#was understandably pissed off given that the last interaction i had with this guy was Literal Torture | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugaxjpg · 4 years ago

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ghosts just wanna have fun; m

⤷ When Jungkook discovered that he could communicate with dead people, the last thing he expected was that they would be there to give him romantic advice.

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Psychic!AU & MedSchool!AU

✓ Filed under: fluff, crack (so many ghost puns), light smut (and jungkook being a nervous virgin)

✓ Words: 20,062

Author’s Note: In which Jungkook is able to see spirits, but it’s just Taehyung and Yoongi giving him dating tips because he sucks at talking to girls. Hope you guys like it, because it has been on my WIPS for over a year and a half and I can’t believe it’s finally out there... emotional, really.

Also, huge thanks to @storytaeme, who proof-read this mess like a champ.

There aren’t many embarrassing situations that can overcome the fact that Jeon Jungkook found out about his psychic abilities as he was about to lose his virginity.

To say the least, that hadn’t been the most pleasant of scenarios to open the pathway to the afterlife. Really, there was no casual way that he could justify the scream that broke from his lips, or the dramatic spin he took as he turned around on the bed — which, ultimately, had him falling into the small space between the nightstand and the wall, with his legs up in the air, and his butthole fully exposed for both planes of existence to see.

Still, that hadn’t been the worst part. If those two pallid silhouettes had merely disappeared once he had seen them, it wouldn’t have been as traumatic — perhaps Jungkook could have found a semi-believable excuse about what he had witnessed — but no. Not only did the ghosts remain there, with their arms crossed before their achromatic clothes and eyebrows slightly raised in expectation, they continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.

“Oh, he was definitely going to put it in the wrong hole,” the shorter of the two murmured, clearly entertained at the idea.

The other scoffed. “What if he did?” he threw back. “Maybe he likes that, we can’t judge.”

Truth was that, one way or another, Jungkook couldn’t even figure out what he liked — he didn’t even get the chance. He was gone from his (ex) girlfriend’s place before his brain could even attempt to construct a plausible explanation, even less to digest what had preceded that unfortunate revelation. Now, the wrong hole would forever be a source of trauma for him.

And the problems didn’t exactly stop there. Ever since his cherry-popping session was interrupted, Jungkook hadn’t been able to move further than the first base, thinking that he would embarrass himself all over again or, worse, be frightened by a random demon passing by. Also, the constant mockery of his ghostly counterparts certainly didn’t help his concentration.

The worst part? Helping Jungkook was kind of their whole point. And they couldn’t even do that right.

Taehyung and Yoongi were their names — they told him right after the first night he saw them. Jungkook didn’t know what had happened in the afterlife that they had been punished with such a horrendous mission and, frankly, at that point, he was too afraid to ask.

“But I don’t need your help,” Jungkook had said after one particularly bad date, dramatically throwing himself onto his bed. The furniture creaked under his weight and he wondered if it would snap before his mind did. “I just want you to leave me alone or, I don’t know, help me with something else — something useful.”

The two ghosts were by his desk, looking at his class notes and, at that comment, Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “Useful? Like what?” He asked.

“I don’t know, solving crimes or something,” Jungkook mumbled, turning around so he would face the wall. God, he just needed two seconds alone.

Behind him, Taehyung laughed. “You don’t even know how to open a bra, and you're out there thinking of reopening cold cases? Give me a break.”

“Ouch,” Jungkook whispered. Maybe another time, it would’ve hurt his pride a bit more. That night, however, he was too tired to care. “For your information, I do know how to open a bra. You two just started whispering and it distracted me.”

“We were whispering to you the instructions on how to open a bra,” Yoongi responded. “Would you need those if you knew what you were doing? No.”

Jungkook sighed. “I just—”

“This conversation is done, we went over this already.” Yoongi interrupted. “You need us, whether you want it or not. You’re painfully bad at romance, Jungkook, even worse at initiating sex. I’ve never seen something like that before.”

At that, Jungkook rolled on the bed and faced them. There was only one light in his bedroom that was on — the table lamp — and its clear orange shade passed through them both in an odd mixture of contours and lines. “Maybe if I could do it myself, without you two buzzing around the place, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he responded, aggressive.

“Calm down. You were already bad enough when we arrived,” Taehyung told him, leaning over to see all the scattered pages on his desk. He frowned once he saw something he couldn’t quite understand, and quickly turned away from it. “Nothing changed much.”

“Right!” Jungkook sat up on the bed. “Isn’t that enough of a sign for you two to stop trying to help me, then?”

“No,” Yoongi said calmly. “That’s a sign that we have to try harder. And so do you.”

He sneered. “I absolutely don’t.”

“Yes, you absolutely do,” he said. “You know what? Grab your phone and get yourself a date with that girl you like from physiology class. Two weeks from now.”

There was a second of silence as Jungkook’s mind struggled to piece the idea together. He wasn’t even sure about who Yoongi was referring to, there were a lot of girls in his class. “What? Why?”

“Just trust us. She’s into you,” Yoongi spoke.

Taehyung nodded in agreement. “It’ll work out.”

Jungkook scoffed. “When does it, really?”

“This time, it will,” Taehyung said. “Really. Do it.”

“Fine.” He breathed out, reaching for his phone. “What girl?”

Yoongi looked him up and down. “You know what girl.”

With a deep breath, Jungkook scrolled over his contact list, struggling to find someone that he would have even the slightest chance with. Truth was, he has no fucking clue of which one of the hundred and fifty people in his class would even look in his direction, much less go on a date with him.

“You do know… right?” Taehyung asked, clearly worried. “We can’t really give you names, but you… know, right?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah! Sure I do!” Jungkook laughed nervously, clicking on a random name and opening a chat. “Here, I’m sending her a text right now. No reason to worry… no reason at all.”

“Good,” Yoongi said, distracted. “Now, if you need us, we’ll be watching Gone Girl with your neighbors. We already missed the start of the movie, and I’m pissed off as it is.”

Taehyung nodded. “Amazing movie,” he said. Jungkook pressed send and prayed for the best. “We should have more movie nights over here.”

Yoongi said something in agreement and, in a second, they were already gone. Jungkook was left alone in his bedroom, with the light of his lamp casting over his features the desperation that he was feeling inside.

“This better work,” he mumbled to himself. “You two better not be trying to embarass me.”

_____________

And then, two weeks later, Yoongi and Taehyung were laughing at him as his last failed attempt at romance got up from her chair and basically ran away from him.

Yoongi leaned back against the chair, his ankles crossed over the large table. If someone else could see him then, he surely would have received a few complaints about keeping the mall under semi-sanitary conditions. “Jungkook, I’ll tell you something,” he started, clearly amused. “You’re so bad at romance that I wish I was alive just so I could punch some reason into you.”

Taehyung, who had stayed mostly quiet during the painfully awkward interaction, walked beside Jungkook and chuckled at his distress. Still, he was focused on the other ghost, and the implication of his speech. “That amount of violence is the exact reason why you’re no longer alive, Yoongi,” he pointed out, then turned to Jungkook before he could smirk at the reprehension. “But really, that was awful. If I weren’t spiritually tied to you, I would’ve given up by now. You’re hopeless.”

“Completely out of it,” Yoongi added. “Do you even know how women work?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, and reached for his phone: there was no way he would enter a discussion with those invisible pricks in a public situation without something to mask it. Not that it would have been the first time.

Yoongi materialized on the seat next to Jungkook, his head leaning against his hand. The boy was already used to those sudden changes of position, but that didn’t mean that he liked it. In fact, after Taehyung had appeared next to him during a particularly bad time — in which the incognito tab had already been opened, and a bottle of lotion already waited for him — he could never erase the intense panic of such experiences.

But of course, Yoongi knew that, and he used his discomfort for his own entertainment. “You can’t ignore us, kiddo,” he said slowly, clearly amused. “And you can’t ignore the fact that you’ll die alone, surrounded by cats, if you don’t start listening to what we have to say. We have been tied to you for a reason.”

“And the reason,” Taehyung added, “is to make you stop cockblocking yourself.”

With a subdued groan, Jungkook pressed his phone against his ear — an old trick that allowed for him to have a conversation without being seen as clinically insane by passersby. “You two are the reason why this date went downhill,” he told them. “You told me to say all the wrong things. You two set this up knowing I’d fail.”

“Oh, no.” Taehyung shook his head in disagreement. “The words were right. Your delivery was awful.”

“Western-movie-awful,” Yoongi added. “And if you want to change that, you have to trust us.”

“Trust you? Where has that taken me?” Jungkook questioned, irritated. “You’re the reason why I lost my first girlfriend and haven’t had another one ever since.”

Yoongi chuckled. “The girl from the first night? She never talked to you again after that, did she?” He asked, but, of course, he already knew the answer. “Damn, that was cringe-worthy. Butt in the air and everything.”

“No need to remind me, I was there.” Jungkook clenched his jaw, trying to control his demeanor. It wasn’t fair that there was not much that he could do to make the two men shut up — since they were, quite literally, already dead, he didn’t have many threats to utter. “And whose fault was that?”

“Technically, yours.” Taehyung shrugged. “We didn’t present ourselves to you, you just saw us all of a sudden. We were just as surprised.”

“Besides, you were the one that had the B.F.,” Yoongi added.

Jungkook raised one eyebrow. “B.F.?”

“Bitch fit,” Taehyung elucidated. “He watched White Chicks with your neighbors last night, don’t worry about it.”

Jungkook groaned, pressing his hand against his face. Of course — the cherry on top would be outdated pop references, as expected. Yoongi had always been quite fond of the classic ‘with great power comes great responsibility’, and Jungkook thought that the overuse of that quote would be the ultmost reason for his insanity. Nevertheless, he came to understand that it was nothing compared to movies like White Chicks or even Legally Blonde. He would rather hear Uncle Ben’s famous line a billion times over before Yoongi accused him of having a B.F. once more.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the environment around him. The murmurs and disembodied conversations around the mall had morphed into the sound of irritating insects, and he felt as if the earth could just open up and eat him alive. He probably committed a terrible crime in a past life to be stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum like that.

“Anyways,” Jungkook stressed, “it didn’t seem like the two of you were surprised that I could see you. You just kept… talking about me. And my ass.”

Taehyung chuckled. “You were the one with the ass up in the air.” He vanished, then materialized in the seat in front of Jungkook. “What were we supposed to do? Ignore it?”

“It was an easy target,” Yoongi spoke, then seemed to realize the words that had left his mouth. “Wait, I didn’t mean the double interpretation.”

“Why can’t the two of you just fucking help me for once?” Jungkook asked aggressively. In a nearby table, one old man raised his eyes from his vegan burger and stared the boy up and down in disapproval. Jungkook lowered his voice and switched his phone to the other ear. “This is unbearable. You two are only making it worse.”

With a gesture that Jungkook knew all too well, Taehyung used his thumb to point over his shoulder, towards the path that his failed date had followed. “That one wasn’t good enough for you,” he said nonchalantly. “We can tell. We know stuff.”

“Then why did you set this up in the first place?” He asked, exasperated.

“As DJ Khaled says, you played yourself,” Yoongi cited. One more reference and Jungkook would be the one joining the world of the dead. “It’s not our fault that you get nervous and can’t deliver the lines right. When have the two of us ever failed?”

“When you died,” he spoke back. “Or did you forget the stupid mistake you made?”

Yoongi hesitated. As much as he tried to play it cool, he wasn’t the smartest one around. In fact, his tragically premature death was all the evidence Jungkook needed to make his point clear.

During his living days, Yoongi was pretty invested in rock climbing. On a beautiful summer afternoon, just as the sun was setting over the green-bathed hills, one of his friends dared him to bungee jump from the same cliff they had just climbed, and were standing on. Of course, the man agreed promptly, saying that he wouldn’t back out from such a mundane task; stating repeatedly that the fall wouldn’t be so high up anyway. But that wasn’t the turning point: Min Yoongi, in all his adventurousness, quickly decided that his local shop was too expensive and that he would create his own bungee jump cord instead.

According to him, making the cord proved itself to be quite an easy task. He had gotten some help from his local adrenaline addicts and the final product was a very good copy of the factory-made ones. He measured the cliff twice just to be certain, compared it to the rope, and made sure to test the sustentation and elasticity as many times as he could.

Still, Yoongi had overlooked an imperative detail: he shouldn’t use a cord that was the same height as the cliff he was jumping from.

Needless to say, he only realized his mistake once he was already dead.

Yoongi scoffed at the memory, ignoring his hurt pride. He swore he could still feel his back hurting when he thought about that. “That isn’t the point,” he said. He often did that: changed the subject once he realized he couldn’t leave with the upper hand. “The point is that you keep delivering lines like you’re a bad boy in a South American novela, then expect us to perform a miracle on you.”

Jungkook frowned, lowering his head. “That’s actually so wrong.”

But the problem was: Yoongi was right, and Jungkook knew it. In fact, that had been the exact reason why his date had left him that night — the boy had misunderstood Taehyung’s advice to play off as a mysterious man, and instead projected his image somewhere between a psychopath and a person that had only K-dramas as a basis of how human interactions were supposed to work. Jungkook missed his attempts at romance the entire time, but the breaking point was when Yoongi told him to act as a bad influence because, according to him, girls dig a good bad boy.

Once again, Yoongi wasn’t the brightest mind when it came to risk-taking. That was why he was more dead than Jungkook’s bedroom.

Jungkook, however, did not realize his own errors until it was too late. He had chuckled at his date’s embarrassment, using his opening to delicately place her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to tell you something,” he started, voice swift and placid as a river. With his eyebrows raised and his lips vaguely forming a pout, he looked like an off-brand version of Handsome Squidward. “I’m not really a good influence, and surely not the kind of guy you’d like to get with. So why don’t you do me a favor and follow the simple orders I give you, uh?”

Her eyes had widened in a mixture of second-hand embarrassment and fear. From the corner of his eyes, Jungkook saw her reaching for her purse over the table. “No, thank you,” she was quick to say. “I don’t think this will work, sorry. I’ll see you around college.”

And that’s how they ended at that point. The point they always seemed to end up in.

“I think I need a break from all of this,” Jungkook said, closing his eyes for a moment of peace. “I have a huge test next week and I couldn’t even study for it because of all the preparation for this stupid date. Can you two just take a step back? Just for a little while. Romance can’t be all that I think about.”

As he opened his eyes, he saw Taehyung staring at him. He couldn’t really read his expression.

And, without an answer, the two of them vanished.

_________________

If someone asked Jungkook why the hell he thought going to medical school was a good idea, he’d simply say that, at the time, it made sense. After all, he had thought, he’d be some sort of super-doctor, since he had an exclusive VIP pass to the afterlife — just imagine how many people he would be able to help just by asking a friendly ghost what was wrong with a patient. It would be a game-changer. He could even find the cure of cancer if he tried hard enough.

But of course, he quickly realized that he should’ve thought further about his decision. Maybe being a detective would have made much more sense — it would have been a lot cheaper, that’s for sure, and he wouldn’t have to sit through almost twelve hours of classes every single day for a diploma that seemed to be too far away for him to care.

That particular class, however, wasn’t the worst one out there.

It was Tuesday, and Tuesday meant Pathology. Jungkook loved that class because the professor hated teaching it, so the students had to sit in silence for about three hours trying to read the textbook by themselves. The professor said he would be there to answer any questions, but he was mostly scrolling through his phone and interrupting students every time they tried to ask him something — “That’s in the textbook, just keep reading.”

Most of his classmates absolutely despised that subject, but Jungkook thought it was wonderful: he often learned better by himself anyways, and the lack of conversation during class brought him some sense of peace. Besides, Yoongi and Taehyung hated sitting in that quiet room for too long, so they mostly left after ten or twenty minutes of trying — and failing — to strike up a conversation with Jungkook. It was the perfect day.

Well, most days it was.

Just as he was about to move forward to the next topic — Adrenal Insufficiency and Addison’s Disease — , the boy felt something poking his bicep and he was quick to turn to his side. Instantly, he recognized your expectant gaze and something fluttered inside his stomach.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you whispered, leaning over your desk, “is tomorrow afternoon still up? I really need help in cardiac physiology. I kind of suck.”

He hummed in agreement, fighting against the nervousness that crept up on him. Jungkook’s palms started to sweat just by looking at you, he really was one step away from reverting back to his pre-teen days. “For sure. I’ll be at yours at five,” he managed to get out.

“Thank you so much,” you said, then moved back against your seat. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled. If it had been anyone else, Jungkook would’ve had a stroke by then — after all, he wasn’t always invited to a girl’s place so easily. That’s someone that I have absolutely no chance with, he thought. So friendzoning himself made everything much easier. “Are you sure you don’t want to meet up at the library?”

“I can’t really concentrate there,” you answered. “But if you prefer, we could go.”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “Your place is fine.”

You smiled again, and Jungkook thought that maybe being shot wouldn’t hurt so much. “Thanks. See you at five.”

Jungkook nodded and turned around, facing his laptop. Just as he was about to restart typing his notes, he saw a known reflection at the corner of his computer. Oh, God, have mercy.

Yoongi’s reflection smirked from the back row. “Oh, man, she’s so into you.”

Jungkook shook his head in denial, eyes still glued to the PDF file in front of him. If anything, his classmates would have just guessed he was finding that subject more difficult than usual and, quite frankly, no one could judge him.

“No?” Yoongi raised one eyebrow, reappearing by his side with his hand supporting his cheek. Jungkook didn’t even need to look at him to know that he was just looooving the discomfort that grew inside his limbs. “I know those things, kiddo. It’s my job.”

From the front seat, Taehyung hummed in agreement. He had his arm placed over the chair, and seemed to find that entire situation a bit boring — maybe because he had seen it countless times before. “She definitely wants to get some of that,” he said. “We are proud of you, son.”

With a subdued sigh, Jungkook scribbled some aggressive words at the corner of his notebook, and showed it to the man by his side. “Look at this, Taehyung, he’s trying to convince us that they’re just friends,” Yoongi mocked, crossing his arms. “That’s cute. Just because you’re that oblivious, it doesn’t mean that we are.”

“Jungkook, we’ve been watching the two of you talk the entire semester,” Taehyung added. “Besides, Yoongi made me follow her around once. She’s definitely into you. In unholy ways.”

Yoongi nodded once again. “She wants to be your boo.”

“Was that a fucking ghost pun?” Taehyung’s nose cringed up in disgust, and Jungkook had to fight back the reflex of laughing at his reaction. “Awful.”

“At least I’m not the one who ghostwrote Jungkook’s ethics essay.” Yoongi threw back. “Yeah, and that was another pun. You’ve got no spirit.”

“You know what? Now I know why Jungkook can’t stand us anymore.” Taehyung smirked and, then and there, Jungkook knew exactly what was coming. “He can see right through us.”

The other ghost nodded. “Yeah, we’ve reached a dead end.”

Jungkook groaned in exasperation, hiding his face behind his hands. “This is torture.”

Next to him, you chuckled. “Come on, pathology isn’t even that bad. You’re good at this.”

“I know, I’m just tired.” He turned around to look at you, uttering the same excuse he had been using this entire semester. Not that it was an uncommon one, especially in the fifth circle of hell that was medical school. “I think I need to splash some cold water on my face. Wake myself up.”

You hesitated, staring at him as he stood up. Jungkook looked strangely pale, like he was about to throw up all over the classroom. “Is everything okay?”

Fantastic! My bachelor ghosts are just making me have a nervous breakdown.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” He said, almost stumbling over your chair. Some of your pens fell down, but Jungkook couldn’t even bring himself to get them. He’d probably just knock everything else over in the process, and he wasn’t even sure that he could stand back up after. “Shit— Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

Behind him, Yoongi chuckled. “Spook-tacular skills, as always.”

_____________

The sound of running water was all that entered Jungkook’s mind for a moment, his face feeling the coldness of the liquid as he splashed himself once, twice, trying to clear his thoughts. In the end, it was mostly in vain: his class was ruined, his notes were left unfinished, and he couldn’t get a second of tranquility anymore — not even in Pathology. If he weren’t canonized after his death, he would file a complaint for sure.

Abruptly, he closed off the faucet and the water stopped running. There was a heavenly instant of quietness, in which Jungkook followed the crystalline droplets falling from his hair to the sink, before Yoongi’s voice echoed behind him. “How you doin’, champ?”

Jungkook sighed and raised his head, looking at his ghost counterpart through the dirty mirror. “Is the bathroom empty?” he asked calmly.

“Hm? Yeah,” Yoongi said. “The ghost is clear.”

Just like that, his serenity was gone. “Yoongi, can you fucking stop? Your puns stopped being funny after the third attempt,” Jungkook asked, exasperated. He pulled some paper towels, and got even angrier at the way they fell apart in his hands. Good to know his college money was being used wisely. “Jesus. Where is Taehyung?”

“You know he hates toilet paper,” Yoongi told him. “Reminds him of his death.”

Jungkook considered the compelling idea of banging his head against the bathroom wall until he, himself, was part of the world of the dead. As he recalled very well, Taehyung had been a victim of Final-Destination-levels of misfortune: just because he had forgotten to take toilet paper to his camping trip, the boy had been forced to use nearby leaves. Those, as he would soon come to understand, caused an awful allergy on his lower lands, and the punctual bleeding was a sufficient opening for opportunistic diseases. The culprit? Some super strange bacteria that floated around the river. He was dead less than twenty hours after he came back home from septic shock.

Taehyung had endured, quite frankly, one shitty death. And, yes, Yoongi had made that joke a few too many times before.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jungkook realized. “What did I tell you two about chit-chatting with me in large public places? Especially my classes? I have to pay attention. And I have a test in two days, I need to be all here, and not thinking about other people.”

Yoongi giggled — almost childishly so — at the other’s anguished attitude. His teeth, a pallid shade of white, could barely be seen against the olive-green tiles that covered the bathroom walls. “You weren’t paying attention to the processes of intestinal inflammation, that’s for sure,” he teased, forcing himself to hold back his jokes a bit.

“I wasn’t even studying that chapter,” Jungkook mumbled.

Even Yoongi, who had a dense personality for such a diaphanous soul, could tell that the student was not in the mood for mockery. “Man, why are you so stuck-up? Taehyung and I are ghosts, but you’re the one with the dead sense of humor.”

Jungkook realized he needed a moment to think before he started yelling at nothing in a public bathroom. He really hoped the other stalls were empty, but he couldn’t be bothered to check.

“This isn’t about the puns. You two just don’t respect my privacy,” Jungkook said. This time, he was able to pull some good paper towels and proceeded to dry his face. “This has been going on for too long. Why don’t you two just vanish for some time?”

“Wish I could, kiddo, but I’ve got hours to clock,” Yoongi finally admitted. From the mirror, he could see the frown of confusion that was cast over Jungkook’s features. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m only following rules. Talk to the big guy upstairs if you want to complain.”

He threw the paper on the trash and shook his head in confusion. “I just don’t see the point of any of this.”

“You don’t have to.” Yoongi took a step closer. He often looked so unbothered — the two of them, actually — that Jungkook caught himself wondering which certainties they held, notions that would most likely be given after death. “Just do what we tell you to do.”

“That has only embarrassed me so far,” he said, turning around. “I don’t think I have it in me to trust in you two one more time. It has gotten me nowhere. Or, rather, nowhere good.”

Yoongi sighed. “Alright, let’s do it like this, then: You go and help Y/N with her cardio whatever stuff, and Taehyung and I just watch. We promise to shut up, unless you’re doing something seriously embarrassing. Other than that, absolute silence.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “You promise you two won’t tell me what to say?”

“Promise.” Yoongi nodded. He looked very sincere. “We won’t talk to you.”

“I can live with that, yeah,” Jungkook agreed, leaning against the bathroom sink. “Sounds good.”

“Perfect.” He smiled. “Trust me, Jungkook. I only made one mistake in my life.”

Jungkook smirked. “And it killed you.”

“Not the point.” He raised one finger, clearly annoyed, then pointed it at Jungkook. “You’ll do great. It’s not like you’re gonna tell her about us or something.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’d be awful.”

________________

But that was, ultimately, what he did.

To be fair, it was never Jungkook’s intention. He was completely sure that it would ruin not only his friendship with you, as it would also ruin his reputation, both as a student and as a future physician. Come on, how would he even explain that? How could he tell anyone that he not only saw two obnoxious ghosts, but that they were there to give him romantic (and sometimes sexual) advice? That’s insanity.

Spoiler: he didn’t explain it very well.

In the cosmic perspective, however, it was kind of Yoongi’s fault too. He had the problem of giving away too much sometimes, especially when he was alone and free from Taehyung’s scrutiny. And it was that extra bit of information that catalyzed the explosion that would become Jungkook’s confession.

For some reason or another, Taehyung hadn’t joined the two of them that day, as Jungkook crossed the campus towards your place. For the first time in a long time, their conversation — which was, again, masked by Jungkook pretending to be on the phone — was actually quite pleasant. Yoongi had told him a bit more about his life back in the day and explained that he was studying to become a lawyer when he died.

“I was thinking of dropping out anyways,” he said. “I just picked a random thing to study because I didn’t know what I wanted to do. And, well, I kind of did drop off. Just not from the course.”

Jungkook could not help but laugh at the absurdness of it all. Sad coincidences aside, it was unusual for Yoongi to make jokes about his death. Taehyung was much more open about it, but Yoongi seemed to be very bitter because of the way and the time he passed. But of course, who was Jungkook to judge?

“You know,” Yoongi started after a moment of quietude. “Taehyung and I were pretty surprised that day at the mall.”

Jungkook frowned. “Hm? Why is that?”

The other man chuckled. “Honestly? Because you’re dumber than we thought.”

Seems like pleasant times didn’t last much between the two of them. “We’ve established that I can’t talk to girls, Yoongi, I know.” Jungkook really wanted to change the subject.

“No, not that,” he denied. “Let’s go back a little. Remember what we told you in your bedroom that night? To get the physiology girl.”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, what about it?”

Yoongi laughed, amazed that Jungkook still didn’t get it. “You called the wrong one, idiot,” he explained.

“What?” Jungkook paused in his tracks and, in a mindless reflex, forgot he was supposed to be talking on the phone, and looked directly at Yoongi, lowering the device away from his ear. “There is a right one?”

“Hey, pay attention to your surroundings.” Yoongi pointed at a couple that also stopped, confused at the man’s actions. Jungkook cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure after that minor instant of public humiliation, and placed the phone back against his ear. “Let’s keep walking.”

With his heart beating insanely fast against his chest, Jungkook did as he was told. His mind was flooded with fragmented thoughts, working around words that seemed so simple, yet held so much.

“Yes, there is a right one — and you’re going towards her right now.” Yoongi responded, placing his ghostly hands inside his ghostly pockets. Jungkook never noticed that he still used the clothes that he had on when he died, but Yoongi wouldn’t be the first one to mention. “So don’t make a fool out of yourself. Not this time.”

Jungkook swallowed dry, feeling as panic started to climb up his lower limbs, weighing down on his muscles. His throat was dry as a desert and forming sentences proved to be a far more difficult task than he had anticipated. The air around campus had suddenly become hot for an autumn day, unable to enter his lungs with ease. He really was two steps away from a full-blown anxiety attack.

Yoongi frowned. “You good?”

Jungkook licked his lips, only half aware of his actions. “Y-Yeah,” he struggled to get out. “Just kind of a bomb that you just dropped on me, that’s all.”

Yoongi nodded, uninterested. “Yeah. Get over it. It’s not a huge deal.”

Only, it was. For Jungkook, at least. What if you two were… you know? Meant to be? Like the soulmates kind of thing; star-crossed lovers. Like in the “we got married after two months of dating and we are still together after sixty years” kind of insane love? That was a lot to process, a lot to think about, especially when he was having like three different crises at once. It was a recipe for a disaster.

Jungkook really was dumb when it came to anything besides his textbooks, but not for jumping into those conclusions. Frankly, most people would’ve been a bit overwhelmed by that.

No, his problem would reside on his next thought: If you two were meant to be, you would understand if, for some reason, he had to tell you about his ghosts, right?

Right?

_______________

To be fair with Yoongi, he did keep his promise. The two didn’t interrupt your conversation once, even if sometimes the moment begged for it, and Jungkook was two words away from ruining everything. Strangely enough, things seemed to work themselves out — the horrible jokes that Jungkook uttered seemed to suit your sense of humor; the shy and nervous demeanor that plagued his dates slowly melted away. It was good — in fact, it was the best talk he’s had with someone in a long, long time.

The issue was that, as much as the two of them didn’t talk directly to Jungkook, they still talked.

“What was that thing that she said, you know, to her friends?” Yoongi mumbled, his words coming out as a vague connection of syllables being formed at the corner of his mouth. He had his arms crossed, and his legs pushed up on the couch. “You told me that.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung took a moment to think. He had one of his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his white pants, and the other on the back of the couch. The two of them watched the conversation that unfolded above your living room table, the two of you trying to make sense of a subject that seemed to change every five minutes. “It was like ‘homeboy can like, get it’... or something.”

Yoongi nodded, satisfied. “Nice.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, trying to ignore that comment. It wasn’t news that you were interested in him — that had been the only thing Yoongi and Taehyung had told him for the past few hours, but it was very, very awkward to know those specific details. He was sure he wouldn’t like you to know the private conversations that he had with his friends, even less about the things he thought about when he was alone. There was something extremely violating about that, but, no matter how hard he tried to convince them, the two ghosts didn’t seem to care enough to stop.

The giggle that came from across the table ruptured his thoughts. “Why are you blushing?” You asked.

“I’m… uh…” he struggled, suddenly feeling the heat that emanated from his cheeks. Wonderful. Even when he was just thinking about something, he still managed to make a fool of himself. “Just… thinking about some embarrassing things I did in third grade. The usual.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there.” You smiled, reaching for the textbook across the table, and flipping through the pages. “I ruined this entire science project once. It was something about the pollination of flowers, but I missed that class. Ended up coming back to a lot of roses around the classroom, and decided to take a few of them home to my mom.”

“Oh no.”

“Yep,” you nodded, looking back at him. Jungkook thought that he had lost himself in your eyes for a moment, a depth so engulfing that he couldn’t find the right words once he stared at it. He had never noticed how beautiful you were — or, rather, he had, but he had never stopped to think about it — and, now, it seemed as if that was the only thing that he could focus on. “Everyone in class was super pissed, the teacher even tried to suspend me.”

He shook his head, trying to imagine a mini-you justifying your flower thievery in front of the principal. “That’s insane, actually.”

“Kind of.” You shrugged, looking back at the book. You weren’t sure what you were searching for anymore, so you decided to close it. You two had been studying for almost four hours straight, you didn’t think that your brain could handle any more of that. “They didn’t really believe me when I told them it was a mistake. Guess no one even noticed my absence the day before, which is… somehow… even worse, now that I think about it.”

A giggle reverberated in your throat as you dove into those forgotten memories, and Jungkook followed you.

“Don’t laugh at child me, that’s so cruel.” You smiled.

“I’m not.” He shook his head. “I just thought you were cute. Still are, you never really stopped being cute, I mean. You’re actually really pretty now, like a woman—”

“I got it.” You placed your hands over his, and the shock of your skin against his seemed to spread throughout his entire body. He didn’t know if that was a soulmate thing of if he was just really horny. Probably a bit of both. “Don’t worry about it. You’re pretty cute too. Like a man.”

“Thanks.” Jungkook itched the back of his neck, trying to find the right words to build his sentence. Panic began bubbling at the bottom of his stomach, sinking its teeth into his flesh as his words left his throat. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

It was the right time now: the studying was over, the conversation was flowing, you had told him that you thought he was cute — like a man. Now, he just needed to ask you out. Just that. That’s it. Three words. He had practiced: Wanna go out? That’s it. So casual. So playboy-esque. He could do it. No pressure. If you were the one, he didn’t have much to get wrong.

But, oh my god, what if he got everything wrong? I mean, how many stories are out there of couples who were destined for each other, but something happened and it pulled them apart forever? The wrong time, the wrong place — the wrong words. Jungkook wasn’t psychologically prepared to ruin something so huge with a moment so small. He needed to calm down and focus. Just get the words out. Everything would sort itself out after that. He had faith.

“What is it?” You asked.

Jungkook cleared his throat, his eyes still glued to the touch of your hand against his. Outside, birds were chirping, unaware of the absolute shitstorm that was about to ensue. “So…” he started, “I was thinking that maybe I could— I mean, you — I mean we could...”

You tilted your head to the side, confused. “Sorry, what was that?”

He blinked once, twice, fighting against the wave of sheer terror that had taken over his brain, whitening out his thoughts. He had the sentence ready, but he had forgotten how to form it. “I’m just trying… I’m just trying here to just…” He swallowed dryly. “I was just wondering if you would like to… I mean, if it’s not a problem—”

From the other side of the room, Yoongi groaned. “Just do it! You’re making eternity so much longer.”

And that’s when it happened.

Jungkook turned around and yelled: “You told me you wouldn’t talk, you asshole!”

The entire room froze. A horrible moment of bewildered reticence followed as the realization crashed upon him like a gigantic wave. He couldn’t have just yelled at nothing in front of you, like an absolute madman, could he?

Your eyes widened and you pulled your hand away from his. The lack of warmth was like a dagger being thrown directly into his heart. “Excuse me?”

Yep. He totally did that.

“Not you!” He was quick to turn around — maybe a bit too quick, too intensely. Even with nervousness clouding his vision, Jungkook could still see the shadow of fear and confusion mingling amongst your features. He had ruined everything, and that was all that he could think about. “I’m just... personalizing my anxiety...”

“Are you... alright?” You spoke slowly, measuring his actions. Jungkook had changed from cute-nervous to absolutely-unhinged-nervous; eyes widened and jaw clenched; hands gripping the wooden chair like his life depended on it. Maybe that study session was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just googled an online class, like your best friend told you to. “It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Taehyung chuckled. “That’s pretty funny.”

And, if the situation wasn’t already bad enough, Jungkook started to convince himself that perhaps it would be a good idea to come clean with you about his psychic abilities — maybe that was actually the only way that he could get out of that mess. If you were his soulmate, you’d understand. It’d all be okay. Yeah, maybe you’d be seriously creeped out for like the first twenty minutes, just like he had been, but eventually you’d understand what had happened. You two would laugh about it later, maybe when you were sixty, on your rocking chairs somewhere, staring lovingly at a cornfield.

Was he losing it? Probably. But he didn’t have the right amount of mental clarity to fully think about the consequences of his actions in that moment.

“I… did,” Jungkook spoke sluggishly, barely comprehending the trail of words that dripped from his tongue. His voice was much calmer, but he could still feel like his entire body was engulfed by flames. “I did... see a ghost. Two actually.”

You frowned. This afternoon couldn’t possibly get any worse. “What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook, don’t you dare,” Yoongi warned, but his voice seemed to come from miles away.

Slowly, as if he wasn’t really aware of his own body moving, Jungkook adjusted his position on the chair, looking down at the sea of handwritten notes in front of him. He wished that human interaction was as easy as the types of pulmonary volumes, or perhaps the changes of oxygen inside the hemoglobin. That he knew. That he could deal with.

“Ok so, have you ever watched The Emperor’s New Groove?”

You blinked twice, puzzled. “What?”

“The Disney movie,” he clarified, looking up at you.

You shook your head, measuring how long it would take for you to bolt out of the door and run away from your own apartment. Maybe you could get out and then call someone for help. You wished you had already taken Psychiatry. “I know what that is, Jungkook, but I just don’t understand where you’re getting at.”

“Maybe it’s in the TV series that came after the movie, I don’t know, but Kronk has these two little beings on his shoulders, a devil and an angel.” He cleared his throat, and looked back at the sheets of paper. It was so hard to stare at you now, when just seconds before, it had been so easy. “I kinda have the same thing, only, they’re dead people. You know, ghosts. And they’re not on my shoulders — that’d be pretty awful, actually.”

Taehyung mumbled from across the room, “I really don’t think this is a good idea, Jungkook.”

“You’re making no sense right now,” you said, worried about the effect that your words could have on him. “I think… I think it would be better if you left.”

“I can see dead people, okay?” Jungkook interrupted, exasperated. You had to understand. You were the right girl from physiology class, you had to understand.

“Okay, Sixth Sense.” You laughed nervously. Bad time for a joke, you thought, but the boy barely seemed to process it. “Listen, I can tell you’re not doing very well right now, so you should probably leave, maybe clear your head a bit. You already helped me a lot—”

“No, I don’t need that. My head is clear—”

“You know, there is a very good mental health clinic in campus, I’ve gone there already, and I think—”

“No! I don’t need mental health, it’s true!” Jungkook stood up, walking towards the couch, where the two dead men sat. There was an unspoken contest in the room to see who could be more flabbergasted at the boy’s actions, and you and Yoongi were in a close tie. “I can prove it.”

You almost choked on air. “You what?”

Jungkook pointed at nothing. “They’re here right now, I can prove it to you.”

Discombobulated, you shook your head one more time. Maybe if you did that enough, your chaotic thoughts would just fall out of your ears, and everything would be much clearer. Maybe that was a prank, maybe that was a full-blown psychotic breakdown. You just didn’t really know what to do from there. “Jungkook, I don’t think—”

“Come on, just show yourself to her!” He yelled into the air, more specifically at your white couch. You just wanted to study cardiology, how did it end up like this? “Give me a sign, I don’t know.”

Yoongi chuckled, completely amazed by the way Jungkook continuously broke the Dumb Records that he had previously set himself. No bonus in heaven would be worth dealing with Mr. Smooth Brain over there. He should’ve gone for the orphans instead. “I cannot believe you right now.” He stood up from the couch and sighed, utterly defeated. Maybe he could just get it over with, and then The Big Man Upstairs would show him a bit of mercy. “But I guess now there isn’t much to lose. I’m only doing this because at least it would make this situation a bit better.”

“How?” Taehyung asked.

“There’s a slight improvement between psychotic crisis and psychic abilities,” Yoongi responded. He walked towards the window, rolled his eyes at the pathetic presentation of supernatural phenomena, and pulled on the white curtains of your living room. “Here. Boo! Paranormal activity.”

“Did you see that?” Jungkook asked, excited.

However, instead of meeting a surprised gaze, he only saw panic and preoccupation swimming inside your eyes. “The curtain moving? Yeah. That was the wind, Jungkook.” You stood up from the chair, measuring your chances at escaping. He was getting more and more erratic, and you didn’t know where the situation could escalate to next. “You’re seriously freaking me out right now. You’re being really aggressive about this.”

“Yoongi, you’re worse than the spirits in Ghost Hunters,” Taehyung groaned, reappearing next to your living room table. “You have to be bold, that’s what I always say. Make a statement.”

Taehyung’s statement, of course, had been the biggest slap against a lamp that Jungkook had ever witnessed in his life. The ghosts had once told him that it took them a huge amount of concentrated energy to do something as little as move a napkin, so there was no way that Taehyung wouldn’t be exhausted after making that heavy piece of furniture fly against the wall, shattering into a million little pieces with a loud noise.

“What the fuck?” Jungkook asked. “That was so dangerous! She could’ve gotten hurt.”

He shrugged. “You asked.”

“What the fuck was that?” You yelled, taking your hands to your face. Was that shared hysteria? What did you just see? Maybe you were the one who needed fresh air and a shrink visit. “You’re pranking me, right? You have like a nylon string wrapped around your hands or something.”

Jungkook moved his head in denial, raising his hands up in a sigh of defeat. “I swear to God, it’s true.”

“I don’t… I don’t believe you,” you said, clearly terrified. Not at the idea of ghosts, Jungkook realized, but of him. That date surely couldn’t have gone any better.

Yoongi sighed and materialized behind Jungkook. Lost causes, Yoongi was surrounded by lost causes. “If you really want her to believe you, tell her we can say some stuff about her, but it’ll probably freak her out.”

“They are saying that they can convince you by saying some stuff about you.” Jungkook swallowed dry. Something inside him was screaming for him to just shut the fuck up and leave your building. If there was something he learned by being with the two undead pricks, is that they could always make a situation worse.

But desperate times require desperate measures.

You adjusted your posture. Trepidation was still very present in your face, but there was also a small spark of interest swimming somewhere inside your eyes. “I seriously doubt that.”

“I can show you,” he said. “Just… don’t freak out.”

“Fine.” You licked your lips in anticipation. “The name of my first pet.”

“Is this a password verification?” Yoongi groaned. He just wanted to watch Twitches later that day, but Jungkook just had to start a seance in someone else’s room. Again: the orphans would never. “Fine. It was Mr. Green, a tortoise she killed by leaving to dry in the asphalt.”

“It was a tortoise, Mr. Green. You left it on the asphalt and it died,” Jugkook repeated without hesitation.

You blinked twice, taking in the answer. “This is so fucking weird. How did you know that?”

“Yoongi told me.” Jungkook pointed over his shoulder, where Yoongi stared you down. Just by looking in that direction, you felt a shiver run down your spine. You were losing it. “He’s, you know, one of the ghosts.”

“I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.” You placed one hand against the chair, leaning against it. There was no use to keep that conversation going, and you both knew it — and yet, just like a politician lying, it just didn’t stop. “But you could’ve asked anyone that.”

It was Jungkook’s turn to become completely lost. “Why would I ask such a specific question? I don’t even know your friends.”

Behind him, he heard another loud groan. “I’m so done with this.” Yoongi placed his hand on his shoulder. “Let me talk, Jungkook.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He asked.

Yoongi snorted. “We are all out of good ideas. But I think this is the best chance you’ve got.”

“Who are you talking to?” You almost yelled.

Jungkook looked back at you and, for some reason, the preoccupation in his eyes scared you even further. “Okay, this is going to be really weird, alright? But it’s not gonna be me talking.”

“What?”

“It’s like… a kind of possession,” he explained, gesticulating a bit more than socially acceptable. “It’s like… uh… One of them is going to use my mouth for a bit. Talk through me.”

You laughed, and there was a high-pitched sort of timbre to it. That might as well happen. “Sure, of course. What else? Exorcism live?” You asked.

“Just give me the permission,” Yoongi commanded.

Jungkook took in a deep breath, and clenched his hands into fists. He hated that part. “Fine,” he consented.

Gradually, the muscles around his mouth and throat grew numb, as if Jungkook had entered a dream, and his body was responding in autopilot. There was an awful pressure on his shoulders and a ringing in his ears as Yoongi accommodated himself around his body, reaching for control. That was the closest he would ever feel to being a ventriloquist’s puppet, and it was as bad as it could be.

Yoongi spoke through him with ease: “You told your friends last week that you didn’t care if Jungkook was a shy virgin who played minecraft because he was exactly your type. You also said that your average score in physiology is ninety-seven percent and you didn’t need any help. You just needed an excuse to stay with him. Happy?”

Jungkook inhaled sharply as the pressure on his body subsided, the numb sensation around his neck growing thinner by the second. “So violating,” he complained.

“How did you know that?” Your voice shook him back to reality. Both of you were reaching new levels of terror every minute. “Are you stalking me?”

That back and forth was starting to get exhausting. “That wasn’t me. That was Yoongi,” he tried once again. He was starting to think that the whole thing had been a bad idea.

“Well, fuck you, Yoongi,” you spat.

Yoongi scoffed. “Fuck you too, princess. Maybe you really don’t deserve this man.”

“I’m not saying that,” Jungkook whispered to him, then turned back to look at you. He wanted to hug you and magically erase your memories for that afternoon, but, in reality, he couldn’t even move his legs without feeling like he could fall face-down on the floor. He really, really, really hated possession. “I’m just… I’m sorry about that.”

“About what, Danny Phantom?” You asked, throwing your hands up in an exasperated gesture. And there it was: from panic to complete fury. That was all that you two needed at that moment. “About making me scared shitless, or about exposing me like this?”

He suspired. “Do you at least believe in me now?”

“Does it look like I believe in you, Jungkook?” You practically screamed. Truth was: neither of you knew that for sure. “I’m a woman of science, you can’t expect me to believe that—”

Taehyung groaned, walking closer to Jungkook. It must’ve been a world record how quickly everyone in that room got angry. “Let me talk,” he requested.

Jungkook sighed, defeated. How much worse could it possibly get? “Go ahead,” he said.

There it was again: the feeling of being under anesthesia, the weight of an entire other being pressed down against his shoulders. Good times. “Yesterday,” he started, “you masturbated to the thought of Jungkook, but you forgot to recharge your vibrator so you had to use your fingers and you complained the entire time. Explain that, science woman.”

Another deep gasp, and Jungkook was folding over, finding balance on his knees. He really felt like he couldn’t even think straight anymore, his mind covered by a thick fog.

You didn’t seem to be in a much different situation either. “I’m… gonna pass out.”

“That was so unnecessary, Taehyung,” Jungkook whispered. His mouth was terribly dry, and his hands were shaking. “You guys really don’t know your limits.”

“Taehyung? Who the fuck is that?” You screamed.

Taehyung crossed his arms. “Hey, at least she believes you now.”

“He’s the other ghost. The one with no sense of boundaries.” Jungkook stared at Taehyung, clearly pissed off. Maybe his voice would’ve come out a bit more forceful if he didn’t get thrown around by sadistic spirits. “I’m sorry about that.”

You shook your head, dumbfounded. “I need you to leave now. And take your ghosts with you.” You leaned over the table, and grabbed his notes, shoving them into a messy pile. Not that you were super worried about the integrity of the paper at a time like that. “This has really crossed like... every line.”

Jungkook licked his lips, trying to find the right words to say. Someway, he managed to get his legs firm enough so he could start walking in your direction. “Please, I didn’t mean to—”

You shoved the pile of notes into his backpack, and then the backpack into his hands. Before he could react, you grabbed him by the arm, guiding him towards the exit. “Thanks for helping me, Jungkook.” The door opened with a forceful pull, and you shoved him into the hall. “Never speak to me again. Bye.”

The bang of the door slamming shut was horribly loud, reverberating inside Jungkook’s chest for a moment longer. Now that the possession daze was starting to move away from his body, the boy could feel the traces of panic crawling inside him.

Jungkook dropped his backpack to the ground, and started knocking on your door. “Y/N, please!” He called. “I’m so sorry about everything. You have to believe me!”

Your yell came muffled from the other side of the door. “Go away!” you screamed. “Or I’m calling the cops!”

Defeated, he closed his eyes and placed his forehead against the wood. Now that the situation had already climaxed, the absurdity of it all was starting to become much more palpable.

How could Jungkook be so stupid? How could he think that you would act normally as you were exposed to the supernatural world? Especially in such distressing, violating ways. Even if you were his meant-to-be, his forever person, it would be ridiculous to believe that anyone would take all in that with ease. He really outdid himself that time.

“Let her be, you two can talk another time,” Yoongi spoke, leaning against the wall. It was possible to see all the places that the pain was starting to crack through his semi-translucent form. “Good attempt, though. I’d give you a star for trying.”

“This is not funny,” Jungkook mumbled, moving away from the door so you couldn’t hear him. The artificial lights above his head were sharp, buzzing mockingly. “You two keep saying that you’re here to help me, but you keep making stuff like this happen. If she really did like me, you just ruined everything.”

Yoongi raised one eyebrow. “Why do you care so much about that one?”

Jungkook glanced at him. “You told me she’s the one.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “I told you she was the right girl from physiology class, not that you two were going to die holding hands or something,” Yoongi told him. “You filled the blanks yourself.”

“That’s why we don’t give away all those details,” Taehyung scolded Yoongi, looking at him up and down. Jungkook had never seen him so irritated before — at least not about serious things. “You know we could get in real big trouble if someone heard about that. Which, correct me if I’m wrong, it’s kind of the entire deal of heaven to know about stuff.”

“I know, I know,” Yoongi groaned, disregarding his preoccupations. Maybe Taehyung didn’t understand his galaxy-brain plan yet, but he was sure that the heavens would. Or at least he hoped so. “But I think there’s something else that we need to focus on. Jungkook wouldn’t care this much about the other girls he dated, even if it was meant to be.”

“Why are you two talking like I’m not here?” Jungkook asked, annoyed.

“Why are you talking to yourself like you’re not in a corridor of an apartment building?” Yoongi threw back. Without a second of hesitation, Jungkook picked up his backpack and turned on his heels, walking down the hall, completely done with them. “Hey, come back. Just tell me what’s the fuzz with this one.”

He didn’t look back. “Aren’t you two supposed to know? All-knowing and shit.”

“We want to hear it from you,” Yoongi pressed on.

Jungkook opened the heavy door to the stairwell, allowing for it to hit behind him. Taehyung and Yoongi passed right through it, of course, and kept following him as he quickly moved down the concrete steps. “Y/N is my friend.”

Yoongi hummed. “Go on.”

“Isn’t that enough for a justification? What else do you want from me?” He inquired, aggressive. The sound of his steps echoed like drums through the expansion of the staircase, and he hoped that no one else had been listening to his apparent monologue. “I don’t wanna ruin this friendship by talking about her masturbation techniques, I don’t know if that makes the situation super unique.”

Taehyung clicked his tongue. “You have other friends.”

“I care for her, alright?” Jungkook turned around abruptly, making the two ghosts stop in their tracks. Taehyung had almost lost his balance, but it wasn’t as if that could have any serious consequences for him.

Jungkook sighed, trying to control the anger that had built up so rapidly, and continued speaking. “I care for her more than other friends. Fuck, is that what you two wanted to hear? Besides, it’s not like I know anyone better than her. I didn’t even think I had a chance with someone like that until you told me. She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s like… super hot when she’s mad—”

“Oh, would you look at that.” Yoongi grinned, satisfied. “Jungkook’s whipped.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “I’m not.”

“Why are you so red?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook covered his face, feeling the heat of his checks emanating against his palms. “I’m not!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, tiger,” Yoongi raised his hands in a silent request for forgiveness. They were still a few steps above Jungkook, and the whole scene looked like something straight out of the Book of Revelation. “This is a good thing, we actually thought it would never happen. It’s not like you’ve been this introspective in what… five years? More even.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yoongi sighed, and looked at Taehyung for confirmation. The other ghost nodded in a silent agreement, and Yoongi started to speak. “Listen, we’re here to help you, but we didn’t say everything,” he admitted. “We couldn’t, really, otherwise it wouldn’t be so... organic.”

“What?”

“Jungkook, you were desperate to lose your virginity,” Yoongi explained. “You still are, in a way. And that’s not a good thing, because you’ll get the first thing that moves and you’ll try to stick your dick in it.”

Taehyung chuckled drily, looking at a fixed point. “Which is not a good idea, believe me,” he spoke in a mumble, and Jungkook could not help but think that his advice came from personal experience. That, of course, was a story for other, less sober times.

“Is that why the two of you always interrupt me?” He asked, a bit offended. “Because those girls weren’t right for me? Like this is a purity cult or something?”

“Eh.” Yoongi did a so-so gesture with his hand. “Kind of. Not really. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you actually feel something for this girl, something beyond the thoughts that come from your lower head.”

“And she feels something for you too, even after that trainwreck that we just witnessed in there,” Taehyung added patiently. “Which will help us a lot in the long run.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Jungkook crossed his arms, stubborn. He really could look and sound like a child throwing a tantrum when he wanted to. “I still don’t get it. It wasn’t your place to tell me who I could or couldn’t be with, it’s not as if you guys are—”

“Jungkook, that’s enough,” Taehyung interrupted him. “You don’t think it makes sense? Stop and think for once in your life.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”

Taehyung glanced at him. “Listen, we just saved you from months of wrong dates and wrong nights. We pushed away people who didn’t really care about you, who just wanted you to use you, or who would end up cheating on you anyways. Not everyone gets this privilege,” he said, completely done with that victim mentality. “So, for once in your life, be grateful. Be grateful for the bad dates, the embarrassment, the times that it didn’t work out. And, look, we are sorry for the way they had to go down, it wasn’t as funny as it seemed from our perspective. But if you didn’t have those bad dates, you’d have very, very bad months following them. So you’re welcome.”

“And all those bad dates lead you to the right person,” Yoongi completed, watching as Jungkook’s expression withered into shame. He was staring to get it — they could almost see the hamster in his brain start running. “Now, listen, we don’t know if this is the for-life situation, that’s not the kind of information we have, alright? Do I look like a seraphin to you? No. But does it matter? No. Most relationships aren’t the for-life thing anyways, but they are here to teach you something. And if the afterlife thought that there was something good for you here, who are we to judge?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agreed. “Now, can you please forget about all those past people and just focus on her? Maybe shut the fuck up while you do that? I get that you wanted to get your dick wet, but there’s a time and a place for that.”

The boy sighed, and leaned against the red handrails. It took Jungkook a few seconds to speak out. “I feel like I’ve just been lectured by my parents,” he admitted.

Taehyung relaxed his shoulders. “Good,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to slap some sense into you for months now, but I didn’t really have the permission.”

“Feel better?” Jungkook asked.

He nodded. “Much better.”

“I’m happy for you,” he said. Jungkook ran one hand through his dark hair, pushing back the strands that had fallen over his eyes. “And about Y/N… There’s no way she’ll ever talk to me after this mess. I ruined everything.”

Taehyung nodded. “You pretty much did, yeah.”

“You took the worst case scenario and managed to make it even more horrible,” Yoongi said. “It’s pretty impressive, actually.”

“Thanks, that’s great.” Jungkook chuckled, humorless. He could always count on them for emotional support. “But, I mean… What do I do now? I mean, is there anything that we could do to save this?”

“Worry not, my child,” Yoongi smirked, crossing his arms. “Taehyung and I are masters of seduction, and we’re here to help you. Just trust us.”

“And before you say something,” Taehyung interrupted, raising one finger. “You never had the right girl before, so we weren’t really trying. I think we can find some real solid ground here.”

Jungkook breathed out, and looked down at the grey stairs. Yeah, it’s not like he wasn’t at the bottom of the well already. “Fine. One last chance,” he agreed, looking back at the ghosts. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

______________

Much to Jungkook’s delight, he didn’t need to muster up the courage to talk to you, because you did that first.

For the first time in their lives (and deaths), Yoongi and Taehyung actually did something right. Jungkook didn’t really know the details of their plan, all that he knew was that they would find a way to “make you see what you were missing” so that you would “come crawling back to him”. Which didn’t sound threatening at all.

Countless possibilities crossed Jungkook’s head — horror movie hauntings, Taehyung invading your dreams with claws for fingers, Yoongi with a wet wig crawling out of your TV — but, in the end, no matter how much he insisted, the two of them just wouldn’t say a word. Apparently, there was a lot going on backstage that Jungkook had no idea about, so he should just “take it easy” and wait for the sequence of events to unravel. Amazing. Now he knew how the characters in Final Destination felt.

“Just be patient, young one,” Taehyung had told him, thrown over his couch like a Victorian monarch. “All you need to know is that she will be back. Everything else it’s just… details.”

And, two weeks after the dormitory incident, you did.

There was a muffled thud as you placed your large books over the wooden table, and sat down across from him. The silence of the library didn’t allow for Jungkook to foresee your arrival, and to meet your gaze so suddenly was enough for his face to burn up in shame, his heart drumming against his ribcage. His sympathetic system really needed to quit with that bullshit before he collapsed.

“Hey,” you mumbled, seeming just as uncomfortable as he was. “Can we talk? You know what about.”

The boy swallowed dry, and leaned a bit forward. “Y-Yeah, sure,” he whispered back. “I’m really sorry, Y/N, I don’t know why I thought—”

“For how long?” you sliced his sentence short, making his lips fall shut.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

You cleared your throat, and shuffled on your seat. As much as the library was practically empty, neither of you felt courageous enough to use your usual voice tone — especially when dealing with that subject. “How long have you been able to, you know, see them?”

Jungkook took a second to respond, licking his dry lips and looking at the line of bookshelves as if seeking for the right thing to say. He felt awkward enough just interacting with someone from the opposite sex, but talking about the ghosts he saw? Hell, that bordered on a panic attack. Especially after the circus show that was that past study session. “Almost two years now, I think,” he finally answered. “But they told me they’ve been around for a bit longer. I just couldn’t see it.”

You shook your head in concordance, even if the information was everything but easy to understand. “That’s crazy,” you spoke. “I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Jungkook let out a dry chuckle. “Not very well, as you can probably tell.”

“I don’t think I can judge you. I didn’t precisely react well either.” You swallowed dry, wide eyes flickering on the world behind Jungkook. “Are we alone now?”

As much as he already knew the answer, he looked around just to check. “Surprisingly, yeah,” Jungkook responded, slightly suspicious. Yoongi and Taehyung were always looking over his shoulder and throwing him into messy situations, he couldn’t tell why they weren’t there when, quite frankly, it was their perfect shot at humiliation. Maybe they really were doing their jobs for once. “I don’t know why they’re not here. That’s weird.”

You shrugged as if to say that you wouldn’t know either. “What are their names again?”

“Yoongi and Taehyung,” he answered, then waited another second to see if he could feel their presence. Nothing again. That was really strange — they often responded upon being called. “Listen, Y/N, I hate what we went through. They had no right to say those things. I’m used to the privacy issues, since I have been with them for a while. But you aren’t, and I can only imagine how weird you felt hearing all that. I’m really, really sorry.”

You pressed your lips together which, Jungkook guessed, was a failed attempt to suppress the rubor that exploded across your cheeks. He couldn’t blame you, though, for there were limits that were crossed. “I’m over it if you are,” was what you forced yourself to say.

“I am,” he lied. None of you were particularly good at not telling the truth, and that was pretty obvious. But ignoring it was a start.

“Good, okay.” You cleared your throat, placing the palms of your hands against the pile of books. “Sorry for lying about needing help in physiology, and all that. I just needed an excuse to spend more time with you, as you know now. I guess it’s obvious that I kinda have a huge crush on you.”

“It’s fine.” Jungkook laughed, extremely relieved to notice that your last sentence was in present tense. “I kinda have a huge crush on you too.”

Honestly, even if it wasn’t for life, he’d have to give you props for still liking a guy that had had a borderline psychotic breakdown in your apartment, talked about your pet tortoise, and your masturbation technique, and still had the nerve to expose you to the supernatural world. It was a lot. Good on you for taking it like a champ.

“And,” he continued, “sorry for using my ghosts to expose your secrets. I just needed to find a way for you to believe me, and I had no idea about what they were going to say. I was pretty much in a frenzied state, I wasn’t thinking straight. It won’t happen again.”

“Apologies accepted.” You smiled, relieved. You were really beautiful, Jungkook thought in a breathless instant. He could look at you all day. “You know, it’s going to take me some time to get used to all that. I mean, I’m still not a hundred percent sure I believe in everything, but, I… My lamp flew across the room, and you told me things that you simply couldn’t know about. So, if it’s a prank, it’s a really good one.”

“I know how it is.” He nodded in agreement. “It was really difficult for me at first, too. I understand if you’d rather just stay away from me from now on.”

You sighed, looking down at your books — the two mammoth-sized volumes of Harrison’s Internal Medicine staring at you in mockery. “Weird thing is: I don’t really want to.” You crossed your arms and leaned back against the chair. Was that the sound of angels singing? Jungkook couldn’t tell. “I’d love to spend more time with you. Alone, if possible. And that counts both planes of existence.”

“Sounds fair, I’d love that.” Jungkook smiled. As he met your eyes, he was filled with a warm, rose-colored courage that he had never felt before. “Actually, I was wondering if, you know… you wanna do something? With me? Alone, of course. No ghosts. One of these days, I don’t know. If you’re not busy—”

You raised your eyebrows, interested. “You’re asking me out?”

He sighed, shoulders falling in defeat. “Trying, yeah. You can see I’m not the best at that either.”

Your smile grew a little. “That’s a big yes.”

“Really?” Jungkook stared at you like a lost puppy, his mind going completely blank for a second or two. The hamster in his brain was now somersaulting through his body, landing on his stomach and hitting him with a wave of nausea. “Wow, thanks. I don’t really have an idea of what we could do, though. Didn’t think I’d get that far.”

There was an instant of quietude as you thought for a moment, the space between the two of you permeated by the vague sounds of pages turning. “Movies?” You asked.

“Sounds great.” Jungkook smiled openly, his shoulders falling in alleviation. He didn’t know what Taehyung and Yoongi had done, but he was beyond thankful for it. Seemed like their sacrifices weren’t in vain, after all. “The film majors are doing this 2000’s marathon this week. I think this Saturday it’ll be either Mean Girls or 17 Again.”

“I’m in,” you spoke excitedly. “I’ll be there, just text me the details.”

Jungkook almost swallowed his own tongue as he watched you stand up, presenting him with a gorgeous view of thighs beneath the level of your skirt. “Great!” He exclaimed a bit too loud, his voice a bit too high-pitched, awakening his inner thirteen-year-old. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice another octave. “I mean, yeah, great. Thank you for… saying yes.”

“Thank you for asking.” You placed your hair behind your shoulder, and leaned in to pick up the heavy pile of books. All nine kilos of Internal Medicine.

“See you there,” he said.

You smiled. “See you, Kookie.”

Jungkook watched you walk away as if he was floating in a fever dream, completely unable to believe what had just unfolded. Did he seriously manage to get a date with you? Of all people? He must’ve been hallucinating. Maybe he ended up falling down the stairwell and died, perhaps that was his heaven, and he would—

Behind him, Taehyung sneered. “Kookie? You’re getting softer than your dick.”

Jungkook turned around so brusquely that the chair tilted back and, if it wasn’t for him holding down to the corner of the table, he would’ve fallen to the ground. “You two were there all along?” He whispered-screamed. Before he could land a sermon on them, though, he met the devilish smirk that was plastered all over Yoongi’s features. Oh no. No. The movies. “No, Yoongi, I know what you’re thinki—”

“Get in, loser, we’re going to the movies.”

_________________

Saturday rolled around and, with it, came your much anticipated movie date. Jungkook had spent the previous night tossing and turning on his bed, completely monopolized by anxiety, thinking about every possible apocalyptic scenario that could go down. What if he tried to take a slip of his drink, but ended up blinding himself with the straw? Maybe he would step on the wrong chord and set the entire college on fire. Or maybe he would trip, fall down on a poor girl, and kill her on the spot. That would be awful, you would never talk to him again after any of that — the imaginary disappointment in your face was like a punch in the gut.

Was he being ridiculous? Obviously. Did that stop his pre-date panic? Obviously not.

Still, with the might of a thousand warriors, Jungkook managed to drag himself to your date, his knees almost giving out beneath him when he saw you — he didn’t believe you would actually come, for some of him still thought it was all a sadistic heaven prank. Somehow, he blurted out a compliment about how good you looked while he was having a heart attack, and almost lost his consciousness when you smiled at him.

Yep, it would be a difficult night.

The movie marathon consisted of three 2000’s movies, and the two of you managed to arrive right before Mean Girls started, fumbling on your seats as the rest of the room grew quiet. The makeshift classroom didn’t look like a movie theater in the slightest, but it wasn’t as if you were expecting that in the first place — it was nothing more than an agglomeration of chairs and desks, combined with a few puff chairs and old couches scattered around. Much to your delight, you and Jungkook managed to grab one of those couches before another couple returned to their seats, and he could see that his ghost buddies had already found their own place on the empty chairs behind the two of you.

Surprise! None of the catastrophic scenarios in his mind actually came true. In fact, he had a great time with you, laughing at your jokes and sometimes flat-out stealing Yoongi’s commentary just to make you chuckle, which granted him a few mumbled complaints coming from the back row.

“Jungkook is so superior, don’t you think, Taehyung?” Yoongi mocked, and Jungkook was sure that he would be kicking his seat if he could. “So smart. So great. But can’t even figure out his own jokes. Has to steal them from a poor dead man. You’re a grave robber.”

Taehyung chuckled. “Hey, you’re helping him, at least. That’s our whole point here.”

“Grave robber!” he repeated, more aggressively this time. “I can’t believe you’d ruin Mean Girls for me like this. Not even hell would be so cruel.”

“How dare you say that about hell? If I get in trouble because you can’t keep your mouth shut, Yoongi, I swear to God—”

“Now you’re saying God’s name in vain, you heretic! That’s so much worse!”

Jungkook had to bite back a laugh as the two continued bickering behind him, only half aware of the scene in which Regina George glued her own picture on the burn book. He didn’t know when exactly he had done it — he had been so on edge the entire night that it was almost as if his own brain was instantly deleting his memories, but he had managed to curl one arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. He was sure that you could hear the frantic heartbeat of his heart against his chest, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t think he could even get that far.

But he did, and even reached beyond that.

Once the screen faded to black and the credits started appearing, there was a resounding wave of claps in the room, cheering for the absolute cultural reset that was that movie. One of the students moved to the front of the room, explaining that they would take a ten minutes break, then would return with She’s All That. Apparently, 1999 was close enough to the 2000’s for it to be picked as well.

“Do you wanna stay and watch it?” He asked, fighting every muscle in his body not to smell your hair. He knew that it would be super creepy, yeah, but your head was right there and it smelled so good.

You removed your body from his chest, looking up at him. “I would love to, but I have to wake up early tomorrow to study,” you said. “Big test on Monday.”

“Sure, yeah.” Jungkook nodded, slightly let down. To be honest, he had completely forgotten that information until that point. Seems like he would have a lot to catch up on during the next day. “I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

You thanked him with a smile, and you two got moving.

The walk back to your place wasn’t exactly awkward, but it could have also been a lot better. The two of you talked about the movie animatedly, the subject that you had to study — an awful amount of gastric pathology to memorize — and, eventually, landed on your weirdest experiences during hospital rounds. You were in the middle of telling him how two toddlers (twins) managed to puke on you at the same time, and how you thought that was a sign of a telepathic connection between the two, when he felt the back of his hand brush against yours, and everything around him turned into static. Suddenly, it was all that he could think about.

Jungkook had already spent the entire date with questions flying around his head. When was the right time to pull you close? Could he hold your hand, or would that be too bold? Could you smell how sweaty he was? Or maybe his deodorant was too strong? If he ran away, trained to be an astronaut, and joined the Mars colonization mission, would he be able to avoid embarrassing himself again?

And, more importantly: would it be weird to kiss you goodnight?

Considering the fact that he had no clue how to read your body language, and that almost all of his romantic experience came from bad sitcoms and Twilight marathons with Yoongi, Jungkook didn’t judge himself suited to answer that last question. He didn’t know if he should hold your hand, he didn’t know if you were just being polite or if you actually had a good time. Again and again, his anxiety got the best of him. He should really get back to seeing his campus counselor.

“So… we’re here,” you said, holding your hands in front of your body. You had stopped at the entrance of your block, and Jungkook took that as a sign that you didn’t want him to go all the way back to your apartment. Fair enough. “Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun. We should do this again sometimes.”

“For sure, yeah.” Jungkook nodded, somewhat relieved that you asked for that. At least that was a clear sign that you didn’t completely hate him. “That would be great.”

You agreed and looked down at your shoes. The darkness of the night enveloped the two of you, only half of your features illuminated by the dim yellow shine of the nearest light post. Jungkook almost fainted when you stared into his eyes, with a faint blush painting your cheeks, and questioned, “So, you’re not gonna kiss me?”

Windows’ blue screen. Please, hold.

“I… I, uh—” Jungkook’s mouth felt as if he had just swallowed an entire desert, his brain fighting to keep his voice steady. Your eyes, so focused and expectant, felt like daggers against his chest. “I didn’t know if you wanted to,” he finally admitted.

Your shoulders fell as a tender smile curled up on your roseate lips. Jungkook thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. “I do,” you told him gently. His heart almost leaped out of his throat. “Do you want to?”

And that was the easiest question that he would ever answer. “Yeah,” Jungkook said.

You smiled. “Perfect.”

The boy barely had time to react before your hand was curling around the fabric of his shirt, and you pulled him towards you in a playful tug. Jungkook’s eyes stayed comically widened for a second after your lips met, but, soon enough, he allowed himself to melt into your embrace, his nervous hands landing on your waist, and his mind instantly calming down.

He kissed you slowly, carefully, almost afraid that, at the faintest of movements, reality would shatter and he would lose that moment forever. Of course, it didn’t, and he stayed on that instant a bit longer before, at last, he pulled away, slightly breathless.

“I should’ve done that sooner,” he confessed.

You tilted your head at him, fingers playing with his hair. “It happened at the right time,” you said. “Some things can’t be rushed. Especially the good ones.”

Just like that, he understood what Taehyung and Yoongi had been saying all those years. No matter how cliche it was, there was some truth to the saying that ‘what is supposed to happen, will’. And, the better that something is, the more work it will require.

But, as he kissed you again, Jungkook realized that it was all worth it in the end.

____________

The following months by your side were so amazing that Jungkook constantly brought back his theory that “maybe he was actually dead, and that was heaven.” And, if it was, he would make sure to shake God’s hand himself because, holy fuck, was he one lucky man.

Okay, maybe the first few weeks together were a bit painfully cringe-worthy, but he was really trying to pretend as if they didn’t happen. Jungkook didn’t really get the memo, and he had to slowly figure out how to behave romantically with you. He got it wrong the first few times — kissing you at the worst possible moment, or sending you a huge bouquet of roses during your microbiology exam — but, eventually, you guided him towards more neutral grounds. Then everything went smoothly.

Surprisingly, even the undead duo calmed down for a while. Yoongi and Taehyung were still around, since they had no other option, but were much quieter now, only making punctual remarks when Jungkook made a fool out of himself. Hell, they even left the room when things started getting more serious between the two of you, instead of giving Cosmopolitan-worthy advice, and that was a huge improvement.

But, of course, it wouldn’t be Jungkook’s life if there wasn’t a huge joke waiting just around the corner. Soon enough, another issue would present itself.

It came in the form of a warm mumble against his lips, and the vague — yet deliciously noticeable — rolling of your hips against his own. “Jungkook,” you called, breathless after a long make-out session. The two of you were on his couch, with you sitting on his lap, straddling him. “I want you.”

He froze. What else would he do? Jungkook was a panicked virgin. He knew that your intimate times would happen eventually — and he really wanted them to — but he didn’t expect that his mind would completely malfunction once he got so close, with his erection growing inside his pants and the softness of your breasts pressing against his torso. It was just a lot, alright?

And, lost amidst the tempestuous sea of his sudden despair, all that he could utter back was, “Are… Are you sure you want to do this right now?”

“Yeah.” You placed a strand of hair behind your ear. Jungkook thought that he could faint on the spot. It was actually a pretty common sensation with him. “You don’t want it?”

“No — I mean yeah! Yeah, I want it.” He choked on his words, looking down in embarrassment, only to meet the contour of your thighs. His youth leader had been right all along: temptation was everywhere. “I’m just… I’ve never done anything before.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you tried to calm him down, placing your hands on his shoulders. The heat of your palms seemed to have some effect on the chaotic emotions that boiled inside him, for his muscles relaxed considerably under your touch. “I won’t pressure you, okay? If you want to take more time, it’s completely fine.”

“No, it’s not like that. I don’t feel pressured.” He shook his head, then looked up at you. You could almost feel the conflict inside his gaze, the mixture of anticipation and fear that you knew all too well. “I want you, Y/N, I really do. I’m just nervous.”

“It’s fine,” you repeated. “We don’t have to do anything now, and we can start slo—”

But he couldn’t listen to the end of your phrase, because a familiar voice damn near hollered from the other side of the room. “Taehyung, come in here! Quick!” Yoongi yelled, signaling through the door like he was controlling the air traffic. “He’s getting some! Jungkook’s about to get his cherry popped the fuck off!”

You tilted your head to the side, staring him down with preoccupation. “Jungkook? Are you okay?”

“The fuck! There is no fucking way!” Taehyung’s voice got louder as he yelled, signaling his growing proximity. “Call NASA right now!”

Jungkook sighed, throwing his head against the couch. Goodbye erection, and goodbye any chance of having sex that day. “Yoongi and Taehyung just showed up,” he mumbled bitterly.

You lowered your gaze and took a deep breath, then removed yourself from his lap. Jungkook hated the lack of heat, and he swore he would have drop-kicked the two if they weren’t in a different dimension. The certainty of death was all that he needed to know that he would get his revenge some day. “Of course they did,” you complained, fixing your clothes. “I love being cockblocked by cockless ghosts. Again.”

“Hey!” Taehyung sounded actually offended.

Jungkook turned around harshly, his voice bitter. “Can the two of you just fuck off? This is not the time.”

“So you two can fuck?” Yoongi grinned, then looked at Taehyung. “We should, actually.”

“Jungkook… this is too weird now.” You raised your hands in a silent bargain for it all to stop. You could deal with a few psychic sessions every once in a while, but being a voyeurism victim for ghosts wouldn’t be the way you wanted to spend your afternoon. “Let’s do this another time, okay? I should get going anyways. Big day at the hospital tomorrow.”

He took one of his hands to his face, massaging his temple. You got up from the couch, reaching for your backpack. “Yeah, okay.” The boy pouted, and you leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips. Disappointing end for a night, to say the least. “Good luck tomorrow. Text me if you get an interesting case!”

“Thanks! I will.” You threw your backpack strap over your shoulder and started walking towards the exit. Jungkook couldn’t blame you for just wanting to leave that place as soon as possible, he was sure that the discomfort was much worse for you. “Bye, Jungkook! I’ll let you know when I get to my place.”

He opened his mouth to thank you, but you were already out the door. The lock clicked shut, and the silence became thick, mocking him. Even if he already had an actual girlfriend, Jungkook still found himself being left behind by someone that would never want to see him again — dick semi-hard and morale shattered on the ground. Seems like he always found himself back in that position.

Taehyung materialized on the couch next to him, hugging his knees. He was staring at the closed door, somewhat expecting that you would come back, but knowing very well that you wouldn’t do so. “Okay, I accept that it was our fault,” he said, oscillating his gaze towards Jungkook. “Sorry, man. We are like, super invested in this. There’s almost nothing interesting going on in the afterlife and this is, like, better than any TV show airing right now.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, utterly exhausted at the mess that had become his life. He was done giving them sermons: it had basically turned into the world’s worst pastime and gave little to no results. “You know what? Just promise me you’re not going to show up next time.” He stared both of them down. “I don’t wanna be watched, that’s just weird. And I know that Y/N isn’t happy about that either.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Some people like it.”

“Yeah, I’m not one of those people,” he told him. “Guys, please. I know you two are as excited as I am about this, and I appreciate your... support, but I think this is something I need to do alone. In peace. Not being watched by spirits. That’s isn’t too much to ask.”

“He’s right, you know?” Taehyung said, looking back at Yoongi. “We should stay in our lane for now.”

The other ghost looked down at his feet, which basically morphed into the carpet beneath them. For the first time in two long years, he actually seemed like he was rethinking his actions. “Yeah, sorry,” Yoongi responded. “We got carried away. We’ll leave next time. Maybe try something when your neighbors are having a movie night.”

Jungkook’s shoulders fell in alleviation. Maybe not everything was doomed. “Thank you,” he spoke, then nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll probably do that. When is the next one?”

Taehyung looked at Yoongi, then back at him. “What are the chances that you’re gonna get your virgin shit together by tomorrow night?”

___________

Slim to none, actually, but he had managed to (kind of) do it. Focus on the “kind of.”

Jungkook had spent the previous night doing in-depth research about sexual intercourse, and basing his actions in real-life situations. That meant that he stayed up until four in the morning watching porn. Not masturbating. Just watching it very closely and trying to learn what to do — like an actual serial killer.

“Do you think that this is… a good idea?” Taehyung spoke from the other side of his room, preoccupation plastered all over his face. The whole porn-science was funny for the first twenty minutes, and then it just ended up being terrifying. “You know that people don’t actually have sex like that, right? It’s all exaggerated.”

“Quiet!” Jungkook raised his finger after a particularly loud moan echoed, his eyes red and glued to the computer screen. The white light from his device was awfully sharp, bathing his figure and making his image border on demonic. It really wasn’t a good look. “I’m researching. I need to know what to do.”

“You look and sound like a maniac.” Taehyung walked closer to the bed, measuring his movements. After he died, he thought that he would never be afraid of any other living thing — but Jungkook had just proved him wrong. Against his best judgement, he took a peek at the screen. “No! Oh my— That’s not natural. That’s so wrong. You should know, you studied anatomy.”

“I’m not gonna do this tomorrow,” Jungkook mumbled, closing the video. Taehyung recoiled back to the darkness of the room like a vampire that had just been touched by the sun. “The plot was interesting.”

“You’re not even hard, man,” he said, pointing at Jungkook’s trousers. “This is like, really weird. You should stop before you have some problem getting it up tomorrow.”

“What are you trying to say?” He narrowed his eyes, paranoid. “That wouldn’t happen. I know what I can do.”

“You’re the medical student, take a look,” Taehyung insisted. “There’s research about that, pornography affects young men and women a lot and— Actually, what the fuck am I talking about? This is crazy. I should’ve left with Yoongi.”

“Wait, I just—” Jungkook closed his computer with a sigh. His hair was disheveled and his gaze was unfocused. It really was the oddest night in Taehyung’s life/death. “I just don’t know what to do tomorrow. I’m about to have an anxiety attack. It’s like the third one tonight.”

Taehyung pressed his lips together, the discomfort inside him being replaced by a warm sense of understanding. “Man, she knows you don’t have experience. She isn’t expecting a porn star performance, or whatever the fuck you were just watching.” He pointed to the computer, which was now neglected amongst the sea of blankets. “By the way, I’m a changed spirit. I hate you for making me see that.”

Jungkook would have laughed at his distress if he wasn’t too tired to do that. “Technically, you decided to look at it yourself,” he corrected. “But, yeah, I know she’s not expecting anything great. But I don’t wanna make a fool out of myself, you know? Not like it’s a rare occasion or anything.”

Taehyung shrugged. Being alive made everything seem so much more important than it actually was, he thought. “Lay back and let her take the lead, then.”

Jungkook furrowed his brow, his eyes widening at the idea. Of course! That was the big galaxy brain moment he needed all along. “Are you serious? It’s that simple?” He asked, hopeful.

Taehyung chuckled. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Yeah. It was that simple. Who would’ve thought that those see-through idiots actually would have something intelligent to say?

Really, it was a time of miracles in Jungkook’s life. The following day, the planets aligned and, for the first time ever since puberty, everything went right for him: the class ended a bit early, his neighbors decided to watch two movies instead of one, and his place was perfectly devoid of any paranormal activity by the time you wandered into it.

He didn’t tell you that he had planned that entire thing before it happened — he thought it would be super strange to schedule his virginity loss out loud — and he was glad to see that everything evolved naturally. One hour and forty minutes after you arrived, you two were already at the same point that you had left the day before — only, this time, you two actually managed to get to his bed.

“They’re not here, are they? You’re sure?” You asked in between kisses for what should’ve been the fifth time.

“No, I asked them to leave earlier.” Jungkook’s hands pressed down on your hips, the sensation of your center rolling against his erection eliciting a sigh from him. Ha! Fuck Taehyung and his soft dick curse. “I actually… Before we do anything, I actually wanted to know if you could, you know, help me a little.”

You hummed, taking your face away from his. Jungkook watched as you licked your lips, your eyes dazed, and leaned in to place another kiss against his mouth. “In what way?” You asked.

“Just... show me what to do,” he said. “What you like, if I’m doing something wrong… everything.”

With a soft smile, you agreed, arms curling around his shoulders. “Of course,” you told him. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

That being said, you dove back to his lips, feeling as he both simultaneously relaxed and tensed up under your touches. Jungkook had evolved a lot in those past few months, you realized, since the early-dating version of him wouldn’t find himself in that position without turning into a stuttering, blushing mess beneath you. It was kind of cute, but you’d never say that out loud.

You felt his hands trailing up your back, underneath your clothes, his palms dwelling in the softness of your skin for a moment before, in a courageous movement, he decided to pull your shirt up. There was a short separation of your mouths as the piece of clothing slid up your arms, and collapsed against the floor in a puddle of cotton.

Jungkook sighed once he felt the lace of your bra against his hands; the softness of your breasts was something that he continuously daydreamed about. Now, without the barrier of your clothes, all that he needed was to remove that last constriction and he would be—

“Oh well…” He chuckled nervously, fumbling with your bra. “Sorry, I don’t know how to open this.”

You smiled at the embarrassment that danced around his features. “Relax, okay?” You said, moving your hands to your back and taking care of that problem yourself. You’d teach him about the magic of unclasping bras another time. “It’s fine.”

But Jungkook didn’t have time to think about an answer, for soon your bra was meeting your shirt on the floor. His reaction would’ve been the same if you just moved over and came back with a baby dinosaur in your hands — his eyes widening in amazement as he took in the image of your nude breasts, a small whimper perishing in his throat as he slithered his hands upward, cupping them.

Your breath stopped for a moment when he leaned in, reluctant, and enveloped one of your nipples with his warm mouth, his tongue delicately coming out to trace circles on your sensitive flesh. Jungkook groaned at the sensation, his cock becoming unbearably hard against his pants, and tilted your body over so he could be on top of you.

You curled up against the sheets, sighing in delight as the boy continued to work on your breasts, kissing and sucking lightly, taking his time. Every time you looked down, you could see that Jungkook was having almost as much fun as you, the small moans that dripped from his tongue vibrating inside your chest.

“Does it feel good?” He raised his gaze towards you, expectant. “Am I doing a good job?”

“Yes, very good.” Your hands curled around the roots of his hair. The action was gentle, but Jungkook shuddered under the sensation — every small movement proved itself to be a lot for him to handle. “You’re doing amazing. Is there something that you want to do, Kookie?”

The boy licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. Part of him (probably the sleep deprived one) still didn’t believe that you two were actually doing that — that it wasn’t just a figment of his horny imagination. No, it was real. You were right there in front of him, beautiful and devastating, caressing his hair as you waited for an answer.

“I… I want to make you feel good,” he said, wide-eyed and hesitant. His dick felt painfully hard being so constructed by his pants and, suddenly, he became aware of how clothed he still was. No wonder it was so hot. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Your lips curled up at his adorableness, one of your hands meeting his wrist. Patiently, you guided it down, and placed it on the hem of your pants. “Can you touch me?” You questioned. “I can tell you what I like.”

“Oh, please,” he almost pleaded, his hand already fumbling to open your pants. Much to his delight, those were a lot easier than your bra, and they were soon sliding down your legs with ease.

He took a moment to take in your form, eyes traveling up from your legs, to your hips, then all the way back to your breasts. As Jungkook met your gaze, he allowed for a suspire of relief to depart from his mouth, shoulders relaxing. “I’m so lucky,” he spoke, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

The smile that you presented him looked brighter than all of the stars above. “Come here,” you called, leaning against your elbows. “Give me a kiss.”

Obedient, Jungkook did as you requested, a grunt escaping his chest once you pulled him into a sloppy kiss, nails brushing lightly against the skin of his neck. He had goosebumps at the sensation, his hand moving by its own will, navigating down your stomach and towards your heat.

His fingers hovered, insecure, over the hem of your panties for a moment. Still, at the sound of his name being spoken against the kiss, he was overtaken by an ephemeral spark of courage. Soon, your panties were on the floor too.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Jungkook whined at the contact, his fingers dwelling just above your entrance. Inside his pants, his cock twitched at the sensation, his lower body already tingling with excitement. He didn’t know how he would manage not to cum in his pants, but he would have to find a way. “What do I do now?”

“Now...” you said, leaning your head against the pillow. “Move up and find my clit. Make all those hours of anatomy worth it,” you joked.

Jungkook nodded, but anatomy was much more difficult when he wasn’t actually looking at a certain part of the body — he was much more interested in watching your expression. Embarrassed, he did as you requested, trailing his wet fingers up until you told him to stop. “Right there,” you said, sighing once you felt his hand pressing down on it, starting to trace small circular patterns. “That’s it, baby, great job.”

His heart leaped at the compliment, and his actions became firmer. Jungkook thought he would go insane when he heard you whimper and cry out at the sensation, your hips bucking up against his hand ever so slightly. “You’re so hot,” he breathlessly confessed, his words coming in a hot puff of air against your neck. His digits slowly trailed down, towards your entrance, and he paused. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

Jungkook swallowed hard, adventuring one finger inside you. At the sensation of your walls clenching around him, he moaned, biting his lip. “God, you’re so tight,” he told you, adding a second finger. You raised your hips at the contact, hands curling on his hair. “I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

His mouth came back to your breasts, sucking and licking your flesh. Jungkook was a mess, you realized — pressing down his hard member against your thigh, whining against your skin as his fingers curled inside you, sinking into your wetness. God, you weren’t made of steel. “I want it,” you told him, and he didn’t understand your words for a moment. “I want to feel you, Jungkook.”

And he didn’t need anything else. The boy moved away from your body and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor alongside the rest of your clothes. It was no time for hesitation— he didn’t know how much of his precious alone time he had left. “Condoms.” He pointed at his nightstand. “Top drawer.”

You turned around on the bed, reaching for the furniture as the boy unbuckled his belt and clumsily removed his pants. The mattress bounced beneath you as Jungkook tossed himself around, finding a way to lose his balance as he threw his pants on the ground. Much to his relief, you weren’t paying much attention to it.

He was already panting — in a mixture of excitement and his pathetic effort to remove his pants — by the time that you gave him the condom. “Do you put it on, or do you want me to?” You asked.

Jungkook had trained on enough bananas to know that he could do it, but he wasn’t gonna let the chance to have you touching him down there pass. “You do it, please.”

You nodded, sitting next to his expectant figure. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell in anticipation, his muscles glistening with the small droplets of sweat that decorated his caramel skin. His cock was hard and heavy against the fabric of his grey underwear, practically calling for your care.

Attentively, you watched as his abdomen tensed up at the feeling of one of your hands pressing down against his clothed erection, delicately moving towards his crown. A gasp tumbled from his lips as you rolled your thumb against it, noticing the wetness that had already accumulated beneath your hand, and he rolled his hips against the pressure. Really, Jungkook was too precious.

“Please, don’t tease,” he begged, eyes following your every move. His cock throbbed in your hands, needy. “I don’t think I can hold it much longer.”

With a hum of agreement, you moved your hand away from his erection, and pulled his underwear down gently. Jungkook whimpered at the fiction, and the way his cock was freed from its constraints, bouncing back against his abdomen. The smallest of touches was more than enough for him to lose himself.

“Shhh, it’s fine,” you calmed him down, slowly (too slowly) rolling the condom on him. His hands clenched into fists next to him, grabbing handfuls of the white sheets. Okay, maybe you were being a bit mean. “Just tell me what you want.”

Jungkook closed his eyes for a moment, holding back a cry of frustration. “Ride me, please,” his words came out in a plea, his expression so permeated by need that you thought that he could cry if you teased him any further. God, everything was so perfect about him — the glistening in his onyx irises, the reddening of his lips as he bit down on them, trying to fight back a whimper as you placed yourself over him. “I— I need to feel you. I’m going crazy.”

There was no need for more convincing — again, you weren’t made of steel.

You sighed as you sank down on his member, one of your hands finding support against his pecs, as the other curled around his cock, guiding him inside you. Jungkook closed his eyes and threw his head against the alabaster pillow, his flower-like lips opening to cry out at the sensation. “Oh fuck,” he cursed. “Oh, baby, that’s so good.”

Seeing him like that, so submissive, so deliciously responsive to your faintest of touches, was, at the very least, extremely erotic. You loved to see the way he flinched and whined at the sensation of your walls clenching around him, his hands unsure of where they should be on your body. Awfully slow, you rose your hips from him, almost letting him slip out, before you shifted your weight back down, watching as Jungkook moaned out your name.

God, he was really about to fall apart.

Slowly, you began setting a pace, moving up and down on his cock. It was a lot slower than Jungkook expected, but it was just the right speed to make him appreciate every sensation of your body wrapping his own.

“Feels good?” you asked, a bit breathless. The sensation of him filling you up was even better than you had anticipated, and, combined with his shameless exclamations of pleasure, you didn’t think that you’d last much longer either.

Before he could answer, a tremulous sigh ruptured upon his mouth, reverberating just behind his teeth. Jungkook took another second to find his words, inhaling sharply. “So good,” he spoke, and you almost whined out at the lust that ornamented his voice. “Can you move faster? Please?”

Maybe in different times, you’d take your time to provoke him a bit more. At that point, though, you’d do anything he wanted you to. “Yeah,” you agreed, doing as requested. The sound of your wetness and the slapping of skin against skin was lewd, filling the room alongside Jungkook’s voice. “Like this?”

“Fuck, yeah, like this,” he cried out, closing his eyes in absolute euphoria. He could feel the movement of your asscheeks against his palms, the sensation enough to drive him insane. Jungkook was already amazed at the fact that he didn’t embarrass himself with premature ejaculation the second that you removed his underwear — but it didn’t mean that he didn’t get close to it. The second his hands squeezed your ass, he was positive he would end the game a bit earlier than the two of you would like. “It— it feels so good. Please, don’t stop.”

With a moan, you threw your body forward, placing kisses on the curvature of his neck, a sensation that quickly sent shivers down his skin. The new angle made his cock hit even deeper inside you, causing for you both to melt in pleasure. “You feel so good,” you told him, nails digging against his flesh. The knot in your stomach was all too familiar, and you knew that you wouldn’t take much longer. “I love having you inside me.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s good.” He mumbled, only half aware of the words leaving his lips. Jungkook’s eyes were dazed and unfocused, looking at nowhere in particular, his fingertips digging in your flesh. “You’re… you’re getting tighter.”

“Y-Yeah,” you agreed, voice coming out in a moan. “I’m close.”

He swallowed hard. “I can help,” he said.

Before you could ask what he was trying to do, Jungkook moved his hand back to your center, two of his fingers playing with your clit. You gasped at the sensation, eyes closing as you kept riding him, rolling your hips, feeling as he reached for every part of you. It was all becoming too much, the pleasure that decorated his features, the delicious friction of his body against yours, the frail moans that dropped from his tongue like honey. He was just too much.

With a faint call of his name — a melody that would be stuck in his head forever —, you finally crossed the threshold of your orgasm, and came around him; morphing into a trembling and moaning mess. Jungkook watched, in absolute awe, as your face was monopolized by bliss, your teeth sinking down on your bottom lip and your eyes rolling back.

He removed his hand from your heat, placing it on your waist. Using every final ounce of energy in your body, you continued riding him. Through parted lids, you noticed that his thighs were starting to shake, signaling that he, too, was close. “Baby,” the boy called out, his fingers digging to the sides of your hips. Jungkook was both trying to guide your movements, and hold himself back to reality. It was a beautiful view — the way his expression lingered somewhere between delight and distress; his hips mindlessly trusting up against yours. “I think I’m gonna cum.”

You breathed out through your nose, trying to ignore the pleasure that, now, was turning into sensitivity. It felt good, in a way, but you were more focused on his relief at that point. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you told him, “you can let go.”

He had been so polite the entire time, with his “please” and “thank you’s. So, of course, when you told him that it was okay for him to cum, he did just as you requested.

Jungkook came with gasping breaths and a trembling, high-pitched moan, holding on to you as he thrusted his last sloppy advances towards your core. His hands, weak, fell on the bed besides him, clenching the sheets; eyelashes fluttering down as he dwelled on the afterglow of his pleasure. You could stay there forever, looking at the pink shade that colored his cheeks; the beautiful mess that his black hair had turned into; or the tears of relief that accumulated at the corner of his eyes.

But everything has to end, even the most beautiful ones.

His tongue came out to wet his lips, and his eyes, still hooded, met yours. Not even the biggest minds in the renaissance could’ve thought of an image so perfect, so ethereal. “You’re so amazing,” he praised. “That was… amazing.”

You smiled and leaned in to place a soft kiss against his lips. His member slipped out of you at the action, and his arms curled around your waist, keeping you in place. “You did pretty well,” you mumbled as you lazily curled up against his chest. Jungkook’s body was a delicious source of heat, and you could really get used to that. “I see a bright future ahead of you.”

He hummed, caressing your hair. Jungkook could finally smell it without being creepy, so that was a big victory for him. “You did most of the work,” he said.

“That’s not an issue.” You nuzzled his neck, pleasantly feeling as goosebumps spread throughout his body. Always so responsive. “I’ll let you take the lead next time, if that sounds good to you.”

Jungkook chuckled. “That’d be great, yeah,” he agreed. Part of him thought about using a few tricks he learned during his late-night research, but he wasn’t super sure that it would be a good idea. Maybe he should keep that card up his sleeve for a bit longer in case he needed to surprise you later. “Do you want to spend the night? It’s kind of late to go back to your place now.”

The words fell from his tongue with ease, surprising the boy for an instant. He noticed that he was much more comfortable in your presence, like the pieces of the puzzle had finally fallen into place. Not because of the sex itself, he realized, but because of the vulnerability and intimacy that came with it. It happened just as it was supposed to.

“I’d love to.” You smiled, and placed a kiss against his neck. “But I’m going to kick you out if you start snoring.”

“Out of my own place?” He asked.

You sighed, voice filled by traces of your upcoming slumber. “Don’t you test me,” you spoke, wrapping your arms around him. “Medical school is killing me, I need some sleep. And I will get it no matter the price.”

Jungkook laughed at your tired words, one of his hands caressing your head in infinite delicacy. As he held to your body, curling so perfectly against his own, he knew that everything would be okay. And maybe he needed a good night of sleep too.

A few minutes later, as he started to feel the sensation of his consciousness slowly drifting away to the land of dreams, a bittersweet sentiment overtook his chest. There was an instant, even if ephemeral, in which Jungkook believed he would never see Yoongi and Taehyung again — after all, the two had already concluded their mission: Jungkook got the girl and there was nothing else left for them to do. In between two consecutive breaths, he felt both relief and solitude. Silence wasn’t as welcoming once he realized no voice could break it.

Though, his melodramatic moment was short-lived. Behind him, a known timbre cheered for him:

“I’m so proud, I feel like a soccer mom.”

2K notes · View notes

mythiccheroacademia · 4 years ago

Text

—lunch box

A/N: just another cute idea i had because i’m obsessed with barbarian/dragon king!bakugo and fantasy shit in general. some context: you and bakugo are betrothed—although, sometimes you wish you weren’t bc he can be a real asshole. luckily for you, he’s willing to work on it bc he likes loves you just that much. a litte angst (it wouldn’t be a mtha story without it) but it ends in fluff <3

Warnings: cursing

Your friends looked at their food with heart eyes and dug into the neatly wrapped box with fever.

“Ahh! Thank you for making this, Y/N!” one of them exclaimed. The other could only nod in agreement, too into your cooking to speak.

You smiled and waved them off. “It was nothing. Consider it a thank you for letting me copy the homework last night,” you chuckled.

“Did you cook one for Prince Bakugo? I’d imagine he’d love it! If there’s anyone’s cooking he loves more than his own, it’s yours!”

At the mention of his name, your expression fell. You looked down at the case of food you had prepared for him as an apology.

Four days ago, you two were hanging around his residence. You managed to get him to dance around with you. Well, it more like you were dancing and he was doing his best not to combust in embarrassment. Katsuki warned you that you shouldn’t be too reckless otherwise you’d break something.

Of course, you paid him no mind, too enthralled with your fun to notice your proximity to a nearby statue—one of the Bakugo family’s treasures.

One thing led to another, and you knocked it over, shattering it before either of you could even react. Your rich skin lost its glow and your boyfriend cursed something nasty.

Least to say, his parents were not happy. But instead of being rightfully scolded, Bakugo had taken the blame for it.

They found him attempting to clean it up and assumed it was his fault. You wanted to correct them, but he threw you a nasty glare, sealing your mouth shut. He was now under punishment until they deemed fit and from then on, he hadn't spoken a friendly word to you.

A little sigh escaped your lips. Your two friends looked at each other before offering you encouraging smiles.

“Hey,” one spoke, placing a hand on your knee. You met her gaze. “You should go give it to him. He’d love it.”

There was a moment of silence before you decided to act. Taking the spur of confidence, you stood up and briskly made your way to the other classroom. Just before you entered, you heard his voice and felt your heart waver with anxiousness.

However, now wasn’t the time to let doubt consume you. Things wouldn’t get better until something was done.

You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, before opening the door and walking in. Your eyes scanned the room and found the young dragon prince amongst his group of friends.

Jaw set, you walked over to them, hands firmly around the packaged food.

Kirishima saw you first and gave you a friendly wave.

“Hey Princess L/N!”

“Hi boys! How’re ya doing?” you politely asked, putting on your best smile.

They gave you an upbeat answer that lifted your spirits.

Despite that, you hadn't heard a response from Bakugo. In fact, he hadn't even looked at you—but you wouldn’t be disheartened. You fueled herself with faux confidence and held out the dish to your betrothed.

“I-I made you something small yesterday, as an apology,” you stuttered.

Katsuki finally looked up, indifference in his stare. Ruby eyes flickered down to the box filled with rice, chicken, vegetables, and a small pastry on the side. His favorite kind. For a moment, he seemed like considered your offer, but you suffered the low blow of humiliation when he turned away to look through the window.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. Should’ve given it to me earlier.”

Something in your stomach fell. Crushing rejection blossomed up your throat with each passing second. His words were cold, harsh, and unforgiving. It might’ve been stupid, overdramatic even, but it hurt.

Heartbroken wasn’t even the word.

Your nose burned, eyes blurring before you could stop it. Your chest tightened with embarrassment. Luckily, you mustered enough strength to hold in whatever was threatening to crumble you.

“Oh,” you dumbly responded.

“I’ll take it!” Kaminari excitedly said.

“No, I will! I’m still starving!” Kirishima chided.

You placed the box down, struggling to keep up your act.

“Split it between the both of you. I hope it’s good!” You internally winced over how high your voice had become. “I’m gonna to get going now. I’ll see you guys after school, yeah?”

And before anything else was said, you bolted straight out of the room. You hadn’t bothered to look at Katsuki. Knowing him, he probably hadn't noticed the strain in your voice.

As soon as you were out of sight, the tears flooded. You held your hands against your mouth, desperate to muffle your cries. You quickly took you into the nearest bathroom and you prayed no one had seen you lest there be questions. If you went to your friends, it’d cause a commotion. Your parents would eventually find out and you didn’t want any more problems.

So, you cried your eyes raw and eventually willed yourself to stop when it was time to return to class.

…

The week had gone by without another interaction. The weekend brought you some relief since you wouldn’t be forced to see Katsuki’s face for the time being. Or so you thought.

All you wanted to do was run some errands for your parents and then go back home and continue sulking. Yet the universe would not let you rest.

The moment you caught Bakugo’s eyes, you pivoted on your heel and booked it the other way. You assumed his anger with you would force him to keep his distance.

But you were thoroughly surprised to find he was following after you.

“Y/N,” he called.

Irritation and hurt filled your chest. You only walked faster, clutching the purse against her chest.

“Y/N, stop,” he demanded to which you promptly ignored.

This went on for a good thirty seconds until Bakugo decided he had enough. Without much noise, he ran up to you, grabbing you by the shoulder.

You weren’t having it.

You harshly shrugged off his hand. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, keeping your eyes forward.

“I need to talk to you,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Well I don’t want to talk to you. So maybe some other time.”

Truthfully, the crowned prince found himself shocked at your coldness. Despite your innate boldness, he wasn’t used to such an icy tone. Especially directed at him.

His father warned him to never attack in these situations, but Bakugo let his temper get the best of him. His first reaction was to frown and deal back harsher words.

“What’s your fucking problem, dumbass? When I say stop, stop!”

A spike of anger flooded your veins. You whirled around on your heel and glared at him with frosty eyes. You felt compelled to drop your papers and slap him, but instead, you settled for a finger in his face.

“First of all, I’m not some dog you can just order around, you jerk! And just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean I’m some girl you can treat like dirt whenever you feel like it! Until you apologize, leave me alone because my only problem right now is you. Bye.”

And just as quickly as you came, you turned to leave.

Now Bakugo was actually stunned. Forget, cold, this was a side of you he hadn't ever experienced. Admittedly, he hadn’t been spoken to like that from anyone besides his mother—and she only got away with it because she was not only the queen…but he was his mom.

Katsuki honestly didn’t know how to handle it. It was only then that he concentrated back on his father’s advice. Whenever his mother was upset with his dad, his father would fight back, but never with emotional anger. Always with humbleness and an understanding tongue.

It usually did the trick considering his mother could never stay upset with him for more than a night. It always struck the teen with hidden awe. Sometimes, Katsuki thought his dad was an angel.

Bakugo was no angel, but he hoped it’d have the same affect on you.

The blonde teen softened his face and walked up behind you. He stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist to lie his forehead against the decorated braids the fell down your back.

“Damn it. I’m sorry okay?” he lowly said, face burning from such a public display of affection. “Just hear me out.”

You didn’t speak and he clenched his jaw.

“Please.”

You inwardly cursed your rapidly beating heart. If it weren’t for how stupidly nice being in his arms was (he was definitely working out more), and the fact that you found him kinda cute begging for your permission, maybe you wouldn’t have caved in so easily.

For now, you’d blame it on the fact that you two were destined to wed. It was better to start dealing with fights now so, hopefully, the future held less of them.

You heaved a sigh, unwillingly ignoring your body’s urge to curl in his arms. Instead, you pulled away and turned to face him. You peered into unsure crimson eyes with as much harshness you could conjure.

“Fine. Speak,” you permitted.

There was a small pause as he gathered his thoughts. When he opened his mouth, you instantly regretted it.

“I’m still mad at you for being dumb and breaking one of family’s treasures. And I’m still fucking pissed that my old hag is on my ass about it,” he started and noticed how your eyes narrowed in contempt.

You were about to turn away, thinking this was a waste of time. However, Bakugo took a hold of your wrist before you could leave.

“Leave me alone! If you didn’t want to get in trouble, you should’ve just let me take the blame. I can't believe I thought you’d apologize—“

“Let me finish, princess.”

It was your title, yet you felt your stomach flip when it came from his lips. You refused to let it influence you…but you’d give him another chance.

Bakugo stepped closer to you. “I’m upset, but I took the punishment because I wanted to. You didn’t mean to break it. Accidents happen, I understand that.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, you softened your gaze a bit, eyes still lit with inquiry. “Why? Why would you do that if it meant getting in trouble? I could’ve taken the blame just fine.”

“Y/N, you freak the fuck out whenever you don’t get a perfect score on an exam. You try not to mess up and when you do, it’s like the world is ending,” he explained with a teasing smirk. You ungracefully snorted. He had a point. “When you broke the vase, I could hear your heart drop. You were two seconds away from crying. And when I saw how scared you looked I just—I don’t know.”

The look on your face was something between shock, surprise, and wonder. You blinked, thick lips parting slightly in awe.

“Katsuki…” you breathed to which the boy heavily blushed. Realizing how sappy he sounded, his mind screamed at him to cut it out.

Bakugo looked down and noticed he was still holding your wrist. He quickly let go and instinctively rubbed the nape of his neck.

“D-don’t be dramatic. I just didn’t wanna see you moping around or some shit. My father said that it wasn’t that important anyway…the vase I mean,” he mumbled.

Sure it wasn’t, you thought. What were you gonna do with this boy?

You supposed an apology was a good start.

“That was very nice and admirable of you Katsuki. Thank you,” you eventually said. “I’m still really sorry about the vase, and for being mean to you just now.”

He shook his head. “I know, but I’m the one that should be apologizing. I ain’t hafta treat you the way I did. I was being an ass for not accepting the food you made for me earlier.”

“Yeah you were, ya bastard.”

He chuckled at that. “The two idiots wouldn’t stop raving over how good it was.”

“Well, I had the best teacher in the kingdom,” you grinned.

“And I had an even better student,” he winked.

Your smile widened. Maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad.

You couldn’t help yourself when you heartily embraced him, enjoying how his arms slowly slithered around the small of your back. Your eyes met and you kissed him on the lips, leaving him with a little gasp. You pulled away and giggled under your breath.

“You know, you're a sweet guy underneath all that false bravado.”

“False brav—what the hell are you going on about!?”

Ignoring his explosive behavior, you readjusted the straps on your shoulder before turning on your heel.

“Don’t bring anything for lunch on Monday, okay? I’ll see you later, blondie.”

Despite his little tantrum, Bakugo still watched you disappear into the store with a gentle expression. You gave him more headaches than he cared for, but you were worth it. Besides, he was sure you could say the same for him.

Bakugo turned to leave and passed his fingertips over where your lips touched his own.

He’d never admit to the giddiness in his chest. He’d take that shit to the grave.

#mha #bnha fics #bakugo x black reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugo x poc!reader #mha fics #bakugo brain rot activated #barbarian bakugou #dragon king bakugo #mha x poc!reader #mha x black reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x reader

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oliviayamaoka · 4 years ago

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The Distraction Continuation (Ghostface / Jed Olsen / Danny Johnson x Reader)

As requested, this is a continuation of the Distraction fic I made. Check out the first fic if you haven’t already. Enjoy! :)

You sighed deeply as you crossed your arms, shutting your eyes in slight annoyance at what was to come. Another trial. You hadn’t been in one for a while but your break was rather short-lived. There were three others that stood by your side. Ace Visconti, David King, and Yui Kimura. You respected them and actually enjoyed their company. Ace was funny, David taught you a couple of things, and Yui was always nice to you, encouraging you.

“Where do you think we’ll go this time?” Yui asked you, nudging your elbow with her own. You instantly lit up. Human interaction was comforting.

“Haven’t been to Hawkins or Glenvale in a bit.” Y/N replied with a slight shrug.

“My bet is the asylum.” Ace interrupted, pointing finger guns with that stupid smirk of his. Yui rolled her eyes, she didn’t seem to like Ace very much. Not since he flirted with her one time, even if it was jokingly.

“We might actually be there if Ace himself says so.” David said as the familiar gust of air surrounded the four of you.

You shut your eyes tightly, getting chills from the cold fog and air. The smell of fire and spring overcame you. Y/N opened their eyes, realizing that Ace’s bet was right. As always. A small laugh escaped your lips, a feeling of enjoyment before all hell could break loose again.

Your gaze averted to the familiar structure of the Crotus Prenn Asylum. A sound played in your head, the screech of the Nurse. You were always curious about her but never got the chance to even talk to her unlike... no, it was one time. You weren’t gonna go around and try talk to killers like you did with him.

You put your palm to your forehead, cringing at the memory. Not in a bad way but maybe you could’ve done something differently. No, not really. Jed was a psychopath, a murderer. He was charming in a fucked up sort of way. You sighed as you walked towards a generator behind the grey brick walls.

There wasn’t any indication that it was the Pig or Freddy, thankfully. You began to work on the generator. Your thoughts turned to the fear of being hooked, stabbed, and hurt. You shuddered at the thought of it, the feeling of the hook would probably never leave you. Death was forever here, unfortunately. Elodie and Felix’s conversation had given you hope, maybe there was a way out of here.

“Shit.” You mumble as you shielded your eyes from the small explosion.

Y/N huffed. You felt slightly disappointed in yourself and began again. Your head perked up as you heard stomping. It wasn’t loud enough to be the Oni or Trapper.

You kept a head on the generator as you noticed a dark figure stomping towards you. You needed a moment to process the situation. It was Ghostface? Oh shit, it was him, you thought. Flashbacks of your last encounter played in your head, he was definitely pissed off and you couldn’t blame it at this point.

“Don’t fucking try it.” He muttered in reference to you breaking into a sprint.

You felt panic wash over you as you quickly observed your surroundings. There weren’t any nearby pallets or vaults, it was a random open area near a hill with a chest and hook. Perfect, just perfect. Ghostface was quicker than usual, he grabbed you by the waist aggressively to tackle you down.

Ghostface held a knife to the back of your head once you hit the ground. You grunted as he put down all his weight onto you and assured that you wouldn’t be able to escape. The ground felt so uncomfortable, especially against your face. There was a few moments of you struggling beneath him to escape but it became no use. You stopped struggling after he pressed the blade against your skin.

“Didn’t bring a toolbox this time, Y/N?” He asked mockingly, pressing his gloved finger over the small slit. You winced at the stinging sensation but it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

“You know how to hold a grudge, Jed.” You replied. You were utterly terrified yet you always felt the need to reply to his stupid remarks.

“Indeed I do.” He replied, grabbing you and making you stand up. He held the knife to your back and pressed it slightly.

Ghostface was actually angry. He didn’t seem to mind actually hurting you or pressing the knife into your skin. You gasped at the painful sensation as he looked around, he saw the killer shack. He held a tight grip on your shoulder as he forced you to walk that way.

You instantly knew where he wanted to go. You just hoped the basement wasn’t there. Of course, you had known that this day would eventually come. But, why now? It was such awful timing, especially with the blue mood you had. Once the two of you reached the shack, he shoved you onto the ground aggressively.

“You’re pathetic... talking and talking last time we met. Now, you’re just a shitty excuse for a survivor.” He said to you. You scoffed.

“If it helps, Jed, I’m sorry.” Y/N replied. Your hand reached to the back of your neck where he had cut you. There wasn’t much blood but it still hurt. You stared at your bloodied fingertips as the man got more infuriated.

“You don’t get to call me that. And why the fuck are you apologizing?” He questioned you. His tone was venomous, this terrified you but him killing you was inevitable and well... you wanted to see him, anyways.

“If you didn’t care, you’d have hooked me now. I must’ve really hurt your feelings, huh?” You said, half-jokingly but you were also genuine.

“I don’t care.” He replied to you almost instantly. You knew that was a lie.

“Then why won’t you hook me? You could’ve slashed my back open but instead you pinned me to the ground... weirdo.” You mumbled.

He fell silent for a second. Ghostface was a bit baffled by you. Why weren’t you begging for your life? The version he remembered of you was different, or maybe he killed too many survivors that would beg. Not only that but he planned this out thoroughly. He was practically counting on you to scream and beg for your life. Ghostface had even made an offering for this realm because he researched it extensively, as he did with most of his previous murders.

Despite what he may have thought, Y/N was absolutely terrified. However, there was a strange feeling of attraction to him. Not necessarily a crush just yet but there was also a rivalry in which you felt comfortable talking to him. He felt like a real person. Well, of course he was a real person but you had no trouble making shitty remarks to him.

“I want this to last because you were being a little bitch last time. I’ve been dying to slice you open and make you regret that stupid little stunt you pulled.” He said to you.

You sat up, bringing one knee to your chest casually. There was a feeling of bravery that washed over you like last time. Y/N sighed deeply and looked around the shack. It was a basic shake. No totem, no gen.

“Yeah, sure... then do it.” You said to him.

“You’re not making this any easier.” He replied, more annoyed with you.

“Nothing you do is gonna make me regret what I did. Even if you do kill me and make me suffer, I’m still gonna come back alive. I’ve been puked on, trapped, and even had some weird ass trap put onto my head.” You said, standing up and pointing your finger to his chest.

“But you, Danny, only have a knife. I know the Legion or whatever their names are can use that better than you. You’re just a weirdo with a mask.” Y/N finished.

Ghostface seemed rather stunned, yet offended. Mainly because he couldn’t doubt anything you said. It became known that the Legion studied the human anatomy extensively, more than Danny ever cared to do. His area of expertise was stalking and memorizing a person’s schedule. But still. his ego was always bigger than any logic. The cloaked man grabbed your wrist. He oddly didn’t grab it too tight, he lifted your arm over your head.

“And what does that make you? I’m still better than you to some degree. You’re trapped here because the Entity thinks you deserve it and I get to kill anybody I desire.” He said, the tip of his blade poking your stomach.

“I guess we’re both shitty people.” You shrugged as his grip somewhat loosened. He sighed deeply before throwing you towards the generator.

“I had hoped killing you would be satisfying.” He muttered, bitter that your reaction wasn’t what he imagined. You fixed your shirt slightly and leaned against the generator. A part of slowly began to accept the growing crush you developed on the strange murderer, you didn’t care at this point since you were damned to an eternity of trials.

“It probably would’ve been if you weren’t so easy to talk to.” You said to him as he snapped his head towards you, confused for a moment. Easy to talk to? He scoffed in response.

“Easy? You’re the fucking weirdo here.” He said, with a bit of a defeated tone.

“You’re no ladykiller, Danny, but... I’m charmed. I guess it’s something killers like you do though.” You said to him.

“I don’t charm or seduce people. I watch them.” He corrected you.

“Explains a lot.” You said, looking at your nails. Ghostface was quick to give into his ego and crossed his arms in a very stubborn manner.

“Actually, I did. As Jed Olsen, anyways. People were so trusting of him and neglected to suspect the new guy in town. It made it easy to watch people and I had a lot of excuses to spend hours doing so.” He said to you.

“Jed sounds nice.” Y/N shrugged.

“Well, Jed isn’t real, babe. He’s a shitty facade of what people like in a person. Made it so much easier for myself.” Ghostface said.

“Okay then,.. what did you do? As a career?” You asked him.

“I was a journalist and wrote for the Roseville Gazette. They made me cover my own killings and I did a good job doing so. Nobody could really understand my work though, no matter how much I tried to when I was Jed.” He said, a proud tone in his voice as he spoke. You were weirded out and cautious but you wanted to try and understand him.

“So, is that why you do it? For art?” You asked him as his head perked.

“That’s exactly why! There’s something very beautiful about the redness unique to somebody pouring out of them, even mixing with others. Not only that but just toying around and seeing how loud one can scream. Each scream is so unique and different. And just like art, you can fix your mistakes if it isn’t done right.” He explained, he seemed more relaxed.

“Fix? But wouldn’t they be dead?” You asked him, genuinely confused.

“You have to be an expert craftsman to fix it. A scream is a delicacy, something I choose not to indulge myself in often. Y’know, don’t want anybody hearing what goes on. When I do want to hear the screaming, it’s usually when my target has piqued my interest or mildly annoyed me. It feels rewarding after going through all the effort to memorize their lifestyle.” He said.

“A weird but cool way of looking at it, I suppose.” Y/N said.

You didn’t really care about morality at this point. Such things as the Entity exist, anyways, You weren’t sure what you did to deserve being stranded here. Even if you did have a weird romantic interest in him, so what? Why would the Entity care? Why would any Gods care? And even then, you seemed to have an interest in his hobby. Blood and killing didn’t faze you anymore.

“You think so?” He asked you.

“Depends on the person, I guess. I’d only do it to bad people.” You said.

“But, you’d do what I do?” He asked you.

“Yeah...?” You responded. Danny seemed a bit giddy.

“How would you do it?” Ghostface asked, he seemed way too excited to hear about your non-existent methods of killing.

“I don’t know...” Y/N replied, feeling somewhat flustered by how close he was to you. It was a different type of feeling when he wasn’t trying to stab you.

“If you want, I could show you some pictures and give you tips.” He said.

“And kill who? We’re stuck in this hellhole.” You reminded him.

“What about the other survivors? They can’t all be innocent.” Ghostface said to you. He had some appreciation for you since you listened. It was crazy how much this strange man can switch up.

“No, never. I’m not that crazy.” You said as the loud horn of the exit gates blared. You looked around, really surprised. He seemed just as surprised.

“That long?” He questioned.

“Guess I’m just that good of a distraction.” You said to him as he silently sighed in frustration but didn’t seem to care. A part of him enjoyed your talk.

“Guess you’re gonna be my one kill.” He said, shifting towards you and pushing you against the wall. You were taken aback by his swift movement.

You squirmed against his body, somewhat sliding downwards so kicking was pretty much useless unless you wanted to completely fall. The two of you grunted quietly as he turned you around, shoving your face against the hard wall. It was uncomfortable but he wasn’t being as rough as he usually was. At this point, you were scared of his knife so you tried pulling his hands away from you in the awkward position. Ghostface tightly pinned one of your arms on your back, you winced as he tugged on your hair.

He leaned inwards, poking his head towards your neck and hair. Ghostface took a moment to memorize your scent and what your hair texture might have felt like. For some strange reason, he seemed to want to learn everything about you. It might have been a bad idea for you to have opened him up about his art.

“Get off of me.” You demanded in a stern voice.

“You’re scaring me, Y/N.” He replied sarcastically.

You froze up when he slid his hand under your shirt, his fingertips trailing on your back. It wasn’t the motion itself but rather the feeling of his ungloved hand. You felt yourself go into a rather catatonic state, not in fear but you were quick to wonder why he would take his glove off. A thousand thoughts and scenarios played in your mind. His touch was soft but still managed to leave you with chills.

Ghostface, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself. He made notes of how soft your skin felt, his hand curiously wandered upwards. It wasn’t long before his hand wandered to your more sensitive areas. A gasp escaped your mouth as kept you pinned with his knees, his hands groping you a bit more roughly. Your face heated up when he squeezed you, you didn’t seem to struggle either.

“Fuck...” You whispered.

“If only we had the time.” He mumbled, sticking three of his gloved fingers into your mouth. Your eyes rested as you stared upwards, allowing him to continue touching you.

“I bet you’re getting all excited over this... if only I could capture the look on your face right now. How does it feel? Having somebody like me have their way?” He asked you. You felt aroused yet ashamed to oblige him.

“It feels good...” You managed to say, his fingers still in your mouth.

You felt the bulge in his crotch grow hard but this wasn’t the time or place. As much as he wanted to fuck you then and there, he needed to have some control over himself. He pulled his hands away and slid his glove back on. You let out a sigh of relief but also a whine. You knew just as much as he did that it just wasn’t the right time. You wiped the saliva from your lips and slowly stood up.

He pulled you backwards by your waist. You felt him rub his knife near your crotch, gliding it teasingly. His other hand wrapped around your neck. You heard him chuckle rather darkly. At this point, you seemed more hot and bothered than he was. Ghostface squeezed your neck a little harder, wanting to get one last sound of of you before he let you go. He didn’t care whether or not the Entity would be displeased or not.

“Guess you’ll have to be a whore some other time.” He said, cutting you on the arm slightly. You pulled your arm away quickly.

“Whatever.” You replied, flustered by his comment. Did that just happen?

“Better go before the Entity kills you itself.” He said to you.

“Right, right... see you around, Danny.” You said before quickly walking away and then running towards the exit gates.

His head tilted curiously. Ghostface wasn’t sure if he had feelings or not. He admired you for listening to him and asking some questions though. But, now that he knew you’d do things with him willingly, he had some ideas. A wide smile grew behind his mask as he began to fantasize about the photos he would eventually take.

You would probably come to regret your actions, seeing as his obsession with you would grow. Danny needed to know everything about you and even felt a bit possessive now. It didn’t matter, there was many possibilities within the Fog. Pray that you’ll be ready for your next meeting.

NOTE: Currently writing a full fledged Danny fic with a different plot but have the sequel to the Distraction. Ty for reading!

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #jed olsen #jed olsen x reader #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #dbd fanfic #dbd x reader

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years ago

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The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Three

If you had a home, it would be Bucharest, even though you despise the place. It was the first place you went when you got free, because you know he’s here somewhere, conducting his evil machinations from the shadows, shielded by layer after layer of vile men across the globe doing his dirty work. There are plenty of men out there deserving of your particular brand of justice, but no one more so than the Viper. Sometimes you think that, if you can just find him and take him out, you might be able to move on—try to make a normal life for yourself, whatever that looks like. You don’t allow yourself to think about what will happen if you finally achieve your life’s goal and it’s still not enough for you.

You remember everything about the day you learned of the Viper’s existence. You were just 7 years old, one of many little girls packed into a shipping container. You had no idea how long you’d been in there or how long you would be in there. It smelled rancid, and there was never a moment of quiet. Most of the girls were screaming or crying, but a few (like you) were silent, just observing. You don’t know who sold you from your orphanage and shipped you off to Dreykov and you never will. What you do know is that you had no family to miss and no one to miss you, so you didn’t understand what the others were so upset about. From the very beginning, you adjusted to life as a Widow almost effortlessly, which is its own form of tragedy.

Others, though, they were stolen away from people who loved them. This seemed a foreign concept to you when you heard about it from the tiny, sobbing girl huddled next to you in the shipping container—the girl who told you about the Viper, the girl who would become your first and only friend until Dreykov took control of all of your minds. Once you were given the serum, your memories were locked up inside your own heads—none of you could have talked about your past lives even if you’d wanted to. Your words were not your own. You didn’t know what was real and what was planted there. Sometimes you still don’t, and nothing terrifies you more than that.

You have no idea how many little girls the Viper funneled to Dreykov over the years, but it was probably a decent amount. His real bread and butter had always been sex trafficking, and he’s still doing it—on an even larger scale if your intel is correct (which, of course, it is). But he won’t be operating for much longer, not now that you’re so close you can almost taste the venom. You were barely 8 years old when you decided you would kill him, and now you have your chance. You are so close, closer than you’ve ever been, but he keeps slithering out of your grasp. And so you’re in Bucharest, again, looking for answers, again. But you have other business, too—almost as important, if not more so.

You head to the safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building doesn’t look like much on the outside, but you’ve made sure the inside is comfortable enough for the women and children who live there. The matron greets you at the door and you hand her this month’s envelope, which contains enough cash to feed everyone for the next two months, keep the lights and the water on, and some extra to fix the plumbing issues that have been plaguing the building since you bought it.

The building can house about 40 people comfortably—it’s not nearly enough, and you’re determined to create as many safe spaces as you can, but it’ll do for now. For now, you have to select your charges according to a very strict criteria: they are all women and children (and the children of women) who have been bought and sold by the Viper. Some of them escaped on their own; some of them had assistance from you and the very few people you trust in the city. But all of them have suffered, and all of them have information that you need. Individually, it’s not much, but the more women you talk to, the more pieces of the puzzle you have to work with.

Besides for the cash drop, today you’re here to see the newest resident: Irina, a 19-year-old beauty your Bucharest contacts had managed to snatch from one of the sex clubs. Irina was delivered to the Viper at 12, and her life since then has been an endless nightmare that you can’t think about for too long without feeling physically ill. She’s sitting by the window in the living room, cupping a steaming mug of tea, when you approach her. You walk towards her slowly, and when Irina looks over at you, there is recognition in her eyes even though you’ve never met.

“You’re the Widow,” she says.

“Not anymore,” you reply. “But if that’s what you’d like to call me, go ahead. May I sit?” She gestures to the seat opposite her and you settle in for a chat. “I’d like to ask you some questions, Irina. Is that ok?”

“The others told me you’d be coming.” She speaks softly, her voice hoarse from screaming or crying or both. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll never catch him, you know.”

“I disagree,” you say, “but I need more information.”

“Alright,” she agrees, “if you think it will help,” and you begin the gentlest of interrogations.

Irina tells you that for the first several years after she was taken, she hadn’t heard anyone mention the Viper. She thinks that a lot of the girls probably knew about him or came directly from him, but no one would talk about it because it was too dangerous or traumatizing (or both). Things were different at her last club, though. When you ask her how many of the girls at Delirium knew about him, she tells you that several of them had passed through him somewhere along their journey. One of them—one far too young to be working there—even admitted that she’d been with him only two months earlier.

Finally, after all this time, you’ve got a clear line from point A to point B. You feel it in your bones that Delirium holds the answers, that if you can just get in and poke around a bit, you’ll be able to find him. You take Irina’s hands in yours and thank her for her help, and then you hear it: heavy footsteps coming down the hall. No woman or child in the building weighs enough to make a sound like that, and no men are allowed on the premises. You know who it is before you see him.

*****

Bucky watches you enter the building from his position on the roof across the street. His contact had told him that there were whispers of a Widow safehouse at this address, though no one would dare set foot within 10 blocks of the place to find out. Bucky doesn’t believe the rumor, though. He knows you work alone, that you pride yourself on it. He assumes this is just one of many places where your targets meet their ends, and he knows enough about Bucharest to know that there are a lot of men in this city who fit your modus operandi.

Still, something is off. It’s not an empty building. There have been women and children coming and going all morning, and nearly all the apartments seem occupied. Why would you choose to do your dirty work in a place with so much activity, with so many innocents around? That seems not only impractical but beneath even you. He’s lost in these thoughts, checking each window with his binoculars, when he settles on a beautiful young girl staring out the window, looking desperately sad. She turns to look at someone he can’t see, and then he sees you emerge from the shadows and take a seat opposite her.

There’s a softness to your face—a gentle kindness—that knocks the wind out of him. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you, analyzing your body language and facial expressions to try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is the last thing he expected to see, and he tells himself that this woman must be hiring you for a job—except the woman is nothing but a broken child and doesn’t look like someone who would be taking out a hit on somebody (and certainly not someone who could pay for one).

It’s unnerving, watching you this way, and Bucky is no longer sure that what he’s doing is right. There’s something about your interaction with this girl that makes him feel like a voyeur, witnessing an intimate moment that he should not be seeing but that fascinates him nonetheless. Still, he’s here, you’re his mission—albeit one he took upon himself—and he needs to finish it. By this time, Natasha and Steve are almost certainly on their way, and Bucky needs to get to you before they show up. He went rogue and committed to this plan; now he just has to execute it. He’ll deal with the consequences later.

Bucky makes his way across the street and around the back, where children’s toys litter the small yard of weeds and dirt. When he gets to the back door, he notices that it isn’t the usual ancient rusted lock that one finds on the old buildings in this neighborhood; it’s brand new tech. There’s a pretty decent security camera setup around the building, too.

What the hell is this place?

Bucky has two choices: he can rip the door off the hinges, or he can scale the building and climb in the open window on the top floor. You’re going to be homicidally pissed either way, so he might as well not destroy any property—you may be a monster, but the other tenants here look like civilians, and he doesn’t want to sacrifice their security in his quest to bring you in.

Bucky makes it into the building and weaves his way through the hallways. Along the way, he runs into a few women, and each one of them freezes when they see him. They are shocked and deathly afraid—a look he knows far too well—and they scurry back to their apartments and lock the doors. With his hair cut short, baseball cap pulled down, and leather jacket and glove hiding his prosthetic, it doesn’t seem possible that all of these women would immediately recognize him as the Winter Soldier. That’s what it feels like to him, though, and it’s a gut-punch sensation he does not like at all.

When he gets to the sitting room, the girl you are with has the same look of terror, and for a moment, so do you. But you snap back to yourself quickly—having gone from soft to terrified to hostile within a span of about 15 seconds. Before he can react, you stomp towards him, grab him by the jacket, and hiss, “Not here.”

Bucky hears you speak to the girl in Romanian, “Don’t be afraid, Irina. He’s a friend,” although he knows you think him anything but.

The second you get him into the hallway, you’ve got your knife to his throat. Even with your cold blade nicking his skin, Bucky fights the impulse to disarm you. He doesn’t want to fight you. He knows that he’s intruded on something here, though he doesn’t know what, and he actually feels guilty. He could break you in half if he wanted to, but he lets you pin him to the wall—lets you feel like you’re in control.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you growl.

“You know why I’m here,” Bucky replies, but he doesn’t know—not really, not anymore. “What is this place?”

“It’s somewhere safe,” you say, “or it was until you showed up. No boys allowed, Soldat. Time to go.”

You catch him off guard when you flip him around and throw him through the nearest door, and before he can regain his balance, you kick him straight through the window and into the yard two storeys below. The fall is nothing to Bucky, and he knows that you know that, but it certainly made a statement. He looks up at the broken window he’d just crashed through and sees you peering out with a satisfied smile on your face.

Bucky calls up to you, “I just want to talk.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

“I mean it,” he says, and he actually does. “You can pick the place.”

He watches as you consider his offer, weighing your options—you obviously don’t trust him, but it’s clear that the sanctity of this location is important to you. Now that he’s violated it, you can’t just let him wander off. You agree to meet with him that evening—in public, at a club in Old Town.

“Come alone, Soldat,” you call down to him, “and if you tell anyone about this place, I’ll throw you out a higher window.”

Bucky tries to hide his tiny smile but he knows you see it, just like he sees the little quirk of your lip just before you disappear. He hoists himself off the ground and brushes himself off. When he turns to leave, he sees a little girl holding hands with her mother. He has no idea how long they’ve been standing there, but the girl is pointing and giggling at him.

The little girl asks, “What happened to him, mama?”

“The Widow’s bite,” she replies.

*****

“He’s not going to hurt her, Natasha,” Steve says as he prepares the Quinjet for landing.

“She might not give him a choice,” she replies, strapping herself in. “What the hell was he thinking coming here alone?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “There’s something about this girl that’s really gotten under his skin.”

Natasha looks at Steve, asking the question with her eyes she wouldn’t dare say aloud, and he picks up what she’s putting out.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. All of that programming… it’s gone. You know that. He’s just Bucky now.”

Natasha nods in agreement, but a part of her still has questions—not whether the deprogramming worked, she knows that it did, and she trusts Bucky with her life. No, Natasha’s concern is what is going on inside Bucky’s head. He was doing well, he was adjusting, he was finally ok, but the existence of you seems to have triggered something in him that the words never had. The words made him cold and empty and ready to comply, but you—you make him think, and Natasha knows how dangerous it can be to dwell too much on things you’ve left in the past.

When Steve and Natasha arrive at Bucky’s old apartment, it’s empty, but there are small signs of life—the indent of a head on the pillow on the floor in the corner, an apple core just starting to brown. He’s been there, and recently. Natasha and Steve don’t know who he would still have contact with in Bucharest, so they are left with nothing to go on. Bucky knows how to cover his tracks, and he left them just enough crumbs to get them to Bucharest but not enough that they could find him when they got there.

“He wants us to trust him,” Steve says, “to wait for him to bring her back here.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, Steve. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Steve asks.

Natasha sighs and looks out the window. “I have no idea,” she replies, and that’s when she sees it: a piece of graffiti spraypainted on the wall of a building down the street—a coiled snake ready to strike.

The memory hits Natasha like a freight train. She knows that symbol. She knows what it means. She knows exactly who you’re looking for and it seems absurd to her now that she hadn’t thought of it before.

“Let me make a call,” she says. “I think I know why she’s here.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dark!reader #dark!fic #the widow and the wolf

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kitten-ly · 3 years ago

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It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

~ ~ ~

Chapter Four

~ ~ ~

After lunch, Hiccup went off to work the forge, leaving Astrid, for the first time, unsure what to do with her day. She truly did not want to see the other boys she normally would spend this time with. In fact, she would rather do anything than train with them today, so breaking out of her mundane routine, she decided to use this liberty to hunt.

Not someone to regularly shoot a bow, unfortunately, she was required to make a stop at the training arena to collect the weapon from her personal rack, where she knew the guys would be.

Once the arena dawned into sight, her heart began to pound harder.

Please, just none of you fucking talk to me, she thought to herself, tucking a long strand of loose hair beneath her circlet as she passed under the shady branches of a maple tree. As she drew closer, she could hear the loud male voices scattering over the dry field.

The moment Astrid had set one foot through the doorway, she concluded this was the worst decision she had made today.

To her worst nightmare, she caught a glimpse of Cato and the other boys, not actually practicing real tactics or anything but messing around, trying to balance swords on their feet, and tackling each other like idiots.

Some of the guys here weren’t so bad; they didn’t display any belligerent, possessive behaviors towards her, like Ramsey or Tom. They were friendly for the most part, but not usually towards other people. She had grown up around these boys, but was never really close with them, until the past year or so, but even now she wouldn’t exactly call herself ‘close’ with any of them.

The last thing she wanted was for Cato to see her. She was furious with the way he talked to her and Hiccup at lunch today. In an instant, she changed her mind about the stupid bow and spun around sharply. She didn’t need to hunt anymore, she could just go home and—

“Hey! Wait!”

Fuck. She walked faster.

It was too late, he had seen her.

She could only advance a few paces outside the arena before her worst demon caught up with her.

“I need to talk to you,” Cato’s chilling voice turned her stomach as he approached from behind. After lunchtime, such a minor interaction was enough to set her off.

“What do you want?” She whipped around, doubling on him. The moment she was speaking to him again, her anger and animosity seemed to flourish. “Are you happy with yourself? Causing a scene back there? Fucking ridiculous.”

“I know, I know,” he said, it was somewhat unexpected he identified his mistake, “I’m sorry. I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to explode on you, I just lost my temper.”

Though at this moment, he seemed good-natured, the confession felt very rehearsed. She tried to speculate what his real intentions were.

“I just don’t understand what was going through your head...” she was still reluctant to speak to him, leaning away from his vicinity, ready to bolt at any given second, “We’re not together, Cato. I’m not yours to tell what to do.”

He smirked this haughty little way, narrowing his eyes.

“Everyone here already knows that you and I are going to get together sooner or later,” he said to her arrogantly, as if letting someone in on a secret.

“Apparently everyone but me,” she retorted, unable to hide the disgust from her face.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you!” His cultured demeanor perished after receiving her reaction, “But you and I, both, know damn well we had something going.”

This was beginning to feel like less of an apology and more of a confrontation.

“Yeah, maybe in your delusional mind,” she said bitterly.

He continued, ignoring her remark.

“Look, I said I was sorry,” he insisted, banking a bit closer to her, the discomfort was like a thorn driving into her foot. “How long are you going to keep up this bratty little attitude?”

“Whenever you decide to stop pissing me off. You’re acting like a jerk,” she crossed her arms over her chest, disliking how small she felt beneath his hulking figure. “And if you’re really sorry, then you’ll apologize to Hiccup too.”

“HA!” He practically screamed in her face, “Are you fucking serious?”

Astrid’s blood boiled in response to his childish feedback, inducing the unpleasant memory of their prior encounter to sting her like a bee—the image of him snarling to her wickedly about Hiccup as if he wasn’t sitting right there.

“Yes, I’m dead serious,” her tone was ice cold, “You owe him an apology and you better do so if you ever want to talk to me again.”

“What is so interesting about him?” He sneered, undermining her threat, “He’s awkward and he’s weak as a child and severely underweight! The kid probably weighs like ninety pounds. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you.”

She found it frivolous how Cato really assumed he would be able to degrade Hiccup in her eyes by listing his physical attributes to her, that for one, she was already well aware of and two, had even grown to appreciate in the more recent hours.

In all actuality, the only thing Cato was doing, was embarrassing himself by acting like a jealous moron and getting under her skin in the process. She took the high road anyway.

“Mm, I like him. He’s fun-size.”

Cato’s jaw dropped absurdly.

“What?” He took a second to gather his train of thought, before shaking his head in irritated bewilderment.

“I knew you were jealous of him,” Astrid taunted smugly.

“How do you expect him to pick you up or carry you?”

What! How did we start talking about this? Astrid’s heart lept into her throat at his words. At the thought of Hiccup holding her, she felt the hot wind of embarrassment flare over her cheeks.

“Why are you automatically assuming he and I are like that?” She narrowed her eyes. Though she held her composure, she wasn’t fooling anyone.

He ignored any objections out of her, continuing the charade.

“Or protect you from big, bad guys like me?” He sneered, catching onto her fluster.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, desperately wishing she wasn’t so red in the face.

“You need someone who’s strong and tough enough to handle a woman like you,” he said smugly, standing up a little taller, “And I’m here to fill that role.”

She rolled her eyes. This was the most ridiculous bullshit she had ever heard. She knew he was going to pull this. This is the reason why she was trying her best to avoid interacting with him.

“I don’t want to be with you,” she said coldly.

“Why? Because you would rather be with him?” He sounded like a pouty, little kid.

“I’d pick him over you in a heartbeat,” it came flying out of her mouth, she hadn’t given herself time to even think.

His jaw dropped again, an overplayed reaction she still found amusing.

She couldn’t believe she was admitting this to Cato, but it was the truth and she knew it would burn him.

“Don’t sell me that shit. You’re lying! You’re only saying that to piss me off.”

“No, I’m not. He’s nice and sensitive and thoughtful. Everything that you’re not.”

Throughout her earlier teen years, given her environment and peers, naively, Astrid felt as if she knew everything, thinking she had herself figured out and she had decided that she knew exactly what type of guys she was attracted to. However, it wasn’t until more recent times that she began to find her colleagues rather irritating, boring, and tedious.

Now finally, it had registered in her maturing mind the genuine kind of boy she truly desired for herself. Once she had a taste of Hiccup, he was all she ever wanted in a person.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t like me for years,” he growled. She was getting tired of hearing his voice and would make a point to get out of here.

“I only tolerated you,” she sighed.

“You’re making shit up because you’ve switched sides now,” he snapped back readily, his veins jumping out of his red hot neck.

He was always in denial. In his sick head, he would never accept the truth.

“Switched sides? This isn’t a fucking game.”

“Yes, it is, Astrid!” He seethed, his rage boiling to the surface, “This is your little game. Your cruel way of torturing me!"

“What are you talking about?”

He’s insane!

“What happened between us!?” He demanded, his voice rising so loud she knew the other guys had heard it.

“I’ve outgrown you,” she said, bored.

“Well, you’ve certainly downgraded!”

It felt like quite the opposite, but she was done going back and forth with this ogre.

“Get bent,” she bid him farewell and began to storm off, but before she could get a few paces away, her wrist was seized in Cato’s powerful grip.

“You better not fuck him,” he hissed in her ear, her stomach twisting sourly.

The idea in open-air sent flames scorching over her cheeks. She ripped her arm violently from his grasp.

“I can do whatever I want.”

She split off again, walking quicker this time, to distance herself as fast as she could from this psycho.

“This fucking game isn’t over!” She heard him yell at her and she swiveled around gracefully with a sarcastic smirk for one last remark.

“Yeah, have fun playing with yourself.”

~ ~ ~

After choosing a light, one-handed sword, Hiccup hung up his apron and left the forge right on time, just as the tired sun had begun to set.

He started along the trail that navigated through Berk, illuminating the dusk with crackling torches, freshly ignited aside the setting sun. The immense, blistering honeycomb melted over the horizon, bleeding streaks of burnt gold and ginger that reflected off the coastline.

Despite the excitement broiling inside of him, he walked at a rather mellow pace, waving his sword around playfully, as he followed the highland path amidst horned cottages.

Hiccup was certain he had soot and ash smudged over his face from working the past couple of hot, smoggy hours for the local blacksmith. It would have been ideal if he could stop home and bathe first, but he wasn’t sure if he had enough time.

In some miraculous blessing, Astrid had wanted to see him again. This was the second time she had asked him to spend time with her. It was really beginning to feel like she had a little thing for him.

He had plenty of evidence to back this concept up. At lunch earlier today, she had reached for him, grabbing his hand not once, but twice, and as if were some kind of beautiful fantasy, she went on to tell him how much she cares about him.

But there was much more to it than just that. Hiccup had added it all up in his head like math and the truth couldn’t be any more blatant.

It was the magnetic energy between them. The way she said things to him. How could she make such a basic statement so intimate? It was the way she teased him, giggling whenever he got all red. It was very much the way she was too focused on him, leaning over the table like there was nothing else in the fucking world.

Gods, she was so exciting. He could never forecast what she was planning to do next to catch him off guard. Nobody in the world had ever had him so jumpy before, even his bullies. Being near her was a fever, intoxicating him with an addictive rapture he hadn’t experienced before.

The two of them had agreed to meet at sundown. She had instructed him to find her at the top of a very specific hill along the overgrown outskirts of the village, however, it quickly occurred to him that most hills happened to look the same and proved to be rather difficult to differentiate from one another.

As the cottages thinned out, growing sparser apart, he drew upon an entire chain of hills that overlooked the coast and he wondered to himself how in the hell he was going to find her.

He slid his sword in the baldric, then picked a tall slope, figuring she would be easier to spot from atop, and sauntered up the incline. It was steep enough for him to slip and slide a bit in the dry grass upon losing his footing.

It was windier up here, twinkling with lightning bugs, the long ferns of tan grass so tall they nearly brushed his waist.

The sky that had previously been the colour of amber honey, when Hiccup had initially left the forge, had baked to a spell of mulberry twilight, the palest of stars grazing prematurely in the highest indigo point of the heavens.

“Hey, you,” a soft, familiar voice behind him sent a hot wave rolling up his spine.

Hiccup braced himself for the adrenaline rush that always accompanied her presence. He turned around to greet her pretty face and was struck by the expensive way she smiled at him, an unspoken promise that there was no one else she would rather see. Her steel axe was gripped loosely in one hand, the gleaming blade partially submerged in the deep prairie.

“Oh, hey, Astrid,” he said as coolly as he could manage. “I was looking for you.”

The last hope of sunlight caught the pale of her gold locks, carelessly entailed in a braid.

“Well, lucky you. You found me,” she said as if they had been playing hide and seek together, yet, he picked up on intimate undertones. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he answered uniformly, which was quite an understatement, but the cogs in his mind couldn’t seem to spin fast enough to think of something witty.

“Look at you,” she smiled, glancing down at the sheathed sword on his waistband. “Listening to my suggestions.”

“My father always told me to take advice from girls,” he joked, earning a charming laugh out of her.

“We always know better,” she agreed.

Her eyes gleamed vibrant shades of cool, reflecting off the marine water. He was starting to finally beat his ever-lasting battle with maintaining her impossible eye contact.

He always thought she was so beautiful, but now, the light was hitting her just right, the wind blowing gracefully through her bangs, he never had seen anything or anyone so effortlessly perfect.

“Alright. Now whip it out,” she was suddenly saying to him.

“What?”

“The sword, Hiccup,” she clarified, turning bright red. “Unsheathe it.”

“Oh, right,” he smirked sheepishly, certain he was mirroring her shade of scarlet as he drew his blade.

He silently cursed at himself when suddenly it was a struggle again to look her in the eye.

“Okay, let’s see what you got, Haddock. Try to hit me,” she jumped into a defensive position, holding her axe up.

Suddenly, she was a moving target in a game he had given up on a long time ago.

His sword felt terribly heavy as he reminded himself failure was not an option.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he came up with a weak protest.

She chuckled softly at his concern, a half-expected reaction.

“Hiccup, you won’t be fast enough to strike me.”

He found it very attractive how confident in herself she was. And just because she said that it made him kind of wanna prove her wrong.

“Alright…” he still hesitated.

The apprehension gripped him. What if he completely misses or trips and falls and she laughed at him? What if his sword flails off the wrong way? Once she saw his lack of combat skills, she would most definitely realize how useless he is in a Viking society and give up on whatever chemistry they were brewing.

Well, he hoped she wasn’t that shallow. From what he could gather between the last couple of days she seemed genuine, but more importantly, she was nice to him and it even felt like she liked him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to impress her in this field of skill, but he could at least play the role of her student compliantly.

“Any day now,” she teased impatiently.

This was the only prompt he needed. Hiccup reluctantly gave his sword a swift, unsure swing, and their steel collided with a piercing clash on impact, sending a thunderous wave vibrating up his scrawny arms.

“Not bad at all!” She praised him and he couldn’t help smiling, feeling a swell of relief under her approval.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Now try it again, this time swing with a little more force,” she instructed, holding her axe defensively again.

He realized at this point she could handle herself just fine. He thrashed the sword again this time much harder, the clash ringing in his ears.

“Good,” she breathed, a bit winded, still holding her axe up to block, “Try again, this time don’t slow down before it makes contact.”

He slashed his thin sword against her axe once more, but hesitated just the same again, on accident, losing momentum right before the strike.

“You’re still holding back. Use a fluid motion, follow through the entire swing,” she explained to him patiently.

He felt a bit like a naive, younger sibling being taught how to do something elementary. Yet, he brushed this feeling off and readied his sword again, detecting the joyful gleam in her eyes. At least she was having a good time.

“Remember, Hiccup, treat it as an extension of your own arm. Be one with the sword,” she reminded him. He watched the way her mouth moved while she talked, catching the glimmering white of her teeth in the opening starlight. It was getting difficult to make out her fine details in the augmenting dark.

Hiccup thought back to earlier when Cato had prowled over to them, furious with Astrid because she had not sat with him. He couldn’t handle the sight of her sitting beside and talking to his human punching bag. And as entertaining as it was to watch him act like an idiot in front of Astrid and some of the other kids, he couldn’t stand to see him yell at her and treat her like his little pet.

According to Astrid, she and Cato had no romantic relations once so ever, yet Hiccup still felt a heavy, uneasy tension between the two of them, like maybe something was going to happen that never did?

Hiccup was could not distinguish a clear picture between the two of them, however, he was certain that Cato harnessed an empty hatred for him or maybe a strange obsession with him, or perhaps both.

But at the end of the day, he would never fail to torment the younger boy at any opportunity he got, as a dominant wolf would abuse a runt to keep him feeling inferior.

Hiccup, irritated by these thoughts, swung his blade precisely, this time his serve was clean and steady, a brilliant strike that threw them both off guard.

“Well done!” she applauded his new, developing, sword skills. He did not fail to catch the adoring look she gave him as she lowered her axe, “You’re a very fast learner.”

A spark fused between them, this desire to impress her seized him.

“Well, what can I say?” He shrugged, smiling bashfully, “I have a great teacher.”

“Aw. Hiccup,” her voice came out shy, hardly above a murmur as she started blushing a good bit, unsure how to take the compliment, “you’re so sweet.”

“That’s strange, I’m usually described as sour.”

She giggled absurdly and leaned his way, remarkably charmed by him and quite flushed.

Why did it almost feel like she wanted to kiss him?

Her laugh was a beautiful harmony of chords, a lovely sound he found would be difficult to forget.

He could tell she wasn’t used to feeling this way, and she certainly wasn’t accustomed to a boy talking to her like this—so innocently—considering the aggressive maniacs she usually hung out with.

It was so good to finally be able to think she had mutual feelings for him. For years, as long as he could remember, it had been a one-sided feeling—just a wistful, longing, never-going-happen crush on her.

A gust of cool salty wind drifted in off the ocean, blowing him back out of thought as it grazed over his face and the hilltop and sailed through her long braid like a flag.

The sky had sunken to its final form a deep navy-black, dazzling with bright clusters, billions of luminous, dancing stars.

“Let’s go practice more by the tide,” she suggested, flicking her head towards the waves breaking along the shore.

He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, struck by a spontaneous wonder of how and why this all came to be. He still could not determine if hanging out with this girl was truly real or not. It all felt like a dream, too good to be true, and any moment he’ll wake up disappointed in his bedsheets.

“Yeah, good idea,” Hiccup’s methodical reply was a little too delayed, causing a storm of rouge to resurface over her cheekbones.

“We can practice all the defensive stuff too,” she continued on, delivering with less spirit.

“I feel like I might be better at that, than all the swinging and stabbing” he admitted. “What do you think?”

Hiccup hadn’t paid attention to any of the basic fundamentals of melee combat when they had first been taught, years ago, around the age of eleven or twelve. Now, he could only make an effort to participate in ranged combat such as crossbow and archery drills.

Most of the time, on the days Berk had dedicated to a prescription learning program for the Viking youth, Hiccup was able to convince (beg) Gobber to let him work at the forge if he didn’t wish to participate in whatever violent lesson they were revising that day, which seemed like a good idea to Hiccup at the time, but in the long run, unfortunately, it resulted in a severe lack of knowledge in battle education.

“Yeah, defense might suit you better,” she agreed shortly, following in his lead down the extensive slope towards the beach. As they waded through the weeds, she added after some thought, “It’ll be difficult, though, if your opponent is quick, especially if they’re quicker than you, you have to keep your guard up at all times.”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. But if my guard is always up, when am I supposed to strike?” Hiccup asked curiously, feeling more and more like a student by the question.

“There’ll be a second of opportunity, and you go for the most vulnerable area,” she explained, “or probably less than a second. More like a blink of an eye.”

The long grass began to thin out to dry and scratchy brambles just before breaking into sand.

“But don’t worry about that,” she said. “Just try to deflect my swings with your sword for now.”

“Okay,” he said, feeling far more confident this time around than during their first spar.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore was crisp and much louder than he had heard in a while. He couldn’t remember the last time he was down here on the beach.

“Alright, let’s go over the basics,” Astrid initiated the lesson. “Hold it like this to block.”

She demonstrated a textbook defensive stance, shielding her axe in front of her face and chest area.

Hiccup mirrored her technique, which was a simple task, and she did not waste any time grading him.

As she raised her axe to strike, he kept in mind to hold his grip tight and unrelenting and to keep his sword steady because he knew that the impact was going to be—

Clash!—

Brutal. He was blown away by the power of her swing, rattling up his arms. The loud, steel ringing swelled in his ears for a few moments after.

“Again,” she breathed, before giving him time to think, another strike crashing against his sword.

He knew she was strong but he couldn’t have predicted it was to this volume. It didn’t feel as if he were sword fighting with a fifteen-year-old girl. If he were blindfolded, he might have very well guessed his opponent was a grown man, just judging by the degree of power in her swing.

“It’s not so bad, huh?” Astrid checked on him.

“Yeah, it’s easy,” he lied in a tired breath. Though he was winded and growing fatigued, he was determined to impress her. “Let’s keep going.”

“Alright,” she smiled at him, though she didn’t sound very convinced.

Without hesitating, Astrid tested a couple of harsh swings against his sword, playfully catching him at different angles.

His block timing was remarkable, gauged by the expression on her face.

“You’re keeping up with me very well,” she paused to notice in a breathless pant.

Hiccup hardly had time to acknowledge her praise, before she was knocking her heavy weapon against his again.

He continued to block her oncoming attacks, never failing to miss a beat.

He wasn’t sure how long they had been dueling for, but it seemed like a lot of time had passed before finally, his arms began to feel like jelly and he was ready to give out.

“Astrid, hey,” the intro to his objection was weak, not wanting to be the one to wanna tap out first.

She stopped firing her light shots on him and lowered her axe.

“Tired?” A smile twitched over her face as she pulled his next complaint right out of his mouth.

Hiccup gave a hesitant nod in reply, unexplainably shameful for his lack of energy, his sword, heavier than ever, relaxed in his spent grip.

“Don’t worry, I’m tired too,” she admitted to his relief, allowing him to find some comfort in ceasing their practice.

He wiped the sweat off his hot, clammy forehead with his sleeve, brushing his damp bangs from his eyes. It was surprising how much exhaustion he managed to work up during their battle, even in the cool of the night.

The moon was a bright ghost, kissed by a milky stretch of clouds, napping in the high peak of the ink-blue sky.

Hiccup figured it was time to head home, his father would be furious and maybe even concerned if he were to come home any later than this.

“Well…thank you for coaching me through the basics and stuff,” Hiccup said, a bit awkwardly as he sheathed his sword back into his waistband to prepare for their trek back through the hills.

“Yeah of course, anytime,” Astrid replied with ease.

Before she hung her weapon up on her own waistband, she glanced at him and the blue of her eyes seemed to glow in the moonbeams.

“It was my pleasure…” she added after a little pause. “I actually had a lot of fun playing teacher and student with you.”

He indulged in the frisky touch her voice carried.

“Yeah, I like being your student,” he couldn’t help but echo her tone, ignoring the heat that was beginning to creep over his face. “I’m better than the rest of your class?”

“Hiccup, please. You’re my best student,” she flirted with him.

Her sharp, captivating smile was addressed only to him. This was a gorgeous concept that never seemed possible in this lifetime. He was grateful to finally be on the receiving end of her flawless smiles; for years they made his heart race, even from a distance, and they were never for him, always for someone else…until yesterday. Now, it was so addicting to feel the high from experiencing her firsthand, up close and personal.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to get over the effect she had on him. He could harvest a feverish rush from purely the way she looked at him, or sometimes, whenever she moved too close to him, like right now.

“You’re so well behaved,” Astrid continued playfully, tugging him from his thought clouds.

Was she biting her lip on purpose?

“Your best student? Wow,” he was feeling undoubtedly attracted, feeding into her kittenish pursuit, “Do I…get a reward for that?”

“Yeah, here. This one’s for you,” she socked him in the arm, knocking him back a couple of steps in the grass.

The pain was surprisingly active; a throbbing ache on his sore, overworked muscle.

“Ow! Astrid,” he shot a glare at her and held his arm, nursing the pain.

While he was distracted, she moved in much closer to him, save she had already been only a step away, and cut out the remaining distance between the two of them. She gripped him by the shirt collar and pulled him into a kiss, paralyzing him.

Hiccup’s mind left him at the hot crash of her lips on his. He was unable to react, even breathe, immobilized by the explosive, unrealistic feeling.

She’s kissing me! She’s fucking kissing me! His heart sang and screamed and the butterflies in his stomach stirred up in a frenzy. Someone pinch me, so I know it’s not a dream!

After years of only watching those perfect red lips of hers twist into smiles and frowns, contort into smirks—after so many minutes wasted of fantasizing about what she would taste like, there was no way he could trust this was really happening. But the warm, unfamiliar, softness of her lips pressing against his own, promised him that this was just as real as anything else he had experienced throughout his tiny, youthful life.

It was as if he had been dead this whole time and the sweet symphony of sensation had just brought him jumping back to life.

She retreated from his lips to say something, but remained inches close, so their hot breath could mingle together, stroking the scorching flames in the pit of his stomach.

“Is this what you wanted, Hiccup?” she teased him, drawing herself flush against him, so their racing hearts could blend.

Don’t pretend like you didn’t want this, too, he thought. He was willing to bet everything he owned that the desire was mutual at this point.

“You already know the answer to that,” his voice came out a bit husky.

Astrid engaged with him again, this time, slinging her arm around the back of his neck to keep him close as their lips collided in hot excitement.

It felt so good when she wreathed her fingers through the rusty flips of his hair.

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but considering she just yanked him into a kiss, he figured it would be safe to hold her. Gingerly, he allowed his fingers to trace the slender curve of her hips, finding an innocent area to rest.

She didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Mmm,” she hummed against his lips, evidently loving every moment of this as much as he did.

Cato’s going to kill me, he thought carelessly.

She seemed eager, so with a spark of confidence, Hiccup parted his lips open so her impatient tongue could play with his. He could taste the passion, the want that moved within her mouth.

Hiccup was shy so he let her do all the work. He had no idea what he was doing and was not about to screw this up. It felt too good to be kissed by her like this, her hot tongue dancing over his, it was turning him on.

When he felt the blood start to rush between his legs, he knew he had to break away. The last thing he needed was for this annoying, little problem to become noticeable or—oh my god—if it were to fucking poke her and ruin the moment and humiliate himself. He would die.

He found a gentle way to stop kissing her and retired some from her face, panting in a breathless high.

He did not fail to catch a slight layer of disappointment that highlighted her flushed face.

“Astrid,” he started apologetically, but she was quicker to say something.

“I really like how you make me feel,” she grabbed his hand, “I like being near you.”

“You don’t know how good that is to hear,” Hiccup replied, numb from the bliss, feeling a tsunami of success that all his hopes and dreams came true.

There was a shared moment of silence, locking eyes, holding hands and for once it was not awkward, instead, rather comforting.

“Hey, our parents might freak out if we come home any later than this,” Hiccup said.

“Yeah,” she sighed, glancing up at the moon that had been watching them this whole time, “you’re right, we should start back.”

He started to walk with, her hand in hand, in peaceful, reflective silence, back toward the hills that hugged the village.

“I’m glad you agreed to come out here to train with me,” Astrid suddenly said to him.

“Yeah, it was totally worth it,” he laughed softly, hindsight had a funny way.

“Can I sit with you again, tomorrow?”

This made him laugh again, it was weird to think that she was the one asking him. If only she knew how long he had been crushing on her. It all felt kind of ironic.

“Yes, Astrid, you can sit with me,” he felt himself blushing as he smiled.

“Yay! Lucky me,” she sang with a girlish attraction, still holding his hand. “I was hoping you would say yes.”

“I don’t think I can say no to you, even if I wanted to,” Hiccup half-joked, earning a bewitching melody of laughter out of her.

“Hiccup Haddock,” the way she said his name was hauntingly beautiful. “Where have you been all my life?”

#hiccup #how to train your dragon #httyd #hiccup haddock #httyd fandom #httyd hiccup #httyd series #hiccstrid #httyd fanfiction #hiccup and astrid #hiccstrid fanfic #its my party and I’ll cry if I want to

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years ago

Text

Silent Treatment (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Naomi decides that if Ethan isn’t going to treat her like a valued member of the team, she’ll teach him a little lesson.

Based on chapter 1, some spoilers for chapter 2, and my own speculation, so read at your own risk.

I highkey hate this but I’m posting it anyway

~v~

Naomi is quiet. No, she is unusually quiet. Ethan has seen her get silent when it’s time to buckle down and focus on a task, or if something is weighing heavily on her, but at this point he knows her well enough to know it’s neither of those. She’s withdrawn, and he doesn’t understand why.

Her presence is hard to miss, the young resident has enough charm and charisma in her pinky finger to dazzle an entire room. And she’s never this quiet. Naomi demands to be heard at all times. With unapologetic vivacity. With her hands. Eyes sparkling when she gets an idea, or fiery when she needs to dig her toes into something and fight. Nothing about Naomi Valentine is ever subdued, so why the hell is she so silent?

She didn’t speak much during the last few team meetings. He and Harper have led all of the conversations, bouncing ideas back and forth, building off of each other’s ideas. Occasionally, Naomi would offer input, merely to agree or disagree with a theory, before going back into her shell.

It’s even bleeding into their personal life. For the better part of the past 3 months, she’s stayed with him, the two of them holed up in his apartment in the Back Bay, but now she’s opting to stay at her own place. It’s been going on a few days now, this random despondence, and Ethan isn’t a fan of it. He’d take it a step further and say it's driving him crazy. This isn’t the woman he’s known for the past two years, even at her lowest was she never this reclusive.

As he walks down the halls of Edenbrook, he spots Naomi, her personality back to what it once was. She’s with Ines at a vending machine, and Naomi wastes no time animatedly talking to the now attending about a fun date she went on with her girlfriend.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Ethan swallows thickly as he listens to her talk. He’s missed the sound of her voice, the affectionate way her strong accent curls around her ‘r’s’ and dramatically elongates her ‘o’s’. It becomes clear that she’s willing to talk, just not to him. Ethan doesn’t like that idea at all, but it’s the only one that makes sense. And if that’s the case, he needs to get to the bottom of things and remedy the situation.

“Naomi, can we talk please?” He asks once Ines is no longer in their presence.

He doesn’t miss the way she bristles upon hearing his voice. But Naomi nods anyway. “Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Can we talk in the office?”

The walk back to the seventh floor is marked with awkward silence as Naomi refuses to initiate conversation with him. The more time ticks on, the more anxiety settles in Ethan’s chest. What’s going on with her that she refuses to divulge?

The office is unoccupied when they arrive, as Harper has already gone home for the evening. Naomi stands by the door, opting not to settle into a seat or even move further into the room. Everything about her body language reads that she’s poised and ready to strike at any given moment. He frowns. She’s never been this defensive against him, at least when they’re not in the middle of an argument. “What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

The question catches Naomi off guard. She blinks slowly before shrugging in nonchalance. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“You’re fine? Really?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be fine?”

“Not really, but you haven’t been acting like yourself recently.”

Because you’ve been quieter than a church mouse for the past few days. You don’t talk during meetings, you’re silent when we interact with the patients, it’s like you’ve completely tuned out.”

With the way he’s been acting, Naomi is almost shocked that he even realized what she’s been doing. Wow, so maybe the great Ethan Ramsey hasn’t lost his attention to detail.

“Oh, so you’ve actually noticed?”

“I’m a diagnostician, I notice everything,” Ethan deadpans. He can feel the sarcasm wafting off of her. “What, was this an intentional act for my attention?”

“Intentional, yes. But for your attention? Not necessarily,” Naomi answers.

His eyes narrow at her, his gaze near piercing. She’s playing some sort of childish game with him, first with not speaking and now with the vague half answers. “Okay, so walk me through your thought process. Why has the cat stolen your tongue?”

“I decided that if my input wasn’t going to be valued during team discussions, I might as well not speak at all.”

Ethan gapes at her, confused. Where did that come from? “Naomi, what on earth are you talking about? When have I ever not valued your input?”

“I’m talking about the fact that for the past two cases, I’ve stood on the sidelines while you’ve either cut me off mid-sentence to talk over me, or ignore my presence altogether. I might as well blend into the wall.”

“That’s not–”

Naomi doesn’t give him the chance to refute. “Please spare me the attempt at arguing. Last week, Harper’s first day on the team, you literally had to circle back to me because you cut me off while I was speaking. And now, we’re working on a case, and you and Harper aren’t even taking this patient seriously! I’ve had to redirect the conversation and tell you guys to focus, because you two were too busy acting like bosom buddies, sharing anecdotes about hangovers, and stupid flamenco lessons, and dates you went on in the past, which is not only inappropriate and disrespectful to the patient’s time, it’s disrespectful to me.”

“So either you are completely oblivious, which I find hard to believe for someone as astute as you are, or you have no respect for me, not just as your colleague, but as the woman you claim to be in a relationship with,” Naomi continues. The floodgates have been opened and now that she’s started, she can’t stop herself. “And maybe it’s the latter, because I set that standard. I’ve let you go days, weeks, months without speaking to me with zero consequence, I’ve let you shut me out and slam doors in my face, make snide comments last year when we were treating Leland, I’ve let you have carte blanche over the pace of this relationship. I’ve always just been here and allowed your shitty social graces and piss poor communication skills to rule, and time and time again, you’ve gone unscathed, but now I’m just really tired of it.”

For the first time in a long, Ethan doesn’t have a clue what to say, and as always, Naomi is the woman who puts him in this position.

“Naomi, you can’t possibly think that I think so little of you.”

He can tell by the way her eyes darken that he put his entire foot in his mouth just now. The warning bells go off in his brain, and he scrambles to think of how he can correct this latest blunder.

Naomi bites down on her lip, and she’s actually shocked her mouth isn’t instantly flooded with the metallic taste of blood. She’s getting Punk’d obviously. The office is bugged, and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out and announce his presence soon. That has to be it. Ethan has to be pranking her, because there’s no way a 38 year old man could ever be so dense, right? Surely his response to her grievances isn’t to dismiss her claims.

“You know what? You’re being obtuse, and we clearly aren’t getting anywhere, so I’m going to cut this conversation off now.”

She refuses to look like the psycho in this scenario and breathe any more life into this argument, and she’s not about to plead her case any further like she’s the one in the wrong.

Ethan’s eyes soften, and he takes a step forward, arms outstretched to touch, soothe whatever hurts he’s heaped upon her, but Naomi sidesteps, moving out of his reach.

If he wasn’t nervous at the start of this conversation, he is now. If the physical act of Naomi blatantly refusing to touch him wasn’t clear enough, the metaphorical chasm between the two of the just widened by a few yards as well. A chill races up and down the length of his spine.

“Naomi, I’m sorry,” Ethan says gently. “I…” His words taper off and he pauses, struggling for what he wants to say next. This has never been his strong point, being vulnerable.

And Naomi doesn’t offer him a lifeline. She’s not going to give him an out or assuage him of anything he’s currently feeling like she usually does. She’s laid out all of her cards, and things are in Ethan’s court at this point. Like always.

“I’m going home,” she announces. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~v~

The sun is barely out when Naomi shows up for work in the morning. Most of the hospital is still, the last of the night shift heading out as she’s on her way in. She heads towards the residents’ lounge, wanting to put her things away before checking in on her patients and having a team meeting.

As soon as she opens her locker, she spots a gorgeous bouquet of red roses wrapped in newspaper invading the space. There’s no note attached to the bouquet, and she spared a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else is there. The lounge is empty, save for another resident in the corner, sleeping.

Naomi takes the bouquet out of her locker, careful not to smash the petals and holds it up to her nose, inhaling deeply.

Deciding to not put more thought into where they came from, Naomi simply cradles the bouquet in the crook of one of her arms, stuffs her bag into her locker, and continues on with her morning routine.

She’s passing by the nurses’ station on the 7th floor when someone catches her attention. “Oh Dr. Valentine! You have a special delivery.”

Her steps slow down as she approaches the front desk where Sarah, one of her favorite RNs is stationed. Sarah steps aside, revealing an even larger bouquet of roses, these ones white.

“Where did these come from?” Naomi asks.

“They were delivered about half an hour ago,” Sarah replies with a wink. “No note, though. I won’t let Dr. Ramsey know that you have a secret admirer.”

And that’s when it clicks into place. Memories of her fight with Ethan come flooding back, and it becomes clear that he’s the one gifting her these flowers. Before she even realizes she’s doing it, her eyes roll. If he thinks a couple of bouquets of roses are a good enough apology, he can think again.

Naomi plucks a white rose right from the center of the bouquet and hands it to Sarah. “For you.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I insist,” Naomi says. “Happy Friday, Sarah.”

“Thank you, Dr. Valentine!”

Seeing the smile on the senior nurse’s face is almost enough to cleanse Naomi of the annoyance she feels towards Ethan in this moment. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Naomi manages to scoop up this new batch of flowers – they’re in a vase, to which she adds her red ones – and finishes her trek to the office.

She isn’t expecting it to be covered in bunches of bright yellow sunflowers.

Their communal desk is covered in them, along with Ethan’s personal desk and the couch. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“I was thinking that sunflowers are your favorite flower,” Ethan answers, and Naomi jumps, startled at his voice. She whips around and sees him standing in the doorway. “And so I got up well before the sun was shining, went to the Boston Flower Exchange and bought every single one I could get my hands on.”

“And the roses?”

“White is supposed to be symbolic of new beginnings and forgiveness,” Ethan explains. “And you simply can’t go wrong with red.”

“If you think buying me flowers is going to cut it, you must not know me well,” Naomi says. Him buying her things doesn’t impress her, no matter how much she jokes about his money.

“No, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Ethan takes a cautious step into the room, shutting the door behind him. A sleepless night without her beside him forced Ethan to do a lot of thinking about how he wanted this conversation to go. A peace offering is always a good start. “And it got you to talk to me.”

Naomi scoffs and sets her flowers down. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says. “I’m an idiot, and an asshole.”

“It’s good that we can agree on something.”

Okay, it’s clear that she is not going to give him any leeway. “You were absolutely right to call me out on my behavior towards you.”

“Why did you do it?” Naomi asks.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ethan says simply. “I got so caught up in having Harper on the team, and it’s easy to slip back into old habits without even realizing.”

“It wasn’t a simple one time thing. It was more than once that you and Harper completely forgot I was even there. And I like Harper, I don’t think I could respect her more than I already do, and I have a very healthy sense of self esteem, but even the toughest person on earth wouldn’t like being in my shoes, on the outside looking in while you and your ex reminisce on old dates and inside stories. Ethan, you couldn’t handle a modicum of the shit I have willingly put up with in order to be with you.”

His stomach knots up at the thought of an ex-boyfriend of Naomi’s coming into his personal space, sharing personal jokes with her, ignoring him, and monopolizing her time. If the thought of it had him this twisted, he can’t believe he’s been putting her through that reality.

“You were right to call me out on my bad communication skills. I am terrible at relationships. I’m not using it as an excuse, it’s just the truth. But I’ve gotten complacent, which is unacceptable.” Ethan takes another step towards Naomi, and when she doesn’t instantly recoil, he takes it as a sign to get even closer. “The last thing I ever want to do is stifle your voice, or make you feel invisible. Naomi, you are...invaluable. To this hospital, to this team, to me, and I am so sorry that there was ever a time where I made you feel like you weren’t. You are the most important person in my life, and what we have is something I’ve never had with anyone else.”

“Okay, so start acting like it,” Naomi challenges. “I’m your equal and I demand every bit of respect you have to offer. Anything less than that cannot be tolerated anymore, personally or professionally.”

Ethan nods emphatically at her words. “Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“You have my word, Naomi. I’ll never let it happen again.” He closes the gap between them and cups her face in his hand. “Just please...never give me the silent treatment again. Yell from the rooftops, argue with me, I don’t care, but I can’t take not hearing your voice.”

“You needed to be taught a lesson,” Naomi says simply.

“I learned my lesson, and I hated it,” Ethan confesses, his lips dangerously close to hers. Naomi doesn’t budge, not even an inch. She’s terribly stubborn, even at the end of a fight. “It was torture.”

“Good.” Deciding to put him out of his misery, Naomi tilts her head up and captures Ethan in a kiss. He doesn’t waste a single second returning it. His free hand wraps around the small of her back, pulling her in closer. How did he go this long without touching her?

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing, but he finally breaks apart from her long enough to bury his face in her neck, allowing her scent and soft skin to soothe any of his fraught nerves. She smells like home.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Ethan asks.

“The jury is still out on that one.”

“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“Are you up for the challenge?”

Ethan untangles himself from their embrace and takes a step back, so he’s able to look Naomi in the eyes. He takes her hand and presses a soft kiss into her palm. “For you? I’ll do just about anything.”

~v~

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list, or if I tagged you by accident!

Tags: @mvalentine @ @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @nikki-2406 @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @mysticalgalaxysstuff

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan x mc

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years ago

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You got any thoughts on Superman Birthright?

Probably my second or third favorite Superman origin, and the one that has my favorite Clark/Lex interactions.

Real pity it didn't get to stick as the "canon" origin because I like it a lot more than the Byrne origin that preceded it and the Johns Secret Origin that succeeded it. Smallville's influence is undeniable, but not a detriment, I like the Kents as flawed younger parents rather than wizened flawless mentors (if they have to be alive still when Clark becomes Superman that is). Pa Kent struggling with feelings of alienation with regards to Clark growing up and taking more of an interest in his heritage is still one of my favorite Pa/Clark moments in Superman's history. Ma Kent being a UFO buff is a great idea, apparently Waid had a story about that he never got to tell. I wonder what it was? Would probably make for a nice Annual or fill in story now that he's back at DC.

Lois is great of course, for all the reasons she usually is, as is Perry who gets way more panel space here than he usually does. Lois and Perry's relationship here is hilarious, love the gag where he writes out two lists of reasons to fire or keep her respectively. "No good place to hide the body" had me cackling. Jimmy though is just kind of there, he's the pal who has Supes back as always, but he's heavily overshadowed by the rest of the cast. Only real disappointment for me in terms of the core cast members.

There's a lot to like here in it's handling of Clark Kent as well. Love that Waid actually shows us Clark has travelled the world to gain some perspective, that he's not naïve or clueless, simply idealistic. He's seen the cruelty of the world up close, and he's also seen the way people react when they realize they're dealing with someone who has "gifts" (whether that's himself or Lex).

Showing us some of Clark's pre-Daily Planet journalist career is also a big pro for me, that's an area of Clark's life I wish got fleshed out more. Waid manages to establish a divide between the Clark and Superman identities that still makes the two feel different without it being a repeat of Pre-Crisis. It's a return to Superman being more "real" while Clark is more of a disguise, but "Clark" isn't bumbling so much as overlooked and ignored (which if you've lived in a big city is pretty much exactly how you get treated as a newcomer). His co-workers barely acknowledge his existence, Lois isn't giving him the time of day, Perry tears him a new one for not having a story to turn in about the ongoing alien invasion on time, Clark has to suffer in the trenches over the course of the story to prove himself.

Like Morrison's Action Comics run, this origin tries to fold a lot of the original Golden Age attitude back into Superman. This incarnation is a man with a temper, him shooting a gun then catching the bullet before it hits the guy who sold guns to a school shooter is literally a recreation of a Golden Age panel. Yet this isn't a "retro" take at all, despite being from Christopher Reeve's biggest fan. Waid writes Clark as someone who makes mistakes, fucks up in ways you don't typically see Superman do, and has a lot of doubts about whether or not he can live up to the task he's set before himself. Doesn't help that Metropolis doesn't welcome him any more easily as Superman than it does as Clark.

Public opinion about him is divided at first, then swings heavily to negative as Lex frames him for a false flag Kryptonian invasion, only to finally recover after he saves the day and exposes Lex. Personally I like Superman to have to work for that glowing reputation he usually enjoys, and if Lex is involved in trying to turn the public against him, so much the better. The anger and contempt towards Lex he demonstrates in particular sets the tone for the relationship between the two in the modern day.

Speaking of Lex, my God, this has got to be one of my favorite takes on him, and on his relationship with Clark, both pre and post Superman.

As adults Waid nails the Post-Crisis status quo of Lex being a selfish piece of shit who hides his nature behind a façade of philanthropy. For all his attempts at projecting an aura of power and intelligence, both of which he has in spades, Lex is so clearly defined by the lack of love and understanding he was shown as a youth. It's Superman "disrespecting" him, by not being happy to pose for photos with Lex after seeing him commit an act of sabotage, that pisses Lex off. For this "crime" Lex does everything he can to smear Superman to the public, and entertains holographic fantasies of dissecting Supes to copy his powers. He quips that killing Kal is "genocide" since he's the last of his people, something he demonstrates no empathy for at all given he laughs in Clark's face when he realizes Superman doesn't know he's the last.

Waid's Lex is probably one of the most monstrous incarnations, yet one of the most sympathetic as well. For my money, Waid is the one who convinced me that Clark and Lex being friends back in Smallville is a good thing.

One reason is that Clark gets to see how people react to "gifted" individuals. By observing the way Lex is treated for being unlike the rest, Clark gets a taste of what's to come if his own abilities were ever exposed. This has the dual benefit of establishing why Clark puts so much effort into making people feel at ease, and also establishing Lex as sympathetic for being unable to hide like Clark can.

The second big reason is that it shows why Clark thinks there's a chance Lex can be redeemed. Birthright Lex wasn't a monster from the start. At first he tried to help, but it always backfired. Doubling the efficiency of the milking machine scared/hurt the cows and upset Pa Kent, his ideas for how to improve the local government got rejected, and of course his experiment with Kryptonite. Sad twist of fate that Lex mistaking Clark's look of pain for the fear/disgust he sees everywhere else is what causes Clark to eventually give him that look of disgust for real when they reunite as adults. But having their first interactions be friendly instead of hostile makes Clark's hope that Lex can become a force for good feel grounded in reality instead of hopelessly naïve.

Can't gush enough about Yu's art either, he can make Superman look bright and inspiring, or scary as hell. His take on Metropolis makes it look and feel like a "City of Tomorrow", someplace exciting and dangerous, a city that needs Superman to protect it. Yu's Krypton is also one of my favorite incarnations, love that he gave Lara the S-curl! That's one idea from the DCAU I wish had become sacrosanct for all future origin retellings. Lara doesn't get to have enough influence on Kal to my tastes, so any little bit counts.

Sadly overlooked as it was coming out due to Azzarello and Lee doing For Tomorrow, it seems like it's risen in status after the fact. The S-shield being a symbol of hope on Krypton in addition to the El family crest has carried forward thanks to the DCEU (which is hilarious given Waid's feelings on that franchise).

Waid has another Superman project coming up next year with Brian Hitch that appears to be a "Year 2" follow up to Birthright. No clue if it will actually take place in strict continuity with Birthright, honestly it feels weird to have anyone but Yu do a direct followup to that, but Waid has said that a Superman run from him would basically be an issue 13 that continues from this story. I'm excited to see Waid take another big swing at Superman, I think he still has it in him to put out a great story, and Birthright being out of continuity may end up being to everyone's benefit. If this ends up being Waid's last Superman story, I hope he gets to do whatever he wants with the Birthrightverse. Kill off the Kents if that's his desire, I know he prefers them dead (as do I). Fingers crossed whatever he comes up with is good.

#superman #superman birthright #lex luthor #mark waid #dc comics

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libraford · 4 years ago

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We interrupt the feral celebration of ousting an oligarch to bring you a story about Yeehaw and his Branch of Mystery.

It has been a while since we last had some co-worker drama, but man- has it been a weird summer. I mean... we all had a weird summer in 2020, but I don't think I was really expecting this particular... flavor of weird?

This is a story about Yeehaw, but it starts off with a story about Aggie.

Aggie was someone we were excited to hire and part of our excitement was that it's rare to find someone with prior floral experience and we'd concluded at this point that it does no one any good to be picky about new hires in the middle of a pandemic. So finding someone who knew the difference between a carnation and a rose was a big deal for us.

I say that in jest, but saying that we do 'on-the-job training' means that we've had to explain that yes- the flower in my hand that looks like a carnation is a carnation and not some other flower that looks like carnation but is not a carnation. Floristry is a very straightforward practice and for the most part a rose is a rose and a daisy is a daisy and if someone asks for those things, you give it to them.

The hard part is, as always, making them look good together.

Which is why we were pleased with Aggie- who previously did weddings for her friends and seemed to have a basic understanding of how to do things with her hands. We were happy to have her aboard.

... until you gave her criticism.

She made her vases embarrassingly short, and if you tried to tell her how to fix it, she'd snap back with "I'm not DONE yet."

She was done until you said something.

If you gave her an order for two dozen white roses, she would take it upon herself to mix white and yellow roses together 'because it looks better.'

It did not.

Hashtag: #selftaught

When a client asks for all white roses, there is likely a reason they asked for all white. Given that 90% of our work is funerals, it stands to reason that they are asking for all white because that is a traditional color for mourning. Working with a client means doing exactly what they asked for. Doing a wedding for your friends may get you high praise from people who trust you to work in the same aesthetic as them, but in a shop setting you are being paid to follow things to the letter. Doing so shows that you can follow directions, and they may come back next time.

You don't know customer entitlement until you've been torn another asshole for leaving out a single rose.

This seemed to never occur to her, and so criticism was a painful realization that perhaps she wasn't perfect at an art that was exceptionally susceptible to criticism. There were plenty of opportunities to make something in her own aesthetic, it wasn't like she was being stifled. There was a considerable amount of downtime where she filled the front cooler with her own creations- enigmatically giving each of them their own names like "Autumn Walk" or "First Snowfall." (This is not something that we do, on the whole.)

Not very many of those sold.

But I think what bugged me the most is that she only ever designed. She didn't take out the trash, she didn't answer phones, she never helped customers. She just... did flowers. Nothing else.

Oh... and the chatter.

"Do you travel? Oh, you simply MUST go to Bali sometime! You've never been to Asia? Well, there's nothing like achieving inner peace at a Buddhist temple on a mountaintop in Nepal. They have temples here in Ohio, but it's nothing like the real thing! You say you've never even been off the continent? Well, what are you waiting for? You only live once, you know!"

Ma'am... we're in the middle of a pandemic. Ma'am... I only get paid so much...

While trying to relate, I talked about my summer in Montana and she gave me the BIGGEST stank-face. "Montana? Ew, WHY?"

Look, lady- I lived on a mountaintop next to an active, world-destroying volcano system. If that's not cool, I don't know what is.

But thankfully, she only worked on weekends. See, this was her fun job. The job she does to stay social during a pandemic and flex her creative muscles while she makes money at her much more lucrative,but boring,HR job. So I only had to see her twice a month when I was manager on duty.

Then she got fired from her weekday job and went full-time at the flower shop. Poor thing wasn't used to waking up at 7am every day. She was full of suggestions.

"I think it would be easier for me if we only opened at like... 11am."

"Don't you think we should be taking proper photos of our work? All we would need is a nice camera and a soft lighting setup. Couldn't be much more than $1000."

"Oh I know! We should be doing inventory on tablets instead of writing things down!"

Okay, you go buy those things then. It took her about a week of making those suggestions to realize that she wasn't real clear on how things worked around here and stopped. She became quiet, less enthusiastic about her 'fun' job now that she wasn't immediately the star of the show.

Enter Yeehaw.

We were excited about Yeehaw, too. He didn't just have experience with flowers- he had experience with a flower shop. He gave a good interview, he seemed like he knew what he was doing and was very passionate about flowers. He was definitely an entire hippie, but about 1/3 of all plant people are. Most importantly, we still had like three spots to fill left from our pre-Covid staff.

Hired.

There was an overlap of about a week where Aggie and Yeehaw worked at the same time. His work was... immaculate. Just... astonishingly beautiful work. You didn't even have to show him how to make anything. He just... knew.

Well, Aggie didn't like that much- we had only nice things to say about this new guy but all she ever got was criticism. And if we complimented him on something he made, he would give a little 'namaste' bow. And I could see her fuming with rage each time he did this.

One day, she rushed into the back to take a phone call and any time someone went back there for a vase she would lower her voice as if keeping a deep secret. Twenty minutes later, she called Grandpa into the back as well to discuss something. Ten minutes later, Aggie left the building with her Live, Laugh, Love bag, looking pissed.

"Where did Aggie go," I asked Grandpa.

"She got a new job," she said. "Doing HR somewhere."

"She didn't even say good-bye," Blue said, appearing unsurprised.

And so we went on with out lives without really putting much further thought into Aggie, apart from the occasional 'you simply MUST visit Bali' line thrown in for bougie emphasis.

Which brings us to the next part of the story, and that is Yeehaw.

There are some details to know about Yeehaw that are kind of difficult to fit into a story neatly. Here is a brief list that may come in handy to know later.

-He lives with his mother.

-He drives a Tesla.

-He can afford the Tesla because he was in a terrible wreck that had him hospitalized, and a lawsuit was won.

-Because of this, he has two screws in his head at the temples.

-Unrelated, he has hair that goes all the way down to his back.

- And...

"Grandpa, we need to tell you something," Blue said. "In private."

Blue and Kali pulled Grandpa aside while Yeehaw slowly put together a funeral order. "Grandpa, there's no polite way to put this: Yeehaw is drunk as fuck."

"He smells like whiskey," Kali said.

"He's stumbling everywhere."

"And he won't stop... burping."

Grandpa paused. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, and she reached for a manila folder. "Yeehaw has something called... what's it called..." She leafed through the file and produced a paper, reading from it. "Auto-brewery Syndrome. His body actually produces alcohol anytime he eats bread or sugar. If he's drunk, it's because he can't help it."

We each had a chance to go over the doctor's note, verifying that yes- that sure does look official. Everyone had questions, but it did answer the one I had about why he was sitting in the break room literally drinking peanut butter from the jar.

So that was incredibly interesting and we no longer asked about the burping or why he was so slow.

However, the fact that he was so slow was extremely frustrating. Our average number of orders runs approximately 100 per-day. This can be eased somewhat when we have a full-staff with five designers- an average of 20 designs per person in an 8-hour day, 3 per hour.

But it's a fine line some days, and if one person cannot keep up it turns into a struggle for all of us.

We did our best to accommodate. We gave him all the day-ahead orders so that we wouldn't be behind and he'd have all the time he'd need to make his gorgeous pieces.

We were willing to make it work.

A number of factors came into play one day, but most notably: Yeehaw's Tesla wouldn't start and he had to take the bus. So he was late.

I think I saw him make one entire item in the two hours that we were in the same room. He went to lunch around 12:30, I took mine around 1:00. I saw him stumble back in from lunch, looking... out of it. Just... absolutely incomprehensible- mumbling, barely upright, his hair out of the bun, quite possibly sleepwalking- who knows?

I saw him for that brief Sasquatch moment... and that was the last that I saw him that day. It was around 4:00 that Grandpa asked the question:

"Where's Yeehaw?"

And no one had an answer. We all had places that we thought we'd seen him: cleaning the cooler, in the break room, heading to the bathroom... but no one had really... seen him since he stumbled back in around 1:30.

We checked all these places.

None of them.

The person who actually managed to find him was Sarge, who noticed his feet sticking out from behind the bushes behind the building.

"Huh," he said, presumably. He gave the feet a light kick and Yeehaw slowly sat back up. "Hey dude. You... okay, there? They're lookin' for you inside."

Yeehaw mumbled something to Sarge and got to his feet, stumbling back into the shop without further interaction. He appeared into the workspace, holding a branch in front of his face for mysterious reasons. There were still twigs entangled in his long hair.

"Where were you at," Grandpa asked, concerned.

"Oh, I was in the bathroom," he lied from behind the branch of mystery. "I'm pretty tired. Is it okay if I go home?"

Bewildered, Grandpa gave him permission to leave. It was soon after he left that Scout found his phone in the empty sink. "Who's trying to wash their phone," he asked in the loud manner that is characteristic of old white men. It rang while in his hand and one of our designers snatched it from him. It was his mother.

"Hello," said the designer. "Yeehaw went home early, but he left his phone behind. Can you bring it home to him?" Mom agreed, she was just over at Trader Joe's anyhow.

We thought, of course, that we were doing something smart and nice. Yeehaw's mom looks just about what you would expect the mother of a 30-year-old hippie that drives a Tesla to look. Grandpa, in a polite way, explained that he'd fallen asleep in a bush. To which Mom seemed neither surprised nor concerned about his behavior.

"Okay. I'll be at Hallmark."

Somewhere between the bus stop and Bexley, Yeehaw must have realized that his phone was not with him and so he came back looking for it. Despite his mother being literally in the same strip mall as we were, he seemed irritated that we'd taken the initiative to make sure his phone got to him.

"Well, I bet if you just went down to Hallmark she'd give you your phone and probably give you a ride home."

He mumbled something and then left.

This seems like a decent place to pause, because him leaving the second time in the day should be the end of the story. However... at 5:00 in the evening there was still two hours left in the work day and from past experience... that is plenty of time for a lot of things to happen.

The thing to happen was a phone call.

"Hi, this is Jade from the main store. We've gotten... some... interesting phone calls. Is there... a... hmm... is there a dead body out in front of your store?"

Pause.

"We'll take care of it, bye."

Who wants to be the one to poke the cadaver on the sidewalk? A volunteer from the audience! Ms Crowe: won't you come down?!

I have had it planted firmly in my mind that Crowe certainly understands the concept of fear but does not recognize it. Apart from being one of our most reliable drivers, she is also a performer, a street medic, an activist, and most notably... a fire-breather.

You have your hobbies.

Point is- she's brave enough to check to see if the person laying on the sidewalk was dead or simply overdosed.

As it turns out, it was Yeehaw- curled up in the fetal position with his arm covering his face.

"Hey," Crowe said, poking him with her foot. "Heeeeeeey," she said again but more firmly this time. He moved, blinking in the evening the sun. "Buddy, you can't be laying around on the sidewalk. You gotta move on."

Again, he slowly got to his feet. At this time, his mother emerged from Hallmark to see him talking with Crowe. A group of four people escorted him into Mom's car while he stopped every few feet to perform another 'namaste' bow.

You think this is the end. But what have we learned?

There's always more.

He came in the next day as if none of this had happened. Conversation was difficult because we both desperately needed to know what the fuck happened and also did not want to trigger something. So we didn't bring it up. He apologized for leaving early: chronic fatigue syndrome, you know.

Other places would have fired him, but we're a very forgiving workplace. Falling asleep on company time is not, in any way, the worst thing that someone has done at this location while still keeping their job. There was Sugar and her drugs, there was the dude that used the company van to pick up prostitutes (this was before my time), there was the guy that screamed at customers over the phone... it's a long list.

The primary concern of our employers is whether or not you are a reliable person. If you routinely show up for your job and do the work, you're going to be okay at least for a little bit. And Yeehaw, for all his impeccable fuckery, at least showed up every day.

We kept this at the back of our minds.

One day, after the Day We Found Him In a Bush was behind us, one of the designers mentioned that they'd seen where Aggie works now. It was not in HR.

It was our major competitor.

Now, Grandpa knows this competitor well. She knows all her competition. It is the nature of a lot of florists to, once they've gotten sick of one place, move on to the next one and spill the beans on their operations there. So Grandpa gets the dirt on everyone.

This particular shop was very regimented. You don't wing it- you follow the recipe as listed. He's been known to pick discarded flowers up off the floor and tell you exactly how much money you're costing the company by letting it fall, to the cent. If you get so far as to make casket sprays, he will take your first one and chuck it across the room if it even looks like the stems are in there too loosely.

This is what I mean about us being an easy place to work.

Hashtag: #ohfuck.

People come in and out of your life like that, in little ways. Sometimes you just have to have a little laugh at it. But what I thought was funny was that she felt the need to keep her new employer a secret, as though we would get jealous or tattle. Curious thing.

Now that the glamour of Yeehaw's arrangements had worn off, we were starting to see more and more odd behaviors that didn't seem completely related to drunkenness.

"Did you just fart?"

"No, that was a spider barking."

Amazing.

Conversation with him was becoming... difficult. As I sat in the break room with my quick lunch and he drank soup out of a mayonnaise jar, he mentioned his area of study in college.

"Cognitive Psychology and Hindu Philosophy, huh? That's an interesting combination."

"Yeah," he said, funneling an amount of squash soup down his throat. "It'll take the rest of the world about 100 years before they catch up to where I am."

I sat, posed in front of my beef and broccoli which I was eating with a fork, trying to process a logical reason why the rest of the world will be sleeping in a bush in one hundred years. "Uh... huh."

This was followed by another thirty minutes of silence where I desperately wanted to know what he meant by that but didn't want to be the one to ask him.

People will tell you that a hippie is generally an ineffective, benign kind of person who chants 'love love, peace peace' in a circle and consider that to be an action for change. But I can say with absolute certainty that I have met some downright egotistical hippies in my life. Those were lessons in bias- which I will have to save for other times.

Eventually, Grandpa became frustrated with his slowness. We presumed that his speed of choice was a combination of his meticulous nature and his various ailments, but with the Christmas season coming upon us it was becoming much more than a series of symptoms.

Previous persons who lacked speed were chatty, would play on their phone, or get distracted. But Yeehaw... Yeehaw simply moved like a tranquilized sloth. He slowly picked off each leaf, each thorn, each guard petal and took a minute for each action. He would put in his greens and then contemplate it powerfully for ten minutes before putting any flowers in... slowly.

In the time spent doing this, I had already made something of a similar size and was starting on the second one.

It was during one of these times that Grandpa finally said something.

"Yeehaw, that spray is due in thirty minutes. Is there a way you can go any faster?"

He looked up from his greens, held one carnation to his face, and said:

"If you wanted me to move faster, you would pay me better."

Let me start by saying that we do not get paid well. We don't. Compared to other flower shops in our city, we are probably the lowest-paid. This is something that the company is starting to work on with benefits and raises, but any amount of change takes time. (And its still better paying than when I worked in retail. But that's another book.)

Yeehaw had been here for exactly one month. I don't know a single workplace that gives you a raise after one month and still lets you sleep on the clock without firing you. He knew what he was getting paid when we hired him.

So anyways, he slowly grinds down our nerves to a very fine dust- burping, farting, falling asleep on his feet, staring intensely into space, talking about how much he should be making but isn't, bragging about his enlightenment, and generally just slowing down production.

And then Grandpa had her well-earned vacation week. Blue was in charge for the most part and the week leading up to Halloween is generally pretty slow, so it was a good week for her to have a break with few mishaps.

Eh... hehe. Yeah.

Yeehaw... disappeared again. We checked the cooler, we checked the break room, we checked the bushes out back, we checked the sidewalk out front.

He was in the bathroom.

So we left it.

He was still in the bathroom an hour later.

We had one of the male drivers pound on the door to check on him. When Yeehaw opened the door to the men's room, there was a wad of toilet paper on the floor that he'd been using as a pillow.

If I may pause here to explain- our men's room is disgusting. I have deep cleaned it several times only for it to become a germ-fest once more in a matter of hours. I don't ask who is peeing all over the floor because, honestly, I have no desire to know what grown man can't aim his willy in the right direction.

So in order to fall asleep in the bathroom, you have to be willing to sleep in pee. During a pandemic.

He reappeared in the workroom, put his apron back on, looked around at all of us still working and said: "Wow, it must be really hard to get fired here."

It was at this point that Blue informed Grandpa.

"Tell him that he's fired," Grandpa said, clearly 1001% done with this.

"I'm not going to fire him," Blue said. "I don't think I can fire anyone."

So she had the driver that found him do it, which was confusing for all of us. He ended up calling Grandpa to clarify. And by 'clarify,' I definitely mean 'beg for his job back.' A synopsis of the 20 minute phone call went like this:

"What do you mean, I'm fired?"

"Just that. You're fired. I'm tired of it, Yeehaw. You don't work here anymore."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?' You spend all day making a total of three arrangements and then you wander off somewhere and fall asleep."

"I can't help it if I have chronic fatigue syndrome!"

"This is a physical job. If your body can't handle an 8-hour shift without falling asleep for two hours, this isn't the job for you. Tell me: where is that fair to the girls that you do 3% of the work while they pick up the slack and you wander off to sleep on the clock?"

"I simply do not care about them."

"You don't care that you're shoving all the work on your coworkers, and that's why you're fired."

"I wish you'd given me a warning."

"Tell me, Yeehaw: how many employers can you find that will allow you to sleep on the clock for two hours and let you off with a warning?"

End of discussion.

Now, you're probably wondering where Aggie comes back into this. Just hold tight, I'll get there.

The Sunday after he was fired, he came in to pick up his paycheck. I was busy handling a minor emergency where one of our funeral homes forgot to order a spray and I had to make one as fast as I could. We held a brief conversation while I made the spray in a hurry.

"I'm here to pick up my check," he said while I greened the spray and leafed through the paychecks simultaneously.

"Here you go," I said, handing it to him without much fanfare. I presumed that he was looking for sympathy or some kind of followup or... I don't know. Sorry you suddenly care about your job?

"So what are your next plans," one of the designers asked, trying to coax more information out of him while I did the work of three people.

"It's kind of funny," he said slowly... as he did all things. "I've only ever been fired from flower shops." He paused, thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to go apply to the shop in Bexley that Aggie went to."

#as the world turnips

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kenmasgameboy · 4 years ago

Text

chapter 18: my girlfriend.

previous…next

masterlist

kuroo tetsurou came into y/n’s life when she needed him to fuck it up the most.

a/n: this chapter is an intense one, i put the trigger warnings that i could think of below. if i ever miss anything please feel free to send me a dm or an ask, i’m also always looking forward to your guys’ comments and asks, please don’t forget that i always read them. i want this to be a safe place for everyone :)

trigger warning: bullying, cursing/vulgar language, and violence (smacking, stepping and spitting). anxiety.

╭⋟─────────────────────╮

Your book is dripping wet, the pages turned to a fragile paste and falling apart at the touch. Your hair was wet, buckets of water had been prepared just for you. In your honor, four older girls had decided to go out of their way to prepare a bucket of water to dump all over your head.

“What did we tell you?” Their leader, Yui, kicked you in the stomach. “I thought we were very clear yesterday that you cannot talk to Kuroo-san.”

“And then you walked home with him!” One of the other girls spoke, but at this point their voices meshed together in your head. You tried staring at a paint chip on the ground to try and keep your cool.

I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry.

Your face was pulled off the rough pavement to face Yui’s face by your hair. The beautiful girl holds a fistfuls of your hair and you can get a good look at her this way. She really was gorgeous, she had long hair that was dyed a beautiful blond. You could hardly tell her bright blue contacts weren’t real since they fit into her soft features so well. Her makeup was nothing short of flawless, blending perfectly into her skin that made her look effortlessly beautiful. She looked like an idol, an angel in stood front of you, it was a striking contrast to her harsh words she’s given you over the last week.

“And now he posted about you, too! I told you that Kuroo-kun was mine. I should’ve said something weeks ago when I saw him talk to you here.” Yui stomped her foot, “Don’t you dare lie either, I saw him at your shoe locker this morning.”

“I’m not going to lie.” You said, your voice coming out much quieter than you thought. It was cold outside, and your clothes were wet. You didn’t even want to think about your white shirt.

“Good girl.” Yui smiled, “Now let’s talk about arrangements. Since you obviously didn’t listen yesterday. And I’m what they’d call Kuroo-kun’s guardian angel. I’ve always protected him from skanky bitches like you, who aren’t interested in Kuroo-kun for anything beyond what he can do for you. It’s not my first time, and it won’t be my last either. I love Kuroo-kun more than any of you and I’ve been at this a lot longer than you.”

What the hell is wrong with you?

You were cursing at her in your head, every bit of anger poured from your veins and forced you to clench your fist. This girl was pissing you off to no end, nobody was around at this point. Your fear of shyness being easily overwhelmed by the anger of being controlled.

A part of you selfishly wished that Inuoka or Kuroo would enter this scene right now and intervene. But they couldn’t fix this for you. They weren’t always going to be with you. And you weren’t someone who was going to be smacked around by these girls anymore. This girl must’ve been the one that started those rumors about you that forced Kuroo to intervene for you. You didn’t want anyone to have to do that for you.

“Kuroo-san would never like a girl like you.” You said. You would be proud to know your face never wavered as you spoke. Your voice had only a slight shake, the only tell being the shakes of your hand. Every word granted you a half ounce more of confidence.

“Do you want to say that again, dog?” She stepped on your hand with her foot, all her spite being aimed at you.

“What? I told you I wasn’t going to lie.” You kept your face plain. She spit in it and threw you down. You wiped the disgusting vile away with the back of your hand.

“Keep talking! See what happens.” This was a bet you’re willing to take.

“You’re a very pretty girl. But you’re mean, petty, vengeful, controlling and most of all an idiot if you think I can control how Kuroo-san feels. It’s not my fault he likes me. And if you really liked him, you should want him to be happy, but instead you try to block him off from anything that’d do that.” You said it all while she hardly listened, yawning as you spoke.

“Are you done?” She asked, you groaned in response. God she was so annoying.

She smacked you.

“You’re going to act like you know him after a few weeks? I’ve been in love with him for three years. He always has doted on me before you got here, he tutored me, gave me parts of his lunch, and he even gave me his jacket when I forgot my umbrella. Every third year girl knows that he’s mine. He’s too mature for younger girls like you, especially ones with their head in the clouds and nose in a book. You don’t even interact with anyone! What’s so good about you! Nothing! So don’t you dare try to act like you’re better than me!” She said her own speech, ending it with pushing her foot down on your thigh. Your knee scratching against the pavement.

“Kuroo-san isn’t a thing you can own..” It was taking everything in you not to cry, you’ve always had a hard time when people yell at you. But the part of you that wanted to defy authority was still winning at the moment.

“God! You’re so annoying. Just listen to me and break up with him so he can love me already! I’m tired of waiting!” Yui was yelling, you were starting to hear voices in the windows behind you crowding over. Your eyes drifted down, your shirt was totally see-through. This was so embarrassing.

You put your arms over your chest to protect yourself. You scolded yourself for not bringing out your jacket.

“No.” You said, strong and out-front.

“I think this is the most this girl has ever spoken..”

“Normally she’s such a crybaby..”

You heard everything anyone was saying around you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. None of those people knew you.

“You insolent little bitch–”

“Oh? Big word there, did that make you feel like an adult? You read that one in a book?” You were completely unfiltered at this point. None of it mattered to you. Your clothes were wet, your hair was frazzled, your knees scraped and your face spit on. If there was one thing you could do to protect yourself it was your mouth. You had to.

“Shut up! Be thankful your senpai hasn’t ruined your life. Just let him go! You don’t even like him!” She was really fuming, there may as well be smoke coming out of her ears. “I can tell you’re scared, just agree so we can finish this.”

“That’s not true.” You said, your face blushing as the first sign of emotion this whole time.

“Oh, look, she’s blushing.”

“She’s actually so cute.”

“Gah! I hate you!” Yui raises her hand again, the only interruption being the heavy metal door to the courtyard being opened.

“Stop, stop! Yui, what the fuck are you doing!?” Kuroo, the man of the hour, ran into the courtyard and immediately stripping his blazer off.

“Kuroo-kun! I’m so glad your here, she was being so mean to us! I was just–” It was Yui’s turn to panic. Her voice quivered as she quickly mustered up tears to fake.

“You think I’m going to believe that when she looks like this?” Kuroo quickly wrapped you in his blazer, the large fabric covering you. His warmth flew threw you as he helped you to your feet and held you into his chest protectively. Your cold skin stealing Kuroo’s warmth. You hadn’t really realized how cold you were.

“I heard you had a volleyball meeting today–”

“After school. Even if I did, did you think I wouldn’t come running after I hear about my girlfriend getting bullied?” Kuroo said, his hand wrapping around your head. Your face was hidden, but he could feel you gasp for breath. The emotions you had been trying to hid getting lost in his chest, your stiff fingers gripped the fabric of his sweater vest. Kuroo’s large palm straightened them against his chest, warming them. “God, she’s freezing.”

“Girlfriend?” Yui was really crying now.

“Yes. Y/N is my girlfriend, and if anyone has a problem with this from now on bring that to me.” Kuroo’s deep voice boomed through the courtyard, it was a warning.

“You can’t be serious! It’s only been a few weeks, you’ll just drop her anyways in a few days right?” Yui had never been caught by Kuroo before, whenever a new girl would try to get close to Kuroo he’d never really minded if they lost touch after a few days. But you were someone he sought out, and tried so hard to figure out, he would never let it go that easy.

“Even if it did, you have no right to do any of this. But I’ll be with Y/N as long as she lets me, because I have deep feelings for her. I don’t expect you to understand but neither of us would ever throw the other away so easily as you’re saying. So leave us the fuck alone.” You had never seen him so angry before. But still he was so delicate to you, lowering his head to your ear to whisper a soft: “Are you ok? You did awesome, but this is over now. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

“I’m sorry.” You said, but it was muffled by his shirt. His chest was so warm and firm, it made you somewhat sad to lose the warmth when he pulled away for only a second.

“Yui, I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings. If I had known you’d feel that way, I would’ve been able to end this sooner. But don’t worry, I won’t be going out of my way for you in the future to avoid any misunderstandings.... I’m going to take her to the infirmary, and I’m telling the nurse everything that happened here.” Kuroo held a strong frame, you winced when you took a step.

Your knee stung from the blood running down your leg. Kuroo didn’t want you to be here any longer than you needed to be, so he latched his palms under your knee and threw your arm over his shoulder. Bridal style he held you in his arms, girls squealed behind you. Your face practically being glued to his shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

The moment you were back inside you felt warmer. You squeezed him tighter to yourself. You were so afraid, allowing yourself to so easily be weak in front of him.

“W–wait.. Kuroo..” You were letting tears fall. He rolled you in his arms to better hold you there. Your hair smelled like a morning rainfall, you were so cold.

“Not yet. We’re not alone.” He said.

The rest of the time you spent in his arms was silent. And when he got you to the infirmary he was ushered to go back to his class since the bell rang.

“Please, she’s my girlfriend. Can I please stay with her?” You could hear him beg the nurse on the otherside of the curtain from where you were changing out of your wet clothes.

It made you smile, you didn’t know a title like this would make you smile. He never asked you, but he sure got comfortable with it really fast. Maybe it wasn’t real though, you tried to slow your heart beat from beating out of your chest at the thought.

“I’m sorry but school comes first. You can come see her later. She’ll be fine.” The nurse assured him. You peaked your head out from behind the curtain.

“Thank you.” You mouthed it to him and it seemed he understood.

Kuroo didn’t seem pleased, but he still nodded. He bowed to the nurse quickly before exiting. Once on the other side of the door he looked at his hands, his sleeves were still wet from where he held you in his arms. He was chilly from losing his blazer that was now with you. The view he had of the top of your head being forcibly pushed into his chest. His chest still tingled from the imprint of your face.

“Kuroo Tetsuro, you’re awful for thinking like this..” he scolded himself. He just had to pull you out of a situation that he caused, it was because of him that they were bullying you. He needed to apologize properly, but his mind couldn’t help but melt at how close you were to him. How it seemed you invited him to be closer. This 6’3” boy reduced to a crumbled, blushing mess as he squatted next to the infirmary door.

Girlfriend.

Wait.

“She’s my girlfriend....” Kuroo remembered saying that in front of everyone, “Did I... say that out loud?..”

Both his hands were used to smack himself. His face didn’t react from the shock, eyes still wide with two hand prints leftover on his cheeks. He didn’t even ask you to be his girlfriend! What had gotten into him! Even in the heat of the moment, he should have taken at least one second to ask and then ask properly later. No, that would’ve looked suspicious. How rude of him to ignore your feelings like that and announce it in front of everyone without your permission.

I’ve been so good at asking her for everything up until now. What if she’s scared of me again? No, if she wants me to I’ll start at stage 1... Maybe Yamamoto was right, I really am a simp for her..

He thought, a small smile still on his face. He was okay with that. You were so strong out there. He only caught a few moments but watching you talk back all on your own was inspiring. You could defend yourself, any normal person would’ve let it go but Yui was a different breed that Kuroo knew too well. Watching you speak so boldly was a treasure that would live in his mind, the last domino of hearing your voice say “That’s not true.” to protext your feelings for him. But that was all he was able to catch of the conversation since he couldn’t stand there knowing that your hand wasn’t shaking from the cold.

Does she really have feelings for me? Is it true? If I would’ve asked.. would she have.. his thoughts stopped abruptly as he looked to his right at the infirmary where you stayed. What were you thinking right now? Were the thoughts you had as embarrassing as his? An image of you popped in his head, probably not. His chest was so tight and warm and the thought. He can’t think like this in the situation you’re in. He should’ve tried to stay in there longer, but maybe any longer and he would’ve burst.

He looked back at his arms, the ones he held you in. The water has dried now, ang trace that you were in them was gone. He really missed that feeling. If it were up to him right now, you’d never walk again so you could always stay in his arms.

Girlfriend..

He’d have to apologize later for overstepping his boundaries and explain later but... he’d never apologize about how it felt far too natural to say.

╰─────────────────────⋞╯

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jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 4 years ago

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Take Your Father to Work Day (S2, E4)

As many people have said: This is one of the STRONGEST Prodigal Son episodes to date. It was incredible. My time-stamped thoughts for this episode are below.

I reference Malcolm’s mental health and sexual violence in this one. So if that’s going to be a trigger for you, don’t keep reading.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

0:16 - OMG. Destiny’s Child. Whoever is in charge of the soundtrack for this show needs a raise. Or an award. It’s SOO GOOD.

0:18 - How great is this montage of Martin’s prison life too? I mean the insane mundanity of it combined with “Survivor” and Michael Sheen’s incredible acting is some perfect mix between hilarious, captivating, and just brilliant.

1:06 - I feel so bad for Mr.David. He has to deal with Martin’s theatrics every day. Poor guy looks done in this episode.

1:35 - CAN HECTOR BECOME A BIGGER CHARACTER?! PLEASE. He’s hilarious and I love him. “Bro. You got your ass jumped at Sunday School.”

2:09 - Wait. What? Jerry’s getting released?!? I mean, I understand that he’s no longer in need of psychiatric care......but he still killed someone. Shouldn’t he just be getting transferred to a different prison?

2:25 - Does Jerry have a death wish?!?! He’s talking about being released in a room full of jealous murderers. Everyone looks sooooo pissed at Jerry.

2:54 - Martin is such a liar. However - Michael Sheen’s performance is astoundingly good. Like he shines brighter than usual in this episode.

3:17 - Poor Malcolm. “What’s going on?” Poor boy looks terrified.

3:23 - I love everything about this scene. I love how freaked out Malcolm is. I love you extra Jessica is. BUT HANS. Holy shit. I want Hans in every episode. He’s crazy in a good way and such a beautiful comedic relief.

3:30 - OMG. “Skinny milennial” might be the best thing anyone has ever called Malcolm. Someone please tell JT and Dani - hell, even Gil. They would tease him forever and I want to see it.

3:45 - 1) Malcolm is a terrible liar. 2) Jessica knows he’s lying. 3) This story about the wine is interesting. I wonder when and how Malcolm first told Jessica the story. Was it the same night? AND HOW DID ENDICOTT’S BODY END UP IN ESTONIA?!? I WANT MORE INFORMATION ABOUT THAT NIGHT.

3:54 - “Ainsley and I came back from the hospital after Gil’s stabbing.”....we never saw Ainsley at the hospital. Was she there and left before Malcolm got there? Or is this a plot hole I need to ignore?

4:05 - The way that the flashbacks of Endicott’s murder is spliced into this scene with Malcolm’s cover story is so perfectly executed. It’s so captivating and so so well done.

4:14 - Malcolm’s eyes look quite manic during the retelling of this story. Poor guy is desperate to have everyone believe the story. Poor guy probably wants to convince himself that the story is true.

4:16 - Wait. What? Ainsley has always been clumsy? .....interesting. I’ve seen no evidence of it but I’ll believe it for the sake of the plot.

4:23 - “At least one of you has a soul.” Holy shit. hahaha Hans is brutal. I love him so much. I also love how this line makes me, as a viewer, think “does that mean the writers want me to think that Ainsley doesn’t have a soul?” ...or more likely that she doesn’t feel emotion (which can be interpreted as a lack of a soul). That she’s a psychopath like Martin?

4:27 - OMG. Jessica loves Hans. He speaks to her dramatic rich woman soul. So entertaining.

4:30 - Poor. Malcolm. This boy is always in some sort of emotional turmoil. For once I wish he was happy (but also I love the emotional whump so if that could continue that would be great).

4:44 - “It’s so much more than that.” *chef’s kiss* comedic genius. I would watch a whole episode of Mr.David making fun of Martin. But can we all just take a minute to appreciate that Martin doesn’t seem bothered at all that Mr.David is basically verbally telling him that he sucks? It’s almost like Martin thinks they’re friends?

4:50 - Martin is strangely chill talking to Mr.David in this scene. It’s a little off-putting. He almost seems normal. He’s not putting on his usual theatrics or ranting about doctor stuff. It makes you wonder how many different sides of Martin that Mr.David has witnessed.

5:01 - “Oh no. Not Jerry.” LMAO. HOLY SHIT. Michael Sheen needs an Emmy. His delivery of that line might be the funniest thing this show has ever given us. hahahahaha

5:29 - Damn. This is not Gil’s month. First Jessica dumps him. Then he has to deal with Martin Whitly in the flesh. That plus the on-going drama of worrying about Malcolm’s mental health and the stress of reintegrating into work after a STAB WOUND.

5:31 - Gil’s face. hahahahaha he’s like, “Kill me. This can’t be happening. I hate everything. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.”

5:37 - “Yeah. Why’d you do it?” GIL. OMG. I’m so proud of Gil for dissing Martin to his face. BUT ALSO I worry that that’s going to give Martin more of a reason to hate Gil. I’m genuinely scared that the writers have Martin escaping as the pre-finale episode and Martin trying to kill Gil as the finale. Maybe Gil shows up trying to save Malcolm, AInsley, and Jessica (whom Martin is trying to abduct or hurt or something) idk I just feel like it’s going to be a likely subplot somewhere. I don’t want an attempt on Gil’s life to become a season finale tradition.

5:56 - Ew. “Gilly” That is a terrible nickname. I think I threw up a little.

6:00 - Damn. I love this scene. I could watch Martin and Gil pretending to be civil to each other for years. So entertaining.

6:29 - hahahahaha OMG. Gil’s reaction to Martin saying, “Thank you” PLUS Edrisa’s sudden excitement at realizing she’s 10 ft away from Malcolm’s Dad - a medical legend, is magical.

6:35 - Not gonna lie. When Edrisa said, “Ok. I’m gonna play it cool.” I had to pause my TV and walk away to calm down. I was experiencing a mixture of second hand embarrassment for Edrisa’s inevitable behaviour, excitement for what is to come, and fear that Martin would be a jerk to our precious Edrisa.

6:44 - Edrisa and Martin interacting was everything I’d hoped. It was strange, funny, sweet, and disturbing at the same time. The sweet, eccentric girl who attends cuddle parties is getting buddy-buddy with a literal serial killer. Hilarious. Even better is Gil’s background reactions as he desperately tries to keep Edrisa away from the psychopath. hahaha <3

7:12 - Gil is currently living in a nightmare. hahahahaha

7:47 - I love this. I love how Malcolm and Ainsley interact. Malcolm is such a good big brother. IDK something about these two adult siblings chilling on a couch and warning each other about Mom’s current rampage reminds me of myself and my younger brother. <3 Warms my cold dead heart. <3 PLUS has anyone else noticed that (as long as Ainsley isn’t hounding Malcolm about a story or airing out his mental health diagnoses like the bs from Q&A) Malcolm is extremely calm around Ainsley. Like maybe the calmest we’ve ever seen him?

8:20 - “Oh Ainsley, that’s a horrible idea.” This is adorable. Malcolm is totally acting like Ainsley’s surrogate dad. He’s trying so hard to protect her. <3

8:42 - There’s something about the way that Malcolm says, “Hey Gil” that makes my heart swell. Idk why. I just their father/son relationship. So much. And it makes me so happy to see Malcolm having semi-normal interactions with people in general.

8:48 - This. Is. The. Funniest. Episode. Of. Prodigal. Son. To. Date. Holy shit. The comical dread on Malcolm’s face. Martin’s glee on the phone. Gil’s general “done with life” body language. Ainsley’s utter joy at her luck. MALCOLM DRAINING THE ALKA-SELTZER. Ainsley saying “chug chug”. So perfect.

9:27 - Is it just me or has Jessica been showing way more concern for her children’s well-being this season? At first I thought it was because she was so happy with Gil....but that’s not a thing anymore (because Jessica is a MORON - seriously if this show gets cancelled before Gil and Jessica are living happily ever after I will riot) so now Idk.

10:02 - EDRISA WHY DID YOU NOT TELL GIL AND MALCOLM THAT THE SURGEON WAS ON THE PHONE?!? For a hot second, poor Malcolm looks like he thinks he’s hallucinating.

10:40 - Gil hanging up on Martin and then telling Edrisa that she needs to make new friends is everything. It’s vicious. Gil looks absolutely furious in this scene and I love it.

11:07 - Yo. Edrisa’s got some baggage. hahaha Malcolm looks soooo uncomfortable with her outburst.

11:18 - I would pay good money to watch Martin and Gil have a pissing match in front of Malcolm every episode. It’s amazing. They’re constantly trying to one-up each other. The tension is palatable. And someone Malcolm is the only one acting like a mature, working adult. Malcolm. My mentally unstable, skinny millennial.

11:34 - OH SHIT. Martin did not just bring Jessica into this. Oh SNAP. Does Martin know that Jessica dumped Gil?!?

11:56 - “I’m going to need a little more than that.” Damn. Malcolm looks pissed here. Pretty sure he hates that Martin just brought up Gil/Jessica. Malcolm’s bio-dad and real dad are fighting and it’s very clear that Malcolm is on Gil’s side.

12:17 - The look that Gil and Malcolm share here is perfect. I love it so much. You can see how annoyed they both are, how much they hate that they need Martin on this case, how much neither of them want Martin’s help. <3

12:23 - SOMEONE GIVE GIL A MEDAL. This man just grit his teeth, smiled, and let MARTIN WHITLY - the man who tried to KILL HIM work on his case. Why? Because Malcolm silently asked him to. Because Gil loves Malcolm and knows that it’s better for Martin to work with them officially than for Malcolm to work with Martin in secret. At least this way he can look out for Malcolm.

12:42 - “It’s taken Dr. Marsh years...” soooo was Dr. Marsh the name of the Asian doctor leading group therapy last season? Is this just a new actor, same character scenario? OR am I supposed to forget that Asian doctor existed last season?

13:04 - I can’t tell if Gil hates this whole “father-son in group therapy idea”. He looks kind of like he hates it (although he is looking at Martin in the shot). I’m inclined to think that Gil is worried. He doesn’t like how nice Martin is acting toward Malcolm. He doesn’t want Malcolm to get hurt again. BUT I also think there’s probably a part of Gil that thinks group therapy might be beneficial for Malcolm’s mental health? I mean it was only ever going to be terrible or amazing. Nothing in between.

13:12 - “They hate you don’t they?” GIL BRINGING THE FIRE. hahahaha angry Gil is really funny.

13:43 - OH HELL YES. More Hector. <3

13:46 - hahaha YES. Hector this is Malcolm - the son. You know, the one you had to role-play? hahaha I feel like Hector is a really cool dude (aside from the murder).

13:53 - Damn. Hector pays attention in group. He has a lot of info about Malcolm. I would’ve thought the other inmates would just tune Martin out when he starts his monologues.

13:59 - “He’s got a thing with hands?” hahahaha OMG. How did I never connect the hand thing. DOES Malcolm have a thing with hands? ....I kind of want that to be cannon?

14:00 - “You’re crazier than me.” Ouch. That must’ve hurt. Think about it - Malcolm is ridden with guilt about Endicott. He’s haunted by what he experienced as a kid and by what his father is. Malcolm believes he’s broken beyond repair. On some level Malcolm thinks he’s crazy. Now a literal killer just told him he’s crazy. That just affirms what Malcolm already believes about himself. :( PLUS right after Hector tells Malcolm that he’s crazy - the camera pans to Martin. MARTIN looks scared. Martin is losing control of the situation and he doesn’t like it. Martin knows on some level that he ruined Malcolm’s mental health. He almost looks a little guilty?

14:31 - FINALLY. We have a cannon occurrence of someone calling Malcolm “Mal” (or “Malc” if you’re going by HULU’s subtitles?). I hope the writers start having people call Malcolm by Mal/Malc more often.

14:35 - I can’t ignore it anymore. DID HECTOR HAVE THAT SCAR ON HIS FACE LAST SEASON?!? I DON’T REMEMBER IT.

14:38 - YES YES. Malcolm looks angry. I LOVE IT. Scream at him Malcolm! Give him hell!

15:03 - Yikes. Malcolm sounds like he’s about to cry here. :( My heart breaks for him. .....I wonder if this is the first time Martin has ever heard how much pain he caused Malcolm straight from Malcolm? Martin looks hella uncomfortable here.

15:25 - The inmates (literal murderers) empathizing with Malcolm is twisted, beautiful, and haunting. These guys understand how much it sucks to hang out with Martin. These guys can see the real pain in Malcolm’s expression. They know he isn’t lying. Part of me honestly wonders if one of them is going to try and hurt Martin for Malcolm. They looked pissed enough by the end of the conversation that I kind of believe they might.

16:00 - Malcolm is not acting here. For once he’s not projecting his problems onto potential suspects. He’s just venting to suspects. No pretence. I love it. BUT 100% of me wants to know where Gil is during this session. Is Gil listening? Is the session being recorded for evidence? There’s no way Gil (or Dani) wouldn’t confront Malcolm about this. Even if they just asked him if he’s okay.

16:10 - hahahaha look at Doctor Marsh. He’s like “ooookkkkkaaaayyyy. I’m a psychiatrist in a psychiatric facility for people who have committed violent crimes. BUT THIS IS THE NUTTIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN.”

16:12 - Look at the way Martin narrows his eyes. He’s trying to figure out if Malcolm is acting. He’s finally realizing that Malcolm truly hates what Martin subjected him to as a child. I honestly think this interaction will cause Martin to shift his “become a murderer like me” agenda from Malcolm to Ainsley. He’s finally seen the depth of Malcolm’s hatred and pain and knows deep down that Malcolm will never turn into a serial killer. But there’s still hope for Ainsley. That’s not to say that Martin won’t stop gaslighting Malcolm - he totally will.

17:10 - Martin has been at Claremont for 20 YEARS. How is it that he didn’t know a gold card existed?!?

17:21 - I honestly thought Marsh was going to get shanked. For the gold card. No other reason.

18:07 - It’s not supposed to be funny but Burt freaking out and punching Marsh is HYSTERICAL. hahahahaha

18:10 - That guard who pushed Malcolm out of the room and into a safe area? He’s in my good books. Every time I watch him push Malcolm to safety I want to give him a hug. Just for doing his job. What the hell is wrong with me?!?

18:18 - UGH. I hate that creepy, satisfied look that Martin gives Malcolm. It’s the same look he gave baby Malcolm in the pilot. It’s the “we’re the same” look and it clearly bothers Malcolm. :(

18:26 - Oh look. 18 minutes into the episode and we finally have a Dani appearance!! annnnnnd no mention of JT. I mean, I get it. He’s on paternity leave. I’m happy for him. BUT TWO EPISODES WITHOUT A JT APPEARANCE IS TORTURE. At least give me a throw away line about how happy JT is or about the baby!?? Honestly - it’s my biggest gripe with this episode.

18:56 - soooo either Dr. Marsh is a terrible psychiatrist OR you can’t “cure” murderers.

19:08 - The NYPD knows that Martin cured Jerry?!? HOW? Did Mr. David get Martin to admit to shocking him? Did Mr. David tell the police?!? I don’t remember Martin telling Malcolm. I specifically remember Malcolm saying, “I don’t want to know”

20:02 - Damn. I want Ainsley to go dark so badly. I want to see how badly it would destroy Malcolm and Jessica. I am evil.

20:52 - Malcolm’s burgundy jacket is gorgeous. That is all.

21:10 - Malcolm knows that Martin wants to escape. This is good. I love this.

21:55 - THERE’S A WOMENS WARD?!? REVOLUTIONARY INFORMATION. I THOUGHT THEY HAD A SEPARATE HOSPITAL.

22:00 - Oh wow. Finally - a perk to gender inequality.

22:52 - This Brightwell scene is so cute. I love watching Malcolm be excited about solving the crime. I love watching Dani gently tease him about how weird he is. I love watching them subtly flirt. Is Malcolm ready for another relationship - hell no. Do I think Dani has forgiven him - not totally. If they got together now it would end badly. But I do want them to be endgame.

23:11 - Andre is really suspicious throughout this whole scene. I’m convinced that if Dani and Malcolm weren’t too busy flirting Andre would’ve become a suspect really fast.

23:15 - Why do people get released from psychiatric prisons?!? This is a genuine question. I would’ve thought that everyone in Claremont has committed some seriously heinous crimes and only a very small portion of them are actually sick. The rest of them just pleaded insanity and had good lawyers. But even if they are/were sick. I don’t think the types of mental illnesses that drive people to murder and/or rape is something that can be cured. Sooo why are they getting released? I guess I just wonder because there’s this guy that’s been in my local news on and off for like 10+ years. He’s molested/raped many young women between the ages of about 16-25. He’s been arrested and released multiple times. He keeps getting released to different major cities in my province (usually a city with a big University) and reoffends within 6 months of being released. Most recently he was arrested last month after being released in October 2020. Clearly he’s going to keep reoffending - so why does he keep getting released? I guess I just don’t understand what the criteria are that allow an inmate who has committed that sort of crime to be released. Here’s a link to one of the more recent news stories if you’re interested: https://vancouverisland.ctvnews.ca/police-warn-of-high-risk-sex-offender-moving-to-victoria-1.5149264

23:23 - hahaha Andre is like, “Yo. This dude is freaky.”

24:15 - Look at how proud Malcolm is of his whole “lobster = murderer” profile. <3 So freaking precious. <3 and Dani looks so amused with him. <3

24:37 - Sooooo Mr. David isn’t listening to this conversation? He left the room?

24:40 - Jessica going to Martin for parenting help is terrifying. This is a woman in crisis.

25:20 - But Jessica was right to be paranoid in 97′. She wasn’t being cheated on romantically but her husband was murdering people.

25:24 - Martin is so selling his kids out here. He knows it. He doesn’t care. He’s having too much fun torturing Jessica. He’s rejoicing at the fact that he gets to play the “I turned the kids to the dark side” card.

26:40 - Poor Jessica. She looks suspicious and scared. Scared that she raised a killer even though she tried desperately to prevent that very behaviour.

26:56 - Damn. Martin is having a really good day. First he gets to annoy Gil Arroyo in the flesh. Then Edrisa talks medical with him. Then he gets to work with Malcolm. THEN his ex-wife calls him and he gets to toy with her mind. THEN his daughter, who has literally murdered someone comes to visit him. He is a proud Dad right here and he’s having an amazing day.

28:00 - Rhonda is terrifying. This girl has perfected the “I’m sweet and unthreatening” while lying and manipulating people. I swear she’s a teenage Queen B personality with a side of violence.

28:30 - I love how protective Malcolm is of Ainsley. Look how positively livid he is that Marin is talking to her. Malcolm is terrified that Martin is going to purposefully and successfully turn Ainsley into a serial killer. Malcolm doesn’t want to lose his sister. He doesn’t want Jessica to lose her ‘stable’ child.

29:09 - This scares me. This is the kind of Ainsley behaviour from last season that made me believe she is the Whitly child most like Martin. Her ruthlessness and lack of a conscience when it comes to looking for a news story is extremely upsetting.

30:11 - What the hell happened to Tevin? AND WATKINS?!? We got no closure on those guys. Are they dead? In prison? Is Tevin still in Claremont? Were they transferred to facilities outside of New York State?

30:28 - Malcolm yelling at Martin is perfect. *chef’s kiss* Finally this boy is being honest with his father and he isn’t holding back.

30:40 - Michael Sheen is an incredible actor. This is an Emmy worthy scene. By Sheen AND Payne.

30:48 - I love how you can see Mr. David just chilling. Sitting outside the door and staring across the hall during this scene. It’s just....can’t he hear the screaming?!? Is he just like, “I can’t take anymore of this today. Not my circus and not my monkeys.”

30:55 - Soooooo this is Martin showing his true colours. There’s definitely a part of Martin that hates Malcolm. I honestly wonder if that part of Martin actively tries/tried to emotionally torture Malcolm now and throughout his childhood.

31:00 - “And your mother. And you ruined HeR!!!”....does this mean Martin was trying to make Ainsley a serial killer? Maybe after the camping trip when he realized Malcolm was too “weak” to kill anyone? Is this Martin saying that Ainsley is ruined because she didn’t become a serial killer? Or that Ainsley is ruined because she killed Endicott?

31:05 - “But that’s not me.” hahaha OMG. Michael Sheen just flipped between two personalities like nobody’s business. Respect.

31:08 - Martin’s outburst hurt Malcolm. Badly. You can see it all over his face. Even now, when Malcolm is being strong and showing some backbone to Martin, Martin can wound Malcolm with a single phrase. :(

31:41 - soooo where has Gil been for the past 10 minutes of this episode?

32:02 - Sooooo did Andre kill Jerry for Rhonda? Or did he just know about the murder and keep quiet for Rhonda? Or is his oblivious to the fact that Rhonda killed Jerry? I’m honestly confused here.

32:20 - Holy shit. Rhonda is crazy. Andre is dead now. Right?

32:48 - Wait. Why did Andre have a gold card? Mr. David only has red. What kind of qualifications does a guard need to get a gold card vs blue, green, or red?!?!

32:55 - Claremont isn’t a punishment for Martin. Solitary is. Martin should live in solitary. He deserves to suffer for his crimes (and the ongoing torture of his son).

33:05 - How messed up is it that Mr. David’s job is to protect a serial killer? I don’t think I’m brave enough to do something like that. I also don’t know if I could do that for moral reasons.

33:14 - Damn. That elevator looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed. It’s sooo much nastier than the hallway outside of the elevator.

33:50 - Sooo does this mean Martin is eventually going to try and murder someone down here?

33:54 - HE CALLED FOR BACKUP <3 <3 <3 OUR BOY IS GROWING UP AND I’M SO PROUD. <3

35:40 - FINALLY SOME MALCOLM WHUMP. <3 THIS SEASON HAS BEEN LACKING IT.

36:00 - This is really interesting to me. I honestly wonder if Martin has some sort of split personality disorder (personality #1: murderous, selfish, psychopath; personality #2: loving, concerned father and lawful doctor). You can see how desperately he wants to escape. But also how much he loves his son. I honestly thought he was going to leave Malcolm to die.

36:06 - Ugh. Look at his whumped face. <3 <3 <3 ....one thing that I couldn’t stop thinking during all the tazing (which was amazing FYI, I’m not complaining) is this: in QxA (1x07) Mr. David says that he only has a single shot tazer. Why did Andre have a multi-shot tazer? Is this a gold card vs red card thing?

36:40 - WHY THE EFF DOES BACKUP NOT INCLUDE GIL?!?! I KNOW HE’S STILL IN THE BUILDING.

37:03 - MARTIN, IF YOU TOUCH A HAIR ON DANI’S HEAD I WILL PERSONALLY HUNT YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU MYSELF. He honestly looks like he wants to murder her.

37:50 - Martin’s speech is not going to help Malcolm’s mental state. At all.

38:31 - No. No. No. Martin you do NOT get to talk to Dani on a first name basis. Look at how much Dani hates it.

38:35 - I love how soft Malcolm looks as Martin lifts him up. Look at how Malcolm gently leans into the touch. It breaks my heart. After 20 years Malcolm is still comforted by physical contact with his father. :(

38:37 - “Put your hands on me again Dr. Whitly, and I’ll blow your head off.” OH HELL YES. Dani is my hero. Iconic. Also - anyone else notice that Dani is chewing gum in this scene (I don’t think she’s chewed gum on camera since the pilot?) it makes her look like so much more of a badass in this scene.

38:55 - Oh look. The rest of the backup finally showed up. Where were these assholes 5 minutes ago when DANI WAS ALONE? AND WHERE IS GIL?!?!

39:00 - Malcolm thanking Dani is so so precious. And the fact that he’s clearly struggling to breathe and stay conscious is giving me life. ALSO Dani saying, “YOU’re welcome.”?!? *chef’s kiss* :) :) <3

39:30 - So Malcolm definitely knows that Martin almost left him to die so that Martin could escape.

39:33 - ......Ainsley is currently living with Jessica. Why is Ainsley not at the family dinner? We literally see her in the house in like 30 seconds.

39:35 - Malcolm in a polo shirt. Malcolm in a polo shirt. Why is it so attractive?!? He looks like a baby cinnamon roll? <3

39:51 - WHO THE EFF LET AINSLEY INTO THE MURDER BASEMENT?!? WHY AM I EXPECTED TO BELIEVE THAT JESSICA DIDN’T RE-SEAL IT AFTER WATKINS?!?!

40:15 - Jessica desperately tearing apart the living room is heartbreaking. :(

40:29 - Question: Did Jessica send her staff home before she tore apart the living room? Because I can just imagine two of them staring into the living room from the hall like, “She’s finally snapped. Should we call someone?”

41:00 - Jessica is the queen of drama. HOLY SHIT. This reveal was so extra and so perfect.

41:13 - “I killed him.” “You’re lying.” I love this interaction between Jessica and Malcolm. Malcolm has spent his whole life trying to convince people that he’s not a murderer. To protect Ainsley, his baby sister, he will say the words “I killed him”. Even though that is literally killing a part of Malcolm. Jessica knows it. I love that Jessica can see that Malcolm is lying. She’s not trying to convince herself that he’s innocent. She literally just accused him of murder. She’s scared. Because Malcolm just admitted to killing someone - his biggest fear - and it was a lie.

41:35 - Watching Bellamy Young’s facial expression as Jessica realizes that Ainsley killed Endicott is a thing of beauty. This woman needs an Emmy too. HELL, CAN WE GIVE THIS WHOLE EPISODE AN EMMY?!?!

42:00 - Poor Jessica. The guilt she must feel. She’s always thought that Malcolm was the one at risk of being a murderer. He’s a boy (they’re statistically more prone to violence than girls), he was older than Ainsley, he remembers terrible things, Malcolm had continued exposure to Martin throughout his childhood (Ainsley didn’t - I think?). But the child she neglected, the child she thought was safe, the child she thought remained free of Martin’s evil killed someone. It’s a plot-twist that just ripped Jessica’s heart into a million pieces.

42:30 - Yep. I promise you Malcolm has been psychoanalyzing Ainsley’s past behaviours since the moment she killed Endicott. He’s found traits common to serial killers and he’s terrified that she’ll become one if she remembers what it felt like to kill Endicott. He’s probably kicking himself for not noticing sooner. He’s probably questioning his ability as a profiler and as a big brother. AND the fact that MALCOLM has to protect Jessica AND Ainsley is heartbreaking. It’s way too big a burden. No wonder Malcolm’s mental health is on a downward spiral.

42:33 - This is the moment Jessica begins grieving for Ainsley. The fear, disbelief, and horror on her face. It’s torture that I can only describe as someone telling a mother that her daughter is dead. Because Ainsley is dead. The person Jessica believed Ainsley was - that little girl is dead. Because Jess just found out the truth.

42:55 - Jessica is now terrified of her own daughter. That is maybe the most upsetting thing this show has given us.

43:00 - I saw an interesting theory about how Ainsley is regressing back to her childhood (crawling into bed with Mom, moving back in with Mom) and I must say - that would be a really interesting way for this story to go. Ainsley regressing to a child-like state as she is convicted of murder. As a result she ends up in the women’s ward of Claremont because she can plead insanity.

This episode was amazing. Seriously, one of the best Prodigal Son episodes to date. Definitely the best of season 2 so far. If you’ve read this far - thanks for hanging out.

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