahead.” She nods, joining the others and you walk to the back, pushing the doors of the kitchen open. There’s still a light on and you find Seokjin sitting on a stool by a counter. He looks up at you, visage in a neutral state. Neither a frown nor a smile. “What are you still doing here?” Your hand tightens on your bag strap and you approach him. “Are you okay?” Seokjin smiles at you. For the first time, it isn’t mocking — it’s gentle and tinged with sadness. The corner of his plump lips quirk ever so subtly and his arm extends, hand plopping on top of your head before it slides off. “I’m fine. It’s still early enough that I don’t need to drive you. You should go home before the sun completely sets.” Wordlessly, you begin to walk away. But then a sharp inhale is stolen through your parted lips. Before you can second guess yourself, you grab Kim Seokjin. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he glares at you. “We should go out for a drink.” You don’t waver even with the incredulous look on his face. “What’s wrong? Never had a drink with an employee before? It looks like you need one and I’ll only offer once. I’m pretty busy myself, you know.” It’s aggressive, obnoxious, a bit loud. It’s all the things you suppose he dislikes in a person, yet somehow the two of you have never been closer. You end up in some hole in the wall, drinking shots of soju that burn its way down your throat. Seokjin sits across from you with an amused smile on his face that’s so irritating you want to slap it off, and you damn yourself for letting it slip your mind that you’re a lightweight. “Aren’t you hurt, Kim?” The words slightly slur on your tongue. “‘s ridiculous! To criticize your food is one thing, but to criticize your personality and talk about your personal life ‘s just crossing the line!” His lips pull, his eyes flicker down to the empty bottle beside you. “Yeah. It is.” “Then why aren’t you mad?!” Your fist pounds the wooden table. “Getting cheated on is sad enough! Why do they gotta rub it in, huh?” His brow lifts, but you continue, “should sue them!” Seokjin exhales on a sip. “It’s part of the business.” “No, ’s not!” “It was my ex who told them anyway. She’s upset that I kicked her out of the apartment.” “Then that’s more reason to be mad!” You press your face into your hands, angry at how he’s not angry. “How can you be so nice? How can you be so nice and no one knows it?!” Seokjin smiles to himself. “This freaking sucks,” you moan. He sighs at your drunken state and orders water for you. The old lady tottles by with a big smile and you get a chance to see the cloud of fog and the face above her head. “I brought the bean sprouts back,” her husband calls from the entrance at the same time with a grocery bag. “I’ll be right there.” She places the glass down in front of you. “Here you go.” Jealousy colours you pink inside. “You met your soulmate,” you exhale at her quietly. The woman’s eyes twinkle. “That old man? He gives me more headaches than anything. I’d rather this handsome man be my soulmate,” she quips, casting a glance at an embarrassed Seokjin who thanks her for her compliment. Her husband calls her again and she hurries back. Seokjin leans forward with a skeptical look. “Are you okay?” “I’m envious,” you sigh wistfully, looking on at the married couple at the back with your chin rested in your palm. After a moment, you shift towards the man across from you. Seokjin really is handsome. “I come from a long line of matchmakers, you know, and I have this ability.” He plays along. “What ability?” “I see the faces of who people are gonna end up with.” You drink the water, cooling your throat, but above the rim of the glass, you recognize his scoff and amusement. The glass slams down on the table in your protest. “It’s true! It’s been like that since I was a baby!” “Okay, okay. I believe you.” He clearly doesn’t believe you. Irritated, you straighten your spine. “A long, long time ago back in High School, I really, really, really liked this guy.” Seokjin’s brows raise, not sure where you’re going with this. “Alright…?” He nudges the glass of water back to you. “I knew he wasn’t gonna end up with me, but he asked me out. And like a total idiot, I-I went out with him anyway. Then guess what happened?” He has no idea. A thick lump forms in your throat and makes it hard to speak. “He met the girl he‘s supposed to end up with, so I broke it off. They got married a year after high school. So I was right. I was...right.” Tears flood your vision, clouding the dark-haired man in front of you. You forgo the water for the shot Seokjin poured himself and you down it. You were right. But it hurt. Seokjin’s voice is soft, though it does little to console you. “So….because of your ‘ability’, you haven’t gone out with anyone else?” You nod. “I’d be setting myself up for a failure anyway.” Your head lifts and your tired gaze connects with his. “My family wanted me to be a matchmaker like them. But I love, love, love cooking and I wanna be a chef. Like you.” The corner of his mouth quirks. You’re honest — in a way he wouldn’t have expected from sober you. But he doesn’t mind it whatsoever. “I know you don’t believe me. But look.” You reach over, tapping him relentlessly on the shoulder and your hand barely comes to cover your mouth as if you’re children exchanging secrets across the table. “See those two women over there? They’re gonna end up together.” Your whispers are all too loud and Seokjin glares, not sure if you’re hysterical or delusional. Or both. You turn to the window and he follows your line of sight. At the same time, a couple holding hands passes by and you shake your head. “They don’t end up together.” “How do you know?” “I already said! I see it. Above their heads.” Then you turn your head, looking at him. Seokjin’s startled, having not realized that you’ve leaned in so close, that your faces are mere inches away. But before he can shift back, your lip pulls and you murmur, “We’re supposed to end up together.” His brow raises. “It was gonna be someone else. Then one day, you came into work and poof! It was my face! Just like that. I almost got a heart attack, you know!” Giggles start to spill out of you. “It was a huge shock cause I always thought I was gonna be alone since I can’t see my own. Well, sometimes fate changes, so it might change again! Don’t worry!” He exhales, squeezing out the air from his lungs. He stands, grabbing his coat and then tugging your arm up. “You’ve had too much to drink. C’mon. Let’s go.” “Aye, aye, captain— I mean chef!” His smile is small, but all too evident. He should smile more, even if it ruins the cold and aloof exterior he’s got going on. It’s cute and makes him look younger. So you express the idea and he chops your head lightly with his hand and gives you a rather gentle ‘shut up’ that has you grinning more. // The sunlight burns your vision and there’s a pounding headache at your temples. There’s an overwhelming urge to pull the covers over your head, but as the slits of your eyes open and you realize there’s a strange floral scent to the sheets, you bolt upwards. It hurts all the senses in your body, but your eyes register the neat recipe books lined on the shelf, trophies and certificates on the walls, a poster of the planets, a telescope and Kim Seokjin’s family picture by his nightstand. And then you scream. “Christ. Relax!” He appears at the doorway, eyeing you with his arms crossed. “You were drunk, so I took you home.” Absentmindedly, you tug the covers up to your chest in spite of still wearing the same clothes from last night. Your dry voice croaks out. “We...we didn’t do anything scandalous did—” “No!” He shuts the thought down before it runs wild in your head and Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t do anything to you, jesus christ, woman! Just get up. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll make you some breakfast and a hangover drink.” You follow his instructions, cleaning yourself up to the best of your abilities with the limited supplies, but it’s surreal to be in Seokjin’s penthouse. It’s clean and organized, like you expected, though a lot more cozy and warm. You didn’t know he traveled so frequently and that he had an interest in astronomy — if there’s anything the telescope and posters tells you. “Stop snooping,” he calls out from the kitchen, looking up to where you’re investigating his movie collection. You come over with a half-hearted apology and he sets down a bowl of oatmeal and a mysterious concoction in a tall glass. Both taste heavenly, enough to work up your appetite ten folds. But then he says, “Eat fast. It’s a special day today.” You’re not sure what he means by it, but you simply nod and nurse your headache. You remember what you told him last night, how you revealed all your secrets in one long tangent and you cringe at yourself. Seokjin probably thinks you’re a complete nut. But strangely enough, when you look at the cloud above his head, your face hasn’t changed. “Why are you staring?” “I’m not,” you mutter and tear your eyes away, unsuspecting to his smile. But in spite of how close and upfront you might’ve gotten with Seokjin, he still tells you to walk to work yourself — that it’s close enough and too much of a hassle if he drives you. So you cuss him out as you’re striding down the block as he zooms past you in his expensive vehicle. You hope he notices your glare from across the kitchen, but if he does, he doesn’t comment. “Today, we have some special guests for dinner service. A few of my friends will be coming and one of them will be proposing, so let’s make sure we give them a good dinner and memory.” “Yes, chef.” The news is exciting and even puts a buzz in the kitchen. “Finally, we’re doing something cool,” Taehyung says to you with a swollen smile. “I love a good proposal story.” “Always the one watching the proposal, never the one getting proposed to,” Yoongi quips as he brushes past and Hoseok snickers. “Hey, I’m working on it!” “I’m surprised Seokjin actually has friends though,” Jihyo comments and right when Yoongi turns to add something, they both pale as Seokjin strides past. He glares at them and is even more frightening in his silence. They immediately apologize and he hums, moving out the kitchen. You, Hoseok, and Namjoon laugh. Evening eventually comes and Seokjin temporarily calls a halt to the kitchen in favour of his old friends meeting his staff. It’s unusual to see him in such a good mood, smiling and being sociable. It’s strange in general to see this side of him, but it’s not unwelcome whatsoever. There’s seven of them, a mix of females and males, and you follow Hoseok’s lead in greeting and shaking their hands. Quickly, you recognize who's going to be proposing to who tonight. It’s not hard to miss considering the man is visibly nervous and the close female by his side keeps glancing at him in worry. “Are you alright, Jimin?” “Huh? Yeah.” The blonde with full cheeks and soft features smiles timidly, scratching the back of his neck. He’s dressed too nicely for this to merely be a dinner. “I’m fine. Just not feeling well.” “Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the clinic?” The short-haired female asks, concern evident in the faint knot between her brows. “There’s one down the street. I can go with you.” “I’ll keep an eye on him, Yuri,” the man who introduced himself as Jungkook reassures her, “If anything I’ll take him.” “Jimin’s just excited to try out the food.” Seokjin grins, drawing attention away from his friend. “Rest assured, everyone will feel better after eating and if you get sick tonight, it’s not food poisoning, alright?” There’s laughter in the group and another says, “You’ve been bragging about your restaurant for so long, I thought you were never going to invite us to eat here.” “Well, we’re usually booked full house, but it’s a slower season so I thought why not.” Yet the conversations drown away from your ears as your eyes unintentionally flicker upwards. You don’t mean to — it’s still a habit you’re trying to break. But you feel blood drain from your face as you discern the image that emerges from the fog above Jimin’s head and above Yuri’s. “Y/N?” Taehyung waves his hand in front of your eyes and you snap out of your trance. “Why are you staring into space? We’re going back.” “O-Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something.” You return to the kitchen, forcing yourself to focus and getting back to your task. It’s none of your business. You know better than to involve yourself and it’s not like anyone would believe you in the first place. People’s lives have nothing to do with you. You have to turn a blind eye. It’s none of your business, it’s none of your business— But as you leave to the back area to grab ingredients, you catch the man leaving the bathroom. “Oh, you’re one of Seokjin’s chefs right?” Jimin stops and smiles at you, inhibiting your escape. You shake your head. “I-I’m only a kitchen assistant.” “But you’re still part of his staff.” His eyes are rounded and bright. “Is he mean at all? We’ve been trying to squeeze it out of him, but he won’t give us any details. I heard a bit of shouting, so I was curious.” “Oh, he’s always shouting.” The corner of your mouth quirks and Jimin grins. “He’s a bit mean, but Chef Kim’s just serious about his work and we respect him for it.” “It seems like you understand him better than I do. Anyway, the soup was amazing. I already told Jin, but I thought I should let you know since you’re the one who brought it out to us.” “Thank you.” Your eyes travel above his head and then you notice the way he’s fiddling with a box inside his pants pocket. You swallow hard. “Are you proposing tonight?” Jimin’s head whips up. “How’d you know?” “Chef Kim let all of us know, so we can make sure it’s a memorable dinner service.” His expression softens and he bobs his head. Jimin takes out the ring box and studies it carefully. “I am. I hope it wasn’t too obvious. I know she’ll say yes, but I’m still nervous. She’s the love of my life and these things only happen once,.” “Well….” You give an awkward chuckle. “Sometimes it happens more than once for people.” “Not for us,” Jimin declares in such self-assurance that it’s uncomfortable. His smile filled with affection doesn’t help either. “She’s the one. I don’t think I’ll love anyone more than her.” Your pupils flicker up to the cloud above his head that says otherwise. It gnaws at you, mocking you, and you’re uncertain if you can sleep tonight if you don’t say at least something. So you take the leap. “Are….you...sure?” “What?” “Never mind.” You turn around, having regretted it the moment it spilled. “Please enjoy dinner!” “Wait!” The man unexpectedly grabs you out of sheer instinct, halting you in your spot. He searches your face while his own crumples into a frown. “Did Yuri say something to you?” “No!” you frantically spit before taking a deep breath to calm down. “I’m just….I just….” The philosophy you’ve forced yourself to take collapses at his earnest visage. You were never good at being unattached. “D-Do you think this is a good idea? Are you absolutely sure about this?” “What’s going on here?” There’s a lower voice, a husky timbre. Seokjin stands at the end of the dark corridor and all traces of his outgoing personality are gone. It’s replaced with the serious demeanour you’re used to. He beckons you. “Can I speak to you for a moment, Y/N?” Jimin returns back to the table, even more unnerved than before while you’re pulled outside. You feel small with your back against the brick and Seokjin looming over you. “What the hell are you doing?” You flinch from his tone. You’ve never seen him so angry. He isn’t shouting, screaming or imposing. But the irritation seethes out of him, simmering underneath his skin. You swallow hard, downcast eyes searching the gravel. You think about how dark it’s getting with the sun setting over the horizon. “I…” “Are you seriously trying to talk him out of it?! What gives you the right—” You snap. There’s no reason he should be upset, no reason you should be treated this way. So with your teeth gritted, you give him the truth that’s hard to hear. The truth that you alone must bear. “They’re not going to end up together!” “What?” Seokjin wears the same incredulous look from last night. It’s futile. Still, your mouth runs off into mumbles, “I can see it above their faces. That woman, Yuri, she’s…..paired with that other man. Jungkook.” You give up. Waving the white flag. In the silence that follows, you expect Seokjin to fire you, or call the nearest hospital. Either you’re a nut or unsuitable to work in his kitchen. Maybe both. What you don’t anticipate is his startled expression, horrified as if you just told him there’s a ghost behind him. “How….how’d you know that?” The syllables unusually stutter out of him. It’s not like Seokjin to be inarticulate. “Jungkook hasn’t told anyone he loves her except for me.” It’s your turn to be surprised. The quietness lingers. Then, he sighs. “Don’t get involved,” he scolds, gentler than before. At the same moment, there are cheers from inside that leak out — clapping and hollering — you know Jimin’s proposed. Seokjin turns away, returning to the restaurant floor and you resume your position in the kitchen. Jihyo asks if there’s anything wrong, but you brush her off. For the rest of the night, you concentrate on your job and Seokjin’s friends bid farewell after their stomachs are full from dessert and there’s a diamond on Yuri’s finger. “Job well done everyone.” Seokjin has a satisfied look when he returns and Namjoon shares a smile with everyone. Clean up finishes soon after, but before you can leave, he calls you specifically. “Y/N, come here.” Taehyung looks at you with widened eyes, but you don’t utter a word, staying behind. The kitchen filters out and even Yoongi sends a sympathetic look your way before departing. It’s never a good thing to be called back. You brace yourself. If Seokjin didn’t make a scene firing you earlier than certainly will now. There’s no reason not to — you tried to stop an engagement between his close friends and he probably thinks you’re psychotic. You stand there in silence for a good minute as he fills out some paperwork. It feels like you’re in the principal’s office. Then, the corner of his mouth moves as he casts a glance at you. “Sometimes you borrow the kitchen to practice, right? You can practice tonight.” Confusion renders you immobile, filling your mouth with cotton, but you manage a slight nod. You start to chop vegetables into bowls, dicing and mincing ingredients that will be needed for tomorrow. All the while, Seokjin sits meters away from you with a bunch of papers. Either doing his taxes or filing a report to admit you into the hospital. You’re not sure which one it is. But halfway through, he pipes up again. “You should make something for the two of us to eat.” “Yes, chef.” On any other night, you would be bursting with excitement, knowing it was a chance to impress him. But now you wonder if this will be your last chance to cook. Within minutes, you have a pot on the stove, boiling for ten minutes. “Sit down,” he commands, motioning to the other stool and you oblige. Seokjin makes drinks in the meanwhile, asking what you want. When you mumble anything’s fine, he pulls out a few bottles from the back cabinet and starts mixing. You didn’t know he can bartend, but it’s almost expected that Kim Seokjin can do anything at this point. The atmosphere is terribly awkward, so you exhale from your nose and speak up, “I’m sorry. I...I know I stepped out of line. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. I’m really so—” “I believe you,” Seokjin interjects, gaze meeting yours across the counter. Your breath hitches. “I didn’t believe you at first. About the whole ability thing. But when you told me that Jimin and Yuri won’t make it, I knew there was no other possible way.” He pours the drink into two glasses. “Jungkook and Yuri grew up together. He told me a long time ago he was in love with her and I was sworn to secrecy. No one else knows. Not his brother, his mom, or Jimin.” He passes it to you and sighs, taking a sip. “But there’s nothing I can do to stop Jimin or to help Jungkook. It’s something they have to figure out on their own.” You nod, gripping the stem of the glass. “I know.” There’s a pregnant pause. You lift your eyes and it connects with Seokjin’s. Instantly, you feel yourself breaking into a sweat at how intense he looks at you. “Is it true then?” he asks in the quaintness of the kitchen, his voice thick and low. “Are we going to end up together?” “It might change!” The words come out all too frantically in fear he’ll freak out like you did. You know it’s a lot to take in. “Things change all the time. You were supposed to end up with Jisoo, but then, but then things happened so….nothing’s ever certain. It all depends on our actions and choices. I know you don’t like people like me. I don’t have anything to offer you anyway—” “You need to have more confidence in yourself.” Your voice dies on your tongue. Seokjin’s staring at you again in a way that makes your palms clammy, so intense that you wonder if he’s scrutinizing your pores. You swallow hard, tearing your own gawking away until you hear sizzling. The two of you turn to where the pot is almost over boiling and you run over, grabbing it off the stove. “I-It’s done.” He grabs bowls as you set it down and uncover the lid. “What do we have here?” You’re embarrassed. It’s nothing like his fine dining dishes, or even his comfort food that somehow tastes like heaven. “It’s just carrot and potato curry stew. It’s actually something my family cooks…..so it’s nothing fancy.” Seokjin’s spoon dips into the liquid and it’s your turn to watch intently. He smells it, sips and his expression is kept blank. You stand. “I can throw it out if you want—!” “Why are you so jumpy today?” The corner of his plump lips curls. “And why would I want to throw out something so delicious?” Your heart stutters in your chest and tears fill your vision. He might not fire you after all and on top of that, both your inborn ability and cooking skills have been validated. You feel overwhelmed. Especially when he finishes his first bowl and goes for seconds. “This is what I’ve been missing in my cooking,” Seokjin murmurs with a tiny smile. “When they said I was missing my roots, I think I know what they mean now. Thank you, Y/N.” You’re not sure who’s filled with more gratitude. He smiles and you nod at him earnestly, speechless on what to say. At the end of the night, Seokjin drives you home in his black Mercedes. A kind of lull fills that car and it isn’t frightening like it usually would be. Rather, it’s comfortable. A little too short lasting. He parks the car at the curb in front of your apartment and you get out. “Thank you.” Yet after you shut the door, he rolls down the window and stops you. “Y/N.” You look at him and he smiles again. A phenomenon that used to be so rare that seems to happen frequently now. “I hope it doesn’t change.” Kim Seokjin gazes at you, eyes connected across the distance that feels like it’s closing. He never wavers and a lump forms into your throat. “Are we going to end up together?” — Your own words echo in the recesses of your mind— “It might change! Things change all the time.” But here he is. Going against all your efforts of trying to change fate itself. “I hope it doesn’t change. And I hope you don’t want it to change either.” Seokjin drives off, leaving you absolutely stunned. You wonder if he knows what he’s saying. But as you watch his car fade into the distance, somehow you’re not appalled or scared at the idea of being with him anymore.

The kitchen is an organized pandemonium. A place where everyone knows exactly what they’re supposed to do and moves in fluid motions by one another, like a busy crosswalk in the downtown area. It’s a kind of silent teamwork and while you’re merely helping Taehyung chop vegetables or washing the accumulated dishes, you know your role is still an important one. You just wish you could a little more. The moment the back door creaking can be heard, everything comes to a halt. Seokjin rounds the corner as everyone simultaneously greets him. “Good afternoon, chef.” “Afternoon.” There’s a smile on his features, one that surprises a few and makes the others unsettled. “There’s going to be a special menu item today, so I want that prepared as soon as possible.” He hands the new recipe to Namjoon who frowns upon the sprawled notes. “Carrot...and potato soup with chickpea crumble?” “If you need details, ask Y/N,” Seokjin says with a tiny smile. “It’s her recipe.” At once, everyone turns to you with shocked expressions. It’s one thing for Seokjin to suddenly introduce something new, but to introduce yours, it’s both unprecedented and a privilege. You stare at him and his smile widens slightly. “I hope you don’t mind.” “N-Not at all.” The daily tasks commence, but not without a pat on the back from Yoongi, a congratulations from Jihyo and a smile sent your way by Taehyung. Namjoon and Hoseok ask for your help and it’s the first time you’re not just mincing garlic in the corner or washing a stack of dishes. Pride bursts through you and you look across the kitchen to Kim Seokjin. He scoffs at how big your smile is, feigns a glare and tells you to get back to work. The rest of the dinner service goes smoothly. Your appetizer gets compliments from several and you couldn’t be any happier, even when everyone’s left and you’re still scrubbing dishes. There’s a click of a tongue beside you. Seokjin stands with his arms crossed. “You always find ways to make me pay you overtime. Move over.” He rolls up his sleeves and helps you wash the last pots and pans. “Thank you for today. It was a good surprise.” He hums and the pair of you finish up before he tells you to unload the dishwasher tomorrow. “Go change and grab your coat. It’s getting late.” “Are you going to drive me home?” “No. We’re going to scope out some competition.” “Competition?” “We’re going to eat at a restaurant called Dog World,” Seokjin brushes off quickly, but when you continue to blink at him, he sighs and waves you off. “Don’t ask too many questions, alright? This is my excuse for asking you out on a date.” If you weren’t caught off guard before, you’re wholly stunned speechless now. A deer in headlights. And it makes the older bastard grin widely. “Don’t worry.” His voice knocks down into a gentler tone. “You can reject me if you want. I don’t want you to be pressured because I’m your boss, even though I don’t think that matters to you. But you should also know I’m not doing this because of what you see.” He gestures above his head, unknowingly batting the cloud of fog you can perceive. “I’m doing this because I want to.” It sinks into you and your head tilts to your shoulder. “You….want to go out on a date with me?” The corner of Seokjin’s lip pulls and he diverts his vision elsewhere. You notice how his ears are turning red. “Ever since you sat down with me and told me that getting cheated on was sad enough and that they shouldn’t rub it in.” There’s silence. The first stretch of it is because you genuinely don’t know what to say to him. But the second stretch that follows is when you realize just how nervous he is and there’s a ruthless urge to keep him on the edge. You make him simmer in fear, a similar kind to the countless ones he’s given you during stressful shifts in the kitchen. There’s something powerful yet endearing about how Kim Seokjin anticipates your answer. You never thought he could be this way. He just keeps surprising you. When you can’t contain it anymore, you burst out laughing. “I’ll accept on the condition that if you take my recipe permanently, you’ll need to pay me royalties appropriately. Don’t think I won’t take you out to court, Kim.” Seokjin grins and for the first time, certainty sews into you. You have a feeling fate isn’t going to change and you hope it doesn’t either.

[Epilogue] The kitchen is your home. You’re sure Jin would adamantly argue that the house was perfectly fine to be considered your home, but there’s still a charm to the busy kitchen that has drawn you in since childhood. Even if the heat swelters in the still air and is stifling, even when grease and oil splatter and stains your clothes, the effort in cooking makes the food that comes from it even more delicious. “What is this?” All heads turn at your voice and you motion to the plate about to be brought out. “The rice is on the wrong side of the plate! Re-do this, and watch the plating people! I know it’s easy to forget but it’s important to be consistent with the presentation!” “Yes, chef!” It’s strenuous and difficult to be here. It took years to get to where you are, but you wouldn’t trade it in for anything. The reward is worth it. You love your job — maybe even more than Jin, and while you’re sure he wouldn’t be surprised, he’d still playfully whine about being casted aside. The rest of the night goes off without a hitch and once the kitchen is all clean, you switch off the lights and lock the doors. And like magic, the person you’ve been thinking about all day is leaning against the car parked on the curb, arms crossed as he stares out into the starry sky. “About time. I’ve been waiting for the past twenty minutes.” You scoff with a smile and discern the cold cloud emitting from his lips each time he exhales. This is the exact opposite of what you intended to happen. Sometimes you wonder if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy — by knowing he was going to be with you and trying to avoid it, you inadvertently made him closer to you. But whatever the case may be, you’re glad for the outcome. You close the distance and slap your hands against his frozen cheeks, trying to warm them up. A smile tugs on your features. “Sorry. You’re cold, aren’t you? You should’ve just waited in the car.” “But I wanted to see you right away,” he mutters, putting his hands on top of yours to keep you there, then he adds, “and it gives me reason to do this.” Seokjin grins and leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips, one that you smile into. If any of his old kitchen staff or even the current group saw him now, they’d faint with how grossly affectionate he was being. Then again, they might just be used to it considering Jin hasn’t ever paid mind to other people. He’s never been one to opt out of public displays of affection either. “You know I’ve been thinking lately.” “About?” “How hard I tried to get rid of you and how I couldn’t. You’re kind of like a pest.” Your husband of two years straightens his spine, wholly offended. “Pest?” Laughter bubbles out of your chest and you press another chaste kiss to his lips before you’re pushing him aside to get into the car. Seokjin chuckles, rounding the vehicle to get into the driver’s seat. “Are you hungry?” “Not really.” “Namjoon and Taehyung want us to go to the opening of their restaurant.” “Their opening event lasts for three days right? We can always go tomorrow.” You turn to him as he pulls off, driving down the street. “I’m kind of craving your comfort food tonight.” Jin grins, easily obliging while your eyes flicker up to the cloud of fog above his head. You see yourself smiling as widely as you are now, and you’re thankful you have your ability.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin fluff #jin scenario #jin reader insert #seokjin fluff #seokjin scenario #Jin as a scary chef :( who's just hardcore about his passion #yo this got Jungle Park Hoseok vibes lol ngl #actually it was inspired by the k-drama Oh My Ghost #I never finished watching it really but I based off the way their kitchen worked with this fic #so if it doesn't seem like a traditional kitchen that's why #I hope you guys enjoy this oneshot!#It's a more classic Jimlingss fluff #with a decent storyline

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byeoltoyuki · 4 years ago

Text

Make It Right ⇾ JHS

↳Pairing : You x Hoseok

Genre : Fluff / Angst if you squint / fake dating if you squint

Words: +17k

Warnings : Oral (f), tying

Summary: Sometimes all you need is some pretending.

A/N: Surprise! I'm not dead (yet). I know I have my Jimin's story to work on, but sometimes my brain refuses to cooperate with me fml.

One day i swear i'll be on time. Happy Birthday again babe! @hopikoya

Going to a club one week before your exams was probably the worst idea ever. You knew it. Your boyfriend apparently knew it too but still insisted to go which resulted in you going too because come on, you didn’t want to be a party pooper (his words, not yours). You loathed the idea; you weren’t particularly fond of clubs to begin with, half of the time you went for the sake of your boyfriend and half of the time you would sip on your drink at the bar and watch him have fun with his friends, ignoring your existence while you were bored to death.

Just like tonight. Except tonight, there was something in the air, something bad and ominous. Your guts were telling you to go back home, forget about your boyfriend, have fun by yourself instead of staying at the club at two in the morning where half of the crowd was drunk if not completely wasted.

But did you listen to the little voice in your head? Of course not.

From your favorite (not so much) spot at the club, you sipped your second mojito while watching your boyfriend, Hyeonwu, having fun. From the way he was moving, you were certain he had drunk more than he could handle - you sighed at that, knowing beforehand that the night would be very long. You should have stayed home.

But you didn’t and for what? For a relationship that was doomed from the very beginning. Hyeonwu and you were different, too different even. He was outgoing, popular, arrogant from time to time (it stung to admit it to yourself).

Everything you weren’t.

You didn’t like clubbing, you didn’t like being the center of attention but because you liked him, because he chose you, you accepted to sacrifice everything you were for him.

Tonight was one of those nights, your heart was aching, your mind was restless and you couldn’t help but think that this relationship had to stop before you would get hurt. More than you already were.

Ironically enough, Hyeonwu was the one to give you a good reason for finally snapping from your role of the perfect, innocent and docile girlfriend. Instead of asking you to dance with him (you weren’t even sure he remembered he came at the club with you), he found himself another girl to dance with, a girl willing to be what you couldn’t: daring, provocative and would say yes to anything.

You would have accepted to put up with his behavior if only his hands didn’t roam around her body the way it would with you. If he didn’t start kissing her neck as if he wasn’t taken, as if you weren’t in this club too.

You couldn’t do it.

"Excuse me," You called for the bartender. "Can I have a glass of water please?"

He eyed you, annoyed with your request but pushed the glass of water towards you nevertheless.

You didn’t thank him for that considering how rude he was to you anyway, instead you started walking towards them while you still had the courage, while your blood was still boiling and you felt like punching him from stomping your heart.

Once you were close enough, you emptied your glass right at Hyeonwu, he was the one you were aiming, the one who had angered you but the girl got splashed anyway too. They both jumped, the girl shrieking loudly (even with the loud music you heard her) while Hyeonwu groaned and checked his clothes.

"The fuck." He was mad, even in his drunken state he was mad and his eyes found yours quite soon.

A nice boyfriend would have apologized right away; would have felt bad about what he did but Hyeonwu? No. The sight of you only made him angrier.

"What do you think you’re doing, woman?" He growled at you and took a dangerous step towards you.

"Me?" You scoffed at his words. And here you became the villain when really, you were the victim.

And then he took another dangerous step that should have scared you if you weren’t so angry yourself. "Yes, you, Y/N."

"Don’t you dare blaming me, babe." You swore to yourself it would be the only time you would accept to make a scene while being surrounded by strangers. The only time you would want to be the center of attention, because you wanted him to feel bad, to feel humiliated for what he had done.

He didn’t of course.

"Oh please. Always ruining the fun for others. Aren’t you tired?" He scoffed in return.

"Ruining the fun?" You repeated to yourself, words sounding foreign to you. How were you ruining the fun when he was being unfaithful? Certainly your relationship wasn’t what it used to be but still. How could he? By the time you wanted to snap back at him, he was back by the other girl’s side, checking on her.

"You got to be kidding me."

"Hyeonwu." The girl warned him about you getting dangerously closer to them.

In that moment, maybe you had underestimated Hyeonwu’s state. Maybe you had also underestimated your own state. And maybe, finally, you had completely misjudged the person who you used to date. The words died on your tongue as Hyeonwu raised his hand - you shut your eyes tightly, ready for the slap, for the wakeup call.

But it never came.

Surprised, heart roaring in your ears, you opened your eyes but not quite ready to see what was right before your eyes. Someone, in this mess, chose to stand up for you. Before Hyeonwu’s hand could reach your face, a man interfered. A man you couldn’t see except for his back, for his dark brown hair.

Your first thought was that you couldn’t believe Hyeonwu would go as far as try to hit you. Your second thought was about the crazy stranger who, without being asked, chose to stand up for you. It was dumb and dangerous and so not his business but for a short moment it made you feel safe.

“Who the hell are you?” Hyeonwu yanked his arm free from the stranger’s grip, annoyed and more than willing to fight.

But the stranger didn’t seem fazed or impressed despite all the muscles and for Hyeonwu being taller than him. “What kind of man are you? You were about to hit a woman, I couldn’t possibly stand aside and watch it.”

Despite your anger, despite your pain, his voice stirred something inside you; it was strangely familiar and brought a fuzzy memory to your mind. But it couldn’t be, you told yourself. There was no way, so you chose to shove back the memory and concentrate on your present.

“How chivalrous of you but I suggest you to mind your damn business instead of mingling with mine.” Hyeonwu took a step towards him but was quickly held back by the other girl who looked nervously at the two man. At least she didn’t want it to get messier.

“Please don’t.” She begged him.

You shook your head, whispering a ‘no’ and a ‘it can’t be’ as your eyes darted back and forth between Hyeonwu and the girl. And here you thought Hyeonwu was too drunk, thought he had picked a random girl. He didn’t. He so obviously didn’t but somehow, all this time you managed not to see what was right under your nose. Your anger vanished as fast as it came; defeated you had no more strength left to fight Hyeonwu, no more strength left to make him understand how cruel he was to you when all you ever did was try to please him.

Home. You wanted to go home. Except and sadly for you, you lived with him.

“Fine.” You heard Hyeonwu, “Whatever.”

He left. Without a word, without a single glance, making it look like you didn’t exist. You swallowed your tears, your pain, refusing to crumble in a damn club.

Once sure Hyeonwu wouldn’t try to go back on his word, your savior turned to look at you. If you weren’t feeling so down, so empty, you would have realized sooner that the stranger was more familiar than you thought. If you weren’t worrying about your future, you would have noticed how he opened his mouth to speak – you chose the same moment to turn your back and leave. You needed to escape for the sake of your sanity. Or what was left of it.

In your misery, you happened to be quite lucky. When the next day you got back to your shared flat, Hyeonwu was nowhere to be seen and for that you were thankful. You didn’t know whenever it was intentional on his behalf or if he had simply stayed somewhere else, either way it gave you enough time to gather all your most important belongings and leave this place.

It hurt. Your heart, your pride, but you told yourself it was for the best.

Mina welcomed you at her tiny place with opened arms. She didn’t ask for details, giving you time to adjust and sort your thoughts; she would listen when you needed it. She always did.

Mina’s flat was small but cozy, filled with plants of all sorts, with fluffy blankets on wooden chairs, on the couch, with candles all around the place. It was the dream of any witches in your opinion, but it felt like home and just like her.

As you came back with your suitcase, you were greeted with a soft meow, followed by Mina’s fluffy black and white cat that Mina chose to call Pie because she kept saying cutie pie (you had rolled your eyes at that).

“Hello there.” You kneeled to Pie’s level and rubbed its head.

“There you are!” Mina came out of the kitchen, wearing a cute pink apron. She beamed at you and showed you the way. “I freed three shelves for you.”

It was sweet and you were grateful to have such a good friend but you didn’t intend to stay. Not for long at least. Hopefully.

“I know that look.” She interrupted your trail of thoughts. “You don’t bother me, don’t worry. Take your time.”

You smiled.

By some odds, your big brother was back in the country which was a good thing because you hadn’t seen him for whole two years and living with him could be nice. Back when you used to live together, you were partners in crime, driving your parents crazy. So of course, when you received one morning his message telling he was back, you jumped on the opportunity and asked to meet him.

When you got to the café, it took you less than two seconds to spot your brother. How could you not when few females were openly flirting with him. That brought back some goods memories; you smiled and shook your head in feign despair. Some things just never change.

“I see your popularity is still no joke despite you being an old man now.”

Your voice made him forget all about the women around him. He jumped from his chair, too excited and bounced on you (attracting even more attention on both of you). You laughed at his eagerness as his arms circled tightly your waist – Jimin lifted you from the floor and spun you around laughing along with you.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Jimin put you back on the floor but his arms stayed around you. He was beaming, so happy, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. “Look at you.” His hand found your cheek, fingers stroking gently your skin which brought back flashes of memories of your younger days. “Not a kid anymore, are you?”

Your brother was being dramatic. “Oh come on. I didn’t change that much!” But maybe you did, in a way.

Jimin led you to a chair before taking place before you. “You did.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

“That too.” He smiled sheepishly at you. “And for your information, I’m not old.”

Such a familiar and warm smile – you had missed him a lot.

For a moment, you forgot all about why you were so eager to see him. For a moment, it was just you and your brother and you wanted to catch up with him. “How was it?” Your eyes shone brightly, curious and excited to hear his stories. “How was England?”

“Rainy. Cold.” He chuckled at that. Jimin put his elbows on the table and rested his head in the palm of his hand. “But it was interesting. I will definitely go back there.”

“And leave us again!”

“Oh you missed me that much, pumpkin?”

“Of course I did! Nobody annoys me as much as you do.”

“Not even your boyfriend? What was his name again? Hyeo-, I don’t remember.” Another time you would have rolled your eyes at him because Jimin did remember Hyeonwu’s name, he just didn’t like him that much. But then again, he never liked your boyfriends. This time, however, you didn’t roll your eyes, you didn’t sigh in despair. No, you flinched and clenched your fists under the table.

Jimin noticed the change in your mood instantly. He frowned, taken aback. “What is it, Y/N?” Jimin asked despite having an idea of what had happened while he was away. “Do I need to punch someone?”

For a short moment, you allowed yourself to smile as you imagined your adorable but idiot of brother trying to fight with Hyeonwu who was much taller and stronger than him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But it felt nice knowing that your brother still had your back.

“Oh but I’m very serious. “

This time you rolled your eyes. “You’re just looking for a fight.”

Jimin pointed at himself in fake disbelief. “Never!”

But you knew better. “I need a place to live.”

At first Jimin seemed confused and you quickly realized your mistake. Nobody, including your parents, were aware that you chose to live with your, well now ex-boyfriend for the past year. You gulped as you saw Jimin’s jaw twitch, eyes darkening with every passing seconds. To say that your big brother was not delighted would be the understatement of the century. But for once, instead of cowering in fear (because your brother could turn from a ball of fluff to a very angry and scary man), you huffed and chose to ignore his behavior. “Oh don’t judge me, will you? I already have enough on my plate.”

Jimin opened his mouth (probably to say something mean) but close it right away. He closed his eyes, counted to ten and then looked at you again. “Where are you staying now?”

“With Mina.”

Jimin hummed in response. “Good, good. I guess you want to move in with me then?”

He, of course, said yes.

Living with Jimin was nothing like you thought it would be. You expected him to set rules for you to make sure you wouldn’t disturb his life too much with your presence. You expected not to see much of him because your big brother was a busy man (and you were convinced it wasn’t only because of work). But none of that happened. No, living with Jimin felt like being back at home, minus parents’ presence of course.

Jimin did everything in his power to make you feel at ease. He let you redecorate the spare room, the kitchen, the living room, not caring whether the outcome would suit his taste or not as long as it meant you felt at home.

You had the best brother in the world.

"Hey pumpkin," Jimin called for you from his room, he was getting ready. "My friends are coming over. I hope you don’t mind."

You scoffed as you leaned against the door, rolling your eyes at him. No, really, why would he think it would bother you when he was being so nice. "And if it bothers me, are you going to take your little boys’ night to another place?"

Jimin froze for a short moment, pondering on your question. You worried for a minute that he took you seriously but he grinned and you relaxed. "I’d have to get rid of you actually. Maybe I’d lock you in your room."

"You don’t have a key."

"I actually do."

Now you were worried which didn’t go unnoticed by Jimin because he laughed, hard.

"I would have found a solution." Jimin finally said and got closer to you. He put his hands on your shoulders and gave it a squeeze. "This is your place too."

You shook your head in half disbelief, refusing to show him how his words made your heart swell with love and pride to have Jimin for your brother. "Ts, so annoying." You smiled nevertheless. "So, who’s coming?"

Jimin’s grin only widened. "You probably remember some of them! We’ve been friends since high school."

And remember them you did.

To say that you were mortified at the fact that the stranger from the other night stood in the middle of the living room, talking and smiling brightly at your brother, would be an understatement. Your heart leapt in your throat as one more realization finally dawned on you.

This man. This very handsome, with bright smile man, was no stranger at all. No, this man was no other than Jung Hoseok, one of Jimin’s best friend. But Hoseok wasn’t only Jimin’s friend. No, you remembered all too well how you had felt for years about him.

He was your crush. Your personal sunshine who loved teasing you whenever you were in the room. How you managed to not recognize him that night, you didn’t know and you tried not to think much about it either. For the sake of your broken heart.

The Hoseok from your memory and the Hoseok standing now, despite being the same person, felt extremely different. He was still of course as handsome, as shining but despite his huge smile, despite his laugh, there was something dark about him and you couldn’t tell whether it was a good or a bad thing.

Hoseok’s eyes found yours; something flashed through his eyes, maybe he recognized you as just Jimin’s sister or maybe he recognized you from that night, either way, your treacherous heart missed a beat and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

Jimin noticed his attention had shifted. One look at you and his eyes shined brighter than ever. "Guys! I think you all remember my cute little sister, Y/N?" Then he double checked you, "Though she’s not little anymore."

"I’m still cute though." You cut him before he could make fun of you. To that Jimin only chuckled.

"Y/N!"

Too stunned with Hoseok, you barely noticed that two other men were in the room and you happened to remember them too. Namjoon and Taehyung - you waved shyly at them.

It was strange to meet them again after such a long time. Despite being curious about them, about what they had become, your eyes were once again on Hoseok and to your utter surprise he was still watching you with a knowing smile. God. You came to realization that you had to avoid him and avoid being alone in the room with him, too scared of what could happen.

Through the night, you had found out many useful and not so useful information such as your brother was still a complete dork whenever he was surrounded by his friends, it was as if he hadn’t aged a day (which made you smile fondly at him and joke around). Then, you found that Namjoon became a scientist - not a surprise. The Namjoon you remembered always carried a bag with books too complicated to understand for average people (or ‘for poor mortals like us’ was what Jimin used to say).

Taehyung, and probably to his parents’ dismay, chose the life of an artist; he became a photographer and travelled the world. That didn’t surprise you that much either. You expected him to become a model, nobody could ignore a face like his, but apparently Taehyung enjoyed being the one to take photos.

"Aren’t you going to ask me what I became?" Hoseok asked from his chair, hand on his heart, he feigned being incredibly offended and hurt (apparently, he didn’t like being ignored, especially by you).

You chewed on your lip, weighting the risks; if you snapped at him, Jimin would know you had met Hoseok somewhere and you didn’t feel like explaining yourself but if you kept ignoring him - it would be risky too. So you put on a big, fake smile on your face and looked at him. "What about you, Hobi?"

A glint of something dark and dangerous lit in his eyes, only few seconds and it was gone. But you saw it. You shivered but refused to show any of it. There was no way you could still be crushing on him, you told yourself. But apparently your brain and your body didn’t quite agree on that.

Hoseok chuckled. "I’m delighted to hear my nickname. Nobody had called me ‘Hobi’ for a while."

Jimin cleared his throat but before he could say anything else, Taehyung stepped in. "I call you Hobi every day though."

Ha!

Hoseok shot Taehyung’s a nasty gaze that would have sent any normal person cowering in fear but Taehyung only blew a kiss before winking at you. Well, that was something.

Defeated, Hoseok ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, that you do. But you’re not a fine lady, Taehyung." Then he looked at him, up and down, "Unless you’re hiding something from us?"

Taehyung eyed him for a moment. "Do you want to see my dick to be sure I’m a man?"

That made all of them relax and laugh - you included.

"So?" You looked at Hoseok, smiling more sincerely at him. "What do you do, Hobi?"

He looked surprised but quickly regained his composure and smiled back. "I actually work with Jimin."

"Poor souls." Was your only comment which made Jimin slap your arm.

"You look better." Hoseok’s voice startled you and the cup slipped from your hands but fortunately for you he was fast to catch it before it could shatter. You cursed under your breath; cursing both Hoseok for taking you by surprise and yourself for being so jumpy because of him. "Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you."

You straightened your back with a huff; Hoseok looked too smug for your liking. "The only thing that scares me is your eyes." Which was half true. His eyes did something to you that you didn’t quite like.

"What about them?" But you refused to answer that; there was no way Hoseok wasn’t aware of what he was doing and you refused to play his little game. Which made you wonder, was he always like this?

"What about them, Y/N?" He repeated.

Hoseok took a step towards you and you step back and repeated till your back hit the table and you found yourself trapped between Hoseok and the table. He was playing a dangerous game and you shouldn’t let him but there was something so alluring - you couldn’t resist.

He had his arms at each side of you, hovering over you. This was definitely not the Hoseok you were used to.

You licked your lips nervously, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his very inviting lips. You had to be mad to even contemplate the idea of kissing him, it would be so easy. "When did you become so daring?"

Hoseok actually chuckled at that. "I always was. I just didn’t want to scare you back then; you were such a cute little girl."

"You’re just seven years older, I wasn’t a little girl back then." You were but the stubborn part of you refused to let him win and apparently Hoseok realized it too as he laughed.

"The last time I saw you, you were eighteen. Was it at your birthday party?" He got a hold on a strand of your hair, twisting it, curling around his finger, he was lost in his memories - he smiled and looked straight into your eyes. "Jimin got mad at you because you wore an incredibly revealing electric blue dress."

Your breath hitched in your throat. How could Hoseok remember something that had happened five years ago? Something you would have forgotten if not for Jimin’s scolding.

"Can’t blame him. If I was in his shoes, I would have thrown you over my shoulder and brought you back to your room to change." He brought the strand closer to his lips and you swore your heart missed a beat.

Fuck. You were still crushing on him.

"Now, since I’m not your brother, I can tell you that I enjoyed the view." Then, he leaned closer till his warm breath reached your ear. "And I wished I could do more than just watching from afar."

Shit.

But that was it. No matter how much Hoseok wanted to toy with you, there were limits (or more exactly, there was a Jimin) - he took a step back. "Sorry, sorry. I can’t help it; you look just as easy to tease as back then."

That was your wake up call. You jolted from your place and put as much space as you could between Hoseok and you. You looked at him with mixed feelings. A part of you enjoyed hearing those words, those confessions from him, on the other hand his behavior made your blood boil with anger. How dared he?

You stormed out of the room, deciding that there was no way you could deal with this Hoseok tonight. Or any other night.

Later, however, you found a tiny piece of paper along with a phone number and instead of throwing it in the bin, you hid it safely in your sketchbook.

"I’m glad to see you’re not doing your puppy eyes to Hoseok anymore." Jimin plumped on the bed beside you, disturbing your peaceful drawing moment. The mere mention of Hoseok made you tighten your grip on your pencil and by some miracle it didn’t break under your strength.

Jimin noticed it and cocked a brow at you. "Interesting." He nudged your leg with his feet to get your attention - you refused to acknowledge his presence if he wanted to talk about this annoying friend of his. "You used to follow me everywhere as long as Hoseok was around."

No, you wanted to protest but then, that would be a lie. You did follow Jimin as much as you could only to be able to see Hoseok (even if half of the time you couldn’t muster the courage to talk to him which only amused both of your brother and Hoseok).

"Back then I thought it was cute. Annoying too, but I couldn’t even get mad with you."

"Is it heading somewhere or?" You finally looked at him and you regretted it instantly. Jimin had a smirk plastered on his face which was bad omen for you. "Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Get out."

"Oh come on, pumpkin!" He nudged you again. "I won’t talk about embarrassing memories." He promised which was probably not his initial plan. "However, what was this all about with Hoseok earlier?"

Jimin was too observant, you used to know it but somehow it had escaped your mind.

You sighed in defeat, closed your sketchbook. "Nothing." That didn’t sound as convincing as you expected - you cleared your voice, awkwardly. "Maybe I was embarrassed with how I used to be around him."

"Hm." Jimin didn’t sound convinced but shrugged, choosing for once that he could live with it. "Fine." He jumped from your bed, "But just so you know, I don’t believe you."

You simply stuck your tongue out and let him leave.

Yes, it was good living with Jimin.

Mina chocked on her Frappuccino, not believing your words. “You’re kidding, right?” But seeing that you kept your face straight, Mina understood that it was not some kind of joke. “You’re not kidding.” She wiped her mouth with a tissue and then really looked at you. “Well shit.”

You snorted. ‘Well shit’ was almost your initial reaction too. Except it had changed. A little. Or not. The moment Hoseok had showed his true colors, you forgot all about your crush and just wanted to smash his pretty little head. That was a lie. You didn’t want to smash his head, you wanted something else but refused to admit it to yourself.

“Is it what people call fate?” Mina wondered out loud, ready to elaborate her theories (to your biggest dismay). “Not only your savior was, is a hot mess-“

“I never said he was hot! I only said I used to crush on him when I was younger.” You regretted your outburst the moment it left your mouth as Mina’s wicked grin only widened.

“Potato, potato.” Mina wiggled her finger at you. “And this same hot stranger is actually your brother’s best friend and the guy you used to crush on. This is fate.”

“This is bullshit.” You snapped back but Mina didn’t seem fazed with your attempt to protest and prove her wrong. Maybe you could try harder but sadly, you knew she was a lost cause and because you did believe it was a rather nice coincidence.

The mere thought of Hoseok made your blood roar in your ears as images from the last time with him flashed through your mind. It had been days and there must be something wrong with you because no matter how hard you tried you would think about him, about how close he got to you when you were trapped between his body and the table.

“What are you going to do about him?” Mina resumed sipping on her drink but she was watching you, gawking at you.

“Nothing.” What could you possibly do? Even if he was Jimin’s friend (which was already a big deal) and even if Hoseok seemed inclined to flirt shamelessly with you, you didn’t know him well enough and you were scared of who he was. Scared but intrigued. And maybe tempted.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.”

“Is it about Hyeonwu? It’s over. You need to move on.” And because Mina knew all too well, she raised her hand to stop you from snapping at her. “I know you loved him. And I’m not telling you to pursue that hotmess or even fall for him. I’m just saying that a little distraction can be very helpful. And from what you’re telling me, this dude seems to be into this kind of distraction.”

You thought about this option for a moment, slumping further in your seat. Mina was right, it could be helpful but it didn’t change the fact that Hoseok was Jimin’s best friend; it was too dangerous to consider. You shook your head in defeat but before you could share your mind, two men stepped inside the café.

Two all too familiar men.

Two incredibly annoying men too.

You bit on your lips hard before letting a groan out. “You got to be kidding me.”

Mina followed your gaze, curious at your sudden change of behavior – what she saw did not disappoint her. She easily recognized one of the two men; she had seen some old pictures of you and Jimin and she must admit that you both looked quite alike. The second man, however, she did not recognize but judging from your reaction she had a little guess.

“The blond one is your brother I suppose?” You nodded, half hearing her, your eyes were on them. “And the other one is…?”

“Hoseok.” You regretted whispering his name. It was as if, despite the chattering around you, despite the music, he still heard you – his eyes were on you. Fuck.

But maybe for once you were lucky. Hoseok only winked at you (which didn’t go unnoticed by Mina) and turned back to Jimin who was, surprisingly, oblivious to the little exchange.

Mina whistled before averting her eyes. "I must say, it’s one thing to see your brother in photos and find him cute - but damn girl, he’s hot as hell. Can I have his number?"

"Fuck off."

She laughed.

Another day, another party and another regret. Clearly, last time should have been enough for you for many reasons but when Mina begged you to go with her, how exactly were you supposed to say no? She promised to not stay long which you believed her; Mina at least had control over time she spent dancing and drinking and she would never leave you alone unless you asked her to. It was why you said yes.

The regret came once you were inside.

It was a birthday party of one of a guy from your class whose name you had already forgotten but he sure as hell was famous considering how crowded and noisy it was.

"Oh it’s going to be so much fun!" Mina almost squealed beside you. She flipped her hair and winked playfully at you. "Let’s grab a drink babe."

You had to admit that despite the crowd, despite the place being noisy, the music was good and you couldn’t possibly say no to free snacks (and drinks) and maybe Mina’s enthusiasm was slowly rubbing on you as you found yourself smiling.

That was until a very familiar voice echoed from somewhere near you. Mina froze on the spot, two drinks in her hand - so did you. Hyeonwu was at the party which you should have expected. He was a social butterfly, of course he would go to a big birthday party.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and counted till ten. Mina got to your side and handed you the drink (that was incredibly needed).

"Is killing still forbidden in this country?" Mina joked though she did look like she was about to murder someone in cold blood.

"Sadly." You patted her back. There was little you could do in this situation; you could be a winner and simply ignore the tightness in your chest, enjoy the night; or you could be a looser by going home and crying the whole night. You refused to give up so easily.

Sadly for you, it wasn’t over.

"What about Y/N?" You heard someone ask about you - this time you felt your heart leaping in your throat. Why did people still need to talk about you, about your relationship? You considered it rude.

"What about her?" Hyeonwu asked sounding particularly disinterested.

"Since I don’t see her with you, I guess the rumors are true - you broke up."

"Not like she mattered anyway."

Maybe you were going to kill him after all before Mina could even lay her hands on him.

"I’m going to kill him." She growled dangerously beside you.

"Don’t. I really don’t want to visit you in jell and bring you oranges."

"I would rather you bring me chocolate."

You both looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Hyeonwu was an ass and he could go to hell; you would not let yourself be weak, you would not let yourself shed any more tear. No.

"I think I need something stronger."

It seemed like a good idea at the moment.

You learnt much much later that it was, in fact, a very bad idea.

Awful idea.

Especially when the last thing you remembered was Mina telling you to slow down on alcohol.

God.

You should quit drinking, not like it was a habit of yours but surely you had outdone yourself considering how your head felt; heavy, splitting. In fact, you felt like you were dying.

Your whole body ached, moving in the bed was pure torture.

Bed.

You jolted in the bed and regretted it instantly as the room spun around you and you felt a wave of nausea. You clamped your hand over your mouth; god, you were a mess.

You pushed back the blanket covering your body only to see that you weren’t naked but you weren’t wearing your own clothes either which definitely wasn’t much better. No, you wore a black shirt that was way too big for you, reaching your mid thighs.

Another wave of nausea.

To say that despite you being hungover you panicked at the idea of being somewhere you didn’t know with someone you didn’t know would be an understatement. You took a deep breath, calming your crazy heart and trying to keep your wish to empty your stomach at bay. You forced yourself to replay the party in your head.

The music, the people you had met, Mina, even Hyeonwu and his words you could remember. But you leaving with someone? That was a big mystery. No matter how hard you tried to remember, to even catch a glimpse of a memory - it didn’t work. There was nothing you could do except being, for once, a big girl and go face the unknown in hope that whoever’s place it was, was a nice person.

But the reality that welcomed you once you stepped out of the safety of the room was so much better.

Or worse.

Really, it was all about perspective.

Hoseok was preparing a breakfast for both of you, music playing and he sang along; you thought he was unaware of your presence. Oh how wrong you were. "Sit."

I’m going to be sick. It was one thing believing you ended up so drunk you would leave with a stranger or maybe a fellow student of your college but it was a whole new level of panic to find yourself in Hoseok’s shirt and in his kitchen. ‘How’ and ‘why’ were on the tip of your tongue but Hoseok turned around, hands on his hips he looked like an angry parent instead of - your crush.

Helplessly you followed his order.

"Good girl." Was the only thing he said and then, he resumed his preparation.

How confusing. He didn’t try to mock you or to explain, it was as if all of it was perfectly normal. As if you were friends. As if you hadn’t done something stupid. God, you hoped, no, you prayed you hadn’t done something stupid.

You cleared your throat, quite awkwardly. "How bad was it?" A part of you was scared to know, but you had to know and start somewhere.

Hoseok ignored your question.

It bothered you to no end that he chose to keep his mouth shut when he could find so many reasons to either scold you or mock you. He did none of that. He busied himself with the breakfast and only when pancakes, Nutella, orange juice and coffee was on the table, he finally sat across from you.

“Eat.”

Your jaw clenched. “Are you going to order me around or are you going to answer my questions?”

Hoseok sighed. He put his elbows on the table and rested his head in the palm of his hand. “I don’t think you’re ready for answers to be honest, Y/N.”

It did something to you the way he said your name. It shouldn’t, really, but it did. You gulped, staring nervously back at him – he looked too damn smug (and handsome with all the sun on his face). “It’s that bad.”

“You have no idea.”

“Shit.” You slammed your head on the table, startling Hoseok with your sudden gesture; he was ready to jump from his place and to get to you but then you turned your face to look at him, miserable and ready to curse yourself and your life.

Hoseok chuckled and shook his head in defeat. Cooking had eased his mind and calmed his nerves. But seeing you genuinely upset with yourself was enough to unsettle him and make his anger vanish. “You were a mess.”

You blinked at his words; finally he was willing to make you remember (and if not, explain) what happened. “How bad?”

“Well. According to your friend you got into a fight.”

“A fight?! Oh my god, with who?”

Hoseok bit on his lips, trying hard not to laugh at you. “You punched your ex.”

You stood from your seat too fast and felt dizzy right away. With a blink of an eye, Hoseok was by your side, a hand on your back and steadying before you could collapse on the floor. “Easy tiger.”

“Sorry.” You sat back. “It can’t be. I’ve never hit anybody in my life.” Then you thought about a time when Jimin had intentionally told your parents about your supposed weekend with your friend which was a cover for your weekend with your boyfriend. It was the only time you truly got mad at Jimin and had punched him in the face. “Well, except for Jimin.”

“Shocking.” Hoseok feigned surprise. “He does deserve a beating from time to time.”

Despite your anxiety, you chuckled. “And what happened after I hit him?”

Hoseok’s whole face darkened for a second; it was so fast you could have imagined it. But you didn’t. “According to your friend, he tried to slap you. Again. Luckily for him, your friend got you out of his way before he could do so.”

It was a very odd thing to witness. Hoseok was clearly annoyed, no, angry with Hyeonwu, maybe because he didn’t like men who would raise their hand on women or maybe it was just because of you, either way it was odd but nice. “You’re angry.”

Hoseok didn’t deny it. “I am. But not only with this piece of shit. Last night I was angry with you too.”

“Why me?” You frowned, “Did I do something else?”

Hoseok considered telling you the truth. He eyed you from head to toes, eyes lingering a little longer than acceptable on your bare legs before shaking his head. He wouldn’t tell but his gaze was enough to tell you that you had done something stupid.

“Don’t tell me I jump on you.” You almost begged him.

Hoseok blinked before bursting into laughter. “I would have loved that.”

His response confused you. If you didn’t jump on him (which would have explained his shirt on you) then what was it? You glanced at your hands and then at Hoseok, scowling half angrily at him – he flicked gently your forehead in response. “Really, you don’t want to remember this part.”

Your eyes widened in realization; there could be only one other thing that could embarrass you. “Oh no. Please, tell me I didn’t throw up.”

Hoseok winced at the memory. “You did and then passed out in my bathroom.”

You buried your face in between your hands, wanting the floor to swallow you whole. You regretted bitterly your poor choices in life. First you got wasted, then you thought it would be cool to punch your ex (he completely deserved it). “Wait. How did you know I was at this party?”

“You messaged me.”

“I did what?”

Hoseok showed you his phone and the messages you exchanged in your drunken state. Bloody hell. Second reminder to yourself: quit drinking. You should have called for Jimin but instead you chose Hoseok (and here you thought you would never dare to send him a message). You told him how lonely you felt and that you wanted to leave the party. This was embarrassing, enough for you to hide for a while but you also couldn’t ignore the fact (and it warmed your heart more than it should) that instead of ignoring your texts, Hoseok came for you.

"You could have called Jimin." That was definitely not what you wanted to say. A ‘thank you’ would have been better but somehow you wanted to know why he came.

"He would have asked why you asked for me instead of him." Hoseok sighed, too aware that he was playing a dangerous game that could not end well. "I shouldn’t have left you my number. But you know what? A part of me is happy I did." Hoseok gently took your hand and started rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "Who knows what would have happened otherwise?"

Your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes darted back and forth between his face and his hand.

This Hoseok seemed so much more familiar compare to the one you had faced last time. He was sweet and gentle and of course a little tease.

"You know," Hoseok started, he watched you trying to figure him out, "If love doesn’t work for you maybe you should try something else."

To say that you didn’t think about the morning with Hoseok or his words would be a lie because you did. Quite often even. A part of you clung to the memory of his touches, of his words but another, and the more rational part of you told you to forget and to move on.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t forget when you saw Hoseok every now and then. Hoseok made it even harder; he would never miss a chance to tease you (whether it was about that day or another subject) when nobody was looking.

One word from you and you could have stopped it. But you didn’t. No. You could pretend you didn’t like all this attention but it would be another lie - you loved it.

You sighed as once more you were thinking about Hoseok. How troublesome.

It was getting late. You should have been home for a while now but because of the project you were working on, you had to stay later than usual. Jimin had promised to meet you after work with cookies which would have been perfect after such a long day - Jimin was late.

One glance at your phone - still no news from your brother which worried you. Did he somehow forget about you? That would be very unlike him but the alternative scared you.

A car stopped right by your side. You glanced at the car but quickly averted your eyes, it wasn’t Jimin’s.

The person inside the car however wasn’t done with you. Winding down the window - you heard a familiar voice calling for you. A voice that made your skin tingle and warm right away.

"Hobi?"

"Get in." He smiled brightly at you, "I’m your driver for tonight."

Oh. Oh boy.

It took you all self control not to show him how you felt about it, instead you hurried to get inside his car and tried to look casual. "Do I want to know why you’re here instead of Jimin?"

"Ouch. A lesser man would have been hurt with your words, princess." Hoseok, however, didn’t seem that hurt in your opinion - he winked playfully at you and started the car. "Jimin is stuck in the office so I offered to pick you up."

"How nice of you, oh my savior." You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him.

Hoseok laughed and to your utter surprise patted your naked leg. It was such a simple gesture, probably with no intention behind, but your body reacted on it own, burning under his touch. You bit on your lips and tried to regain composure, but your mind seemed to concentrate only at the spot on your leg Hoseok had touched. Geez Y/N, calm the hell down!

"How come you were staying so late?"

You welcomed this distraction with a sigh of relief; if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment. "I’m working on my art project and I’m a little behind the schedule."

"You’re art major?" Hoseok was surprised for a short moment before memories flashed through his mind. "Right. Why am I even surprised." He chuckled to himself. "I remember you spending hours drawing or painting while we would be playing games in the background. I don’t know how you managed to concentrate with all the noise."

At least he admitted that they were the noisiest persons you had ever met. But truth to be told, it never bothered you. Yes they were loud and would try to distract you when you weren’t even trying to talk to them, but their energy, their pure friendship, the atmosphere around them was something that fueled your inspiration. "I never minded."

Hoseok glanced at you, one brow arched. "Really?"

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. "It helped me."

"Well, if you’re ever stuck, just call us. I’ll be more than glad to be noisy." He joked.

"Will do."

Asking Jimin about Hoseok without actually letting him know how you felt was tricky. Jimin knew you like the back of his hand which meant that whether you tried tricking him into believing that your questions were out of pure curiosity or not would end the same way: Jimin knowing your tiny crush on Hoseok was not as tiny as you thought.

You took the risk anyway.

While Jimin was drinking his coffee and reading newspaper, you sat in front of him and poured yourself some coffee too. "Hey Jimin," He only acknowledged your presence with a hum, waiting for whatever you wanted to say. "Are you planning to have a boys night soon?"

Jimin lowered the newspaper, checked your face before resuming his reading without giving you a proper answer which made you scowl at him. Was he in a bad mood? "Jimin-"

"Don’t say it." He interrupted you before you could try again, still without looking at you.

You blinked, confused. "Say what?"

"Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to ask."

You huffed and crossed you arms over your chest; you couldn’t believe he could possibly know what was on your mind. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." But you did.

Jimin slammed his newspaper on the table (and you winced at his reaction), his eyes dark and threatening were on you. Well, you had completely forgotten that your bother could get quite intimidating when he wanted to. You chose not to cower and just huff one more time in annoyance and maybe a tad of provocation.

"You aren’t asking when I’m going to see my friends. "Jimin pointed at you, "You’re asking when I’m going to invite Hoseok over so you could see him again."

Yeah, ok, Jimin really knew what he was talking about. You bit on your lips, contemplating whether you should be honest with him or tell him he was wrong. You couldn’t muster the courage to lie. "So? When is he coming?"

Jimin groaned. "Y/N."

"What? I’m just curious."

"No, you’re not." JImin’s jaw tensed and for a second you thought all hell would break loose. But to your biggest surprise, Jimin kept his temper in check and simply shook his head. "He’s not the right guy for you."

You scoffed in disbelief at his presumptions.. "Are you telling me this as my brother or as his friend?"

"What’s the difference? I’m telling you he’s not right for you."

"And of course you know who’s right for me?!" Getting angry and raising your voice at him was very unlike you; it took you by surprise and so it did to Jimin as his eyes widened slightly in shock.

Jimin inhaled and exhaled, trying to be the mature one and not to get angry. "I actually do."

You doubt that.

"You want to feel the butterflies. You want a prince, a fairy tale. You want someone who would be willing to sacrifice everything for you. I’m sorry but Hoseok isn’t this kind of man."

The urge to throw the rest of your coffee at him was very strong and so damn tempting. But that would be extremely childish of you and would only prove him he was right.

He was, but you weren’t ready to admit that just yet.

Jimin’s words had hit home. He was right about your view and expectations from a relationship and yet what Jimin also didn’t know was that your faith in love had shattered. It wasn’t like Hyeonwu was the love of your life and you expected to get married and have two kids with him. No. But the betrayal left a bitter taste in your mouth. So why not try something else? Something so out of your character? And who would be the best to show you the way than Hoseok?

"I know this look. You’re up to something." Mina nudged you in the stomach making you groan in both pain and annoyance. But Mina only wiggled her brows playfully at you. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

She didn’t buy it even for a second. "Nothing would be you not checking your phone every five minutes as if you’re waiting for someone, probably your very hot crush, to text you back."

You gave her the stink eye. Mina was too observant for her own good. You bit on your lips but chose not to tell her what was on your mind.

Mina huffed in annoyance as she realized that. "Fine. Don’t tell me."

But just like Mina had mentioned, you checked your phone hoping to see a message from Hoseok. You had sent him a message two hours ago, telling him you needed a lift which you didn’t but he didn’t need to know that. Till now, you still had no answer which shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. It was just a game, you promised yourself.

Mina grabbed your arm and forced you to halt. "You should probably stop checking your phone and look before you instead." A wicked smile that sent shivers down your spine spread on her plump lips. She pointed at something, at someone and when your eyes found that someone, your breath hitched in your throat and you couldn’t stop yourself from blushing.

Hoseok was leaning against his car, all in black, and looking too out of place in your opinion but so damn hot. The black turtleneck sweater and leather jacked looked all too good on him. He was a walking sin.

And apparently Mina agreed to your thoughts as she whistled and nudged you playfully. "I guess you won’t need a lift after all."

"See you tomorrow." Was the only thing you managed to say, eyes glued to a smiling Hoseok, heart roaring in your ears as you took a step towards him.

"Have fun!" Mina said too loudly for your liking. You hoped he didn’t hear it.

He did. Hoseok’s smile turned into a smirk, but at least he didn’t comment. He opened the door for you like a gentleman. "My lady."

You rolled your eyes at him. Of course he would say something like that.

To say that you were nervous would be the understatement of the century.

You drove in almost complete silence. Music played in the background and usually it would have helped you to relax but it didn’t. You kept glancing at Hoseok - if he noticed, he didn’t comment. How exactly were you supposed to bring the subject without making a fool of yourself?

"So," Hoseok cleared his throat to get your attention. "Are you planning to tell me what it’s really about?"

You snapped your head so fast at him, eyes widening. He knew you were up to something. Maybe he knew exactly what you were up to and this thought wasn’t very comforting.

You averted your eyes from his face and looked instead at your curled fist resting on your thighs. You were exactly where you wanted to be and you needed to be brave to tell him what you wanted.

You took a deep breath and looked at him. Confident. "Do you remember what you told me last time?" As you saw him frowning you quickly added, "If love doesn’t work for me I should try something else."

Hoseok’s grip on the wheel tightened. "I remember." Despite that he didn’t look at you or elaborate.

His lack of reaction (you expected him to laugh at you at least) only made you more nervous - you shoved it somewhere far and stayed as composed as possible. "Want to help me with it?"

Here. It was out.

Hoseok pulled over without a word or a single glance at you which quite frankly made you want to jump out of the car and forget everything about your plan. It was stupid, reckless. What were you even thinking?

As the car got to a halt, Hoseok turned to look at you. Really look at you. His eyes were dark and if you didn’t know better you would have thought they were hungry. Sadly, it couldn’t be true.

Hoseok licked his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your eyes and your lips, giving you a terrible impression that suddenly you were his prey. "Did you call me in hope I’d say yes?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. And yet your voice got stuck in your throat.

At your silence, Hoseok only chuckled and leaned closer so his hand could reach your warm face. Gently, he stroked your cheek. There were things he wished he could tell you, but he couldn’t. You weren’t ready.

"Did you think I would say yes to fuck you, Y/N?"

It was exactly what you hoped, exactly what you wanted. And yet, having Hoseok so close, muttering those words made you gulp, frozen on the spot. It was stupid. You were stupid.

What were you thinking, Y/N?!

Hoseok pulled back. "Thought so."

He took you home without a word.

You had fucked up.

Holidays meant more time for you. Meant more time to heal from your break up, more time to work on your project that didn’t go as planned, and sadly more time to think about your humiliation. You couldn’t forget what happened in the car, how stupid you were and how bad you had felt afterwards. Luckily for you, Jimin hadn’t invited Hoseok or any other of his friends which let you all the time to gloom.

In fact, Jimin was barely at home at all which in a way was great for you; you had more space for yourself and at least he wouldn’t know about your mood. But it didn’t mean he didn’t notice.

On the third day of your holidays, Jimin barged in your room, startling you. You were so engrossed in your painting that you hadn’t heard him at all.

"That’s enough." Jimin looked genuinely upset and tired.

You eyed him, a brow cocked at him. "What is enough?"

"You. Do you think because I have been so busy, I haven’t noticed your behavior?" Jimin pointed an accusing finger at you. "Just because you’re alone in there don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your pretty head."

Jimin approached you and put a bag at your feet.

"What is it?"

"My company is having a party and I need you to come with me."

That was ridiculous. Not because you didn’t like the idea of going to a party (though after your last experience, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea), but you going with Jimin didn’t make much sense. He could get any date he wanted, why would he bother to bring his sister instead? You shook your head in disbelief. "Jimin, you can ask any of your girl friends to come with you."

Jimin huffed, putting his hands on his hips. "I could, but my little sister is being a depressed, ugly monster right now. You need some fresh air."

You tried to hit him for the ‘ugly monster’ but Jimin was fast to dodge your attack, laughing at your attempt. "Get ready. We’re leaving in two hours."

"Would it be enough for you to get ready?" You joked, though it was half true. Jimin tended to spend more time than you to get ready.

He only stuck his tongue out in reply.

There was no denying, Jimin’s company sure as hell knew how to throw a party. You didn’t expect much when he asked you to come with him but you definitely blessed him for bringing you along. The venue was beautiful; from lights to the layout of the place, to the music in the background (and let’s not forget about the food and free alcohol). For a second, you forgot about Jimin and let go of his arm just so you could wander and have a better view of the place - Jimin only smiled at that and watched you from afar.

After three days of mopping around, it was good to see your eyes shining brightly and looking forward for something, even if it was for one night. Jimin hoped that by bringing you with him, it would make you realize that whatever was bothering you wasn’t worth it.

"I take it as you like the place." Jimin joined you and snatched two glasses of Champaign. "Here."

You being you gladly accepted. "I do. Are all your company’s parties so luxurious?" Then you glanced at the people around. They all looked classy and beautiful with their outfits and you were more than thankful that Jimin found a pretty hot dress for you - a red, long backless dress with a front split.

"No. This one is more formal but sometimes…It gets crazy." Judging by Jimin’s reaction, you decided that you didn’t want to know about the crazy parties, just because imagining your brother doing something reckless was too much no matter how close you were.

"Come on, sis. Lets the fun begin." He showed you his arm and you gladly accepted it.

Jimin was an amazing brother.

You, of course, already knew that, but tonight one more time he proved you just how good of a brother he was. Nothing obliged him to stay the most part of the night with you, nothing. But he did. He drank with you, stole some food with you when nobody was looking (though would it still be considered stealing when he belonged to the company). He joked with you, commented on people. He introduced you to his people, his crew and by the huge smiles on their face, you knew just how much Jimin was appreciated.

You wanted him to enjoy the night. "Jimin," you tugged his hand gently. "Go. Have fun." Which only made him frown. Of course he wouldn’t understand which only made you smile fondly at him. "I think you’ve spent more than enough time with me, you should go and enjoy yourself."

Jimin scoffed. "What makes you think I’m not enjoying myself?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Oh please. Do you think I didn’t see how you were eying this girl by the window? I’m not blind." You pinched his arm making him yelp and take a step from you. "Go. I’ll be fine. I probably won’t stay for too long so don’t worry for me."

Despite your attempt at convincing him to leave you alone, Jimin hesitated.

"I’m going to get really mad if you don’t go to her." You warned him.

"No you won’t." But he smiled nevertheless. "Fine." He ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair and sighed in defeat. "Fine. But just so you know, I had fun tonight. It reminded me the good old days - I hadn’t realized just how much I missed those times."

You grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze - you completely agreed with him. Till tonight, you hadn’t realized just how much you missed spending some quality time with him. "Now go and you better not come back before morning!"

This time, Jimin rolled his eyes at you.

Proud of yourself, you snatched another glass of champaign. You wandered around the huge place without really minding people until, and sadly for you, you bumped into someone you didn’t expect to see tonight because your lovely brain had chosen to forget that Jung Hoseok was also working with Jimin.

You stumbled - Hoseok was fast to grab your arm and steady you.

Bloody hell.

Why.

How could you have forgotten that Hoseok too was working in this company and that obviously he would attend the party was beyond your comprehension. Why did you always forget about the most important things that could have avoided you some unwanted situation?

You had no words. You felt embarrassed and not only because you had bumped into him. No. The simple sight of him (looking absolutely devastating in his black suit) brought back the memory of the very humiliating night that you wished to forget.

"Sorry." You quickly apologized and while Hoseok was too stunned to see you, you ran away.

The moment you reached the stairs, you took your damn heels off. Your feet hurt and with you trying to get away from Hoseok as fast as possible - it hurt. You leaned against the wall for a short moment, taking a deep breath.

"Put those back on." Hoseok’s voice startled you and you almost hit your head in the process.

"Not your damn business." Shit. You wanted to smash your head against the wall, feeling utterly stupid for being suddenly so harsh and so not like you. Yes, you were frustrated. Yes, you were angry, but with yourself.

Hoseok, on the other hand, was stunned but only for a short moment. It wasn’t very often that he witnessed your sassy and angry side but he decided that he liked it. He had two options before him; he could either leave you to your fate and go back to the party (a party he wasn’t very fond of anyway) or he could stay with you. He chose the latter.

Without a warning, Hoseok lifted you from the ground - you yelped in surprise and fear but your arms instantly flew to his neck.

"The hell are you doing?!" You screamed at him.

"Since you’re being so disobedient, I’m bringing you home." Was his only answer.

You couldn’t accept that. You pinched his nape, hit his chest in hope he would let you go. He didn’t and he wasn’t bothered with your antics. Oh no, it amused him. All your attempts at being feisty and strong - he knew he had the upper hand.

"Jung Hoseok, you better put me down now or-"

"Or what?" He cut you before you could finish your threat. "You’re going to scream?"

That was your first option, yes, but you weren’t sure you wanted to attracted any attention on you. You hit him instead in the chest. Again.

Hoseok chuckled and his grip around you tightened. Before you could ask him anything, he took you by surprise by putting you on a car. His car. You blinked, confused, and observed him.

Hoseok didn’t say a word, he simply watched you, licking his lips as his eyes roamed through your body.

Good god. Your skin flushed under his gaze. You were in so much trouble.

"That was unnecessary." You said as you tried to slid from the car - Hoseok was faster. Before you could get back on your feet, he got closer to you. His hands were on your exposed thighs as he settled between your legs. Dear lord. Your heart leapt in your throat at the sudden proximity and the feel of his hands on your bare skin. Just like the last time, it burnt, so bad, so good.

"Hoseok?"

He didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, on the feel of your skin against the palm of his hands. He was supposed to be the reasonable one but the moment he spotted you at the parted wearing this sinful dress, all his resolution vanished - he wanted you. He pressed his head against your forehead, eyes never leaving your lips. It was pure madness. "Tell me to stop, Y/N."

"Wh-what?" You were genuinely confused.

His hands traveled through your body, slowly, gently, feather like touches that sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. He was toying with you and your feelings - you couldn’t think straight.

"Tell me to stop." His lips were impossibly close, all you had to do was to tilt your head and your lips would finally meet his. "You’re the only one who can stop me. Say no and I’ll stop and bring you home."

You gulped nervously and at the same time hopeful and excited with what he could do if you said yes instead. "And what happens if I don’t stop you?"

Hoseok groaned as he closed his eyes. He imagined many things, especially ever since you mentioned fucking him - he couldn’t stop thinking about it. "Jimin is going to kick my ass."

More confident, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him closer against you. You whispered against his lips, "I’m going to protect you then."

You sealed the promise with a kiss.

It was seven in the morning, you were a mess but a rather satisfied mess. Hoseok had dropped you after the almost sleepless night you had spent at his place. You expected him to regret having sex with you, heck, you expected to feel guilty about it too but none of it happened. Hoseok had woken you up with a gentle kiss on the lips, on your cheeks, on your shoulders - he didn’t particularly wanted to part with you but he knew better than to take risks with Jimin.

You pushed the door to Jimin’s place as quietly as you could, hoping deep inside you that Jimin had listened to your advice and spend the night somewhere else while you were supposed to be at home.

On your tiptoes you walked through the place, trying not to knock anything on your path - Jimin cleared his throat.

"Holy shit!" You jumped and slammed your hand over your chest. "You scared me!"

What Jimin was doing awake at this unholy hour (at least for a Saturday) was beyond you. He was at home and you were in trouble.

Jimin eyed you with a quirked brow, up and down, taking notes of your state. You wanted to ignore his glare and run to the safety of your room but sadly, your feet were rooted to the ground, staring back at him. "Hi?"

Jimin shook his head. "So. Whose body am I going to bury in the garden?"

"We don’t have a garden." You answered without thinking - Jimin rolled his eyes in response.

Yes, you were in trouble.

What was supposed to be a one time thing with Hoseok turned into something more. Every time he called, you said yes, swearing every single time it would be the last because you were terrified at how he made you feel. But you couldn’t get enough.

You bit on your lips while playing with your pencil. Instead of drawing, in class, you found yourself glancing at your still red wrists - memories flashed through your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together.

Flashback

You watched, completely bewitched, as Hoseok tied your hands to the bed with a red silk ribbons. With every step he took, Hoseok watched you carefully, making sure he wasn’t overstepping some boundaries, that you were hundred percent comfortable with whatever he was doing to you.

You were.

God, you were more than that judging by how wet you were and he hadn’t even touched you. Another time, another day you would have felt embarrassed about being so aroused but it was Hoseok and if there was one thing he made sure to teach you was that you should never be ashamed or embarrassed about yourself.

Never.

"Such a good girl for me." Hoseok praised you and once he was done with the knot, he pressed a gentle kiss to your wrists. Such a sweet and delicate gesture that sent shivers down your spine and to your core - you pressed your thighs together seeking any friction you could get.

Hoseok chuckled at your attempt but did nothing to ease your aching body, no, instead he pulled back and admired the view before him.

You were splayed in front of him, lips beautifully swollen with all the kissing, pupils blown. It was his favorite view; you being naked and so willing for him, he was getting harder with every look he took.

"So beautiful." His finger trailed along your calf, drawing circles.

"Hoseok." You pleaded, skin on fire. You wanted him to touch you, to feel him.

Hoseok only smiled in response and considered what he wanted to do with you. He crawled, parting your legs in the process. He kissed your calf, a warm and gentle press of the lips that got you to whine in both delight and slight despair. You were torn between the wish he could simply ravish you, or the wish he would take his sweet time with you, torturing your body, your senses - you bit on your lips.

"What should I do with you, baby girl?" Hoseok hummed as he hovered over you. His fingers trailed along your jaw before his thumb was rubbing your lips. He loved your mouth, those pretty lips that could drive him crazy. He would have loved to feel your mouth around his cock, to have you chock around him. Yes, he would love that very much but another time.

Anything, you wanted to say but your words got lost the moment his hands started roaming your body. They were everywhere. On your thighs, your stomach, your breast. Every touch drove you crazier and he knew it. Hoseok knew your body like the back of his hand and he sure as hell knew what to do to make you beg.

"Hoseok, please." You begged, not giving a damn as long as he gave you what you needed. "I need you." You lifted your hips to lean further in his touch but Hoseok pushed you back on the bed. So easily. "Please."

"Such an impatient little thing." He tsked but his smirk only widened.

Before you could whine, his lips claimed your mouth, demanding, wet, intoxicating and brief. You wanted to pull him back, to deepen the kiss but you couldn’t. You pulled at your restraints, the cloth only sank into your skin.

Hoseok’s lips traveled from your lips to your jaw, to your neck, leaving as many purple marks as possible (knowing all too well that you would complain later); your body was a white canvas and he sure as hell wanted to work on it.

His lips followed an invisible path, slowly, sometimes gentle sometimes harsher, you could never guess when he would worship a part of your body and when he would suddenly bite hard enough for you to cry out his name.

Hoseok covered every inch of your body with kisses and by the time he came face to face with your dripping pussy, you were a crying, bothered mess. His lips weren’t the only thing that drove you completely mad. No, the whole time he worked on you, his eyes never left yours and this simple sight made you almost come undone.

"Hoseok." You could feel the tears of frustration at the corner of your eyes; you were too wound up to be able to bear it any longer. You needed him, now.

Hoseok’s grin only widened before he kissed, eagerly, your clit - you threw your head back, letting out a loud moan and pulling again at your restraints. It was so annoying not being able to move freely; you wanted to grab Hoseok’s hair, pull his head closer to your heat and to feel more of him.

Hoseok feasted on you like a starved man, tongue and lips working magic between your legs. Your mind went completely blank, overwhelmed with all the tension in your body, all the fire and incredible pleasure that made you see stars.

"Fuck, Hoseok." You moaned his name over and over again.

Hoseok hummed in satisfaction and gave your clit a particularly harsh suck that made your toes curl. "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you, baby girl." He glanced at you and the sight of Hoseok’s glistening lips with your juices made your walls clench around nothing.

Fuck.

"You taste so sweet." He licked his lips. "I should probably kidnap you more often and have my way with you."

Before you could suggest him that kidnapping you whenever he wanted (even if you loved the idea) was a bad idea unless you wanted to deal with a very angry Jimin, Hoseok finally gave you something to fill the emptiness inside you: he pushed a finger against your hole, then a second. Your walls welcomed him eagerly.

"Look at you." He hummed in approval as his fingers stretched you, making you push your hips to swallow more of him. "This pussy is so greedy."

"Hoseok." You cried out, "Please, please."

All he gave you was a gentle press of his lips against your thigh before going back to his work, fingers, tongue, overwhelming you till you couldn’t see or hear anything, till your body tensed before exploding.

But Hoseok didn’t stop. Not when you were pulling at your restraints, not when you were trying to get away from his tongue, your body being too sensitive after your first orgasm of the night.

He was going to be the death of you.

End flashback

You swore to whoever was willing to listen (and maybe to yourself too) that this art project would be the death of you. Usually, art wasn’t a problem; you loved painting, you loved drawing, it was your way to express yourself, to immortalize a moment in life, anything. But this project? You couldn’t concentrate on it. You tried, thousands of times but every time what came out of you wasn’t enough.

You came home exhausted, upset and wanted nothing more than a warm meal, a shower and the comfort of your bed. Those plans, however, vanished from your mind, the moment you spotted extra pairs of shoes at the entrance and judging by the numbers, you put two and two together.

A tiny smile spread on your lips as you walked on tiptoes, making sure to not make any noise just so you could check on them without them noticing. And what a sight! Three men completely sprawled out on the couch with fluffy blankets and cushions, wearing pajamas and of course with tons of snacks on the coffee table. You had to memorize this image - discretely you took your phone out and snapped a picture, smiling proudly to yourself. This was perfect blackmail material.

But then, and sadly for your brother, you noticed what exactly they were planning to watch on TV. You gasped loudly, making yourself known. "How dare you."

"Hi Y/N!" Taehyung waved cutely at you and you almost forgot all about your wrath - how were you supposed to stay mad with those pretty twinkling eyes and pretty smile? No really.

You shook your head and averted your eyes, stopping quickly at Hoseok. He wiggled his brows playfully at you causing a hot fire spread through your body - you rolled your eyes at him to make a point. This was not the right time or place to mess with you. When your eyes met Jimin’s, you gave him the stink eye.

"Hi sis."

"Don’t hi me you traitor!" You took a dangerous step towards them and you swore Hoseok tried to bite down a laugh (Jimin nudged him in the stomach for that). "I forgive Taehyung and Hoseok because they don’t know what Marvel means to me, but you," You pointed an accusing finger at him, "My own brother! How could you!"

Yes, you were absolutely dramatic and ready to flip a table.

"Oh come on, Y/N, we weren’t-" Jimin started. He was tempted to fight you, it was just so fun to see you so annoyed, but another part of him was genuinely worried of what you could do.

"We were planning to watch Dr. Strange." Taehyung threw chips in the air and caught it easily with his mouth, that almost distracted you if not for the mention of your favorite Marvel.

Jimin shrieked and grabbed Hoseok to shield himself from your wrath. "I’m sorry!!"

"You’re so dead." You warned him and you would have jumped on him to probably strangle him if not for a very smug Hoseok who was all too amused with your antics. You promised to yourself to deal with him later. Nobody was allowed to mock your love for Dr. Strange. Not even Hoseok. No matter how good his dick was.

"I’m going to take a quick shower and you better wait for me to start the movie or I swear to god you’re all dead." You warned them, eyeing every single one of them. Jimin hid fully behind Hoseok and cursed under his breath. Hoseok shook his head while Taehyung blinked completely unfazed with your outburst.

They listened.

Whether it was out of fear or because they really wanted you to join them for their Marvel’s night, they waited for you.

By the time you joined them in your pajamas, Taehyung was wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by pillows, sitting on the floor instead of the couch. He winked at you and patted the empty space beside Hoseok. Hoseok lifted the blanket that was covering him to let you in. For a second you contemplated the idea of sitting beside Jimin instead of Hoseok, it would be annoying yes (because you still felt like beating the crap out of your brother), while sitting beside Hoseok would be too tempting.

You sat, of course, beside Hoseok, your heart and wish to be beside him won over your brain. He covered both of you with the blanket and pressed his thigh lightly against yours. You closed your eyes, thought about Dr. Strange; you had to focus, on the movie, on the actor, on anything except for the warm hand that was suddenly on your thigh.

This was exactly what you had feared. Hoseok had no shame, was fearless and loved to tease you despite Jimin being just beside him, completely unaware of what was going on (luckily for you).

Hoseok was drawing slow and gentle circles on your skin making you shiver and sank deeper in the couch. It took you all self-control to not look at him (and possibly straddle his legs) and pretend that nothing was going on under the blanket- this was torture. Torture like Hoseok loved it, you did too of course.

Not once Hoseok looked your way, nothing on his face could have betrayed his intentions but you felt it. His fingers were gentle, stroking your skin but of course Hoseok didn’t stop; his hand slid higher and right between your legs, fingers teasing gently – you squeezed your thighs tightly, trapping his hand in between.

You can’t. But shit you wanted it so badly. Hoseok pinched your skin forcing you to open up for him while biting your lips in order to prevent any very unwelcomed sound.

But despite how bothered his simple touches left you, you chose to be the responsible one. You took a deep breath and grabbed Hoseok’s hand, giving it a strong squeeze you looked at him, frowning, conveying all your frustration and a warning.

Hoseok chuckled in response.

The little shit.

Having sex with Hoseok was great. No, fuck it. It was mind-blowing and you were pretty sure nobody else could ever make you feel as much as Hoseok did. It terrified you but you cherished those moments more than you were willing to admit to yourself.

But having sex with him was, funnily enough, not the only thing you enjoyed. Despite your little arrangement, Hoseok gave you more than you expected from a fuck buddy (except he wasn’t your buddy but rather Jimin’s). He spent times willingly with you, taking you to cute places and date coffees. He would help you to sneak from your place and drive you to places you wouldn’t have visited on your own. Hoseok was spontaneous and you loved it a lot about him.

But the thing you loved the most about what Hoseok gave you, was the hours you would spend laying lazily in bed talking. It was something you expected (if not required) from a boyfriend - it was intimate. But Hoseok gave you those moments anyway.

Just like tonight. You told Jimin you would spend the weekend with Mina, girls’ weekend because with college and all the projects you just didn’t have so much time together anymore. A big fat lie and you would have felt bad about it if not for the fact that being with Hoseok made you forget everything about your guilt.

Hoseok sat on the bed with his legs stretched so you could rest your head on his thighs. His hand was running through your hair, so naturally as if he had done it thousands of times (you wished he did).

"I was wondering," You started and turned your face so your cheek was pressed against his thigh. "Did you know it was me in the club? I mean-"

Hoseok didn’t let you finish your mumbling, a smile spread on his face. "I did. I was watching you from afar for a good part of the night." His fingers kept running through your hair - it felt so good you almost purred. "You looked miserable and I wanted to come and talk to you but I was a tiny bit worried you wouldn’t recognize me." Then, he winked at you, "You didn’t recognize me actually."

You jolted from your comfortable spot, eyes widened in surprise. "You’re kidding."

"Am not." Hoseok flicked your forehead and pushed you back. "How could I not recognize Jimin’s little sister? I used to tease you all the time."

At that you smiled. "You were awful."

"It’s because your reactions were always so endearing, I couldn’t help it."

You huffed in fake annoyance but the urge to smile was stronger.

Hoseok’s fingers moved from your hair to your forehead, then your nose (and he did not missed the chance to flick it playfully) and finally your lips. He parted them gently with his thumb – you let him in. He was completely hypnotized and you could only imagine what was going through his mind (something you would probably enjoy if he asked).

"I know what you’re thinking." You commented and bit lightly on Hoseok’s thumb.

Hoseok chuckled. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone is being insatiable."

All you did was plant a kiss on his thigh and feel him tense under your lips.

Too easy.

When you got back from the weekend at Hoseok’s place, you were positive that nothing and nobody could ruin it for you. You felt light, happy, relaxed - everything you had been missing out for the past months.

Jimin was sprawled on the couch with his laptop; his hair was a mess. Clearly someone was ruffling his hair too much in frustration which was such a Jimin’s thing to do. You smiled brightly at the sight, the urge to tease him was getting strong.

"Please tell me you’re not working on a Sunday night." You were half mocking him half scolding him.

Jimin, despite being a flirt and a social butterfly, had a bad tendency at bringing his work at home too. At first, it didn’t bother you as much because he found time to be with you (not like he was forced to) but somehow, for the past weeks, he had been working more and more which wasn’t very healthy in your opinion.

Jimin barely looked at you, whether it was because he was too concentrate or because there was something you couldn’t tell but you sensed something was off.

You hurried to put your bag in your room before going back to him and plopping on the couch beside him. "Hello?"

Jimin was so tempted to ignore you, he wanted to ignore you but the need to make sure he was just imagining things was too strong. He shut his screen and looked at you. "Such a noisy little sister."

"We have that in common then." You nudged him with your feet.

Jimin was fast to grab your feet, smirking wickedly. "Oh don’t start or I might tickle you to death."

"You wouldn’t dare!" You gasped despite knowing that he would do it without hesitation. Luckily for you, Jimin seemed to be in a rather merciful mood. He let go of your feet and grabbed instead a cushion that he pressed against his chest and rested his head on top of it.

"I have a funny story for you."

"Tell me."

"So I have a friend and he has a very cute and smart little sister."

"Are you talking about me?" You laughed and nudged him one more time. Jimin only smiled without trying to deny it which was your first hint that you were in trouble.

"Well you see, his little sister that he loves very very much, started going out a lot which is absolutely fine. Great even. But one day she lied and it bothered him."

You would be lying if you said his words didn’t affect you or made your palm sweaty. There was no way the story wasn’t about you, and the lie it had something to do with your weekend. Shit.

Jimin didn’t continue his story; he sat and scrutinizing your face - you wished he kept talking, it would make you less nervous.

"It’s Hoseok, isn’t it?"

Oh. Well, you were in trouble. Big, big trouble.

You let out a harsh breath; what were you supposed to say?

Jimin ruffled his hair before gently grabbing your calf and giving it a squeeze. "I should have known you wouldn’t listen."

"You aren’t angry?" Was the only question that actually mattered. You could deal with Jimin disagreeing with your choice of men or relationship, but you didn’t want him to be angry with you.

"I’m not. I know, shocking." He joked but looked more relaxed. "I can’t say I’m delighted but you’re a big girl and Hoseok is a smart man, I trust him enough not to hurt you."

"He won’t." Not willingly was what you wanted to add.

You

[10:05pm]: You might one to reconsider your friendship with Jimin.

Hobi

[10:07pm]: Ok??? Should I worry?

You

[10:07pm]: He promised not to burry you in our imaginary garden.

Hobi

[10:08pm]: Ok. I’m worried.

Hobi

[10:08pm]: What happened? What did I do?

You

[10:10pm]: Well maybe, Jimin knows about us?

Hobi

[10:11pm]: Oh. I’m moving to Alaska. Just in case, you know.

You

[10:11pm]: Tell me you have a tiny place in your suitcase for me?

Hobi

[10:12pm]: For you, always.

Your phone kept buzzing through your last class to the point that you had to mute it completely for the sake of your sanity. Some were messages from Jimin, some from Hoseok (which now that you thought about it should have worried you that those two decided to message you at the same time) - it didn’t matter you had to concentrate.

"When did you become so popular?" Mina asked you as you put your books back in the bag.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh do you think I didn’t hear your phone?"

She was only messing with you. You knew it but couldn’t stop yourself from wincing anyway. "Sorry about that."

"Oh come on! Don’t make that face! It’s not that bad." She nudged you with her hips to make you feel better. "Now, I’m just curious."

That seemed to do it work - you relaxed at her words and remembered that you were supposed to read the messages.

You could have started with Jimin’s messages, after all he was your brother and it could have been urgent (considering he was trying to get your attention, badly, for the past hour) but you of course chose Hoseok.

But when you opened the conversation, the sight of a very familiar bag was not what you had expected. "Oh my god."

Mina leaned to peak over your shoulder - she frowned and pointed at the picture Hoseok had sent. "That’s your travel bag."

It was. Just under the picture Hoseok had texted you about his plan.

"You need a distraction. So do I. P.S: Jimin almost killed me for that."

You couldn’t help but smile. Hoseok sure knew how to take you off guard.

Driving for hours with Hoseok was nothing like you had imagined. It was fun and relaxed; he would tell you stories about the place, about the road and you would tell him about some of your own experiences. Some other time you would sing together.

You felt happy. Too happy. But you didn’t let this realization bother you; this weekend was about you and your lack, lately, of inspiration. Hoseok thought that the best way to reconcile with your muse would be the nature - he brought you to his family house that stood near a forest and by a lake.

It was hard to believe that such a place existed in real world - for a short moment, as you walked slowly to the house, you felt like you were finally part of one of the fairy tales you used to read when you were little.

"This is beautiful." You thought out loud.

Hoseok didn’t comment; he agreed, obviously, since the wooden house was one of his favorite destination when he needed to get out of town and forget about his troubles. But now, the beauty of this place was nothing compared to what he felt by just watching you from aside. You looked happy; your face lightened, eyes shining brightly and with curiosity. You were being you, the girl he used to know and not the sad and frustrated girl he had met. This thought warmed his heart.

"You are." Hoseok whispered to himself.

"I knew I would find you here." Hoseok plopped on the ground beside you.

You only smiled warmly and kept drawing. You had found the perfect spot for drawing and apparently your muse agreed. Ever since you had spotted the lovely, old willow by the lake, you knew it was the right place and you had to get there as soon as possible.

Maybe too fast. "I’m sorry." You averted, quite unwillingly, your eyes from your sketchbook to look at Hoseok. You had left him do all the work while you went straight to the lake. A tiny part of you felt bad about it but one glance at him and he put you at ease.

Hoseok was smiling brightly. "Not a big deal." He gently took your hand only to interlace his fingers with yours. So intimate, so lovely, you were ready to melt on the spot. And so did your heart.

"I know about your struggles. You told me you couldn’t draw no matter how hard you tried, remember?" He looked at both of your hands, squeezing your fingers while watching them, contemplative.

Odd.

"This place, in my opinion, has some healing effect on people. I hoped it would help you." He glanced at your sketchbook and his smile only widened. "Apparently it did."

Knowing that Hoseok brought you here for the sole purpose of helping you to get back on good terms with your muse completely undid you. You wanted to cry, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to kiss him and all at the same time - Hoseok had this effect on you. He made you feel, so many things at once.

Unable to stop yourself, you put down your sketchbook and instead slowly reached for Hoseok. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you straddled his laps. Nor could you resist the urge to peck his lips - so you did. You pecked his lips. Once, twice. This simple gesture made both of you smile.

"Thank you." You said from the bottom of your heart. And not only for bringing you to this place. No, you wanted to thank him for making you forget of your failures, of your heartbreak.

Sadly for you and despite all Hoseok’s efforts, there was one heartbreak you couldn’t avoid.

Because now that you were in his arms, you couldn’t deny any longer how you felt, what you felt. Hoseok was no longer your crush. No.

You loved him.

And admitting it hurt.

But you wouldn’t let the pain ruin this magical moment that Hoseok had offered you. So instead of dwelling on your feelings, you chose to forget all about it and enjoy everything you could get with him. One last time.

You had been ignoring Hoseok.

It wasn’t your initial intention. Hell he gave you absolutely no reason to ignore but you just couldn’t face him after the marvelous weekend in his company. Not when your heart was squeezing and twisting in pain every time he looked at you with this bright smile, every time he touched you, kissed you. It drove you crazy.

You knew it would happen. Jimin knew it too. So when you got safely home and faced him, you couldn’t stop your tears. Jimin had only hugged you and kissed your temples.

"I don’t know whether I should be happy that you finally agreed to meet with me or be angry." Hoseok admitted as you took place across from him.

After one long and miserable week, you finally asked Hoseok to meet at a café. Maybe choosing a public place was your way to make sure you wouldn’t break down and just go back on your words - now that you were seeing him (he looked exhausted judging by the dark circles under his eyes) again, you knew it was the right choice.

"I-m"

"Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s not why I came." Hoseok cut you. He was angry and rightfully so but it only made things more difficult for you. "Why did you avoid me?"

You took a deep breath. "I was scared."

Hoseok blinked, confused. "Of what?" He pointed at himself, "Me?"

"No!" You hurried to answer almost jolting from your chair. "God no."

You hated yourself for sounding so weak and indecisive but confessing how you truly felt didn’t come out as naturally as you thought it would.

"I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ignore you but at the moment it seemed like the best option. I needed time for myself and space to think."

Hoseok considered your words. He had felt confused, angry, heartbroken but now that he heard your voice, he felt just extremely tired. "Why?"

"Because nothing had changed, Hobi." And because I love you. "You’re still you. The handsome man and I’m still this foolish little girl who’s completely infatuated with you. It was stupid of me seeking you to distract me when really all it did was to make me fall for you. Hard." Admitting your feelings to yourself was one thing, admitting it to Hoseok was another and much harder, and yet, it was also a relief.

"What you did for me for the past months, I’m so thankful. You made me feel like nobody else ever did. Hell, I didn’t think I could feel anything like that at all. I wanted to believe this deal between us would be enough for me." You stopped to inhale sharply, "I really wanted it to be enough."

"It was a mistake, Hoseok. But you know what?" A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "I don’t regret it."

"I love you. But for my own safety, I need us to stop before I get hurt."

When at two in the morning you heard Hoseok’s voice, your first thought was that you had finally lost your mind. There was no other explanation, right?

You didn’t.

As you got closer to your door, the voice that you thought belonged to Hoseok was getting clearer and louder. It wasn’t your imagination, Hoseok was really here talking with a very sleepy and clearly upset Jimin.

"Hoseok, it’s two in the freaking morning and I’m that close to kicking your ass." Jimin tried to sound threatening but the tired yawn that escaped his lips ruined it for him. He cursed under his breath and couldn’t stop himself before glancing nervously at your slightly opened door.

Did he know?

You kept yourself hidden in the darkness of your room but you listened, heart roaring in your ears, mind going crazy. Why was Hoseok here? In the middle of the night?

"I let her down." Were Hoseok’s first words.

Jimin cocked a brow. "No. She left you."

Hoseok ruffled his hair. "No. I didn’t mean break up." He groaned in despair. Maybe drinking before barging at his friend’s place was a very, very bad idea but he couldn’t wait. He had to let it out even if it was only to Jimin.

"I let her leave." It pained him to say it. "God, this is hard."

"Hoseok." Jimin inched forward. "Were you drinking?"

"What?" Hoseok asked confused. "No. I mean yes, but that’s not the point."

"Man-"

"No. Listen." Hoseok cut him before he could lose it. "You don’t understand. Jimin, I was so shaken with her confession, I couldn’t believe it."

Jimin halted and stared back, face completely blank, contemplating whether his friend was plain dumb or was just too drunk. "The hell? Come on, Hoseok. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice!"

Hoseok laughed humorlessly. "Well shit, Jimin, no I didn’t. Would I have known, I wouldn’t have let her pretend."

Now that took you both by surprise. You clasped your hand over your mouth to prevent any unwelcome sound to leave your lips. This discussion was slowly driving you mad.

"You wouldn’t?"

"I wanted her ever since I saw her in that blue dress." Hoseok admitted and despite his drunken state and all the anxiety, he smiled at the memory. "Don’t hit me please."

Jimin kept his mouth shut but only because he was thinking about you in your room. He knew you were awake. While Hoseok was too busy pouring out his heart, Jimin had heard your tiny, barely audible gasp. Good. At least, and he hoped, it would lead to both of you stopping being stupid and annoying.

"You guys are so annoying." Jimin finally said while rubbing his temples. It was two in the damn morning for god’s sake and he wasn’t even drunk to deal with those feelings. "And I hate you both."

Hoseok tilted his head then glanced nervously at the door to your room. "You’re not hitting me?"

"Don’t tempt me." Jimin warned him. "Though I wouldn’t be sure if I’d be hitting you because I saw Y/N crying or because you dared to wake me up."

"So." Jimin, once sure, was free of Hoseok’s love confession, came to your room, leaning against your door with crossed arms. "Are you going to pretend you didn’t hear his confession or?"

You pretended not hearing him, blanket tightly wrapped around you, you simply refused to face your brother. You were embarrassed and confused, and felt warm at the same time. Damn Hoseok and his words. All your efforts to not think about Hoseok were ruined.

Jimin shook his head. Yes, he definitely hated the two of you. "Maybe I was wrong." That got your attention. "Maybe, Hoseok is your prince."

"Oh shut up." You let out against your better judgement.

Despite Hoseok’s confession, for once in your life you didn’t act upon your feelings. No, you chose to wait. Not because you were scared of facing the truth (ok, maybe a little bit), but you needed time. Time to concentrate on what truly mattered on the moment which happened to be the deadline for your project.

Most of people around you, including your brother, your family and obviously Hoseok, believed that the project was only about college. Which wasn’t quite the truth. No. A part of the project was obviously meant for college but what you hid from your close one was that a little art gallery wanted to exhibit your work once you were ready.

"When I think you can’t get any more amazing, you prove me wrong, girl." Mina commented, excited as she bounced at you, not caring for the people around you. "Those paintings are excellent. I mean, I’ve seen some of them before but the additional one? They’re mind-blowing."

You hugged her back, tightly, thankful for your friend’s presence.

"I know I’m not supposed to pry but, is he coming?"

You bit on your lips, hesitating. "I don’t know." You were scared to think about it. "I hope so."

But your worries vanished as fast as they came - Hoseok stepped inside the exhibit along with Jimin, looking like a damn model. Of course he would look so good. Obviously, you weren’t the only one who noticed his presence (or maybe you were just too aware because you cared).

Hoseok, despite spotting you right away, didn’t come to you right away. No, his attention was completely captured by the first paintings and you couldn’t blame him. He, out of all people in this room, would recognize and appreciate most your work. Not only because it was your work, but because he would recognize and understand. And he did.

He took his time and you followed his steps, walking behind him without a word. You smiled at people from time to time, but your attention stayed on him and on his face, wanting to not miss any of his reaction, of his emotions.

"I guess I was right." Hoseok stopped at the last painting. It was the lake and the old willow and stars in the dark sky. He turned to look at you, eyes shining brightly. "It helped you. Healed you."

"It did." You admitted and took one more step towards him.

There was so much you wished you could say. So much you wanted to show him. But now that you stood before him, every words, every needs just vanished except one: the need to kiss him.

Hoseok watched you carefully, scrutinizing your face. "You were awake." It almost sounded like he was trying to reassure himself. "Of course you did."

"I did."

"Will you listen to my confession again, then?" Hoseok inhaled sharply as by the end of his question, you had grabbed his hand and thus taking him quite off guard. His eyes averted from your pretty face to your interlaced fingers. God, this touch - he had missed it.

"Well," A wicked smile spread on your lips as you took a final step towards him. You were close, almost feeling his body against yours. "Tell me more about me and blue dress." And as you kissed his jaw, you added, "And what you wanted to do to me from day one."

#bts #hoseok #bts smut #bts fanfic #hoseok fic #j-hope #bts fic #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #make it right

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foilfreak · 4 years ago

Text

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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mymadmedleyw · 3 years ago

Text

Death

(ao3), belongs under Certain Moment of Time, could be read independently, just as each for the days will be shorts, but all together forming a whole picture

(As this is the last chapter within the 'Going Angst Week 2021', a little reminder about the right order in reading the chapters chronologically (I suggest CMOT link): 4, 6, 2, 5, 3, and 7, 1)

tw: miscarriage

---

Blood. One could say after seeing it many times, sensing its rusty, salty odour within the air might have lost the sensibility to it after a while. But it never ceased on the weight if it was about loss, about death.

Then it always changed to the horrible, suffocating disinfectant scent with the white surrounding and the sound of silent sobs. Just as this time. They didn't even dare to count for how many occasions they ended up here, broken and devastated.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" mumbled for like the thousand times the hollow voice. "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have-" the sentence trailed off by another chuckling, squeezing hard on his hand that was holding hers, never letting it go.

Every attempt, every hopeful try led back here and- and it just twisted his heart, seeing, again and again, the slightly greyishly paled skin that years ago was beaming. Years ago…

Suddenly the picture of the small child in her arms came back, like that could have been a mirage. Sadly, he was well aware it wasn't, that happened, but- what he had done wrong?

Vlad pressed his forehead on her, taking the same question that he was asking from himself during the past few years. Why he hadn't told her? It was the same damn question, but with a different meaning this time. Time… yes, that it was.

He clearly could remember the day in the hospital bed, staring at the black and white photograph, bringing for them good news again… and then he couldn't tell what had happened, but he had woken up with years of memories in his mind and- and then as he had sat up, holding his throbbing head someone put a hand on his shoulder, asking with the greatest concern if he was okay.

It had needed hours to understand it wasn't a dream, and by lunch – made by the most amazing woman on the Earth – his mind settled too.

As much weird it was, but this was the truth. Madeline Masters. His wife. Also aware of his state – that they, according to his new-old memories, together tried to keep at bay. He knew he lied to her about its seriousness. That she only was informed about the simply side-effects: floating, invisibility and intangibility, sometimes glowing hands – but she had no conscious about the rest, about the other form… (which learning from a memory surprised Vlad too).

He kept then on with that lie, just as with the other one too, that somehow, he remembered a time when everything was different.

It worked for years. To tell the truth, Vlad forgot everything after their first positive test, even after the second, or the third, but-

Then he didn't dare to count. He couldn't recall anymore the days when she was happy – except in that other life. He slowly was destroying her, breaking the sweet image of his love… He tried to tell her several times to give up, but as much as stubborn she was, like feeling she should have been a mother, she never listened.

Then he eventually had run some tests (surprisingly facing with the result wasn't even his worst day, because his worst day was now…). The accident in the lab, five years ago ruined his biology. It was his fault. Vlad had been on to tell her, several times really, that they- that they wouldn't ever have a child, but- but he had been afraid. He still was afraid. He was a coward, fearing to lose her, so then he never told her, but now…

"Daniel…" a hollow, weak breath was formed into a name. "I thought- I chose- I really thought this time…"

"It's okay…" Vlad whispered, fighting against the suffocating guilt.

Daniel… he almost could imagine a view of a boy with her kindness, smartness and maybe with his steel bright eyes, and-

A soft sniffling broke the silence in the room, he knew it would take days and weeks to calm her down (or months, especially that this time she really had hoped…). But then she would return to her obsessed determines, again, not giving up until she would be able to fight for it…

But Vlad couldn't watch it, not again. This time, it had endangered her life too. He just couldn't let it happen, not anymore… especially as the date slipped into his mind. It was the same as on the letter, containing the black and white picture of their second child… she would have been expecting her second and-

He bit his lips as hard as it drew blood, rusty, salty and sinner. The sound of the woman, the so loved Maddie died away in a faint snuffling, undoubtedly dreaming about a great life he couldn't give her… Even though Vlad was conscious of their reality, he still wished to fulfil her dreams…

Wish… suddenly his eyes snapped open, remembering word-to-word to his half-mumbled sentence before everything had changed and he had woken up in this dream (nightmare…).

Would it be that easy? –Vlad wondered, sceptical about such childish way, but then he grabbed on it, tight, as ridiculous it sounded, and he'd have literally killed to make her happy. So then, he opened his mouth, already putting together what he wanted to say, and then-

"Won't work." stopped him an abrupt voice, then the owner cleared it. "I set the rules with Desiree. She is not allowed to grant any timeline-altering wishes, unless I allow it." Vlad blinked at the sudden presence of someone else, searching with his eyes immediately to catch the person, but there was no sign of anyone, just a quiet ticking sound was telling someone was definitely there.

A moment passed in silence, making Vlad wondering about if he hallucinated the voice, but then it spoke again. "Clockwork, by the way, Master of Time – though it's rather a given title than a name. Theatrical, isn't it?" Vlad scoffed at the unmistakable enjoying waving of the words, whoever this ghost was – because, based on the invisibility it was undoubtedly an unearthly creature from the other realm –, he clearly was amused by this scenario.

"What do you-?" Vlad started, frustrated by the spectre's presence and mocking.

"Want?" was Vlad interrupted. "From you? Nothing… albeit your stubborn wish created a glitch that didn't suppose to exist. A knot, that tangled the flow of events, blinding me. In short," the ghost took a break. "you scarred the time." well, that definitely sounded like a lecture… but then, the title slipped into his mind, along with the accounting for: Master of Time.

"You can make it back…" Vlad pieced together. "You can change on the time, change on this all." he couldn't tell if it scared him or filled with him hope, but definitely that drew out a way – more like an alternative – after the wish-one. For a short time, the ticking skipped a beat, like the ghost would have been stuck on a thought, but then talked again.

"Yes, I can change on this all." was Vlad's sentence, almost exactly repeated. He didn't have to be a genius, to feel it wasn't an admitting. "But I won't." was it added, not even a second later. "I might be responsible to watch over the timelines, and every single outcome, but on this, I am afraid, I can't do anything. You created it, it's your duty to fix it, and decide." Vlad stunned. Decide what exactly? This or- that? It wasn't an actual question, he could give the answer easily, but-

Suddenly he averted his gaze from the space where he suspected the ghost was floating invisibly – getting on his nerves by that – then he looked back to the woman, gazing at his wife, and gently got out a long curly lock of hair that fell into her face. She seemed so calm, pale, yes, shattered by the tired wrinkles under her closed eyes, and…

"I see you already made your decision." Vlad heard the cursed voice again. He didn't have to guess to know his eyes were burning red, clenching his jaw and fighting inside to not lash out at the ghost, transforming to his other outlook and end the ghost, it that was even possible in case of a timeless existence. Was it really counted as entertainment for him? This?!

"It's not a decision." Vlad spitted.

"No, it really isn't." said the ghost sternly, accompanied by a sound that gave an impression like an old clock would have been adjusted, bored by the current discussion as if it had been something obvious, or expected. "But I am seeing no future over this certain moment, neither in this time or your original one. Just imagine, how it could be to be blind after millennia. Curious, I was for centuries to learn what it caused. Well, it turned out it was just a desperate hybrid's wish, fighting against his true nature, cornering himself to endless suffering than accepting the new him… comical, isn't it?"

It felt harder and harder to hold back and stay unmoved listen to the words, but as much as he loathed hearing it, if this Clockwork could mean the solution from this, then-

"Besides, what happens now, how you decide, is beyond me, I can't see through it, until it happens." defined the being, at the same time out of nowhere a swirling green-ness formed in the air. It was similar to the Proto-Portal, which Vlad had seen many years ago, but this was enough big for anyone to walk through it. "It's either this time or the other one, the knot you created still makes the connection available. But it has to end. Only one could remain."

Vlad swallowed, lost in the neon colour, like an unescapable doom that followed him everywhere. He remembered his time, his muscles still could recall the seizures, the endless days in that hospital room, and reading about his friends' perfect life against his… the ghost was right, he had been desperate, now he could control his other side, but it could be only thanked to Maddie, this Maddie… in that other world, he was nothing but- he was literally nothing… here, now, on the other hand, he had the love of his life, but still-

Suddenly, he put together no matter how he'd choose, what path he'd take, it would turn his heart a stone, destroying by the ghost's words the other time. But then, he took a glimpse at the resting woman, at his Maddie, silently sleeping unaware of another being's presence in the room, only lost in a dream-world her mind created. For a moment, he wondered about the possibilities, about the alternatives, but then, hard, Vlad realised it was out of the question.

He never felt his limbs as heavy as he stood up from the chair, earlier placed beside the hospital bed, to mean support Maddie after the loss... And he never felt more hatred towards anyone – even towards Jack – that now took over his entire body about the ghost.

"I really hope, you are able to see your so cherished future now." Vlad cursed, the sourness and hurt suffocated him from inside as he took a step towards the greenness.

"I do." acknowledged the Master of Time, but not spilling anything else, what it would mean or how things would turn out. But Vlad knew even if the ghost was aware of some outcome, he wouldn't be informed about those. As Vlad disappeared behind the gate between the two realities, he took himself a promise, to somehow, when everything had settled, whatever it would take, he would find Clockwork and claim justice.

#going angst week 2021 #going angst week #danny phantom #vlad masters #clockwork

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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fic: (how lovely i feel) not to have to pretend

Jamie has never met anyone quite like Dani Clayton--a matter that goes without saying on nearly every level. She’s never met someone quite so selfless, quite so brave, quite so prone to acting on behalf of others without even seeming to realize she’s doing it. More than that, she’s never known anyone else to be quite so self-possessed as Dani Clayton. No one but Dani has quite the same capacity for keeping a firm grasp on how they look to the outside world.

Jamie finds it remarkable even before they become a they at all--watching Dani stride around the manor grounds with her head held high, her shoulders thrown back, her fists clutched tight at her sides as though she is at all times in full control of her physicality. It is most remarkable because it simply isn’t true; almost before she knows the woman’s name, Jamie becomes familiar with the demons she’s holding at bay, the short breath and sharp sob she tries so hard to keep shelved. Dani to the naked eye is a woman clean and pressed and presented. Dani beneath the surface is roiling.

And still, even once Jamie knows there is something else lurking behind blue eyes and pretty smile, it can be hard to forget. Dani is so good at fabricating a version of herself for the world, a version fit for consumption, that she almost doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it. Her clothes, though meager in number, are always clean and well-matched; her hair, be it tied up or tied back or teased high, is perfect. Dani is every inch the person Wingrave hired her to be: a young woman in control of her own body, a young teacher poised to guide her charges into the light of self-restraint.

And, if she should shudder at shadows--

If she should flinch from mirrors--

If she should, from time to time, catch herself staring at Jamie as though uncertain how they both got here--

Things happen. Things outside of Dani’s agency happen, and they seem to keep happening--death, and darkness, and decisions made by everyone around her--and still, Dani doesn’t bow. Dani’s head is up, Dani’s clothes are clean, Dani’s eyes are clear.

Even after the lake. Even after things go the most wrong anything ever has. Dani’s head is up. Dani’s clothes are clean. Dani’s eyes are...

Jamie sort of expects it all to change, after that. Expects Dani to change, after that. To lower her guard, or to build a wall to the sky, or something to show on a tangible level what she is carrying on her back. But Dani is still, despite it all--though her gaze is distant and her smile is brittle and she forgets from time to time what she’s doing or where she is--Dani. No one is the wiser. No one has the first idea she might not be in total control.

No one except for Jamie. Dani lets Jamie see it all. Dani gives her the darkness, the shuddering terror, the long nights kept awake and the long days made giddy from lack of sleep. Dani gives her laughter, and blank stares, and everything in between. It is, Jamie recognizes, the greatest gift one person could give another: to offer up on the altar of trust the self, the whole self, for good and for ill. Jamie gets to see it all, though no one else has a clue.

Jamie doesn’t take it for granted.

***

This art of Dani, this secret language of reading between the lines, comes in handy on bad days, it’s true. There are times Jamie thinks it is fortunate she is so equipped with comprehension, so well-honed to Dani’s every mood. Early on, especially, it comes in handy more often than she could possibly have predicted.

Still. It isn’t always a matter of doom, with Dani. More often than not, this self-possessed air has nothing whatsoever to do with her beast in the jungle, her rising panic, her terror of looking too far ahead.

More often than not, her self-control reveals itself in a completely different sense.

It begins at the house, on a lovely day that starts with Jamie waking alone, Dani on her skin and all around her in every sense except now. It begins with Jamie pulling her clothes on in a rush, feeling slow and muddled and a little bit drunk with the memory of Dani’s hands trailing like phantoms along her body.

“You’re going?” Dani, in the doorway, a pink jumper and cascading hair and nervous little smile. Jamie, one boot in hand, her jeans still unzipped, feels herself grin too broadly to restrain.

“Thought you’d already gotten to business.”

Dani shakes her head. “I found Flora outside again. She says she’s all right, so I left her with Owen and Hannah in the kitchen. Wanted to make sure--”

She trails off, looking embarrassed. Jamie tips her head and waits.

“Wanted to make sure you didn’t wake up alone,” Dani says at last in a rush, her eyes wide and blue and so happy, Jamie can’t imagine her any other way. “I was afraid if I took too long, you’d--well, you’d leave, and I wouldn’t get a chance to--”

“Wouldn’t go far,” Jamie promises. It’s not a thing she’s ever been able to offer a woman before, not wearing yesterday’s clothes and feeling the gentle ache of last night’s pleasures winding through every muscle. She’s never in her life been able to look a woman in the eye the next morning and say as much, but she says it now. “I...I’d like to stay.”

It’s sunlight, the way Dani smiles, stepping all the way into the room. Her hand lingers on the doorknob, her fingers tapping an idle melody as she looks Jamie over as if searching for some kind of permission. When Jamie lets her boot drop to the floor, it seems to be all Dani is looking for.

They should go downstairs, some distant part of Jamie’s responsible nature grumbles--but the rest of her can’t be bothered. Not with the eager stride of Dani crossing the room, the click of the door coming to rest in its latch as thrilling as the day’s first kiss.

“They’re gonna know,” Jamie says, plucking at the front of her shirt. “That I--that we--”

“Yes,” Dani agrees. She’s standing within reach, rocking on her heels. Jamie, seated on the mattress, feels as though they are on opposite sides of glass, as though Dani in her clean clothes and nervous smile is today while Jamie in her rumpled t-shirt and mussed hair is last night. Dani could still walk away from last night, walk off into today, if she so chooses, and Jamie would be here. Stranded in the memory of Dani’s touch, ghost-light on her skin.

“Do...you wanna...” She extends one hand slowly, as though approaching a skittish animal, and Dani grabs for it like a lifeline. The space between shatters, Dani coming to her with all the graceless glee of taking a breath after too much time underwater.

She expects slow, gradual, even fearful--expects the shine of last night’s fire to have faded to something that might yet burn them both--but Dani’s knees are dimpling the mattress, Dani’s weight firm and steady in Jamie’s lap. Dani’s hands are on her face, as though she might have forgotten overnight what Jamie feels like and can’t stand a minute more without learning each arc and line all over again. Her thumbs sweep across cheekbone, along bridge of nose and arch of brow, her lips barely a breath away.

It’s tempting to close the gap, but Jamie forces herself to wait. Forces herself to mirror Dani’s hands, cradling, testing, exploring with the pads of her fingers in gentle motions. There’s something about this--about posing at the door of something grand, about standing here with toes just over the edge of the entryway, waiting to be invited in--that forms its own kind of gravity. Last night had been waiting for Dani to come to her, in every sense of the word. This moment, this morning, is a suspension.

Control, she thinks for the very first time. Control over time in this one perfect, near-impossible way. Control over space, as they hold just apart from one another, as Dani’s knees dig into the bedspread and Jamie’s thighs flex beneath her. Control in the most self-imposed sense of the word, lips an inch apart.

Dani kisses the corner of her mouth once, lightly. It is, Jamie thinks, a challenge--and one Jamie accepts without pause. The curve of Dani’s cheek is soft against her lips, a temptation all its own. Dani sighs, one hand sliding up the back of Jamie’s neck to rest at the base of her skull.

Another kiss, then, Jamie thinks with shivering anticipation. Just a small brush against the tip of Dani’s nose. Dani, in kind, presses one to her forehead, cradling the back of Jamie’s head, her lips lingering for a full beat. Jamie closes her eyes.

There is seduction in slow and easy, she thinks, and all the more so because it is not intentional. Dani is not trying to be anything at all except a woman who wants Jamie in this moment--a woman who holds to the back of her head, fingers trailing through messy curls, mouth drawing a slow path across forehead and temple, down one cheek and up the other. Each kiss is deliberate, gentle, Dani’s lips parting and sliding as though she could quite happily spend the entire morning doing nothing else.

“Is this...are you...” Dani seems unwilling to stop long enough to let her own thoughts unravel. Her nails scratch softly down Jamie’s neck, one hand coming to lay at the base of Jamie’s throat. “Do you want...”

Jamie is nodding, not much caring where that sentence might end. Want to stay here forever? Want to let Dani burn an entire day exploring her at this leisurely pace, her lips tracing the shell of Jamie’s ear, her breath dragging shivers down Jamie’s spine? Want to keep her hands right here on Dani’s waist, pushing pink cloth aside to rest on the soft skin beneath?

“We should be quick,” Dani breathes, though her kisses do not increase in velocity or pressure. Her hands are trailing down the backs of Jamie’s shoulders, palms sliding over shirt, fingers dragging back up again. Jamie is dimly aware of her own hands flexing, pushing Dani back, pulling Dani forward. Dani, smiling, does not fight her.

“This feels,” Jamie says, her voice still raw from lack of use, “like the opposite of quick.”

It feels, instead, like a promise. As Dani pushes beneath her jaw, easing her head back, laying an open kiss to the top of her throat, she wonders if this isn’t some sacred space they’ve built. A perfect, singular spot where nothing can touch them, no one can intercede, time itself is forced to stand still.

Dani, still kissing her way down even as she’s easing Jamie’s shirt up, hums against her skin. “Want me to speed up?”

“No,” Jamie says before she can stop herself, before she can even begin to interrogate the notion that Dani with this kind of control over herself--this kind of control over both of them--might be the thing she’s been needing for a long time. She feels Dani smile against her, feels the tip of Dani’s tongue flick lightly against her rushing pulse.

“Want me to...” She rises up, brushing her nose against Jamie’s, letting her lips linger in the softest kiss Jamie’s ever been gifted. Jamie is nodding, wild with the memory of how Dani had kissed her last night compared with how carefully Dani is kissing her now. On purpose, she realizes. On purpose, Dani is doing this. Testing every bound available to her. Testing Jamie’s resolve, and her desire, and her control.

Abruptly, Jamie closes a hand around the back of Dani’s head, urging her close, and all the seduction in the world can’t compare with how Dani breathes her in. With how Dani presses her down into the mattress, sitting tall astride her with hands buried in Jamie’s hair. Jamie lets them both fall backward, lets Dani sink into her with a soft moan, and thinks it is good to know Dani has this in her--the desire for slow and easy and calculated--just as it is good to know how quickly that dam can break open. How Dani can swing in a moment from teasing to throwing her whole self into a kiss like this, her hands sweeping down Jamie’s body, searching for the place where her zipper gapes open.

Dani, kissing like Jamie’s the only sustenance a world can offer, slides a hand down her jeans and presses her own hips behind the action. The shift from slow to sudden is immaculate, dizzying, and Jamie feels herself building almost before she can stop herself. She has never in her life been this awake, this present in her own body, as Dani rolls her fingers in tight circles, her quick-study smile hot against Jamie’s lips.

Control, gathered and broken in moments, and Jamie is making desperately muted sounds, turning her face against Dani’s shoulder in an effort to quiet herself, even as Dani is fighting tight denim, letting her fingers quicken their pace, letting her own body chase Jamie’s--

A knock sounds once, a quick rap of knuckles followed by a rather amused, “The children are beginning to worry, and I’m running out of excuses for you both.”

Jamie flinches from the sound, even as her body tries recklessly to follow the melody of Dani’s fingers. Dani freezes, her mouth gone rigid against Jamie’s skin.

“Miss Clayton,” Hannah says in that same too-entertained voice. “Flora in particular is being very persistent.”

“Out in just a sec,” Dani calls back, her voice stunningly level. Jamie raises her eyebrows, opening her mouth to add something, and Dani gives her a smile, gives her a series of hard strokes with confident fingers. Jamie chokes, jerks under her, the unexpected combination of that gesture with Dani’s grin pushing her over the edge.

“I suppose Jamie will be needing a plate,” Hannah goes on, oblivious. Jamie’s hand is over her own mouth, clapped into place just in time for her lips to part around a silent groan. Dani, hand sliding free as though it had never been busy at all, laughs.

“No getting anything past you.”

“Well, it’s hard to deny the reality of the truck out front,” Hannah says wryly. Dani is out of bed, wiping her hand discreetly on the bedspread, straightening her clothes and brushing back her hair in a flurry of distinct motions.

Jamie, shirtless and panting into her own hand as she comes back to earth, gapes at her. Dani reaches down, catches her by the wrist.

“Come on,” she says, cheerful as anything. “Breakfast.”

***

It’s an art form, Dani’s ability to keep together regardless of the situation. A truly mesmerizing art form which Jamie, try as she might, cannot for her life replicate.

“How,” she asks one day, Bly Manor two years behind them. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Dani asks innocently.

Innocently--as though she hadn’t just been pressed against the table, her skirt a mess, her blouse gaping open. As though Jamie hadn’t been holding her there, hands firm on Dani’s thighs, pressing her open. As though it hadn’t been a brief eternity of Dani rocking into her fingers, both arms wrapped tight around Jamie’s shoulders, her voice a low echo against Jamie’s ear as she’d begged Jamie to move faster, to give her more, to bring her to the edge before lunch break could end.

And now, not a minute after Jamie had curled deep and felt her shudder, not a minute after she’d bitten down on Jamie’s shoulder to keep quiet, Dani is buttoned, pressed into place, utterly presentable in every way.

“That,” Jamie says, gesticulating wildly to cover the whole of Dani in a single motion. “How does your hair do that?”

“It’s just hair,” Dani says mildly, smoothing it carefully down with her palms. It stays in place as though never been mussed at all, as if Jamie hadn’t just grabbed a handful and used it to yank Dani into a kiss.

Jamie’s hair, on the other hand, feels like it’s sticking up in twelve places. Her clothes, which hadn’t even been unbuttoned, unzipped, removed in the least, feel in dire need of an ironing. Her mouth feels swollen, her skin flushed, and Dani is still sticky on her fingers.

“You look,” she says dumbly, “like you didn’t just--I mean, you did come, yeah? I didn’t hallucinate that?”

“Hell of a nice hallucination, if so,” Dani says with a laugh, and kisses her one more time--a long, glorious kiss, one of those stop-time kisses Dani seems to come to so naturally. When she steps back, Jamie fumbles for the table, blinking away stars. “Shame there wasn’t enough time to return the favor.”

“I look like you ravaged me six ways to Sunday,” Jamie points out in a faint voice. Dani looks pleased.

“Six ways, huh? Sounds like fun. We should discuss that later.”

Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani is already ducking out of the back room, striding to flip the sign back to open and greet the customers who have gathered on the sidewalk to wait.

“You look ill, dear,” one of the old women tells Jamie, who has staggered to the counter with considerable effort. “Flushed. Not running a fever, I hope.”

“Warm day,” Jamie says, fully aware that it is late November. Dani tips her a grin, a thumbs up, her entire demeanor perfectly arranged. Jamie shakes her head. “Warm. In the back, I mean. Humid. For. Plants.”

The woman gives her a puzzled frown. “Best take care of this one,” she calls to Dani. “She needs someone to look after her, I can tell.”

“Hey--”

“I always do,” Dani assures her, never breaking her smile.

***

Honestly, it’s almost eerie. Dani’s capacity for control seems to have no bounds, no push too far to reel back from. Jamie has actually started to try, curious if there’s a way to turn Dani from neat-and-orderly to flustered in public settings. It becomes something of a personal challenge.

She finds herself pressing up against Dani in the shop after-hours, letting her hands roam around Dani’s ribs, up her breasts, down the front of her blouse. Dani gamely lets her head fall back onto Jamie’s shoulder as deft fingers work open her buttons, allowing herself to rock back as Jamie’s hands knead at the front of her bra, as Jamie’s fingers pinch and stroke.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, if you think we’re ever going to finish inventory.”

“Danger can be good,” Jamie points out, pushing aside Dani’s collar and sucking sharply. The skin is glistening, reddening, her tongue stroking away the tease of her bite, and Dani tips her head to allow better access.

“It’s like you don’t even want to go home.”

“You keep counting,” Jamie suggests. “I’ll keep doing this. Everybody wins.”

“And if someone--” Dani groans as Jamie slides her fingers beneath the cup of her bra. “If someone calls?”

“Well,” Jamie says politely, pressing herself harder against Dani, pinning her to the table. “They’ll just have to wait, won’t they?”

It’s a fine plan, she thinks with self-congratulatory pleasure. A fine plan, letting her free hand wander down to pull at Dani’s belt, feeling Dani slowly unwind the day’s tension into her hands as she leans back, breathes deeply, gasps.

A fine plan, and if the phone should--

It rings, right on cue, and Jamie waits for Dani to push her away. Is certain that this--Dani rolling her hips into Jamie’s waiting fingers, Dani abandoning inventory altogether for Jamie’s considerably more interesting plan--will take precedence over any self-imposed need to look presentable Dani might have.

“Let it go,” she suggests, even as Dani’s hand is drifting. “Let it go and let me--”

“Keep going,” Dani says in a low voice, and then the phone is to her ear, and she is saying, “Good evening, Leafling, Dani Clayton speaking” as though nothing is happening. As though she isn’t leaning her head on Jamie’s shoulder, Jamie kissing her neck as quietly as possible. As though Jamie’s hand is not working magic between her legs, Jamie grinding herself against her back in that way she knows makes Dani’s breath quicken.

Dani’s voice is never anything less than polite as she walks some faceless stranger through the finer elements of a birthday arrangement, though her hips are matching Jamie’s increasing rhythm, her skin flushed pink beneath Jamie’s lips. She turns her head, watching Jamie with dark eyes, tongue pulling her own lip between her teeth as she says, “Yes, yes, that sounds--that sounds beautiful. Would you--”

Jamie grins, pulling her hand free. Dani makes a thin noise of disapproval, easily passed off as a cough over the phone--and then, a startled sound as Jamie grasps her hips and presses her over the table, leaning across her back.

“You could still hang up,” she points out in a bare whisper against Dani’s unoccupied ear, even as she’s pulling Dani’s jeans down. Easing Dani’s legs apart. Pushing her harder down against the table, kissing the back of her neck, slipping a hand between her spread legs from behind.

“Yes,” Dani says, perfectly calmly into the phone, “yes, we do--we do two-for-one deals through the weekend, would you like--”

Jamie laughs. She’s fighting a losing battle, it’s clear; though Dani’s skin hums beneath her hands, Dani slick across her fingers as she tugs down underwear and returns to her efforts, Dani never shows a sign of it in her voice. If she is rocking harder against Jamie’s hand, if she’s gripping the table with white-knuckled desperation right until the end of the call, it does nothing to diminish the easy charm of her additional, “All right! Sounds wonderful, we’ll get that squared away for you by Monday. Have a lovely evening. Yeah. Yes. Bye now.”

She slams the receiver down, bows her head, cries out as Jamie gives a particularly hard thrust in celebration. Jamie is laughing into the back of her shoulder, her wrist aching as she slides free and shakes her head.

“You are unbelievable.”

“I am a professional,” Dani gasps. “And you were doing a really, really good job.”

***

Dani doesn’t give up control in public, not for anything. It isn’t even intentional, Jamie has come to realize. The product of her upbringing, probably; the expectation of too many years, too many people telling her to stand up straight, keep her clothes neat and her smile orderly. Dani is presentation and poise, even in her darkest moments.

Except for this.

Except for being here.

Dani at home is truly at home. In pajamas, in wrinkled t-shirts, her hair a mess, her face devoid of makeup, she is perfectly at ease. Perfectly imperfect. At home, with Jamie, she allows herself to fall apart in every way a woman can.

She laughs more at the apartment, and with greater reckless zeal. Rarely does Jamie hear this breathless tint to her laughter outside; rarely does Jamie see her collapse into herself with giggles, cackling so hard, she nearly knocks herself off the couch.

She cries harder at the apartment, and with no interest in doing so prettily. Rarely does Jamie see her face blotchy and miserable outside; rarely does Jamie hear her gasp and choke and whine as sobs wrack her body.

She dances at home. Dani isn’t much of a dancer, it turns out, but there’s something magnificent about watching her move to the radio as she cleans the kitchen, as she smoke a cigarette and puts dishes away to the tune of Top 40 hits.

She sings, too. Never in public, never where she thinks she can be judged, but at home, Dani is always singing. Her voice is pretty and unrestrained, no training at all as she scrambles for notes Jamie would put her own eye out trying to reach. There is something simple and marvelous about days when Jamie comes home late, a pizza in hand, to hear Dani belting in the shower.

She is at her best when she is free, Jamie thinks. When the control is set aside because she no longer needs it, no matter how good she is at keeping a hand on the wheel.

She is at her best at home, with Jamie, here. With candles lit and dinner ordered in, with Jamie in her finest clothes for the express purpose of offering cheap wine in discount glasses.

“It’s just a day, Jamie,” Dani says, but she’s grinning. Just a day for most people, maybe, but this marks three years of time in America. Three years with Dani’s beast silent and Dani’s love loud. A day, sure, but it means the world when you put it that way.

“It’s silly,” Dani says, though she’s wearing a dress that makes Jamie wonder how she even got into it without help, and her lips are painted as though she isn’t fully aware Jamie will be ruining them as soon as dinner is over.

“It’s nice,” Jamie counters. Dani raises her wine to her lips, nodding.

“It is. Thank you.”

“For what?” Italian food ordered in from the best local place is not, exactly, high-class. Jamie with a dishtowel over one arm, playing at fancy as she tops off Dani’s glass, is not exactly high-class, either.

Jamie in general is not exactly high-class--and she has not for even a second thought that mattered. Not to Dani. Not ever.

“Thank you for...all of it.” Dani gestures to encompass Jamie, the apartment, the world. “For not getting sick of it.”

“Never,” Jamie promises, and pretends she doesn't see the tears in Dani’s eyes as she bends her head to kiss her.

It’s true that Dani thinks she could get tired of it all, that Dani thinks she could at any point be ready to walk away. It will get worse with time, but for now, it’s easy to convince her to step back from the weight of that line of thinking. Easy to take her hands, bring them to Jamie’s lips, walk with her backwards away from the fear of not being good enough. Of not being whole enough. Of letting the polish slip so much that Jamie might one day flinch from what’s waiting beneath.

Jamie doesn’t know how to make it clear how little she cares for the polish and the poise, how little she needs the artifice Dani is so good at putting on for everyone else. Dani, who has made a life out of professional, responsible, put-together. Dani, who needs people to see the woman who does not step back from shadows, who is stronger than she knows.

And still, the best moments are these: Dani with her dress pooling at her feet, stepping out with an almost shy giddiness as she moves into Jamie’s arms. Dani, her cheeks flushed, the pink trailing down her neck, splashed across her chest as she leans back onto the bed. Dani, her makeup smudged, her lipstick stained into Jamie’s skin, her hair utterly unkempt as Jamie slides her hands in and pulls her close.

Dani on her back on the rumpled sheets, her breath coming in quick jabs as Jamie moves between bent knees. Dani, soaked through and crying out, her hips twisting as Jamie coaxes her along, each roll and swipe of her tongue a promise that this is what she’s been looking for. Dani in control is exquisite in a certain way--Dani bent over the table at work, Dani keeping composure even as Jamie buries herself deep, makes the world hot and heady and surprising. But Dani like this--Dani as no one else is allowed to see her, Dani shifting beneath her and pushing hard against her mouth with her hands winding in the sheets--is something else entirely.

She wants to feel Dani lose control, wants to feel Dani surrender to this allowance she gives herself only when alone with Jamie. Three years now, and it’s still such a special occasion, Dani letting herself unbind all those ties holding her steady.

“You don’t have to be anyone with me,” Jamie has whispered on more than one occasion. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Not,” Dani has said every time, a distance in her eyes Jamie wishes she could banish. “Not with you. Never with you.”

For everyone else goes unsaid. For everyone else, I have to. Jamie understands. Jamie can’t imagine what she’s been through, what she still goes through on days when the demons have sharpened their claws and come to call.

She pulls at Dani now, easing her up on her knees, guiding her back down onto Jamie’s lap. Hands at Dani’s hips, she urges her to rock, to slide a hand around Jamie’s neck and press her forehead into slick skin and give herself up to Jamie’s hand between them. It’s satisfying, how Dani sighs and arches, how Dani hisses when Jamie sucks a fresh mark into her neck. It’s satisfying, Dani’s hair plastered with sweat, her mouth a red smear as she kisses Jamie hard, her hips bucking as she rides plunging fingers.

Undone, thinks Jamie with an unbidden sense of pride. It’s the one thing Dani refuses to be most of the time, the one thing Dani seems to fear anyone thinking of her as. Undone. Untethered. Incapable of holding firm.

Here, in this bed, Jamie’s name on her lips, Jamie’s mouth on her skin, Jamie coaxing her toward a break, is the only time she allows it. The only time her discipline slips. Here, pushing Jamie down, holding her with a hand firm against her sternum, gazing down at her with lidded eyes as she bucks, writhes, comes with a long cry, is the only time she truly lets go.

It’s an art, the way Dani holds herself in front of others. An art, making sure no one can ever see what lurks behind her smile--be it demon or defense against a cruel world. It is, as art is meant to be, gorgeous to behold, fascinating in its clarity.

But this: Dani allowing herself to slide up the bed, to lower herself down over Jamie’s mouth, gripping the headboard with one hand and Jamie’s hair with the other, is something else entirely. Dani, allowing herself the slow climb, the roll of hips as her knees press into the pillow, as Jamie spreads her with tongue and hot want, is truly herself in these moments. Not haunted. Not poised. She is only taut muscle, trembling limb, breathy exuberance. She is only Jamie’s, the only way Jamie would ever ask her to be.

Three years down, who knows how many more to come, and there will be shadows. There will be things they cannot carry into the dark, and days neither feels strong enough to walk the road ahead. There will be times Dani’s control will feel like the only thing keeping her hand in Jamie’s, the only thing keeping her from abandoning this life they’ve built for the ease of terror. And there will be times like these--times in bedrooms and hotel rooms, times with Dani nodding off against her as a movie plays, times where Dani leans back and lets Jamie look beneath the bed for monsters. Times where she will walk with eyes closed into whatever garden Jamie leads her.

And on those days, she will look exactly as she does the morning after: Jamie’s shirt buttoned badly over bare skin, a mark peeking out from beneath the collar, her eyes tired and her hair wrecked. She will stumble out of the bedroom in search of coffee, find herself distracted by Jamie on the couch with slow kisses that feel like a challenge. There will be no rap at the door, no intrusion on the space built so carefully between them, and Jamie will feel as though there is nothing so close to equilibrium as Dani folded with her in the quiet of their living room, her fingers in Jamie’s hair, her lips tracing Jamie’s cheeks.

There is no version of Dani Clayton Jamie does not adore. No version of her--brave, frightened, miserable, thrilled--Jamie cannot love. She learned it early, and she learned it well: there is nothing Dani can be she isn’t uniquely designed to crave.

Still. This version, the one who sits astride her on the couch with hands cupping the back of her head, tilting Jamie backward until she meets laughing eyes. This version, bare-legged and moving in with slow deliberation as she bends and teases Jamie’s lips apart with soft curl of tongue. This version, sleepy and happy and warm as she molds her body to fit every curve of Jamie’s.

This one, this version of Dani shared with no one else, is a triumph. The truest art. Worthy only of Jamie’s unending gratitude.

She kisses, and allows herself to be kissed, and thinks there is no place Dani is better suited than right here.

#fanfiction #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #damie #control one-shots #here: an olive branch to make up for the last one #really I always intended this to be finished today #just turned out I needed a quick ficlet to warm up

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