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starsandink13 · 5 months ago

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The White Crow Game Chapter 1

It was another regular and awful day in your life. Your feet ached to the point where you could barely feel them from another grueling 11-hour shift at a 24/7 diner. It was located in a sketchy part of town that was infamous for its high crime rates. During your shift, you had to put up with loud drunkards as they slurred their orders, leers from the regulars as they try to 'subtly' implied for 'other services' when you were off the clock, and constantly on edge for a fight to break out at any moment.

You groaned as you opened the door to your dingy apartment. It was far from what anyone would consider 'home sweet home', with only cheap furniture that broke down even under the slightest of weights, the permanent and faint smell of mildew and mothballs in the air, and a few flimsy posters to cover up the cracks that spiderwebbed up the walls. No matter how much you tried to clean it up, the place would almost immediately revert to a filthy hellhole followed by a rat or mold infestation a few days later. You winced as you heard your neighbors, a couple that was made up two junkies, above you screamed over who would get the last of their heroin.

You shook your head as you took off your leather jacket and ran a hand through your straggled hair. You glanced at the microwave's clock that read 12:45 AM in a bright sickly green and flipped the light switch next to you. The light bulb flickered for a moment before it illuminated the living room in a harsh, bland cool white: making the space look all the more depressing and lifeless. Sitting on your scratched table, was a large pile of half-finished schoolwork that seemed to sneer at you, reminding you that they were due within only a few days.

Suppressing the groan in your throat, you dropped your bag and rushed to finish your assignments. The textbooks' words swam in your tired eyes and through your exhaustion, you could barely focus on the paper in front of you. Your hand shook as you wrote notes, making your handwriting illegible to even yourself. Throughout the long early morning hours, you fought against your exhaustion as you tried to finish the last of your workload, knowing that at best you would get a barely passing grade when you turned them in to your professors.

As you finished your final assignment, you noticed a black journal with gold stars on the cover sitting in the corner of the table. It was your writing journal, one that you haven't touched in well over a month and left all alone to be forgotten. The ideas, plotting, and excerpts of stories that will never be told.

With a cry, you threw your head in your hands and groaned. Tears started to roll down your face as you violently trembled.

It was like this almost everyday for the last several months. You sacrificed your hobbies social life just to work long hours at your dead-end job with no other source of income. You had to up with seedy customers, horrible co-workers, your witch of a boss, and the occasional fight. All while trying to keep a neutral face only to barely make enough money to afford this hellhole that was also populated with the same kinds of people you put up at work and constantly staring down dropping out of college in the eye. But worst of all, you had to put aside your dreams of becoming published just to scarcely keep your head above. Month after month, more of your mental fortitude was starting to wear down and you wondered if all of your effort was worth it if all you could do was barely get by in every aspect of your life.

"I don't want to put up with this anymore!" You choked out. "I'll give up anything just so my life to be a little bit better!"

You slumped down into the table, barely registering the impact. Your eyes blurred from tears and exhaustion, turning the world around you in a swirling fog of colors and shapes. You succumbed to your fatigue and closed your eyes as you slowly drifted away into a dreamless sleep.

---

A year later....

Your fortune has completely reversed. Instead of being barely scraping by no matter how hard you've struggled, you were now enjoying the complete opposite. Now you were living in a decent apartment in a nice part of town that was within walking distance of college, your grades only consisted of strong As and Bs, and you had landed the paid internship of your dreams at a major publishing house as you learned the ins-and-outs of the trade. It was as if you were living in a fairytale.

At first, you didn't think too much of it. After all, anything was better than barely getting by and living in a mold and rat infested apartment that you could barely afford and struggling to keep up with class while working long hours for less than minimum wage. But as the initial shock and joy wore off, you were starting to get the inkling that something wasn't quite right about this sudden change. You don't remember doing anything to improve your living conditions. You didn't fill out any applications to the internship, you didn't find more time to dedicate for studying, nor made a payment towards the new apartment.

It was just that one day you got a phone call with an editor at the publishing house, asking if you would like an internship with them and you accepted. The next day, you turned in your two-week notice to your former boss and quickly scrounged up enough money to move out into a better apartment despite working shorter hours now.

Oh well, life has its random chances like that. You shrugged it off, yet that feeling of unease still remained in the back of your mind.

Yellow sunlight streamed through the gaps in your blinds and into your eyes. With a groan, you turned on your side and felt paper underneath your fingertips. You jolted upwards to a strange note on your nightstand that read: Your debt is due by the end of today.

You ripped the note off of the nightstand, flipping it both sides to see if there was anything else on it. Be it a signature or anything else, but after reading it all over again on both sides, you found nothing else.

You looked at the calendar hanging on your wall to see that in bright red marker, you had circled today with the words: RENT DUE written in red ink as well.

"Guess I wrote this last night as a reminder," you shook your head as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes before starting your day.

---

The day flew by in a blur without anymore notes regarding debts nor any other unusual activity. As you were going editing the document your boss assigned you, Anya, a fellow intern gently knocked on your cubicle wall.

"Hey what's up?" You turned around.

"I'm gonna head out, can you close up the office when you leave?" She asked and undid the tight bun in her hair.

"Yeah. I'm gonna be here for like one or two more hours," you nodded.

"Great. Have a good one."

"You too."

When she was out of view, you leaned out of your chair to see the window on the far end of the hall. The sun was beginning to sink into the horizon: turning the sky into shades of purples, oranges, and pinks as elongated shadows were cast across the ground.

"It's starting to get late. I better finish this up soon," you muttered to yourself and brushed a strand of (H/C) behind your ear. As you typed in your notes regarding an awkward phrasing in the document, you heard a muffled bang! coming from the end of the hallway.

"Anya?" You called out, "I thought you clocked out already."

Silence.

It's probably the custodial staff then. You disregarded and sat back down, trying to get back to your train of thought. Just as you were about finish up another comment regarding your edit, another and louder bang! echoed outside. Annoyed, you got out of your seat and stepped out of your cubicle.

"Some of us are still here working, can you please try to keep it down?" You asked, trying keep the growing annoyance out of your voice.

Once again, silence.

"I hope they heard me this time," you grumbled and went back to editing.

Not a minute has passed when a third bang! startled you out of your seat. You clenched your eyes in annoyance and shot out of your seat.

"I swear I'm going to flip," you growled and stormed over a few more feet into the hallway.

"Listen! Some of us are trying to get some work done! Can you please keep it down?"

You were replied with an overwhelming deafening silence. For several seconds you stood there, before turning around. Before you could get five steps in, the florescent light above you went off, plunging the office space into darkness for a few seconds followed by a quiet laughter coming from somewhere in the distance.

W-what the hell?

You swallowed thickly and called out again: "Listen Anya, or whoever is out there, this little prank of yours isn't funny. I'm trying to get my work done, so stop distracting me and leave me alone!"

Once more you were met again with an uncomfortable silence, the only thing you could hear was the slow and steady pounding of your heart. You shook your head and went back to your desk. As you finished the last of your edits the sound of someone whispering came from the end of the hallway.

Sucking in a deep breath, you saved your work, emailed it to your boss, and logged off. You put on your leather jacket and grabbed your weathered leather messenger bag. You stormed over to the end of the hallway and looked out to see nothing. However, you rolled your eyes and took a step out into the main corridor.

"The gig's up already," your voice was heavy with annoyance. "Your stupid prank to scare me isn't working. Now leave me alone."

The whispering laughter became louder and distorted. High-pitched and mechanical yet childish as well. The lights above you flickered violently and you yelped as they went out, leaving you in an abyss of black.

You stood still in shock at what had happened. Your pounding heart drummed in your ears as you looked at the black outlines of cubicles and desks that surrounded you, looking for who or what was the source of this. You stiffened as you heard the distant sound of footsteps heading towards your direction.

Panic took over and you ran towards the exit. In the darkness, the hallways seemed longer and twisted violently. Sweat rolled down your face as the footsteps came closer.

Just gotta find an exit! Come on! Where is it!?

You screamed as something crashed in front of you-- blocking your path. Nearly tripping over yourself, you took a sharp right. The hallways stretched on for far longer than you remembered. Each second felt like an eternity as you ran faster through the dark and narrow corridors. Your lungs felt like you had swallowed pins and your knees threatened to give out from exhaustion.

God no! Come on! Where's that exit!?

The footsteps drew near in all directions alongside that horrible, chittering laughter. You spun around wildly like a marionette. In a split second, you rushed down the hall and into the nearest room. You slammed the door shut. Even in the darkness, you knew that you were in the bathroom due to the glinting coming from the mirror on the left. As quietly as possible, you went over to the last stall and locked it. You huddled yourself in the corner and held your breath.

The footsteps came towards the bathroom. You heard the door groan open as your stalker walked inside, their shoes clacking against the tiles like bones. You dared not to breathe as they came closer and opened each stall slowly. You felt tears starting to form in your eyes, realizing that had sealed your doom.

No, no, no! Please no!

As they opened the last stall before yours, they turned around and left the bathroom. You stood still for several minutes in shock.

D-did they not see this stall? Is this an ambush?

You slowly got out of your position and quietly approached the stall's door. You stood still for several seconds, waiting and listening for any more footsteps. You unlocked the door and quietly walked towards the bathroom door. As your hand reached for the handle, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

The world around you started to twist and fracture. The dark bathroom turned into a blur of blacks as the laughter surrounded you. You collapsed onto the ground as your vision started to slowly fade.

The last thing you heard before you blacked out was:

"It's time to repay your debt."

#my writing #horror #yandere #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #male yandere #faerie #dark fantasy #fairy #the white crow game #male yandere x reader #male yandere x female reader

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writerthesans · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1 - Prologue

??? POV

Stone is almost never a comfortable place but here it seems a bit more cold. The darkness in the room is crushing. If the area is in fact a room is unknown. Even now the circumstances are unknown despite repeated attempts to comprehend or even understand them. So the only intelligent thing to do was done.

[Retracing how he got here]

School. It's not a fun place for most people but it can have some benefits. Friends are pretty easy to make and, on occasion, you'll learn something useful. Jeru in particular believes that while school does need some changes, most of the hate is from peer pressure and the words of the people. There is probably something wrong with this line of reasoning but he never really followed it. It'd be a waste of time.

What IS important though is learning about the people around you; at least to some extent. Many people have a small habit, on the grand scale of things they don't mean much. Whether it be biting your nails or your eyes wandering. But right now, or right then, there would be two main ones that matter.

First of all, when the teacher hasn't entered the room for a while, students get a bit energetic and fidgety and want to release pent-up energy. That can mean simply reading a book, talking to friends or playing a game. Some games are more violent, like right now. A play fight, an annoying habit. Where a student is knocked into an empty desk and chair. This, as you might expect, results in a good amount of noise. No teacher is coming though, the student at watch by the door is still just watching, although he did jump from the crash.

But the second one is a bit more subtle but somehow more impactful. A sigh, just a sigh. Not a loud one or a really angry one. Just a sigh. There's a moment of silence across the classroom and students near Jeru lean out of the way, allowing for a pretty much straight line to the still standing student. But, as tradition, Jeru lines up his shot. With a flick, an eraser goes flying... and misses by about 10 feet... despite there being a 10 foot distance between the shot and the target.

A few disappointed remarks from the audience, a few laughs and a comment on how he'll get it next time but most of the class stays silent since the real show is about to begin. Jeru gets up from his seat and walks over to his eraser and pockets it. He then walks over to the fighters who are actually still going at it. There are about 4 students participating, 2 on each side, but they all stop to face Jeru.

"Alright, break it up." Jeru starts. "It's Monday, can't we do this another time?"

"Can't you mind you business, today?" One of the fighter comment rudely.

Some exclamatory sentences from the audience, quickly interrupted by Jeru, "Come on guys, that doesn't count as a creative insult," Jeru pauses for a moment, "Or an insult at all."

Some more exclamatory sentences, negative this time, which Jeru rolls his eyes at before looking at someone.

"Hey, Drea!" Jeru says looking at a girl in the back of the classroom, "Do you want a part of this one?"

Drea, along with Jeru, keeps the peace in this class. It gets pretty rowdy sometimes. Drea outranks him in most physical aspects while Jeru usually takes the mental aspects. They're both pretty popular in class, even among the ones they've already beaten. Drea maybe more so due to her... proportions but the popularity might just be in Jeru's imagination. She's usually able to handle herself or his stares at whoever even stares at her in a perverted manner. They remain associates though, never making it a point to go out of they're way to talk to each other. But when a problem arises they don't hesitate to reach out.

"Nah, it's your turn, I'll watch this one." Drea comments, smiling, "I'll do it next time."

"Yes. Next Time. They'll definitely survive for next time"

"Of course. Of course."

After the short joke exchange, Jeru turns back to the fighters, "Ok, just sit back down before a teacher eventually comes." Almost never one to throw the first punch, Jeru offers a chance to surrender. As has happened many time before and as usual the result is the same. The first punch is thrown.

Despite being fairly bulky, Jeru can be pretty quick when he wants to be and he parries the attack away from his head with his right fist by directing the punch past the right side of his head. And as a quick counter he jabs the opponent's solar plexus with his left fist. They stumble back and are knocked down when he punches them in the chest.

"One down, just sit down before anyone gets seriously hurt," Jeru warns, he's pretty relaxed but his fists are still up to parry and counter.

"Tch," the only female fighter there scoffs at him as the knocked down student gets back up. "You wish."

"Yeah, I do wish. Four on one isn't very fair," Jeru prepares for the next attack.

Jeru isn't particularly skilled in combat but he definitely isn't bad at it, at least from an average standpoint. However, he always holds back so that he doesn't injure someone. Anyone he fight does not have to worry about that; while he can't really take many hits head-on, he usually parries and his dark skin makes bruises more difficult to see. That latter isn't taken into account; when Jeru steps into a fight the main goal of his opponents isn't usually to win, it's to have fun so details in the future are not taken into account to some extent they can't really be blamed. They haven't gotten very far after they begin; if they're being honest, Jeru and Drea enjoy stopping them.

Two of the play fight students stand at the left and right of the girl and the student that got back up. They both throw a straight punch with the fists closest to Jeru; Both are parried and Jeru counter with a left hook to the shoulder of the one on his right; followed by a right hook to the one on the left. Jeru claps his fists together twice, making audible knocks, an invitation for his opponents to get closer. The girl throws a kick to Jeru's stomach; however, it is met with a backhand punch to the side of her shin. The student who threw the first punch throws a quicker punch this time which is swatted away with Jeru's forearm.

Jeru steps back as the two outer students close in again. Two more predictable punches and Jeru catches them both by the forearm' gripping them tightly. Jeru would crouch down and pull both of the students to the floor if he did then that would certainly put them out of commission in the fight. But there's a pause as Jeru feels a tug in his head and his vision blurs for a moment but he sees and hears something. The cracking of skulls together as they fall towards the ground. Jeru's vision clears and he snaps right back to reality.

Not at all phased, Jeru throws both of the arms down with a flick of the wrist and delivers a simultaneous backhand punch to the skulls he just saw cracking. Hits from Jeru are never enough to injure someone, he's made sure of that, but can certainly keep someone down; the two students fall down and land on their backs.

"Two opponents left," Jeru punches the air for show. "Would you like to stop here for today?" Jeru offers although the answer is predictable as always.

Another punch is thrown from the male student; it is quickly deflected when Jeru clashes his right forearm into their left and extends his arm sending the student's fist through empty space and to the side. The female student steps forwards with a hook. Jeru leans his head back, dodging the blow before another hook is thrown with the other arm; Jeru steps back to regain momentum as soon as possible. As soon as the next punch was about to be thrown, Jeru slams his fist down on her forearm and performs an uppercut to the girl's solar plexus.

At this point, the male student had regained his footing and attempted to sucker punch Jeru in the side of the head. Jeru bats away the fist with his forearm and uses his other hand to perform another uppercut to the girl's abdomen before switching targets and stepping on the boy's foot hard. He performs an open-palm strike to the child's chin, knocking him down for good. And turns back to the girl, whom is now holding her abdomen and breathing heavily, . Jeru slams her hands away from her stomach. No emotion in his eyes, he winds up for a final uppercut one hit left and this would be over.

And his vision blurs, all the students are one the floor. The girl has a few tears dropping from her eyes in pain and desperately gasping for breath whole clutching her abdomen and the the others are still on the floor in a daze. It would be satisfying, no one would be seriously hurt, at least not after a few weeks. He'd he'd help them up, they'd get back to his seats and behave. But that's not fair, not to him. No one really knows what these students go through each day. They didn't fight with the intent to harm. They didn't hurt him or even land to good blow. (Though he silently acknowledges that he's a fairly big target) In a very real way, he would be placing more force than necessary. So his vision clears and he stops the strike just before it makes contact.

"Good attempt today," he gives a light smile and pats the girl on her shoulder, "Catch your breath slowly, deep breaths. " Jeru would turn to the rest of the class as Drea stands up.

"And that will conclude would conclude our fight. A round of applause for our competitors." The entire class erupts in applause and Jeru gives a small bow before helping the fallen children stand.

[TWO MINUTES LATER]

"You're usually more silent and uptight, what's up today?" Jeru asks Drea with a smile from his seat.

"I don't know, I guess today feels like a special day."

Jeru would slightly smile at this, "I'm glad you're feeling a bit more outspoken, I think."

"You think... Interesting choice of words."

Jeru opens his mouth to speak but then quickly closes his mouth as a sense stops him. His shoulders tense as his heart races suddenly as he suddenly senses something. This had never happened before, being able to visualize the consequences of actions is one thing but now he feels something out of nowhere. It's ridiculous, surely this would have happened before. Nevertheless, he scans the room rapidly to confirm that there was nothing happening

"Woah, what's up?" Drea asks, surprised by the sudden change in attitude.

Nothing. There was nothing. But he still felt something. Jeru attempts to relax and turns to face Drea again, "...I guess nothing I thought I felt something but I guess no one-"

Jeru suddenly jerks up from his chair, almost tripping over his large bag as the room shakes violently as his attention turns to two things, his bag and the class.

"Alright class, you should know the drill but I'll explain it anyways!" Jeru yells over the rumbling walls and screams of the fallen, or in other words the student that were thrown out of their seats, as he crouches down and opens his bag. "Under the tables and hold on to them!"

Jeru quickly pulls out something from his bag; an item very dear to him; a brown teddy bear with red pearl-like stones for eyes. He's had it since he was small and didn't want to risk losing it. He dashed under his desk, crouching and grapples a table leg while holding the bear in his other arm. So this is what he felt, the tremors in the ground were just enough for him to feel. What he felt next, however, was beyond all logic.

Suddenly, his senses are crushing him. Adrenaline rushes through him as every nerve in his body flares with danger forcing him to let go of the table leg. He quickly scrambles from under the table with his bear as soon as he can. He turns around at the table just just in time to see a metric foot of concrete crash into it from above, crushing it completely. Shrapnel from the rubble burst out as Jeru covers his eyes with his free forearm.

Jeru's attention is then shifted to the ceiling. Even while sitting and and shaking, not just because of the earthquake, Jeru can tell the ceiling is very thick, the sky isn't visible even though the ceiling has a giant gaping hole in the ceiling from where the rubble just fell. Even worse, there are cracks almost everywhere on the ceiling as well.

"It doesn't seem very stable," Jeru thinks; an obvious thought but he's still stunned from the near-death experience.

As soon as the thought leaves his mind, another block of rubble falls, smaller but probably still lethal.

"OH sh-" Jeru starts to move away in a random direction beforehand feels a strong tug on his shoulder, dragging him under the table.

"Holy-" Drea is interrupted as more shrapnel explodes from the rubble, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Jeru rubs his forearm, which is bleeding badly from the shrapnel and scrambling around, to prevent it from becoming numb; at the same time he scans the classroom. Screams struggle and fear and rumbling of furniture and debris fill the air. One thing is immediately clear.

"We can't stay here," Jeru and Drea think out loud in sync.

Drea and Jeru lift the table to get a better view of the class and make it easier to be heard. It's difficult to stand but they keep their grip

"Alright class, new drill we'd usually delay this but we don't have time for that. If you have any objections shut up because then you're being dragged out by force! We're going to be running out of this classroom now because the ceiling will not be holding up! If you can help it grab hold something above your heads to avoid instant death, stay together and thank for your co-operation!" Jeru doesn't hesitate. There's no waiting, there's no questioning, there's no room for objection, there's only pure power in his voice to carry over the noise.

Children almost immediately dash out of the room to escape what could be their grave. Unfortunately, their class is the furthest from the door to outside. Children fall down and are stepped over, only to be picked up again to continue the cycle. All things considered, the class emptied out quickly. Jeru and Drea quickly grab their own bags to avoid holding the much heavier tables. Any other day and they'd have said the tables were LIGHTER. Jeru stuff his bear back into the bag, choosing it as a safer place for his item.

"Move forward to prevent traffic jams, I'll make sure that everyone leaves," Jeru tells Drea as they dash out of the door.

Drea responds with a grumble , never one to enjoy being ordered around even situations like this, but she obeys. Fortunately for Jeru, the classrooms were already in the process of clearing out, only needing to stay a bit behind everyone else to double-check the classes. The students that he fought a few minutes ago were warning the students in other classrooms. The classes were all mostly empty by the time Jeru had gotten to them, only needing a few seconds and words to get the remaining students and teachers out. Once Jeru was sure, he was the last person in the school, he ran out, almost.

As soon as he was about five feet from the exit, the entire building crumbled down. He didn't die instantly but was immediately trapped in debris. Every nerve in his body felt the pain, not even get knocked out. Red liquid covered his eye as he tries to conserve his breath. Strangely enough, his bag had opened, dropping the bear on his head.

"Well, I guess it's not that bad..."

Then it all went black. And it stayed black for a good while. Then, there was a single flash of red and there was more dark. There was still rock and there was still pain. But the rock surrounded him a bit more openly.

[The Present]

His body was still in pain, he still didn't know where he was an somehow his senses seemed numbed. But he was still alive. He breathed a sigh, uncertain whether it was fear, relief or uncertainty. He somehow could still see to an extent despite the seeming lack of light but he stood up. He had noticed a single passage way when he had looked around, now he did the only stupid thing but only option he could thing of. He ventured through.

#write #writing #first post #first chapter #first original post #story #original character #fantasy #dark fantasy #fantasy world #isekai #tempted to put an undertale tag but won't so I'll put another misleading tag #vanilla extract

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sparrow-stunned · 3 years ago

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dance of the crane | yandere shenhe headcanon

Finished the interlude quest and now I have yandere Shenhe brainrot. She has just so much yandere potential—on par with Scaramouche in terms of possessiveness, only less malicious and sadistic. The homicidal urges combined with her backstory is quite the blend for a yandere.

Content warning: yandere (obviously), unhealthy obsession/reverence, mentions of killing, homicidal urges. To be fair, Shenhe is her own content warning label.

On the one hand for Shenhe, because of the fact that her father's maniacal love for her mother is what caused her to be abandoned, she doesn't want to follow in his footsteps. Shenhe, already so emotionally detached, is indifferent when it comes to the all-encompassing romantic love revered in so many legends. Borderline hates it, actually, despite her usually emotionless state—though she doesn't know why she feels such strong vehemence.

When she sees couples pledging eternal love to each other, she just gets annoyed. Bad memories resurface, and violent tendencies burst to be released.

On the other hand, there's you. It's hard not to let the small part of her that's always longed for such unconditional love bloom into being. For all that she fears to feel love, she also yearns for it. It is a mark of the humanity that she is working so hard towards, after all.

Shenhe has always been a beast of instinct; it's how she survived all these years. She trusts her decisions, unless you state otherwise. So when these possessive feelings come up, she doesn't deny them. She won't deny herself when it comes to you.

Shenhe is fiercely protective. Your safety is of the utmost importance. Even the slightest of hurt will not go unpunished under her gaze. Like red-crowned cranes, Shenhe is also aggressive and territorial; any slight intrusion into what she deems hers is marked as an enemy which must be eliminated.

Oh, she might restrict her actions if you were to comment on how "unusual" certain behaviours are, as that's how she learns when something is socially acceptable. Ultimately, she is highly deferential towards your requests, knowing that her actions are... unpalatable to most. Your words are how she's gradually reintegrating into society, so she treats them with reverence.

But the thing is. If you don't notice her subtle glares toward the people that dare approach you, speak intimately to you, touch you when even she has not the privilege to do so—then you can't tell her to stop, can you?

You'd be in the middle of bartering with a merchant who's acting too friendly to make a sale, and Shenhe doesn't know why, but it makes her unhappy. So she gives a frosty stare behind you as you chatter on, and the merchant becomes paler and paler, until eventually, they realize how close they are to death when Shenhe casually twirls her polearm—to her, a habit for calming down; to them, a sentence of execution. At that point, they'll cut you off the conversation, pleading illness or simply agreeing to your terms. Anything to get the deadly woman behind you away from their stand.

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to it all. You'll even tell her, "I think you're my lucky charm, Shenhe! Every time I go to the market with you, I always get the best deals." This is a huge praise for Shenhe, because she's always believed herself to be a cursed child, especially with her 'curse of calamity'.

So these aspects of her violence goes unchecked—encouraged even. And if there's a couple of dead bodies left along the way... It's not as if you know enough to tell her to stop. She's trying to help rid you of nuisances, that's all. You were complaining about them; she's just finding a solution to the problem, no thanks even needed. She won't even speak of them to you, because it would just bring your mood down to hear about them.

It's not that she tries to hide these violent behaviours from you. She would stop if you ask her to. It's just that she performs them almost unconsciously when you're not looking, and thus, you also remain unaware. She's gained something of a reputation in Liyue when it comes to you. This is how all of Liyue Harbour knows to avoid looking at you for too long, for fear of inviting the crane's wrath.

#yandere shenhe #yandere shenhe x reader #shenhe #shenhe x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #psyche.writes #psyche.dabbles

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mcdonaldsnumberone · 3 years ago

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liar liar

“...splashing around in a sea of imagination.”

deuce x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: deuce has always been your loyal wingman and best friend, even if he had wished that you would have given him a chance. but when every relationship you throw yourself into fails, deuce wonders if he finally has a chance.

“Maybe I’m not meant to find a soulmate.”

Deuce glanced up from the book he was parsing through with a concerned look in his turquoise eyes, watching you silently as you sighed and threw yourself down on the library table he was working at with all the dramatic flair you could muster up. This certainly wasn’t the first time you came running to Deuce with a pained grimace on your face and a million complaints about your love life spilling from your mouth, and knowing your ambitious and frivolous self, Deuce doubted that this would be the last time either.

“What’s going on now?” He asked, his voice as timid and gentle as always with you. He set the book off to the side; it could wait for his attention later. Almost instinctively, he reached his hand out and set it on top of yours, rubbing his knuckles into your skin.

You peered up from your arms, rolling your eyes and frowning. “You know that guy you introduced me to last time? The one you set me up with? Didn’t work out. He said he’d take me out to a second date, dumped me, said he had something last minute that came up, And do you know what Epel showed me in between classes today? Said guy going out on a date with someone else on the day that he was supposed to come see me!”

Deuce winced at your harsh words, ignoring the weird stares you were getting from the students around him. “That’s… rude. Horrible, really. Do you want me to beat him up or something?”

“Don’t. As much as I want you to beat him to a pulp, I know you don’t want to tarnish your honor student goal. And I’d be a terrible friend if I forced you to do something you didn’t want to,” you sighed quietly, still clearly upset. “I don’t get it, Deuce. I know I’m ready for a relationship, and I know I’m not doing anything especially wrong to keep chasing all these people away. So why is it that whenever I try to snag myself someone to date, they fail to work out?”

“You’re probably sick of me telling you this, but you need to be patient. You can’t force love, so you just need to take things as they come. And besides, it’s not like the guys you’ve been trying to see are the only men in the world. There are other people out there, and surely, someone there will be good to you and stay,” he offered cheerfully. His hold on your hand tightened slightly, and his sparkling green eyes fell to the floor.

Deuce was a blessed boy in many aspects, and one was that he had grown up with lots of love in his life. He knew how much his mother cared for him and doted on him, and he knew how much his friends supported him no matter where he went too. You were no exception—a friend of his that wanted nothing but the best for him, just as much as he wanted the best for you. You were everything anyone could want in a friend: kind, fun, and always willing to spend time with him.

You were everything anyone could want in a lover as well.

“I’ve been nothing but patient my entire life!” You cried out loudly, violently breaking him out of his lonesome longing. Deuce winced at the volume and the hateful glares he was starting to get from the surrounding students trying to study in silence, and you buried your head in your hands once more with an exaggerated groan. “I’m sick of waiting! I’m in a school filled with all sorts of eligible bachelors, and the last thing I’m gonna do is wait! C’mon, use your head, Deuce! There has to be a friend or a classmate or- or- I don’t know, a club member or something you can set me up with!”

The boy pressed his lips together in a thin line, and a stab of yearnful pain pricked at his beating heart. He wanted to see you happy, he really did. There was the rational part of him who wanted to tell you that all things would come in good time. But there was also the selfish part of him that hurt so terribly to see you going out with all these different guys that weren’t him, to see you with your heart broken with your longing for the love these men couldn’t give to you.

He feigned some thought and tapped his chin with his pointer finger. “I… I suppose there is one person I can try setting you up with. Do you want to meet him?”

Your eyes immediately lit up, sparkling with the prospect of another romantic partner. You leaned forward towards him, sticking your face all up in his and nodding as enthusiastically as you could. Deuce’s breath hitched in his throat from the sudden proximity, and he swore his heart was going to stop from all of your unpredictable mood swings.

“Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! Do you need any of my social media accounts? My number? Schedule? Here, I can skip Alchemy class on Tuesday if I absolutely have to, and I suppose I can postpone my appointment with Azul for another time if this works out-”

“-Hold on, hold on!” Deuce paused, sticking his hands up in the air and cutting you off. Your chest rose up and down with your excited breathing, and you grinned at him from ear-to-ear. Only talk of dating could get you in such a flurried frenzy.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, meeting you eye-to-eye. “First things first, don’t you dare make a contract with Azul. It never ends well, and I’m sure you know that already. Secondly, don’t skip class either. You shouldn’t compromise your grades to date anyone. And lastly, I can take you to him right now, so there’s no need to get all swept up. If you’ll let me pack up real quick, I can take you to him.”

“You will? Oh, Deuce, you’re the best!” You squealed, pouncing on him with a tight hug. Deuce squeaked quietly when he felt your arms wrap around his chest and waist, pulling his body close to yours as you squeezed him as hard as you could. He did his best not to become too flushed at the sudden affectionate gesture, and when you let go of him, he busied himself by sticking his face into his bag and stuffing whatever books he had into them.

For someone so desperate for romance, you really were oblivious to everything he was feeling. With his heart hammering in his ears, Deuce slung his bag over his shoulders and gestured for you to follow him. You skipped behind him with no longer a care in the world, eagerly exiting the library at his heels.

“Tell me about him,” you hounded. You poked at his arm while the two of you wove in and out through the hallways, going through the crowds of students and walking down the paths that you two have always walked together during your times here. “I’m curious, Deuce.”

He pulled his bag closer to himself, and he kept you close to him. Ducking past the classrooms and walking down to the Hall of Mirrors, he maintained his usual calm yet gentle tone of voice that he reserved only for you. “I’d like to believe that he’s a good guy. Or at least, as good as the guys at a school for villains can get. He’s hardworking and true, and he does his best to stay out of trouble. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? A guy who can’t keep his nose out of trouble isn’t worth your time.”

“Definitely. After all of the troublesome guys I’ve tried to shoot my shot with, I think I’ve learned my lesson the hard way,” you grumbled to no one in particular. “You know me so well. A guy with integrity and kindness is so much more of a better match than any of the scumbags who think they can get anything with a smoldering smile and a few flirtatious remarks.”

Deuce beamed at you, his face lighting up with probably the most genuine smile he had in days. “Well, you’ll like him for sure then. I get told that he’s out of place at a school like this one, but he’s proud to be a student at a school as nice as this one. And if you’re here too, I’m sure he agrees doubly so.”

“Spare me your flattery. I said that I wanted a true and honest boy more than I wanted a flirtatious one.” Your eyes still glimmered with delight, betraying your cutting remark.

“You never know. Maybe he can be both, just for you,” he offered. The two of you paused momentarily, approaching the gloomy chamber holding all of the mirrors used for transportation at Night Raven College. He opened the door courteously, pretending to bow like a faithful butler as you waltzed past him.

The darkness set in around the two of you, and Deuce nervously held his hand out. “It’s dark. Hold my hand, so you don’t bump into anything.”

You took his hand, and he intertwined his fingers with yours. The sparkles of magic that soared through the chamber reminded him of the same sparks of love he felt whenever he was around you, and his stomach churned with anxiety at the thought of you and him. The Magic Mirror was covered, yet when he walked past it, hand-in-hand with you, Deuce couldn’t help but think about the first time he came into this sorting chamber.

His heart had trembled so badly when he stood in this room for the very first time, and he had no clue what was in store for him as a student here. Deuce knew that being accepted as a student at Night Raven College was just the first step towards achieving his dream of being a good mage and making his mother proud, but he had no idea what would be in store for him. All the Overblots, the trouble he got into with Ace, the stumbles and daydreams and butterflies he always got whenever he was around you, the heartbreak he endured for your sake…

He decided that he couldn’t wait anymore. Just like you, he had been nothing but patient his entire life, and he couldn’t afford to be patient any longer.

“Here we are,” Deuce announced, taking you to a smaller, more illuminated room off to the side. The brightly decorated mirrors leading to the different dorms glimmered mysteriously as they always did, storing all the secrets and ambitions that the school and students had held for almost as long as time itself.

The Heartslabyul mirror shimmered with life today, as if it too were egging Deuce on for courage. He took a deep breath, settling his scattered thoughts as he held you close to himself. With you by his side and nothing but hope in his heart and eyes, he turned to you.

You looked up at him with wondrous curiosity in his eyes, your beautiful face enough to captivate his love time and time again. Your voice was soft, timid, teeming with the liveliness that he had slowly and surely fallen madly in love with. “If it isn’t too much… Can you tell me more about the boy you’re going to set me up with?”

“I can.” He exhaled deeply. He stood up tall and proud, a sweet smile overtaking his pink lips and the slightest crimson blush dusting his cheeks, and he held himself out in front of you. He held up your intertwined hand, pressing it to his chest where you could feel the rhythm of his fluttering heart on your delicate skin.

Your words caught in the back of your throat, and the soft, delighted giggle that left your lips was all the confirmation that Deuce needed.

“You’re looking right at him.”

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #deuce spade #x reader #my writing #weirdos dni or ill shove u into a grinder #finally wrote it!! im so proud of getting around to it faster than expected hehe

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years ago

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Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

#harry holland #harry holland imagine #harold holland #baz holland #harry holland fluff #harrison osterfield #harry holland smut #harry holland x reader #harry holland angst #harry holland fanfiction #harry holland blurb #harry holland fic #harry holland x y/n #harry holland one shot #harry holland x female reader #harry holland x fem reader #harry robert holland #h holland

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

721 notes · View notes

imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years ago

Text

Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt.13 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 1.9 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

<-Previous part (12)

Next part (14) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

Monster

“Billy has improved. A lot.” Seated on Mrs. Martinez's office, you go over why Billy deserves a good recommendation letter. Half the teachers already agreed, much more because of you than because of him, but that's not the point. “He doesn't get a C since he started, he wants to be a Marine Biologist and he gets straight As on Biology and honestly, he's actually helping me on Chemistry.”

“I've been tracking his progress and I've been impressed with your work. Billy Hargrove is by far the best in the program.” She read some files, putting them down before looking up at you. “I also noticed that you two became very close.”

“Mmm, yeah... W-we're dating.” You stutter, clearing your throat. “But it doesn't change the fact that he's doing great. I mean, Billy does want to go to college and–”

“Don't worry about it. A student's love life isn't my business. I just mentioned it because it was impossible not to notice.” She smiles and you blush even more. “Well, I'll be happy to write him a good recommendation letter. But for the principal, it'll be good if you get some of Billy's friends to make some reports. But we can arrange it immediately if you want. The Principal is in a meeting but I can let you know as soon as he's available if you manage to get some people right now.”

You stand up, smiling. “I can. Thank you so much.” Mrs. Martinez got that urgency of the matter, and you're more than eager to keep that up. “I'll gather some people and whenever you're ready I'll be at the parking lot.”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright.” With another ‘thank you’, you rush outside, walking fast to the parking lot. Billy is leaning against his car, and Nancy and the others are near Steve's car, a couple of feet away.

“Princess of Hawkins number two. Are we going or not?” Steve asks, making Billy notice your presence. “I'm dying for some ice cream.”

“Actually, I need a huge favor from the three of you.” Keeping your voice soft, you walk over to Billy, standing next to him. The stick on his mouth gets your attention, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that my lollipop? That I was saving up?”

“...No.” He mutters, with a half-smile as he takes the candy off his mouth. “Maybe. But we can share.” Billy gives you the lollipop and you roll your eyes, biting back a smile before putting it into your mouth. And for some reason, Billy has that stupid smirk on his face

“That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen,” Steve speaks up, getting your attention.

Looking at him, you shrug your shoulders. “What? I kiss that mouth, you know that, right?”

“And you do a great job doing it,” Billy whispers on your year before taking the candy once again.

“Alright. You, drop it.” With a finger on Billy's face, you take the lollipop from his mouth again. “I have something important to say.” Turning at your friends, you take a deep breath. “Mrs. Martinez agreed on writing a good recommendation letter for Billy. But to convince the Principal to do the same, she needs a couple of students to... Give some reports, you know. As witnesses that my handsome boyfriend is now an amazing student too.”

Steve bursts into laughter, covering his mouth with one hand as you stare at him. Arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. It takes long seconds until he stops. “What?” He stutters. “You can't possibly think I'll...” As he speaks, Steve looks at the others, and not Nancy or Jonathan seems to find it funny. “Oh, c'mon. I agreed on standing Billy, but I never agreed on giving good reports.”

“Steve, this is important.”

“(Y/N), c'mon. Billy isn't–”

“Billy has good grades now and that's what I'm talking about. You don't have to like him.” Walking over Steve, you touch his shoulder. “You don't have to do it if you don't want to, but we're trying to build our future. And if you find it in your heart to do this for me, I'll be very thankful.”

“God, you're so damn good.” Billy mutters, and you roll your eyes.

“Well...” Stepping back, you smile. “I could also kill Steve. Would you help me hide the body, B?”

“Ridiculous,” Steve mumbles, making you giggle. “Fine, (Y/N). Just because somehow you made a good boyfriend out of this scumbag.”

“I'd take that back if I were you,” Billy says, raising his voice a bit.

“Woah, back down.” It's not the first time the two have incidents like this, and you always have to calm them down. “You guys have to–”

“(Y/N).” Mrs. Martinez calls and you look to your left. She walks fast, smiling. “The Principal will see the students now. But you can't be inside the office for that. They'll be interviewed separately.”

“Alright.” Breathing out, you give Steve a look. “Don't say anything driven by your personal–”

“I won't.” Steve rolls his eyes.

Mrs. Martinez guides the three of them inside the school again, and you follow them, holding hands with Billy. “It'll work.” You tell him.

“It will.” He agrees, with the smile that belongs to you alone.

“Billy boy!” Someone yells and you soon recognize Tommy, with an arm around Carol's shoulders. “Forgot to tell you, buddy. Awesome party tonight at my place.” Tommy smiles and nods at you, and Carol does the same. “My parents aren't home so we'll go hard, all night long and I count on you to set the tone as we like it.” As he speaks, he gives you a weird look. “You don't have to come if you don't want, (Y/N). I know you don't really like it.”

“I'm not going without (Y/N), you know that,” Billy says, and Tommy rolls his eyes.

“C'mon, pal. I planned everything. Wild and dirty, as you like it. I'm sure (Y/N) won't mind you going by yourself, right (Y/N)?”

“I won't. He can–”

“Sorry, guys, I gotta go,” Tommy speaks out, cutting you off. “A lot of things to do. See you there. Bye, my friends.” Waving, both he and Carol walk away.

Billy starts walking again, but you hold his hands, forcing him to stop. “B, I want to go.” You tell him, sighing. These parties aren't your thing, even though you've been to some with Billy. Mostly when it's someone's birthday. But other than that, you've been skipping them. He likes them though, and you don't want to be the one to hold him back. “Let's party and do whatever he meant by wild and dirty.”

Billy giggles, pulling you close. “You have no idea what he meant by that, pretty girl. And you don't have to go, it's alright.”

“No, B. I know you have fun on those things and I really...” You don't want to lie, not to him. So you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Just go, alright? Have fun with your friends and... I just... I don't want to be the one to keep you from doing stuff you like. You know I'm not... I'm not like you in many, many aspects but–”

“(Y/N), listen.” Billy takes both your hands, looking down at you. “I love you.”

“B...”

“Shhh. I love when you call me that but listen.” Cupping your cheeks, he places a quick, soft kiss on your lips. “I love you just like that. Good girl, with perfect grades and so damn polite and friendly that sometimes almost kills me of jealously.” He smiles, kissing your nose. “But I wouldn't change a thing about you. Your... Goodness was exactly what made me fall for you. You're... Everything I'm not. And I'm still perplexed that you love me back.”

You're a blushing mess when he's done speaking, eyes locked on his. “A-are you sure?”

“I am.” He nods, smiling. “Why go to some stupid party when I can stay with you?”

“I'll invite you to dinner then... Let's say... Pizza?”

“Pizza.” He agrees.

“Mr. Hargrove.” The teacher calls, and you both look at her. “The Principal wants to talk to you.”

“Right away.” He says, winking at you.

When Billy enters the Principal office, you wait outside, leaning against the wall. To say you're nervous is an understatement. The Principal's letter is the most important, and you know he needs it very much.

“Sweet (Y/N).” A masculine voice calls, and you immediately look to your left, leaving your bag on the floor. It's Tyler, coming from around the corner. “What are you doing here all alone?”

“What are you doing here? Detention again?” Tyler is the only one of Billy's friends you can't stand. You soon figured out he's more like a parasite, sticking close even though people don't really like him. But still, you try not to treat him like the asshole he is. But it doesn't mean you have to answer his questions.

“No, no.” He smiles, a disgusting smile that sends shivers down your spine. Not the good kind of shivers. “I had to leave something on my locker but now... I'm actually happy I got you alone.” Tyler walks over you, standing a bit too close, making you step back. “Now tell me, (Y/N). What are you doing here? ...All alone?” He leans closer, his mouth close to your ear.

You immediately move away, violently pushing his chest. Tyler always gives you this sensation, as if he's trying to get to you somehow. And you hate it. It makes you feel like you're completely naked under his stare. “What do you think you're doing?” You ask, anger flowing out. “Stay the hell away from me, you jerk.”

Tyler laughs. Out loud, mocking you. You're about to curse again him when it happens.

Tyler moves too fast, an arm encircling your waist. His grip is too strong, and it makes you violently collapse against his chest. “I've trying to get you for far too long, sweetie.” He grunts as you start fighting, pushing him away and still trying to understand what the hell is going on. “If Billy can have you, so can I. Or do you think–” He stops suddenly when you succeed to hit him in the ribs.

“LET GO OF ME!” You manage to push out, as loud as you can, your mind yelling for Billy. But before you can say it, call for him, a hand comes to your mouth, and Tyler's free hand starts wandering through your body.

You feel violated, abused already, but it doesn't matter how hard you try, he's stronger than you.

“Sweet (Y/N), let's...” He starts pulling you, and you do try to resist as much as you can. “...Let's find ourselves some nice supply closet and get more... Comfortable? What do you think, huh? Gonna show you how a man–”

“LET GO OF HER!” The scream, the voice that sounds like thunder, makes your whole body relax at the same time Tyler's grip loosens.

The rest is pure chaos.

Billy grabs Tyler and throws him to the ground. Someone pulls you away from the fight, and you soon recognize Nancy. In her embrace, you hide your face in her hair, and she helps as you fix your clothes.

Your mind is mess, and you can't even process what's happening.

The only thing you know is that you're safe now, away from that monster. And Billy is beating him up into a bloody mess.

@multific @tina1938 @graciehams @moatsnow @all-the-stars-on-your-skin @captain039 @rebelemilu @theodore-likes-frogs @prettyinpunk85 @taisab02 @pascal-rascal424 @aleksanderblack @gruffle1 @boomhauer

#billy hargrove imagine #stranger things imagine #imagine billy hargrove #imagine stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things #billy hargrove fanfiction

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parkers-gal · 4 years ago

Note

yay! okay so I was thinking, what I'd the reader and Tom had a fight, could be over anything, but the reader was pregnant and a few years after, they bump into each other and they get back together. Sorry if it doesn't make sense.

this has been sitting in my inbox for a fat couple of months… sorry 😭

wc: 1.7k ! <3

—

“No, because you’re selfish and you can’t handle the fact that my life doesn’t revolve around you and your needs.” Tom spits out the words angrily, viciously, voice harsh and crisp.

You’re both frustrated beyond belief, and the bubble that had been overblown had finally popped, splattering your relationship and all the joyful aspects of it. Right now, you felt as if all that was left was the toxicity of two unbearable people who happened to love each other. You knew, deep down, that you loved each other enough to get through this, but with every passing moment, with every exchanged word, you realized at least one of you wouldn’t survive the damage.

“No, Tom. You’re selfish. You’re conceited and you only care about being a goddamn movie star. What happened to the family man, huh? What happened to staying tied down with me and your brothers?”

“Nothing happened to him! I’m still that person. I am a family guy.”

“Not to me, you aren't.”

“Well you’re not family!” He seethes through his teeth, anger radiating off of his short-tempered demeanor. You don’t even know how to react, so you spend the time soaking in the situation and how you should respond instead of actually doing it.

“You’re a fucking jackass. I asked when I could spend time with you and now you don’t even consider me as part of the family.”

“No,” He’s clear and concise even through the anger. “You asked when I’m going to stop living my life.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to! We both know that’s what you meant.”

“You’re not even on the same page as me anymore,” You scoff, arms crossing. “Seems like all this time in Hollywood made you forget that you’re not always the main character.”

“Fuck that, Y/N! Fuck! That!”

“No, Tom. Fuck. You.” You over-express your emotions, and after two more minutes of unbearable silence and screaming, he’s leaving your apartment just as fast as he arrived. You’re in shock, fingers shaking while you clear your throat, which is frayed and sore from all the yelling.

You sit back, elbows on your knees while your hands smoothen out your forehead. Tear after tear escapes your sobbing body, and eventually, you fall asleep on the couch.

In the weeks to come, you’ve realized the blow-out of a breakup could’ve been handled so much differently, but Tom hasn’t seemed to cool down at all — he’s petty enough to unfollow you on all social media, and you figure it’s time to let the hatred be mutual. You don’t touch your imessages, however, letting the love in those texts linger for a little longer.

Before you know it, you’re throwing up into the toilet boil, coughing violently at the action and spitting the bitter taste as best you can. You clean up, and when you check your phone, a small notification from your period tracker app alerts you that this is the second period in a row that has gone by without a hello.

Worried, you call Aisha, your closest friend and confidant. She’s over in no time, bringing along her girlfriend while you rant on the phone about your worries. They stop at the drugstore on the way.

The cause of your problems is discovered that day, and you collapse on the bathroom floor in agony, hands wiping at your face — through all the anger and fear and worry, you still love Tom. So much that Aisha even attempts to call Tom. But, alas, it’s sent straight to voicemail, and you realize he might’ve gone to extreme extents in blocking everyone.

You’re stuck going to the ultrasound with two lesbians and a frail old cat. Aisha is as supportive as ever, but as the doctor explains the process of each option, you feel sicker and sicker about the idea of getting rid of the fetus. In the end, you choose to keep the child you’re bearing, even if your ex-lover isn’t even in the picture.

Inevitably, the months pass, and as baby Charlie is brought into the wonderful world, you realize life as a single mother isn’t as scary as you thought it would be. In the first few months of your pregnancy, you’d kept tabs on what film Tom was doing and which was coming out next, but after the hormones and cravings, you’d decided to let the past sizzle and fade out in the way it was meant to all along.

It’s been almost three years since that fateful breakup, and Charlie is just reaching two and a half years old. You’re still single, and you’re okay with that. Charlie is all you need, all you’ve ever wanted, and the most important thing in your life. He’s young, and school is still a couple years away, but you enjoy having the toddler by your side, walking hand in hand with you because you’re his guardian, his provider, his only parent. You make him your only priority, because you don’t want him to grow up without anyone to love, or anyone to love him.

It’s hard, though. It’s hard because he’s a constant reminder of what didn’t happen, a constant reminder of what went wrong and of what you no longer have. You miss Tom more than words can express, and Charlie’s mop of brown curls reminds you of all the moments you’d run your fingers through Tom’s hair. You reminisce more than you’d like to, about Tom and your past, and though Charlie is technically half of the Brit, he’s one hundred percent yours. Because you’re the only one here, and that’s alright.

“Mummy,” Charlie tugs on your shirt’s hem while you move the shopping cart forward through the aisle. “Can we get the goldfish with superheroes?”

You jutt your lip out in a smile, nodding happily. “Of course we can, bub.”

As you step forward, you pit stop in the aisle, nearly tripping on the cart. You make direct eye contact with the man you used to love with your entire heart. The man who walked out with your heart and never gave it back. He’s staring right back at you, curls looking as fluffy as ever, face still a soft glow. Your breath hitches, and it’s then that you realize Charlie is still talking.

“Mummy?” He asks, and it’s just loud enough for Tom to hear. Harry, who’s beside Tom with an arm full of crackers and chips. Tom moves forward a few steps, hastily in an attempt to get more information.

“Uh, hi,” His smile is tight lipped as he stands at the other end of your shopping cart. Charlie shies away from strangers, standing behind your leg and holding your shirt with his grubby hands.

“Hi,” you return his awkward, reserved demeanor.

“Mummy who’s this?”

“‘Mummy?’” Tom has a follow up question for everything, and you internally panic, unsure on how to approach this.

You’d spent so long deciding how you should tell Tom that he was a dad. You spent hours debating on if you should pick up the phone or drive over just to tell him a truth you’ve kept inside for so long. You’ve abandoned social media, only sharing aspects of your life you can afford to post. Charlie is only occasionally on your page, but it’s not like Tom would see that, not after all that’s happened.

Your mouth opens and closes while you debate on how to reply. You’re physically incapable of saying your response, and it makes you even more nervous. You’re nervous on how he might react, what he’ll say, but most importantly, if he’ll stay.

“Is this…?

“My kid…” You fill in. “I- I mean our… our kid.” You pull your bottom lip between your rows of teeth, and you watch as Tom’s face undergoes thousands of expressions all at once. He’s surprised, shocked, happy, afraid, uncertain. You want the world to swallow you whole, suck you up so you don’t have to go through any of this again. But you don’t. Instead, you hold Charlie’s hand a little tighter.

“Our kid?” He drops a can of soup and you flinch at the loud noise.

“Mummy, who’s that?”

“That’s…” You don’t know how to answer his question. Instead, you lean down to his level, comfortingly and gently. “He’s a man.”

“Who’s that man?”

“He’s… your daddy.”

“I thought… no daddy?”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows. Tom’s watching the entire encounter from his place, but after a few beats, he steps forward, entering your bubble. Charlie doesn’t cower away this time, but looks up in curiosity.

“Hi, Charlie,” Tom extends his hand, adjusting his jeans so he can lean down just as you are, kneeling beside the young boy.

You look down, avoiding your worries and Tom’s gaze. He’s tearing up, and you want to cry too. You’re in a fucking supermarket, for god’s sake. This wasn’t how you envisioned any of this planning out, and though you’re mentally kicking yourself for letting it happen this way, you can’t help but feel like maybe this was meant to be. Written in the stars or whatever the folks say — you’re just grateful Charlie has at least a sliver of hope for two parents. Not that you can’t handle it, because you can, but you know someone like Tom wouldn’t want to miss something as important as this.

“I’m To- I’m…” He swallows thickly, making brief eye contact with you before looking back at Charlie. “I’m your dad.”

“Do you love my mummy?” He’s not shameless, but he’s still that shy little boy. “My friend says daddy’s love mommy’s so you must love mine, right?”

Tom lets a tear fall while he exhales a chuckle. He swipes the drop with the tips of his fingers, and the hand gripping Charlie’s squeezes it a little tighter. A glance in your direction is all it takes for him to answer Charlie’s question. “Yeah, buddy. I do.”

want more? my masterlist.

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angelguk · 3 years ago

Text

so much happens in this it’s such a huge mess omg. the return of the angst plot line of jock!jk (aka pretty boy universe please check ml for the other parts). this time featuring: Angst (with a capital A), miscommunication that makes you want to scream, chayoung’s true nature, namjoon catching stray bullets (figuratively), and lucas being a gem. also jungkook is somewhat semi-violent in this one (in terms of thoughts and some actions but no one gets hurt) so please don’t read this if that makes you uncomfortable. in general just an angry heartbroken boy. also oc is finally doing something good. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams + if we were made of water by banks + i will by mitksi + save room for us by tinashe. roughly 4.2k

titled — old friends, new foes

The spring scavenger hunt is an enormous success, all thanks to your careful planning and Bina’s much needed support. While you excelled at organising, you heavily lacked in the social aspect, something Bina fulfilled with smart marketing and a bright personality that drew in a larger crowd than you thought would appear. It's partially expected–she was head of the Events Committee for a reason–but it felt a little strange to lean onto her instead of Jeongguk. He was the one who usually spearheaded that side of your event plans, more than anyone else, and while planning this one you felt his absence tenfold. Like a gigantic gaping hole excavating through your chest and leaving behind a lonely hollow.

That hollowness surges when you spot him meandering towards the third location at the university courtyard, his fingers tangled with Hyeri’s. You slowly turn away from them, heart aching with each thud against your ribs, hoping they haven’t seen you. Maybe Bina sees the fall on your features because she’s gently tapping your arm, leaning in with a graceful brush of her amber locks over her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, feathering through the late afternoon breeze to reach your ear.

You’re about to say it, the pained ‘I’m fine' that had become a part of your routine. But then you hear him, loud effervescent laugh hitting the air, the sound striking your false demeanour down. Your vision blurs before you could choke the word out and suddenly Bina’s arm is firmly around you, guiding your heavy feet far away from the presence evoking your pain.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to choke up, folding into yourself in the middle of a bench. She stares at you for a moment, before taking a deep breath and sharply clicking her tongue.

“You’re not.” Her eyes are gentle despite the harshness of her words. “I know this isn’t my place, but I do know why you stopped coming to committee meetings.”

The scoff you let out is instinctive. The jarring sound is a stark contrast to the action of your hand hurriedly wiping away the stray tears staining your cheeks. Of course, you’d avoided committee meetings – why the hell would you go when the president was your ex?

“And,” Bina continues, pointedly ignoring your reaction. Her hand reaches out moving to intertwine your fingers. You focus on the image of her sharp stiletto shaped nails that glitter under the glow of the sun settling on your lap instead of the thumping of your heart as she speaks. “Judging from what I’ve seen, it hasn’t been easy for him either. I know you’re probably thinking that you were the only one who cared about him–about your relationship, but I’m pretty sure he did too. So it’s perfectly okay for you to feel like this, no matter how long it’s been.”

Two months and three weeks, you mentally add. A lifetime and a single blink simultaneously.

“I didn’t need to know that,” you say, hoping to kill the hope fluttering in your heart. Bina squeezes your hand instead and gives it wings.

“You did. Also, Jeongguk’s kind of an asshole. Sorry if it’s too soon.”

It’s not, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes from your throat. You glance up at her then, suddenly glad for the dazzling glossed coated smile that greets you.

“But,” she continues. “You’re doing the wrong thing too. I know you’re dating Lucas and it’s not fair to him when you’re still hung up on Jeongguk.”

“I know,” you admit. “And I’m going to fix that.”

She beams. “I hope you do. Don’t let him make you pick the wrong choices. You deserve better than that.”

Perhaps it was her words of reassurance that aided in getting you out of the house tonight. (Or it was Bina gingerly whacking your arm and insisting you needed to reward yourself for working hard). But a minuscule part of you is glad you heeded her advice. The music is louder than the words bouncing around your head, sound shoving your sorrow down as Chayoung hands you another drink. Everything is fast, bodies shifting wildly around you and the faint sound of a beer pong game capturing everyone’s attention. For a moment, you begin to forget. But then Lucas’s looming head materializes before you and guilt swarms your heart.

“Hey,” he offers, deep timbre sinking into your bones. You might just throw up.

You haven’t told him about Namjoon. You can’t bear to. But there’s something else more urgent that you need to say to him first.

Chayoung watches through narrow eyes when he leans forward to brush a light kiss on your cheek. He’s so sweet it makes your mouth turn sour.

“Haven’t seen you around,” Lucas continues, slipping beside you. A steady hand settles at the base of your back. You almost jolt away.

Chayoung’s face is hard, expression carved out of marble as she stares you down. You know she’s mad at you, rightfully so. Even Sieun hadn’t said anything for a few days after you’d told them about Namjoon. You were mad at yourself too. For what you did–for what you need to do to fix it.

“Been busy. Planning the scavenger hunt and all,” you say, gaze glued to a random lamp at the opposite side of the room. It’s easier than staring at Lucas, who’s still so warm and bright. Practically glowing like he’s got the Sun living in his chest.

You hope you don’t leave him cloudy.

He weaves his hand into yours, a pleasant noise escaping past his lips. “I know. Great job, by the way. You should be proud.”

Chayoung slinks away at that, the glower on her features burning your blood. You haven’t told anybody yet because you don’t want their advice on this. But you do need to end things with Lucas. It wasn’t fair to him. Yet, it feels nearly impossible when you tear your eyes off the fading figure of your friend and glance up to find him staring at you with the softest smile.

All you do is hurt good people.

It’s a terrible realisation but it forces you to croak out the words, a rip forming inside of you when that soft smile slips off his face at the sound of them.

“We need to talk.”

But the second they are out you feel something in the world click into place like you’re finally making the right steps toward the correct path even though you need to step on the hearts of others to get there.

Lucas lets you lead him in silence, the weight of it sinking onto your shoulders when he closes the door behind him, the music giving way to the noise in your head. When he turns to face you, watching apprehensively as you perch yourself at the edge of the bed in the room, it all begins to feel like deja vu. Except you’re on the other side.

“So,” you start, eyes on the wall. The feeling of the mattress dipping as Lucas descends beside you pulls your gaze back to him, heartstrings thrumming when the moonlight leaking through the opened curtains pools into his eyes.

How could Jeongguk have done this?

“We need to end this,” you say, realising as the air leaves your lungs that he did it like this. Like he needed to breath. It feels like cutting an anchor off your ankle, head breaking through furious waters to finally find air.

Lucas pauses, blinking slow. You don’t fill the emptiness with more words, afraid you’ll pour salt into an open wound. He lets what you said ruminate, eyes shifting to the scene around you. A random room, bathed by the glow of the room, and two hearts opposing each other–one already poised to leave. One that was never really there.

“Why?” It’s said lowly. You know why. You owe him this admission, after dragging him around on a sinking ship. But the words refuse to part from your throat.

“I’m not right for you,” you say instead, hoping he understands. By the flicker across his eyes, he doesn’t. “Like,” you try, your eyes dropping to where his heart lies. “You’ve got a lot of good in you and I don’t. We don’t match.”

Lucas cocks his head, staring at the ceiling. And this his gaze careens to you.

“You don’t think you’re a good person?”

“Well–” you splutter. But Lucas isn’t having it.

“You’re a lovely person, Y/N. With a lot of good in you too. You are kind of shitty for this though but every good person does shitty things.” It’s said factually like he needs you to understand this.

“I know that–”

“You don’t. You put yourself down too much. Why do you think Jeongguk loved you?”

Oh. That seizes that air from your chest, Lucas’s gaze slamming into your own with a surety that stings.

“Why do you think I like you?” He adds. You don’t know what to do, nervous system spazzing at this information assault. “And I know why you want to end this. You could have said it. I understand, though. The two of you did fight together so well.” He gets up then, towering like a God dictating judgment. “I didn’t expect you to stop loving him immediately, you know.” He’s near the door now, not fleeing but parting a new path. There’s a weird smile on his lips, like the forging of his steps hurts as much yours does. It’s like it’s been hung there, not pulled from his heart like you’d grown used to seeing.

“What did you expect?” You can’t help but ask.

He pauses, the door half-open. You could tell him to shut it, you could tell him to stay.

You don’t want to.

“That maybe one day you would love me more than you loved him,” Lucas whispers. He sees the fall on your features, knows the answer on your lips instantly. “But it’s okay that you never could.”

And then he’s gone, honey blonde hair swallowed by the crowd even with his impossible height. He leaves the door ajar, the music seeping into the room. But this time your head is louder, surer. Because Lucas just let you know something you weren’t even aware of yourself. There was no room for anybody else except Jeongguk. And it truly wasn’t fair to offer him your heart when it was half a world away.

—

Half a world away is apparently glaring at the shrubs flanking the back garden. Jeongguk doesn’t know who’s house this is. He doesn’t care either because at the moment he’s considering burning it down. He’d just seen you amble into a room, Lucas trailing behind like a stupid dog and his heart clenching hard in his chest. It took two seconds after the door shut for him to shove Hyeri off his lap and mumble something about needing air.

(What he needed was you).

The coolness of the night ebbed at his boiling blood, but nothing could ease the ache.

“You look like you need a drink,” Chayoung’s voice feels alien, creeping up his back. He turns to look at her, a polite comment on how he’d like to be left alone hanging on his lips. She interrupts it by handing him a cup, a tender smile gracing her lips. Jeongguk accepts it with a shrug, hoping the burn in his throat will be a distraction. It isn’t. But he forces another sip down as Chayoung slithers outside too, the room behind her glowing as if the building was on fire.

What store sells matches and lighter fluid in the middle of the night? And won’t ask incriminating questions?

“Why the long face?” She asks, peering at him from the corner of her eye.

Jeongguk shrugs, the words in his head refusing to form into understandable sounds.

“Hyeri not cutting it?” Chayoung murmurs. His eyes snap to her, but she’s not staring at him, her gaze fixed on the dark sky.

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk is baffled say the least. He thought his act with Hyeri was a little bit more solid proof. He liked her–somewhat.

Chayoung turns slow, almost sinisterly, a glint in her brown eyes that unsettles him. “I just don’t think she’s in your league.”

The scoff that leaves Jeongguk’s throat burns. He hated that stupid idea of leagues. You should like a person for who they are, not where they stand in foolish social hierarchies. But Chayoung reads his response wrong, suddenly impossibly close, a stray finger trailing along his shoulder. Her nails are talons. He shudders, trying to hide it by leaning away. Chayoung just leans closer, alcohol tainted breath grazing his own. For a moment, Jeongguk considers fleeing back inside to come ask you to collect your drunk friend (a perfect excuse to finally say something to you after months of radio silence) but then he remembers that might potentially end with him walking into the room and finding you with Lucas’s tongue down your throat.

And that would suck. A lot.

But before he can think of another solution Chayoung’s fingernails are scrapping his neck, leaving his skin prickled.

“But then again, do you seem to always pick the wrong ones.” That bristles him and his eyes are suddenly hard and narrow.

“What do you mean by that?” He spits it out, a spark igniting in his chest when Chayoung shrugs. The smile on her face disgusts him.

“You know what I mean.” Her finger is sliding down his shirt and Jeongguk feels branded even through the material. “When you look like this, running around girls like that is honestly a little sad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s hoping he’s hearing this all wrong. That she’s just drunk and acting stupid. But when her eyes lift to him he knows she means it. Every word of it.

“You could do better, Jeongguk. So much better.”

“Chayoung you need to shut the fuc–”

Her lips taste like vodka and cherry lip balm, which is sickening because that’s what you taste like–sans the vodka. Cherry lip balm was your brand. It always was, you’ve got like five of them scattered around your room and a couple more hidden in Jeongguk’s. He recoils instantly, acid climbing up his throat as his hands find something–anything to push away. What he finds are Chayoung’s shoulders and when he pushes he pushes hard. They break apart and the floor beneath Jeongguk cracks wide open, his head spinning violently.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He doesn’t know what else to say, the circuits in his brain frying. Chayoung’s tongue skips over her lips, now wet and a little plush from the force she used to slam her mouth into his.

“Showing you that you can do better.”

He blinks, taken a large step back when Chayoung moves forward, a little sway in her feet.

“You’re drunk and acting crazy. I think I should call Y/N to com–”

“Oh fuck Y/N. Such a whiny bitch. Do you really think she deserves you? After all the shit she’s put you through?” Chayoung’s eyes feel like knives, sharp and striking deep with every word.

“Aren't you her friend? What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeongguk needs this to de-escalate. Chayoung wants to throw gasoline on an open flame instead.

“No–what’s wrong with you, Jeongguk? Moping around for a girl who never realised what she had when it was right in front of her? C’mon now.”

“You seriously need to shut the fuck up. You’re not gonna talk about her like that in front of me.”

“Why not? Cause you still love her? Even when she’s fucking Lucas?”

That stings, his heart bursting in his chest because Jeongguk didn’t know you were sleeping with him. He thought it would just be kisses or something. Not that–not Lucas touching you like he used to. But then Hyeri’s face flashes in before his eyes and he wilts. He can’t blame you for anything, not when he’s been doing the same horrible shit to you. And that makes him pause, the sudden realisation that he’s been hurting you smashing into his head. He didn’t want to hurt you–never. Not even if you were hurting him. He just needed a distraction, something to ease you off his mind. And maybe you did too, but all left you both with was gaping wounds that would never heal. And with other people hurt too.

God, this was a mess. And it dawns on Jeongguk that’s he’s made the worst mistake he’s ever made in his life.

“You should hate her,” Chayoung continues, venomous.

“I don’t,” Jeongguk returns, voice levelled. All he hates right now is himself. And Lucas (which is fair). Chayoung blanches, shaken by his firmness. “I really don’t, in fact, I need to talk to her. Right now.”

He moves fast, foot already past the threshold when Chayoung speaks again, her words aimed with intent to kill.

“She kissed Namjoon.”

He feels the nerves in his legs still instantly, before they nearly give way entirely, his grip on the door frame the only thing holding him up as his heart tears out of his chest.

“I thought you should know,” Chayoung adds. And he hears it then, that vile smugness in her voice. She’s lying. She has to be. You wouldn’t do that to him. And he says that, storming back to Chayoung with his chest ripped open, his body thrumming with barely concealed rage. And fear. Jeongguk feels so scared right now because if you did that means everything he felt–everything he feared–could be true.

“She did.” Chayoung is immovable, standing tall and staring him down. “I’m not lying to you. Go ask Namjoon if you don’t believe me.”

Which, Jeongguk realises as his eyes fall shut that is going to absolutely do. And possibly break a nose in the process. He turns, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes, before Chayoung stops him with a single sentence again, this one said a little softer.

“Jeongguk,” she starts, eyeing him down, her brown eyes aflame under the moonlight. “I mean it when I say she doesn’t deserve you.”

—

Someone is attempting to break down Namjoon’s door. Which is bizarre considering it’s almost three in the morning. He has to drag himself out of the comfort of his warm sheets to figure out which maniac is attempting to smash through solid wood with only their fists because it seems like they’re almost succeeding.

The maniac in question is Jeon Jeongguk, standing rigid when Namjoon swings the door open, moonlight bleeding over his features. He’s mad, staring at Namjoon like he wished his head was rolling on the ground instead of stationed square on his shoulders. But there’s something else there, doe eyes glossy.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are–”

“You kissed her.”

Everything stills, the two men fixated on each other. Jeongguk is so still he could have been mistaken for a statue. Almost as if he was waiting for the words that would break this moment, ease the tension seizing his muscles, tell him what he wants to hear. Namjoon can’t do any of that. Instead, he sighs, a muted, “Oh”, floating from his lips.

Jeongguk snaps the second he realises it’s true.

“Oh? You kissed her and all you have to say is oh?” Hands are digging into the soft cotton of his nightshirt and Namjoon’s feet are no longer on the ground. He’s apparently levitating, lifted solely by this hurt angry boy invading his apartment. His back hits the nearest wall with a thud that vibrates through his bones. When the hell did Jeongguk get this strong?”

“Whoa–relax,” Namjoon wheezes, his strong fingers guiding Jeongguk off him. But heartbreak tends to be enough fuel because Jeongguk pushes back with an ease that unnerves him. “Jeongguk, you seriously need to relax. Let go of me and we can talk about this.”

“Why did you do it?” That is what he gets in return. Jeongguk’s voice wavers, coloured a violent red in the velvet of the night.

“I didn’t do anything,” Namjoon returns, the words delivered gingerly.

“No–no you did. You kissed her. You–”

“She kissed me, Jeongguk. And I can seriously explain all of it if you just relaxed and we talked about it–”

“No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t do that to me–she wouldn’t.” And Oh God No, Namjoon thinks he just heard the sound of a heart breaking. It sounds like a weird mangled bird collapsing from the sky and its wing hitting the ground with a funny wet smash, fragile bones snapping like twigs.

Jeongguk’s fingers peel from his shirt and bury themselves in his hair, yanking at the cropped strands as his face twists.

This is far too much emotion for a single person to deal with in the middle of the bloody night.

“Hey–hey, calm down. It was a mistake, I promise you. She was just feeling a little all over the place and made a bad choice–”

“No–that’s the fucking point! She made a choice. She chose you.” Jeongguk’s staring at him in a way that hurts, like he’s attempting to transfer all the pain that’s writhing through his body into Namjoon’s from sight alone.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Jeongguk is frantic, almost like he’s trying to stop himself from pouring out onto the floor. A flood barely contained. “She chose you first. I was there–I was always there. But then you waltzed in and she saw something in you that she didn’t find in me and she chose you.”

Namjoon cocks his head, staring hard at Jeongguk’s round wide eyes, slowly coming to realisations that he was surrounded by idiotic people.

“I still have no idea what you are talking about, but I have to ask, don’t you remember a single thing I told you the last time we spoke about Y/N? You’re the reason we broke up.” That halts him and Namjoon takes that as a moment to press onward, somewhat tired of being dragged into this awkward mess. “And I’ll say this in the nicest way possible but you’re an idiot if you think Y/N wouldn’t pick you over me any day–over anyone really. I could be drowning and you could have a scrapped knee and she’d check on you first. We broke up because I realised I was just a placeholder until she felt brave enough to tell you she liked you. You were rather intimidating for her to approach. Or have you forgotten your track record of girls? It wasn’t easy for her–especially when she was risking losing her best friend.”

The silence that follows aches, Jeongguk’s eyes flashing like he never considered that in the first place.

“But why the other guys then? Why not just tell me after you?”

Namjoon’s going to bang his head into the wall. “You’re her best friend–what about that are you not getting? What if you didn’t like her back and it ruined the most important relationship in her life?”

“But I did–I always liked her.”

“No,” Namjoon nearly groans out loud. “You didn’t. If you liked her you wouldn’t have fucked Chaerin in the back of your car and then gone to report it to Y/N with a grin on your face.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon returns. “Oh. That’s the exact day we broke up too. Such a stupid fight because she was crying and that’s when I put two and two together and realised I was never going to take precedence over you.”

“I didn’t know I was hurting her,” Jeongguk murmurs, almost distraught.

A strangled noise erupts from Namjoon’s throat. “You’ve hurt her a lot more than you’ll realise.” But the second he says that and Jeongguk’s face twists into something unrecognisable he wants to take them back.

“She’s too good for me. Maybe we are better off apart.”

“No, no. You’re so wrong actually. This break-up thing has been miserable to watch and I’m not even in the centre of it. I’ve just caught a bunch of stray bullets.”

“You’re not getting me,” Jeongguk’s eyes swing to him. “She came to you at the end of it all. Maybe we are better with other people. Maybe you’re better for her.”

“She came to me because she missed you. She just needed someone to lean on during your absence. I wouldn’t have to do that if you were there. You know, you should just talk about this with Y/N.”

“I can’t, she’s happy with Lucas. I think.”

Namjoon wants to bang both your heads together so bad. Maybe finally the fact that you love each other would get through your thick skulls then.

“She doesn’t,” he says, instead. “And I know that for a fact. You should really go talk to her. Figure this whole mess out. And also finally get out of my apartment.” Jeongguk’s gaze withers. Namjoon shrugs in return. “It’s the middle of the night and I have a meeting in the morning. I really need to sleep.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” He’s so meek like this, nursing a shattered heart and a confused head. It’s slightly jarring to the image he usually presents, so self-assured and unfazed by whatever gets thrown at him. Never exposed like this, every emotion he holds inside displayed across his face.

“It’s alright. Just think about what I said and talk to her. Honestly. Not skirting over shit like the two of you tend to do. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, trailing towards the open door. Namjoon had registered a breeze billowing in, but he’d completely missed the fact that the door of his apartment was swung wide open. Jeongguk abruptly stops just as Namjoon’s sense of bearing returns, turning to face him with his face pulled down by shame. “I’m really sorry. For this whole thing. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that I was just–”

“I get it. You love her and it feels like she’s slipping from your fingers. Just don’t do that shit again and stop trying to push her away. I’ll say it again–you were always her first choice.” He sees it then, a slight flutter through Jeongguk’s chest. A broken bird mending.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathes. “Thanks.”

Namjoon sighs, offering a tight smile and shutting the door firmly when Jeongguk finally drifts out. He needs a drink before he hits the sheets again. A strong one.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #i hope this redeems jj!jk in your eyes #i might rewrite this who knows

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

aquarium | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You thought you and Jeon Jungkook would be last forever, but you had to read the ending yourself, in the form of typed words. When it arrived, you went to the blue sea. The grey sky would come and the black storm would appear.

warnings: cheating in established relationship; (very sad) angst; language; ambiguous ending; non-idol!AU; video game streamer!Jungkook x reader; ft. kind garden-loving landlord!Taehyung

now playing – trauma (aquarium) by ONEWE

this place has been transformed into something unknown i’m trapped alone in an aquarium

You could see the ending.

At first it was the little things. He held your hand a little less, stood a little further from you when you two walked side by side. Stared at his phone a lot. Didn’t share his snacks as often. Spent all his time on his computer, streaming video games for longer and longer hours.

You had nothing to say. It was his job, after all.

You made his meals, washed his dishes. Changed his water bottles, gave him a kiss for the camera. Felt a little part of you die inside each time you went to bed alone, only to hear him slip under the blankets, hours after you. You went to work for longer and longer hours. There was no reason to go home. He ordered take-out for dinner every night.

Being Jeon Jungkook’s girlfriend was supposed to be fun.

And it was fun, at first. At first, he spent all this time with you. At first, he was always with you, by your side. He only streamed a little back then. It was a slow, gradual growth, and, like all parasites, it took over every aspect of your life. From your nights, to your days, to your time – making meals, cleaning up after him, doing all the laundry.

You could tolerate it. He made a lot of money. He was having fun. He was smiling. You would do anything for Jeon Jungkook. He dragged you into his sea and you swam in it happily. Until you realized you were stuck and alone, glass walls all around you, keeping you away from him. Seeing him, and yet not being able to touch him, kept away from his heart.

Caught in an aquarium.

He would give you kisses and tell you he wanted to get married.

He would say he loved you, but it was all a lie.

You weren’t in his Instagram photos. You weren’t part of his Twitter bio anymore. You weren’t listed in his phone with a little purple heart next to your name. Even that, you wouldn’t mind. He told you he didn’t want you to get harassed by trolls. He told you that he wasn’t ashamed of you, that you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

But.

Then again.

He told every girl in his DMs that.

You stared at them that faithful night, unable to sleep, reading them all. Jungkook was asleep beside you, snoring away, and you read every single one. The WhatsApp messages were worse. They were so much worse. More sexual, detailing what he wanted to do to other people. Not you. Not you, the love of his life. Not you, the one by his side.

You knew how to backtrack and retrace your steps. Make it seem like you were never there. Placed his phone on his side of the bed and went to sleep. He held you that night. Turned around in his sleep and wrapped his arms around you.

Inside, you drowned.

When he told you that he was going to a gaming convention, he was very excited. Grinning his beautiful grin, snacking on shrimp chips as you washed the dishes. It was only the weekend, only two days. He wasn’t going to go for the Friday or Monday, so he could spend time with you.

“I would totally invite you, but you said you have to work that weekend.”

You said apologetically. “I know. I’m sorry. But I have to be there for my co-workers.”

He frowned and nudged you. “You work too much. You know you don’t have to. We can just live off my streaming money. I can buy you nice things.”

“I would feel bad for leaving them. I’ve worked at that office for seven years.”

He smirked, elbowing you a little. “Cheating on me with all the cute guys?”

You carefully wiped down the glass, placing it back in the cabinet, smile plastered to your face.

“No guy is cuter than you, Jungkook.”

That was the weekend you left.

You went to work, confirmed your month-long vacation of all the hours you’ve collected over the years, and packed every belonging you owned in that apartment. To be honest, there wasn’t very much. Anything Jungkook had ever bought you, you left behind.

There was no reason to hold onto it.

For a long moment, you stared at the photos, the stack of photos of you and him. Your smile, his smile, the places you’ve been, the things you’ve seen with him. Then you placed them on the bed, scattering them, spreading them all over the blankets.

You left it like that.

You went to the ocean.

You dropped the boxes at a storage unit in the city. Took only a carry-on bag of clothes and took a train to the coast. You left your phone in the storage unit too, telling your parents you were going on vacation to the sea. Didn’t say where, only mentioned you wanted to unplug, unwind, disconnect.

Disconnect.

The cottage you rented was cared for by a nice young man with dark brown hair and tan skin. He said it was his parents’ and that he was renting it out for them. If you needed anything, you could contact him and he wouldn’t hesitate to help. He had a bright, boxy smile and a cheerful tone. You thanked him for being so considerate.

You sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side.

Your pink flats were right beside you, and your arms were resting on the wooden fence. The ocean breeze was strong here, salty and cold. You were in a long-sleeved white dress that was going to get dirt and grass stains on it, but that sort of thing didn’t matter now.

Clothes could be replaced.

The garden rock in your hand spun round and round, dancing between your deft fingers. Your left hand. The hand that held his when you two walked side by side, fitting in his right covered in small tattoos. He had a king’s crown tattoo on his ring finger and asked you if you would get a queen’s crown tattoo someday. It didn’t have to be on your hand. Anywhere was fine.

You looked at your left hand then, the hand that was holding his, and then it didn’t.

And then it didn’t.

You stared down into the crashing waves and jagged rocks under you. It was cold here. How far down was that? White forth slammed against eroding stone. Even mountains weren’t forever. Even something as solid as rock could be ground down into nothing with water.

Your eyes shifted to the shimmering sea, the endless blue, sun reflecting harshly off it. It didn’t matter how beautiful the water was or how many extraordinary creatures were under the surface. The deep sea hid all the worst creatures, all the terrible monsters. Not even science could go that far and discover all those horrors.

You pulled your arm back and threw the rock as far as you could. You couldn’t even see where it landed. The seawater was too rough and wild.

“Why would you throw my garden stone into the ocean?”

You started, turning around sharply to the heavy, baritone voice of your landlord. He was wearing a white sunhat, a beige shirt and pants, clutching a pair of dirty and worn brown gardening gloves. He frowned at you, staring into the ocean.

“What did my rock ever do to you?”

You looked back to the choppy waves and then faced him again, ashamed.

“Well, come. You will have to help with the garden to repay for that. I’m harvesting winter squash.”

“You can cook.”

You nodded to Kim Taehyung, the young man who was caring for the sea cottage. He was tasting some of your winter squash and fresh bamboo combination after he asked if you could do something with the two. You had added garlic, ginger, and made a light white sauce as you sautéed it all together.

“I got this bamboo from a friend who lives in the mountains. I can’t cook very well though. Can you?”

You two ate in steady silence, listening to the sounds of nature and waves crashing into shore. He had made rice while you cooked the vegetables.

“The only thing I can make, really,” he had chuckled.

You chewed, listening to Taehyung mix the leftover sauce with the rice and slurp it up.

“The world is quiet here,” you said softly.

He nodded; mouth full. His brown eyes shifted to the overhanging cliff as he swallowed.

“It is.”

You tended the garden with him.

You hadn’t even realized all the greenery around the cottage was a giant garden. To you, they were just pretty plants. Taehyung taught you all about the plants, which ones he was growing, which ones the season was already over, which ones he was trying to grow next season. Some were flower bushes he was trying to learn, but you learned that they were finnicky and not as hardy as the vegetables.

“I don’t even like vegetables that much,” he laughed, rich, full, heedless. “But they’re easy to care for, so they make me the happiest.”

He had tried fruits, but the wild animals always got to them despite his best efforts.

“I must share with nature, I suppose.”

Sometimes, you missed the internet. You missed the distractions, the games you played, the ability to like random thoughts on someone’s Twitter. In those times, you would stare at the never-ending blue ocean and then Taehyung would tap you with the rake and tell you that you needed to help him loosen the soil.

“We need all of nature’s nutrients.”

You stared out to the blue ocean, wearing a large straw hat and a navy dress. You weren’t at the cliff this time, but farther back. The breeze was softer at this moment. Taehyung had given you the hat a while ago, telling you it was better than the white scarf you wore around your hair. It did provide better sun protection for your face.

The cobalt sea was violent today, sky grey and dark. Taehyung told you it might rain, so the garden could be skipped today.

You held your hat and looked up.

“Me too, sky. Me too,” you murmured quietly.

You wondered when the feeling would disappear. It would probably be gradual, silently vanishing as each day was replaced, memories fading into the vast abyss of thoughts, mixing with fantasy so that you wouldn’t be able to know the difference between what was real and what was fake. That’s why eyewitness accounts were never trustworthy.

That’s how all memories were.

You let go of your hat for only a second. It flew off your head and you spun around, surprised at the strong ocean breeze.

Taehyung caught it with one hand, standing a few meters behind you.

Your lips parted at how easily he was able to catch it. He was wearing a yellow raincoat and brown pants with his usual brown gardening boots. He smiled, walking up to you and putting the straw hat back on your head.

“I warned you that you might lose it if you stand too close to the ocean.”

You hand came up and brushed against his fingers as he retreated his. He looked away quickly, into the stormy blue sea threatened by grey clouds.

“What have you lost to be looking so sad?” Taehyung asked gently.

You followed his gaze.

“Memories.” The water churned, smacking against the cliffside. “A whole book of them.”

“What do you mean?”

You turned back to Taehyung, who was now watching you curiously. You held onto your straw hat, not wanting it to blow away again.

“I left all the photos, so I wouldn’t have to see them again.” You sighed. “Pictures of moments, years etched out visually. I was going to make a memories photo book when we got married.”

You looked back to the ocean, seeing the sky darken ever more.

“And now we won’t.”

There was a loud clap of thunder. Your eyes searched for the lightning.

And then your name, shouted across the grass, harsh and angry like the thunder.

At first, you didn’t hear it. You were distracted by the sky, waiting for the rain. But Taehyung snapped his head around, startled. You noticed his movement and turned around too. A figure in black jumped over the fence, yelling your name on the top of his lungs.

The glass walls came up inside you, trying to protect you from the stumbling, turbulent sea that was Jeon Jungkook.

Taehyung frowned. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Jungkook spat, glaring at him and his yellow raincoat. He called you again, sharply, stomping over. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? When I came home from the convention and you were just gone? No note, nothing, only to find you running off with some random guy!”

The thunder sounded again, but there was no lightning yet.

“I called everyone! Your work, your friends, your family, your phone! You wouldn’t even answer your fucking phone. I had to find out from your work that you were on vacation,” Jungkook hissed, glaring at you. “Vacation from our relationship that is, fucking cheating on me.”

Taehyung glared back. “Dude, it’s not like that at all. I’m just the landlord of the cottage she rented–”

“Shut up. I’m not talking to you.”

You stared at Jungkook, his dark brows and wild black hair, so angry at you that he was cursing. The irony was not lost on you. You held onto the straw hat.

“Is that all it was?” you said quietly. “You were upset that I would find affection in someone else?”

“Of course, I was! You’re the love of my life!”

You smiled gently. “Is that what you tell them all?” Your navy dress fluttered in the harsh ocean breeze.

Jungkook scowled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You looked down to your pink flats, dirty and grass-stained now from running around the cottage garden. Taehyung had teased you, telling you they weren’t good gardening shoes, but you hadn’t brought any other shoes with you. Everything else Jungkook had bought you, with his money.

“Even now, you pretend, Jungkook.” Your hair tangled in the wind, salty and tousled from the sea. You looked back up at him and his expression was changing now. “I remember asking you once, should you comment like that on other people’s Instagram posts?” The thunder was louder now, sky ripping apart with flashing light. “You said, everyone is like that. It’s part of the business.” The color was draining out of Jungkook’s face. “Were the DMs only for show too? What about the WhatsApp messages? The things you wanted to do to them? The ones you wanted to shove your dick into?”

“That’s fucked up,” Taehyung muttered next to you.

“That… That wasn’t…” Jungkook struggled for words. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded. You felt it first, the fat drop on the hand holding your hat.

“I know you didn’t. Everything was for fun. Everything.”

Smile plastered to your face, because what could you do now?

“Even me. Even I was for fun.”

You inhaled a deep breath. You had cried for many nights when you crawled into that unfamiliar bed upstairs. For hours, long after Taehyung was gone. Drowning in your own endless sea, filling your glass aquarium. Cried yourself out, and now you let the sea cry for you when you watched it every day, while you worked on the garden with Taehyung.

The rain began to fall.

You looked back to Jungkook, torn, guilty, exposed.

“You should come in and wait for the rain to subside before going home. Your viewers will miss you.”

Taehyung pulled his hood over his head. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked you, voice sharp. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The way he said it implied in more ways than just physical pain. But it was a little late for that.

“I think I will be okay, Taehyung,” you said, water seeping through your hat, rain drenching your dress., turning you into a soaked doll. “Nature has taught me to keep growing.”

He bit his lip, still frowning, but bowed. “Alright.”

And then you watched him go, back to his car, hurrying along. You went in the opposite direction, to the cottage. You had one more week in your hideaway. Rainwater seeped into your flats as you stepped into the grass, soaking your feet. But somehow, it was nice. It was nice to feel the sky cry on you, because then you didn’t have to. You made your way to the covered porch, wringing out your dress the best you could. Took off your hat, opened the door.

Heard heavy black boots in your wake.

“You… left all the pictures.”

The choked, sorrowful voice of Jeon Jungkook behind you.

“I did.”

You stepped inside the cottage. Placed your hat on the hook, dripping wet. Stepped out of your drenched pink flats. Didn’t wait for him. Just went upstairs to the bathroom, trailing rainwater, locking the door behind you. You turned on the water, plugging the drain. Ran a bath and sank into your own hot aquarium.

You heard the heavy fall against the door. Your name, softly spoken through the door.

“I’m sorry.”

You sank further into the water.

“No apology will ever fix what you have done to me.”

The water was cloudy and milky with whatever bath salts Taehyung had provided with the other personal goods.

“I can prove it to you.”

You felt the tears come now, the anger, the sadness. You submerged your head underwater, blocking out all the sound, blocking out your own thoughts. Your hair floated around you, washing out the salt of the blue sea. You waited, waited until your lungs screamed, and still you waited until your vision was fading to grey before you resurfaced, taking a shuddering breath, surprisingly calm.

“The trauma has already spread, Jungkook.”

You heard a slight sob at the tone you used to say his name, cold and unfeeling.

“I really didn’t mean it, I swear.”

You took a deep breath and dove into your man-made aquarium once again.

part ii

masterpost

extended playlist blue & grey by BTS 기억 세탁소 (eraser) by ONEWE 기억 속 한 권의 책 (a book in memory) by ONEWE

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

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neighborhoodparker · 3 years ago

Text

Panacea [0]

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word count: 1,635

Warnings: Mentions of triggering/tough topics - such as abuse, racism, sexual coercion, and overall just toxic relationships. This is a general warning that will accompany every part of this little series.

Summary: The one where you are given an introduction to your story.

Taglist: @sydneekomspacekru

(shitty) short introduction | part 1 | part 2

Roane County in Indiana, otherwise known as Hawkins, was supposed to be your new beginning. It was your way of starting over - of leaving behind your deadbeat father and your dead mother, of purging yourself of the sins of your family. Indiana was a huge change, especially in climate, when it came to your place of origin in middle-of-nowhere Arizona. Admittedly, it took you a while to get used to the colder temperatures - but you did what you’ve always done; you adapted. This was a skill you had to learn from a young age, especially with how poisonous your relationship was with your father. And, thankfully, your adaptive nature enabled you to quietly slip into the social structure that made up Hawkins's High - your extroverted, friendly nature helped as well, gaining you quick traction among the clichés of popularity. It was with ease that you blended in among those in town that held good names; after all, your mother had lived here for the first seventeen years of her life. Even though she had chosen to leave Hawkins all those years ago, you were welcomed back with open arms - and it was like you had lived your entire life within the small square footage that made up the strange town. You have to suppose that a town of this magnitude never truly forgets who it marks as its own.

And, well, it didn’t take long for Hawkins to mark you as one of its own. The ease you had with moving there seemed to infiltrate every aspect of your life. You got good grades - A’s on practically every assignment, quiz, and test, got along well with the teachers and the students, had no difficulties finding a job at the local diner, and you even hit the jackpot with a bewitching significant other. At least, that last part is what every girl in your friend group told you. Now, Billy Hargrove was - in and of himself - a conundrum, to say the least. This was something you had figured out quickly about him; right after he had decided that your welcome to the town from him was his shirtless body hefting your heavy boxes into your new apartment. Before promptly deciding to spend the rest of the evening in the local diner with you, flirting more than you had ever seen a teenage boy do. In a way, you were still set apart from the others. Because you saw behind his façade; you saw behind the flirtation and sex appeal. There was a brokenness that you had only ever seen in one other place, and that was in the eyes that stared back at you when you looked in a mirror. The life he had at home wasn’t good - and your suspicions were confirmed the first night his younger step-sister had showed up to your apartment with him sprawled out in the backseat of his Camaro, with wounds that only could have been inflicted by a man in a drunken rage.

His sister, Max, was another person you had quickly formed a bond with. That night, when she brought Billy to you because she had no other place to take him, she found out just how far your generosity could spread. From that moment forward, after you had patched up the wounds on a moaning Billy, your apartment became a safe haven for the two of them - especially for Max. Every time their house gets too loud or too violent, Max finds her own way to you; a frequent occurrence that caused you to give her your spare key. Unfortunately, though, Billy’s conundrum of an existence only grew bigger after the night you patched him up. Even though you were supposed to be his nepenthe - the one thing that takes away all his pain and sorrows, the one thing that helped him heal - he refused to admit that you did anything to help him. In his mind, it was a weakness he couldn’t afford and - frankly - that never happened. Honestly, you see more of Max these days than you do of Billy. And you’re naïve about it. You think that just because you’re helping Max that you’re helping Billy; you believe that he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want you to be pulled into his horrific domestic life.

You’re naïve because you think you can fix him. You see the broken parts, the fragmented sides of this unhealed child that’s become your boyfriend - and you think that if you give him enough time, enough patience, that he’ll come forward, that he’ll let you help. But he won’t. Because, frankly, Billy Hargrove is past saving. He’s headed down a dark path and you’re only going to be caught in the crossfires. But you don’t know that; not consciously, anyways. He’s never laid a hand on you, so you think that things are okay. You don’t understand that it’s not okay that he doesn’t show up, that he yells at you when he gets mad and doesn’t talk about it after. You think that this is just his way of coping - that it’s different from what you did when you were with your father. And what makes your naivety even worse is that you swore you would never end up in a relationship like your mother. You watched, physical altercation after physical altercation, as your mother became more beaten and more bruised - and you swore, you promised, you vowed, that you wouldn’t become your mother. You broke that. Because you didn’t know that your parents started out the same way that you and Billy did. And as hard as it is to take it in, you are just as doomed as your mother was. You don’t have enough love to spare to put him back together again. But love isn’t what can fix him. Nothing can patch a boy together when he has crevices as empty and deep as Billy.

And this doesn’t begin to touch the things that he does with you that you know are wrong. He’s a very high-driven, sexual person - and this is something that you found out decently quickly once you officially got together. It never mattered if you were in the mood for it or not, you were too focused on trying to meet his needs when he finally told you about them that you didn’t realize just how bad coercion is. You think that you have it good because everyone else is jealous of the intimacy you have with him. You don’t realize that his coercion, his guilt-tripping to get you to please him is just assault. And even though he gets aggressive when you’re in bed, when he bruises you because you’re not doing something the way he likes, you don’t see the red flags. Deep down, you know that the way he treats you is wrong - but he’s never laid a hand on you outside of your private time together, so you think it’s okay. You think what you have is love and that it’ll get better once you get him out of his toxic household, but that’s not true. The abuse he experiences is so profoundly engrained in who he is that the toxicity will only follow him once he leaves. He might get out of the house, might leave behind his asshole of a father, but he is another victim that will fall into the idiom of the apple not falling far from the tree.

That’s just another way in which you and Billy are more similar than most people think. He’s turning out to be just like his father - and you’re heading down the same path that your own mother did; despite all your best attempts to pledge to her gravestone that you’ll be different. Your childhood was spent watching an abusive relationship pave itself; your father was always under the influence of something, whether alcohol or drugs, and it ignited an anger in him that could only be taken out in physical ways on your mother. You spent enough nights hiding in your closet with your blanket and pillow, trying to get away from the sounds of your mother begging and pleading, that you’d think you would know to get out of whatever you have going on with Billy. And one thing that makes you less similar to him, that sets you apart, is how you both coped with the abuse you’ve seen in your homes. You turned to books and school, delving into every interest and hobby that popped up as you grew. You found friends and a way out of the house and hyper-focused on how you would one day get out. But Billy, he turned to other things - like cigarettes and working out and blaring loud music. He found hookups and hyper-focused on how he was one day going to get back at his dad for all the pain, all the suffering, the man had caused him. Perhaps, in a way, you were two opposing sides of a coin - and maybe that was just another thing that added to your naivety about your relationship with him.

You watched as your father, day after wretched day, slowly killed your mother. You watched as she dug her own grave, watched as your father finally - after years of her surviving - put her six feet in the ground. And Max, the girl who’s practically become your own little sister, the girl who would do just about anything to see you get away from her older step-brother, is determined to save you. The way she sees it, your fate is now in her hands - and it’s not something that she, or her “baby-sitter”, will take lightly.

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #panacea #stranger things #stranger things imagine #neighborhoodparker

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messwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

SCARRED HANDS

Iwaizumi Hajime (Older) x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Mafia AU related plot, including drugs. gun traffic and homicide. Violence. SERIOUS TALK ABOUT GAMBLING, ADDICTION, DEBT AND FAMILY ISSUES/FORGIVENESS. Hajime is older, about early forties while Reader is in her twenties, so: Age gap. Slow-burn (I think?). Presence of an OC named Rei in a side-ship with Mattsun. In this first part there’s no smut.

Part One | Part Two (soon) Word count: 7.5k

Note: This is my second contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel, @pleasantanathema and @linestrider. Thank you so much Claudia, @thisisthehardestthing, for beta-ing this and all your amazing comments who have made me scream so much i’m pretty sure my neighbors are wary for my sanity. There’s a side OC/Mattsun here that is my small gift to @mixedhell for everything she has always done for me and for being such a great beta, friend and enabler. <3

I was trying to not break this in two parts, but as it seems my brain keeps hellbent on putting more plot in this, it has become unavoidable. Uh, enjoy? This is my excuse of a fic to just love Iwaizumi at any and all given opportunity! Second part in the works but with no release date yet. <3

Iwaizumi never wanted this life.

He thinks about it while cleaning his bloody knuckles with a wet cloth, taking care to surround the parts where the skin had broken, scars over scars to the point that he practically did not know what was old and what was recent. The pain didn't bother him anymore, a constant in his life to the point that he barely registered the new injuries. That was the life of the second-in-command of the Seijoh Mafia.

He lived a poor childhood, violent teenage years. At the time, he didn’t have much choice in resorting to crime. It was easy, even; he was good with his hands, fast and built broad and strong since he was young. When his only and best friend told him he wanted to be the Boss, he’d almost laughed before seeing that familiar glint in his friend's eyes – that pure, fierce determination Oikawa had been practically born with– and, void of a dream for himself, he pledged himself to that of his only family.

“Take him to the back,” Hajime tells his trusted duo, who watched over him and the man they’ve been working for the past hour. Matsukawa nods shortly and puts out the cigarette he was smoking, still in half, on the nearest surface, before addressing the bloody man tied to a chair.

“What are you going to do now?” Hanamaki asks from the entrance threshold, not looking at him but rather to the night sky above them outside the deposit in the outskirts of the town. His joint is ending, sweet smoke blowing out and swirling up.

“I’ll tell Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says like it was obvious. “He’s gonna have to be more careful with his companies.”

Hanamaki snorts while smiling. “Not that he’ll listen.”

Hajime shrugs, throwing the blood-stained rag back without a care for where it’ll land. “That’s his problem.” Then he sighs, looking up at the smoke from Hanamaki’s joint swirling around the wind. “The mole is ours.”

Iwaizumi has a special place, if he could call it that.

He discovered the owner had died with consternation, when he went to the place at his usual time and found it, for what was probably the first time in more than a decade, closed. The diner operated until the ignoble hours of the night, which is why, since Iwaizumi was still a soldier, he used to spend the last hours of his day or the early hours of his mornings there, in what he’d call his little break in between work; his moment of calm even on the most eventful nights of his violent life.

Since he had risen the ranks rather quickly, the habit had given way to certain care with the frequency in which he visited the place, although the time had little variation and was always after two in the morning.

It was the moment when the night calmed down, the clubs and parties booming, the restaurants that opened at early hours already closed; the brave few passers-by running to their safe places on empty streets while the cars running through the streets lessened by the minute. This was the time when night-shift policemen were already tired of both the events of their shift and the long worked hours, nodding off in their cars.

The diner was on a street just a few blocks away from the heaviest area of the city, where clubs and parties continued until the bright hours of the morning; the drug traffic in these places had been feeding the old mafia veins for decades, since before Iwaizumi, and he was certain he would meet his end way before it did.

The place was small, nothing much, two big windows beyond the door showing the old, almost vintage interior, careless by the owner who never paid much attention to the decorative aspect of the place. Twenty years ago, when Iwaizumi went from being a simple associate to a soldier, just beginning his life as a man, the place was busier, almost famous - and even then the nights were always the quietest shift, the time where degenerates inherited the city.

Iwaizumi didn't know exactly what had disappointed him so much when he found out that old Lou had gone for the better. Lou wasn't even the old man’s real name - he just adopted it once the name of the diner -- Lou’s Diner -- ended up merging with his in the daily life of being the business owner. Iwaizumi was a constant presence in the place enough to know that Lou, in fact, was the name of the old man's wife, who had died young.

In fact, Iwaizumi spent the days following the discovery of the man’s passing trying to figure out where the place would end - Lou had never said anything about family, but there was always the possibility that the business had been pledged in warrant of some debt and if not, there was the bank. The old man wasn’t exactly what you’d call an exemplary business manager.

A surprise came again when Iwaizumi drove past the place during the day and for the first time in three weeks, there was movement inside the diner - and his first thought is theft.

It wouldn’t be surprising, considering both the neighborhood and the fact that with the place closed three weeks before, every thug in the street knows that everything is still there.

Iwa sighs, then makes a u-turn so he can park close to the alley on the diner’s corner. He’s surprised, but he realizes it is, in fact, not the case. Unless the young woman holding a broom and looking around as she rolls up the sleeves of a loose oversized T-shirt over normal jeans shorts were, somehow, a phenomenal smuggler.

Against his better judgment, Iwaizumi gets out of his BMW and steps carefully onto the sidewalk, checking his surroundings with practiced ease. The glass doors of the diner are wide open, sidewalk wet and leaking soapy water into the street. Iwa crosses through it with little care, pausing for a moment while the oblivious girl inside keeps brushing away.

“Hello,” Iwaizumi salutes from the wide open doors, perhaps to also let the place breathe some air after the days closed. You startle, the broom in your hand flying to the floor with a loud crash.

“Holy fuck!” you yelp, turning around with both hands in front of your body. “Are you trying to kill me, dude?”

Iwaizumi almost chuckles, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He takes his hands out of his pockets, showing them in front of his body as a sign of peace. And it isn’t like he can’t easily kill you and anyone you may have inside with just them.

“Oh god. My heart,” you murmur, clenching your shirt over your chest while sucking in a few breaths. Your eyes finally come up to his. “Sorry, I think I was just too distracted.”

Hajime nods. He isn’t a man to say sorry twice. “I was just passing by and noticed the diner open. It’s been closed for some weeks, so I was just checking.”

“Oh, sure.” Your mouth opens in a small ‘o’, and Iwaizumi is surprised at how it got his attention. Pretty lips on an even prettier face. “Yeah… I’m reopening it this week. I just need to fix some things around here.”

Iwaizumi gives you a once over. Discreetly. He leans against the doorframe, curiosity winning him over. “So, you bought it?”

“What?” you laugh, hand coming to wipe the sweat from your brow. “No. I inherited it."

Iwaizumi assumes that he was unable to hide his surprise by the way your lips move to form an amused smile.

“Ha, yes, most people have the same reaction as you.” You bend to grab the broom in the ground and Iwaizumi’s eyes tread for a second too long along the spanse of your body while you’re not looking. “Which is funny, and also tells a whole tale about the old man.”

“I suppose it does,” Iwaizumi nods once while speaking.

He looks over the place, sees the few changes being done; the paint cans on the ground, the boxes by the corner, the shelfs being replaced and the new color of the upholstered sofas. You in the middle of it all -- the new and the old.

“I’ll leave you to your cleaning, then. It’s good to know the place isn’t closing.”

Before you can say anything else, he’s already taking his leave.

You turn around to thank him but Iwaizumi is already far down the sidewalk, not sparing a glance at you once his back is turned. Your head bends sideways almost involuntary, eyes threading the expanse of his broad back, clad in a beautiful light blue social shirt, rolled sleeves over bulging forearms, with black slacks and expensive looking shoes. While you hoped you didn’t stare before, now you are free to do so and wow, that is a beautiful male specimen if you ever saw one.

Your first thought is that he didn’t belong in here -- the scenario of a beaten up street and a mildly abandoned diner, in the middle of the day on the foul part of the city. Then again, he looks rather at ease, familiarized, and it isn’t like you can know someone from just one look.

If anything, a good looking man like that always comes with a catch.

“Hey,” your friend comes through the kitchen doors, looking pretty much like you, tired and sweaty after the morning deep cleaning. “What's going on here? I heard something but I was on the phone”

“Oh,” you say, then grin mischievously at her. “A hot piece of man just passed by asking about the diner.”

“No!” your friend almost cried, lips pressing together in a pout. “See! This is why I keep being single! I never get to see any hotties from the fucking kitchen.”

“Hey, not my fault you decided to be a cook.”

Iwaizumi tells himself he’s just checking on the place he likes.

It’s out of a weird misplaced sentimentality, he reasons. He’s been going there for years after all. He’s checking out the new owner, that’s it. The young woman who somehow inherited Lou’s bar. The pretty young woman who was redecorating and cleaning the place that probably didn’t get any love for the last fifteen years. And that’s what Iwaizumi is telling himself when he crosses the city at late hours of the night because the first thing he needs to know is if you’re stupid enough to actually open the place until the ungodly hours of mornings like the old man used to.

And, sure enough, you are.

It’s past three in the morning when Iwaizumi parks on the other side of the street, but the regulars pour in like clockwork at the sight of the open diner -- old fellas, mostly, and some passersby who work at night. The whores, and the tired workers, all mingling the later it gets. Iwaizumi counts five clients, which is a busy night, and somehow he struggles to find security in your arrangement.

It’s a weird feeling to have for someone -- worry -- and for all the constant preoccupation he has going on in his life with Oikawa, he’s sure he hasn't felt that particular brand of it in some time.

For that same reason, Hajime turns around and leaves.

A week later and he’s back.

This time it’s earlier in the night, just past midnight and the diner is empty save for three regulars he knows well enough. Iwaizumi hates to admit it, but he’s curious; Matsukawa told him that the place had been closing at four and reopening at eleven, with not exactly lots of clients, but with enough patrons to not be discouraged.

But it was the fact that the man depicted the place as “nice” that got Iwaizumi interested. Mattsun is not the kind to throw empty comments like those and there was a glint in this man's eyes that made him suspicious. If a small hint of jealousy sparks on Iwa’s chest, he says it’s for the place.

He signals for Makki to turn a curve so he can get off on the other side of the street and tells him to park somewhere out of sight. He doesn’t like to have the BMW close, working as a beacon; the fact Iwa already dares to have a routine place is trouble enough.

“Bring me a coffee when you come back.” The strawberry blonde tells him while perching himself over the car window, driving off before Iwaizumi can give him a nasty stare. Iwa takes his time on the pavement directly across the diner, lighting a cigarette while moving to cross the street.

The bell that rings when he crosses the door threshold surprises him for a moment, bringing the stares of everyone inside to him. Some of the old regulars nod his way, and Iwaizumi nods in return, a stiff greeting but one they grew used to in the years of sharing the space.

You look eager, eyebrows shooting up as if you’re not expecting to see him standing in the middle of the place like that. Then, your lips turn up into a smile and Iwaizumi almost misses the sentiment behind it. It’s been far too long since someone looks this pleased into seeing him anywhere.

Well, with the exception of Oikawa. But that’s because he normally shows up to save the man’s stupid ass.

Iwaizumi walks over to his usual spot, in the back, by the window and sits on the newer looking red sofa. The scratched old table looks bright with new polishing. He notes the changes, appreciates them even: the cleaner looking designs despite the vintage diner ambience, the cream walls, the new smell of good food and well brewed coffee.

The ground is clean for the first time in a few years, the glass windows and doors looking good and there’s an overall different air around the small place. It feels good. Iwaizumi isn’t used to it. You come close to him, no uniform but jeans and a loose white shirt with a black apron tied around your middle, a coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other.

“Hello there. Good night -- or day, depending on how your life works.” Your smile is disconcerting. You signal with your head to the coffee. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No worries.” You pour some for him and ask if he wants milk or cream, which he doesn’t. Iwaizumi likes his coffee black. “Can I bring the menu?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say no. But he’s curious about what you’re doing with the place, so he nods. Again, you smile while nodding and leaving, and Iwaizumi is baffled by your disposition to be nice at this hour. The old mas was more of a fuck-it kinda person, so it’s a small whishplash to have actual service in here.

Before you leave, however, you turn back and smile at him in what Hajime can only define as playfully.

“Glad you finally decided to come in and give us a shot.” Your eyes are bright with mirth, proud of yourself for being so observant, and in the late hours of night he feels charged. “I promise you it’s not so bad.”

Oh, Hajime thinks as his face feels slightly warm, a twitch on his fingertips while he looks at your pretty face. This can’t be good.

You wait a bit. Seeing as the whole movement inside the diner changes with the small addition of one man at the corner table. You realise people haven’t sat on that table during the late nights, even when Iwaizumi had yet to even enter the place before.

So, you brace yourself with all the courage you’ve been mustering, and pretend to offer him a refill of coffee while walking over. You’ve been conjuring up theories for him since you saw him the first time, perched on the doors while you were cleaning, and it didn’t help that you kept seeing his car passing around the place for some time before he finally decided to come to the diner.

“Are you an old regular or something?” you ask while refilling his cup with hot, freshly brewed coffee. You’d lie if anyone asked if you did a whole new coffee pot just to find an opening to talk to him.

“Why do you ask?” His eyes are always so deep, the musky green color seemingly pulling you in, black irises eating you up. Your pulse quickens but you hold his eyes on yours even as your face grows warm.

“It’s just that you’re always here.” The words tumble out of your mouth quickly as you deposit the coffee pot on the table, looking at him almost eagerly. “Most of my regulars seem to know you and leave you alone. So I thought that maybe, you know, you may come here for the old times sake.”

He holds your eyes with his for a moment, then looks down to the cup of coffee while he brings it to his lips.

“I guess you could say that.”

It feels like a period. Like he isn’t much for small talk, so you pat the apron in front of you, pick up the coffee pot from the table and nod while looking back to the counter to mask your disappointment with such a short conversation.

“Hmm, got’cha.”

“So, the old man was your father?” His voice picks up a tone higher and you turn with big eyes to him. He looks quiet, observant while he looks up at you and somehow, without nothing to hold on, you decide you want to talk to him some more.

“No, I never knew my dad. The stupid man was my grandpa.”

“Hm,” Iwaizumi nods, his eyes still on you. For some reason you can’t stand the silence, so you keep talking.

“He’d left the business for me and if I'm honest things were not going great where I was so,” you shrug. “I thought about giving this a shot.”

“And your mom?” His eyes on yours make you feel pressured and also lacking, your mouth working before your mind can really think. “She’s been dead since I was a kid.”

He blinks, surprised, and when he speaks he sounds so genuine you smile, “sorry to hear that.”

“No problem. It’s life, right?” you ask rhetorically, an unwavering smile on your face and bright eyes despite the forlorn subject. Hajime’s chest does something weird at the sight, eyes moving down to the coffee mug by his hands.

Is it? Hajime doesn’t know. But he also hasn't had parents or any kind of family besides Oikawa and the trouble duo, so he nods, murmuring agreement. You leave him alone for the rest of the night, but not without getting his name and introducing yourself; and you do it mostly because you’re still unsure about the man. He’s quiet, mostly keeps to himself while drinking his coffee and sometimes ordering something he never finishes, but other than that, he doesn’t do much. Which, despite that, doesn’t change the fact he sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of the place.

His clothes are expensive even if they’re simple; his watch and rings glints under the diner lights, catching attention; and his eyes are like two black gunbarrels pointed straight at you in a face with a jawline sharp enough to cut.

He makes you feel slightly unnerved and a whole lot interested.

Hajime wonders, as he exits the dinner and walks the short distance to where Makki has parked the car, if he has enough reasons to be worried about you. He enters the back of the expensive black BMW, gives the annoying blonde his promised coffee and nods so he can start driving. Iwaizumi settles on the backseat and turns to look at Hanamaki, eyeing him through the rearview mirror.

“Makki.”

“Yes, Boss.” The answer comes immediately.

“Is this place in anyone's rotation?” Makki’s eyes thread to the mirror to look Hajime back.

“Old Lou’s dinner?”

“Yes.”

Makki’s brows furrow in thought while he seems to think it over. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.” His eyes lock on Hajime’s figure through the rearview mirror and Iwa counts the seconds until he asks, since his curiosity always wins. ”Why?”

“Check it for me.” It’s the end of conversation, and Makki knows. He nods.

“‘kay, Iwa.”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts are brewing, his brows furrowing deeply while he thinks over the whole exchange from earlier.

In a short conversation of a few minutes, you already unsuspectingly told him that you had no family left, no one to miss you if you’re gone. From that he can infer the easy things -- that you probably live alone, seeing as he’s never seen a boyfriend in the restaurant or calling you while you’re working the counter; that you must either live in your grandpa’s house or a small apartment if you’re trying to make more money by renting the old man’s place; that you probably leave alone after closing the dinner -- and he got all that by an easy small talk over coffee.

Iwa’s lips turn sour while he turns to watch over the streets late at night, the dangerous things that lie in the dark. He ignores that he, himself, is one of them.

Yes, maybe he should check on you.

Iwaizumi observes with a frown while Oikawa waltzes inside his penthouse with his new friend. The woman is, much like all of Oikawa’s partners, beautiful. Luxurious hair and curves, all wrapped in an equally expensive package the color of bright fucking red. Tonight things are less busy in the place, with Iwaizumi and the duo in the living room, while Kunimi keeps watch on the door from his position bended over the counter. Like with everything in his life, the man looks bored and done at the same time.

“I have to give it to him, he does have taste.” Hanamaki points it out unemotionally, his eyes threading along the lady of the moment hanging off Oikawa’s arm. Mattsun looks up from his phone in time to catch a look, his arched brow doing an appearance.

“Yeah, but that’s not new.”

“The idiot blows through women as you do with joints.” Iwaizumi scoffs, twirling his cup of whisky and enjoys the moment to sip his drink. “Which is stupid, both of you.”

“Couldn’t hear your criticism over the sound of you downing that whisky.” Hanamaki pipes in and Mattsun laughs but quickly retrieves himself back to his phone once Iwaizumi gives both of them a nasty glare.

On the other side of the room, Oikawa parts ways with his company, probably telling the woman to go somewhere inside his apartment while he handles business. His companion’s normally don’t ask much about what he does -- the less they know, the less they lie.

While Iwaizumi does understand the appeal of having someone to warm his bed at night like that, it just seems ridiculous to parade them around as Oikawa does; as if they’re a walking vitrine of his power and money, clad in so many brilliants, Hajime wonders if Oikawa can even see them through the shine.

Iwaizumi sighs when Oikawa finally moves in their direction, crossing his leg over his thigh as he stretches his back against the chair backrest. He drinks the rest of the whisky in one go.

“I see you already treated yourself to some beverage, Iwa-chan.”

The ridiculous nickname stuck, even after all these years, no matter how many glares and curses Hajime threw his way– and Oikawa has seen Hajime kill men before. Still, the brunette stays unwavering in his teasing -- and Iwa has made arrangements to make sure no one but him feels free to use that denomination.

“Good whisky ain’t making me nicer, shittykawa.” There’s also the fact Iwaizumi maintains his mockery with his friend, even as most of the Mob now call him Boss. He supposes it’s good to have few good childhood memories, if one can.

“At least it makes you less grumpy.”

Iwaizumi wonders if people would believe him if he told them the Boss pokes his tongue out and flops on the sofa then again, Oikawa’s charm is in being unwavering himself. When Oikawa crosses his leg over his knee and blinks feral, focused eyes over Iwaizumi, it’s easy to see the beast that brought him into the position as the chief in command of the Seijoh Mafia. “So, what did you have to tell me that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“You’re being reckless,” Iwa starts, calm. “I’ve told you about being careful with your companion’s while I’m busy handling that subject.”

Oikawa pretends not to listen, falling back on his big chair without a care in the world.

“She’s a friend!” His face turns smug, even while there’s a small whine in his voice. It’s a stark difference from the feral Oikawa Tooru that put fear in the hearts of every Mafia in the bordering neighborhoods where they acted and climbed the ranks so fast, he became the head of Seijoh mob while only closing in on his early thirties -- and that was ten years ago. Still, around Iwaizumi, Oikawa keeps being the same brat he ever was.

“You need to get laid, Iwa.” The brunette laughs a bit, pouring more whisky for both of them. “How long it’s been, huh? Two decades? That’s how long your frown has been etched onto your face.”

Makki and Mattsun try to hide their smiles, but it’s futile.

“Don’t worry about my love life.”

“Love life?” Now Oikawa laughs, hand smacking his knee in his amusement. “I’m talking fucking, Iwa. We don’t have time for love.”

“Another reason why you shouldn’t worry about what doesn’t pertain to you.”

“Ohh~” Iwaizumi hates that he saw the singsong coming, “such big words. Gosh, that must mean it’s been years without action down there.”

“Why the worry, Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks, voice turning deep, eyes threading over Oikawa’s face. That has happened -- and ended, but it didn’t mean the two men didn’t play around it sometimes.

“Is the sex you’ve been getting so bad, you’ve been worried about mine?” Iwa scoffs, drinks a full mouth of whisky and turns to look at Oikawa once again.

“You look too old to be getting any action,” Oikawa mocks him, snickering behind his glass. “Look at those lines and wrinkles, oh gosh Iwa, we’re the same age, you’re making me look bad.”

“Shut up, trashykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I’m just going to tell you this time: fucking behave. I’m looking into the mole, but you need to watch your back.”

“I thought that was your job, though.”

“Makes it a bit fucking hard when you bring home a diferent friend every night. Babysitting a toddler would be easier than you.” Iwaizumi grumbles and scoffs, finishing his drink in one go. “I’m doing my job. Now listen to me so that I can do it well.”

Iwaizumi slams his glass on the wooden coffee table and stands, the sound loud but not enough to disturb the rest of the men around the place. Maddog does look at Iwaizumi as if thinking what’s the cause for his distress, but the man has learned long ago that Oikawa rattles on everyone's nerves at some point -- Iwa just happens to be ticked more than the rest, a consequence of being friends with the man, he assumes.

Iwa pats his slacks, re-doing the button on his suit and walks away, moving a hand in the air as a way to say goodbye to Oikawa. “Your friend is waiting for you.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are behind him before he stops in front of the elevator doors, Kunimi not even looking up as the three of them leave. “Try not to be dead by the morning.”

“I’ll do my best~” Oikawa singsongs back, a carefree smile on his face.

Mattsun is driving tonight and that means Hanamaki is speaking the whole time, going on about how the Karasuno Mob is growing, potentially able to slip between Seijoh and Shiratorizawa’s territory if they’re not careful. Iwaizumi listens, but doesn’t really offer anything to the discussion; he’s too caught up in his head, wondering about what he’s going to do with Oikawa and how he can flush out the mole as fast as possible until something catches his ear, every thought in his mind freezing at the mention of the diner neighborhood.

“What did you say?”

“Huh?” Makki stops, looking back through the seat. “Oh, some of ours have been talking about seeing Shiratorizawa around downtown territory.” Makki turns serious, and it happens so rarely that the moment his demeanor shifts, Iwaizumi actually grasps his worries by the simple difference in the air surrounding the blonde. “Johzenji too.”

Now, that’s worrisome. While Seijoh and Shiratorizawa have some shared business in downtown and somewhat of a truce on those places, Johzenji is way too far from its limits, crossing borders they know they should not. Iwaizumi catches sight of how his frown actually caves lines on his forehead and Oikawa’s snickers pops in his mind as if the male was right there, he scoffs but his look is serious.

They can’t leave it that way.

Hajime tells himself that the fact that your face pops in his mind and the thought of a territorial war a few blocks away from the Diner makes his hands constrict into fists, has nothing to do with how fast he decided he must handle it.

But it gets a little less believable as he orders Matsukawa to keep an eye out on your street, like if it wasn’t clear that by your street -- he meant you.

You notice the man staying around.

Actually, you doubt anyone hasn’t noticed the tall man who likes to linger just a bit too much around your diner as if he’s your hired security guard or something. He’s taller than most people, broad and built enough for you to see it in the way his clothes cling to his form, and has this fixation with metal, because both his ears are pierced and his knuckles are always adorned with thick rings. He looks bad, and has a cigarette pending from his lips to crown the look. Which, of course, prompts half the women population who enjoy your diner to look. It probably doesn’t help that despite his aloof behavior he can be quite the charmer.

And you’re suspecting your cook and friend is falling for it.

“If you light that cigarette right now after I’ve just told you to leave and smoke outside, I swear to god I’ll use the fire extinguisher on you, Matsukawa-san.” You always chastise him out of the Dinner once he starts smoking, since Issei has no respect for the very big, very red “no smoking” sign you had to purchase just because of him. He grins at you from his high seat on the counter and lifts his hands in a sign of rendition.

“Okay, honey. I’ll drop it.”

You eye him very sharply until his fingers finally close around his cigar and he takes it out the clasp of his lips. You watch until he pockets it again in his metal case. Then, you finally blink and nod, turning to enter inside your kitchen. You’ve made the mistake of trusting him before, letting him out of your sight once he signaled defeat when you reprimanded him, just to come out and find him smoking anyway. So, now, you take the extra precautions with him, reason why you open the door without warning to check on him, finding him calmly studying the menu.

He eyes you and blinks, a big grin splitting his face.

“I’ll behave,” he crosses a finger over his heart like a scout. ”Promise.”

You snort, but turn around and enter the kitchen space, yelling at your friend the newest orders, to which she just yells back a fine.

You grab the done plates– buttermilk pancakes and swiss omelette with orange juice and black coffee– and push the door outside with your hip, while calmly balancing everything on your tray.

It’s a quiet late-morning, most of the regulars have already left for work and you’re dealing with the unusual clients, just three if you count Mattsun.

Once you’re back at the counter, Matsukawa is signaling with the menu for you to come over.

“So, what’s your order, Matsukawa-san?”

“First, I’d like you to drop the san, it makes me feels fucking old.”

You tease him just the bit by giving him a pointed look with a very arched eyebrow.

“Stop it,” he hisses at you, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you fuckin-”

“You are old,” you tell him, pleased with yourself when he hisses as if burned, making you sport a big smile while on it. He’s glaring at you. “See, this is how I feel when I catch you smoking once I tell you not to.”

His lopsided grin is a panty-dropper; too bad you’re thinking about how it would be if someone else grinned at you like that. “Valid.”

The seconds tick by while you wait for Matsukawa to say his order but he just stares at you as if you’re slowly losing your mind. You sigh, resist the urge to facepalm but do press two fingers into the middle of your forehead in an upwards motion to help with the stress, to look at him again and smile.

“Your order, Matsukawa-san?”

“Again with the -san? Let me make a deal with you. You call me Issei and I’ll never smoke inside again.”

You eye him suspiciously but ultimately decide it’s a nice deal.

“Deal,” you say, while jutting your lips out to hide a smile, still looking for hints he may be lying. “And if I catch you smoking inside again I’ll start calling you Jiji.”

Issei’s eyes go large, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline until he coughs and sputters, “you wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

The stare-down goes for a few seconds until you end it by saying, “I’ll get your regular,” and turning around to leave.

“This isn’t over!”

“Yeah, yeah, just behave.”

Once you’re in the kitchen, the clattering and noises are loud.

“You should chill a bit before you end up completely mutilating the pans, Rei. Half my money is in your kitchen.”

She throws you a nasty glare from across all the other way by her stove, doing God knows what but whatever it is smells heavenly.

“Do you believe the gall of this idiot outside?”

“Yep,” you chirp, but you eye her closely while she continues. You know her enough to know what’ll happen next.

“He had the fucking nerve to say my food was too salty.”

“Uh,” Escapes your lips, but you narrow your eyes at her, taking in the redness of her face, the way she looks overheated and the gesticulating arms while she walks around using too much strength while opening and closing the kitchen cabinets.

“SALTY!” She hollers to the emptiness of her kitchen, which pretty much makes it echo through the walls. You’re half certain you can hear Matsukawa chuckling outside. You wait for it, by now you know it’s coming. “I’ll show him what the fuck being too salty means.” She keeps going, cranky and beating the pans with that bit too much strength so that the clanks and tinkling sound loud even to you. You wait just a little bit more. “That handsome motherfucker, I’ll fucking deck him with my frying pan!”

And there it is.

You snicker just the tiniest bit, and put the order for his regular. She snatches it from your hand and points a paring knife at you.

“Don’t you dare say anything.” She does look fairly threatening, but the thing is that you’ve been on the other side of that knife one too many times to care now.

“Hey, if you like insufferable assholes, who am I to judge?”

“Fuck you.”

The movement is slow tonight, the cold weather with a drizzle makes your regulars stay home and the streets stay empty. It’s just a bit past midnight and you already know you’re closing early. Iwaizumi has been seated at his usual spot for a good twenty minutes already and, much like every other night, he’s just doing nothing -- looking over the street, reading the paper, sometimes a book or daring to look at his phone. Rei is still moving around in the kitchen and there’s only one other person in the diner -- an old man eating his soup calmly on the whole other side.

You feel restless; your eyes keep darting to him as if waiting to be caught, definitely not being the subtle person you hope to be, nothing catches your attention when Iwaizumi sits calmly by the window reading the paper and sipping on fresh coffee. Your eyes thread through his broad shoulders, poorly hidden under the fitted black social button up, rolled sleeves showing big, veiny forearms leading to strong, broad hands that seem even bigger when they engulf the coffee mug.

Hajime wears one ring, thick, black and a matching watch that probably costs as much as this whole place. You don’t need to see it to know his dark grey slacks are fitted; you’ve caught sight of it when he entered and you think there’ll be hell on earth before you forget how perfectly it hugs his frame, how delicious his ass is and how his waist is marked, beautifully, by the black belt. You thank the gods that he had already disposed of his suit jacket, or you’d be unable to survive so long.

You’re probably drooling, so you tear your eyes from him to make yourself a hot cup of coffee and hope that you can pretend the flustered feeling in your insides is from the steaming caffeine quickening your heart. However, seeing as your eyes drag slowly back to him, you think that’s a lost battle.

You drink a bit, breathe some more and decide to say fuck it. You’re not risking anything -- if he doesn’t want to talk, he can just say so. So you wash your hands, shed your apron and pick your coffee mug back up while walking to him. Before you even tread more than two steps, his deep, hard green eyes are already looking at you. They’re so impenetrable and focused, you wonder if he looks long enough, will he see your mind?

The thought makes your face heat up and you swallow the saliva pooling on your mouth before speaking,“mind if I sit?”

He nods no, but still answers, “go ahead.”

You slide on the seat in front of him, and for a second you regret your choice. Up close and with nowhere else to look, he’s even bigger -- his frame engulfs anything past his shoulders, his eyes demanding the sole focus of yours and you give it to him. But there’s a thought in your mind that helps you fight back the urge to let yourself slide and drown in the pool of deep green.

“So, I've been meaning to ask,” you tread carefully, knowing it’s a minefield ahead. You’ve been alone in this world with just your grandpa for a long time, and he was no saint. You’re no stranger to the fact that his diner has always been in mob-controlled territory. You’ve seen him bullied into paying back gambling loans too many times to not know how a bad man looks, and still, here you are, body warming and trembling just by the sight of what must be the baddest of them all. “Were you friends with my grandpa or something?”

Iwaizumi looks at you, blinks and then hums a question, slightly furrowed brows his only sign of confusion. “Hm?”

“It’s just that I’ve noticed… that you seem like you’ve been taking care of this place… of me.” You speak while your eyes keep darting between his face and down, a warm feeling seeping from your eyes that makes his brain slow down, too caught up in watching you until he realizes he walked into a tricky question.

Fuck. Think fast, Hajime.

“We weren’t exactly friends. But he was a mean card player and he got a lot of money out of me.” Iwaizumi speaks fondly, which is probably the only thing indicating that he isn’t here for some wicked king of payback. You nod while your brows slide up.

“I’m sure you also took a lot of money from him.”

“If I was lucky,” he pauses, “I don’t like to bet. But it was nice to play against him, even without betting.”

“I’m surprised he wanted to play without betting.”

“Rare occasions.” Iwa muses with a small smile in the corner of his lips.

Iwaizumi looks at you again, that deep stare as if he’s trying to catch your soul intent. “What I mean with that is… He never talked about you. Or having a family, for that matter.”

“Well… it’s like you put it. He was a gambler. And before he got good, he was bad. We struggled a lot with his debt while I was growing up. Once I left the house and I was working and got into college... he called me, asking for money. He knew I had a college fund -- small, but you know, enough to get by for a few years. I gave some of it to him and I told him that if he was going to call me for money, it’d be better if he didn’t call at all, so… our relationship was pretty strained this last few years.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say. So he tests around something he hasn't used in a long time, “sorry.”

“It’s fine. I just couldn’t possibly deal with his debt on top of mine, you know. And it was his choice not to call me for other reasons, so.” You shrug your shoulders, eyes downcast for a moment. If Iwaizumi ever knew how to console someone, he’d forgotten it a long time ago, but he’ll swear on his gun and every god above that he wishes he was sensible enough now to offer any kind of words that can resemble solace. He doesn’t know what you find in his face that makes you do a funny face, nose wrinkling, while smiling.

“It’s ok, I don’t hate him, you know. I just... He’s dead and I can’t help but think these things are in the past. Which may be fucked up but I’ve made my choice not to go through life with these demons.”

Iwaizumi nods, solemn. He knows a thing or twelve about going through life with demons and he wishes that you didn’t have to bear this even for the smallest of seconds. It gnaws inside your being, and the places where their claws sink usually fester. But, he doesn’t even risk thinking about what it’d be like for him to live without them -- they’re the closest to penitence for a whole life of sin he’s ever gonna get.

Talking to Hajime makes hours fly by like minutes.

He’s not very talkative himself, but he’s a great listener and he gives you fair, honest answers so you try to do the same. You ask him about the old man, what he’d been doing, and Hajime doesn’t even blink while saying that he kept gambling until his death; tells you how he’d been worried that the diner had been offered as collateral to some debt and would fall victim of your grandpa’s addiction even after his death. You tell him about life after college, how disheartening and anxious it was, how you’ve struggled without finding a job and hustled your way together with Rei. You tell him how you’ve felt good to win the Diner -- the new ideas and purpose, the excitement and how fun it was to think about life like this -- a business owner.

The one thing Hajime doesn’t tell you about is his job, which you feel is answer enough; and when you ask him about the late nights at the Diner, his lips quirk up and your heart quickens, whole body warming at how he tells you the diner has a special place in his life and that he doesn’t likes to sleep, only crashing once the sun come out.

He stays with you as you bid Rei farewell and close the restaurant, walks you to his car and drives you to your house. His car doesn’t move until you make it safe inside and only when your face comes to the window, does it starts to move away.

[to be continued]

#iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi fic #haikyuu fanfic #iwaizumi haikyuu #mafia au #thesmutpilecollab

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