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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Anakin and the Jedi Babies: A Child's Ink

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

WARNINGS: underage characters get tattoos/piercings

Word Count: 5680 Rating: T Ships: primarily Gen (Disaster Lineage + Shmi), offscreen JangoShmi, past Obitine, past Anidala ----

Ylliben Skywalker is known as a preternaturally calm and quiet child, serious and pensive.

He jokes. He roughhouses. He is as responsive to tickle attacks and shoulder rides and warm hugs as any other child.

But he is Jetii'Manda, not just Mando'ade, and that fact is impossible to forget.

This is a child that can read before he can speak, a child who can talk at length about 'grassroots antiestablishment propaganda and its influence on rural sociological development' before he can say the words without a lisp. This is a child who looks a man in the eye and tells him to check over his blaster one last time, or it will explode in his hand only minutes into the next engagement. This is a child who is not only willing, but capable of discussing the plausible ramifications of Duke Adonai Kryze's latest decrees with Jaster Mereel himself, while still in possession of all his baby teeth.

(His father is not worried by this. Upset, sometimes, pained and tired, but not worried.)

(His sister only laughs.)

It is, as a result, not as surprising as it could be, when a six-year-old wanders his way into Na-Tsuyon's parlor and asks her what the risks of getting a tattoo at his age are.

"I'm not having that conversation with you unless your parent is here," she says. A few of the other artists crane their heads in her direction, but she waves them off.

"I'm not trying to get it right this moment," Ben protests. "I'm just gathering information. He said that was fine."

"Still need your parent here here," she tells him.

He leaves for about ten minutes, and then comes back with a tall, gangling figure in tow.

"I hear this isn't the place for unaccompanied minors," Knight Skywalker jokes.

(She has heard him called a General. She does not know which war he fought. Nobody does.)

(They no longer ask.)

"Well, he is young," she says, brushing her tentacles back over a shoulder. "I don't let anyone under human-fourteen get tattooed without a parent on hand, and giving preliminary information to anyone under twelve is... generally not worth it, shall we say."

Skywalker smiles, oddly amused in the way he always is when someone points out his children need supervision. "Glad to hear it. Are you the Na-Tsuyon whose name is on the door?"

"I am," she says. "And you're Knight Skywalker."

He's pleased at that. She can feel it in the chemical receptors of her head tails, and wonders. "Yep. So, do we jump right into the discussion or do you need me to sign something, or..."

"No, it's enough that you're here," she assures him. "Now, the main reasons we discourage tattoos for younger sentients is the distortion factor. While the level of pain is much lower than it would have been several millennia ago, and we have the technology to remove ink from below the skin, a tattoo before your body stops growing will distort as you grow and your skin stretches. You would need to come in yearly for touch-ups, to remove the sections that have moved out of place, and fill in where the ink is no longer settled."

"That makes sense," Ylliben says. He looks up at his father, and then back to her. "You'd be able to tell me if any of my choices would be... bad for a Mandalorian, yes?"

"I would," she confirms. She glances up at Knight Skywalker. "I don't suppose you have any history of getting tattoos?"

"No," he says. "I'm from Tatooine, so..."

Different connotations to the very act of it, for him.

She ducks her head in a nod. "I understand. Generally it's easier if the parent has experience in the process, but it's far from mandatory. You're willing to work with the distortion maintenance?"

"Yes'm," Ylliben says, and his father shrugs and gestures, as if the word of a six-year-old is thus law.

"I'll walk you through the details of the process, including the care, relevant allergies, and so on. I don't suppose you have anything in mind already?" she asks.

"I do," he says. He doesn't tell her what it is, yet.

Anakin Skywalker stays there the entire time, and they make an appointment for later in the week.

----

"My buir isn't my only father," Ylliben says quietly, when it comes time to get details on what he's getting tattooed. "I had another father before him. A Jedi. He died, to protect me, and a lot of other people. So, um..."

He shoves a picture to her, the symbol of the Jedi, plain and simple. She looks at him.

"In red," he says, shifting on his feet, looking up at his father and then back down at the page. "For, um, to honor a parent."

"Your first father was a Jedi?" she asks, gentle as she can.

"Mm-hm," Ylliben says. "He died, um... he saved buir from slavery, too, a long time ago. Both my dads were Jedi, and I'm going to be one, too, and so is Sokanth. It's--it's about where I come from, and--"

"You don't have to justify it if you don't want to," Na-Tsuyon tells him, reaching out to place one hand on his. It's very warm and dry, in her opinion, but she finds that most humans are. Mandalorians are some 80% human, or near human.

Nautolan Mandalorians aren't unheard of, but she's a rare one.

Ben sucks in a breath, and says, "I want it up here, on my right shoulder, like a pauldron."

Na-Tsuyon nods, and looks up to Skywalker. "You'll have to sign some papers to approve it, Master Jedi. You approve of the design?"

Skywalker hesitates, and then goes to one knee in front of his son, and speaks so quietly she can only hear "--remind you of the generator complex?"

Whatever Ben's answer is, it's too quiet for her to catch. It satisfies Skywalker, though, and he stands. "Alright, let's see this paperwork."

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a year later to get his slightly-twisting tattoo fixed, it's with Miss Shmi in tow. Na-Tsuyon greets the middle Skywalker, for all that she's still not entirely sure how to address the girl. "I heard you've been attending the university at Sundari. Some kind of engineering?"

"Mechanical, yes," Shmi says, oddly soft. "I'm going to spend another year to specialize in vehicular engineering. I'd like to design starships, since I already know how to fix them."

"A worthy goal," Na-Tsuyon says, as she leads them over to one of the stations and starts sanitizing Ylliben's inked shoulder. She doesn't entirely see why a university education is needed for something that, in her opinion, an apprenticeship could more thoroughly cover. It certainly worked well enough Na-Tsuyon herself. "You're on vacation, then?"

"I am," Shmi confirms. "It's... unfortunate that Anakin couldn't be here a the same time, but we'll see each other in a few days."

Ylliben fidgets for a bit as his jedi symbol is fixed, and then finally asks, "Ori'vod can approve new tattoos, right?"

"Sokanth, no. Shmi..." Na-Tsuyon looks up at her. "I have no idea if you're listed as his legal guardian anywhere, and I'd need proof of that."

"Secondary to Anakin," Shmi confirms. "Ben would like this to be a surprise for Ani."

Ben pulls out a sheet, with a careful design on it, and presses it into Na-Tsuyon's lap when she lifts the tattoo gun and he's not at risk of ruining his own ink. It's simpler than the Jedi symbol, though it's two colors instead of one.

"It's the Open Circle Fleet," Ben says, shy in a way she's given to understand he usually isn't. She thinks his shyer moments may be connected to admitting to emotion, something that he's tying quite closely to his choice of Tattoos. "I thought, um, since I'm already--already honoring one buir, then, er..."

"The Open Circle Fleet was under the command of my brother's Jedi Master," Shmi explains, one hand on Ben's. "And I am given to understand that the symbol was designed as a subtle nod, of sorts, to the two of them as a team. Ben's looking to honor Anakin as he has his first father."

Ben looks down at his lap, and doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes.

"Bring me proof of guardianship," she tells them. "And I'll make sure you get it finished early enough that the bacta comes off before Knight Skywalker makes it home."

She holds true to her word, and talks her way into being there to see the reunion and reveal.

The emotions that cross Skywalker's face are complicated and unexpected in ways that she can't identify.

Then it's all too simple, because he starts crying on little Ylliben in the middle of the hangar.

----

It doesn't take a full year for Ylliben to come in for another set. It's only five months, maybe six. He has a sketch again, a geometric design of something she doesn't recognize, but still pings as familiar for some reason.

"It needs to be the right shade of blue," he tells her, serious as anything. Knight Skwyalker is right next to him, smiling all soft and indulgent, and maybe a little sad. "It's for Soka."

Oh. This is based on her facial markings, then. Or... what they will be, maybe. This doesn't look quite like what she's seen on the girl, but everyone knows little Ben is more touched by visions than his father and sister.

Na-Tsuyon thinks she knows where this is going. "The same blue as her montrals and lekku?"

Ben shakes his head. "No, 501st blue."

Or not.

"It's close, but a little darker and more saturated," Skywalker offers, and shrugs when she looks his way. "It's a long story, but the 501st was the legion I led before I arrived at Mandalore. It had a specific shade of blue assigned for armor paint, so legions could easily identify each other in the field."

That's... odd. She doesn't ask for more detail, though. It's not her business. "Where do you want this one?"

Ben shows her his left forearm and frames a section about two-thirds the length of it, along the outer side. Like a vambrace.

She has a feeling all these symbols will be on his armor, once he's old enough for it.

"Let's go through my inks and see which one will work best," she says, and does not comment on the rest.

----

When Ylliben comes in again, a few months before his next touch-up appointment, he doesn't have an image on hand. His father is trailing him again, and Na-Tsuyon has a guess.

"Time for Shmi?" she asks.

Ben ducks his head, flushing and not meeting Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "Yes'm."

"I thought as much," she says, and smiles at Skywalker. "General."

"Don't start."

"There have been oh so many rumors flying since the last Jedi run-in, you know."

"I don't care," he grouses, dropping into a seat. "Hells, a man takes emergency command for one battle, and it's all anyone can talk about."

"You ended a civil war, sir."

Ben giggles into his hands as Skywalker groans and slaps a hand over his eyes.

"No respect," the man complains. "Ben, be nice to me, I'm your dad."

"Nuh-uh," Ben says. "I know all the most embarrassing secrets."

"A cruel child," Skywalker accuses. "Ruthless."

"You're the one raising me," Ben says, swinging his legs back and forth. He's got plastoid training vambraces, now, and greaves that clink against the legs of the chair.

"Somehow, yes." Skywalker sighs, with great drama and all such things. He drags himself up to sitting. "Anyway. Moving on."

"Do you have something in mind already?" Na-Tsuyon asks.

"Binary suns," Ben says. "Just two overlapping circles, coin-sized, one bigger than the other, in sunset colors. In a gradient, with a sort of... flare to it? Halo? The... oh! The stellar corona. Buir knows the colors better."

"I want to see what you have to work with before I sketch out the design," Skywalker says. "But yeah, sort of pink and yellow and peachy."

"I can do almost any color," Na-Tsuyon promises. "Especially on fair human skin like Ylliben's. I won't have a problem getting those to show up the way I would on myself."

Na-Tsuyon is a color most would call 'aquamarine.' She's a light shade between blue and green, and much as she likes her skin, it's an absolute pain to make red and orange show up.

She can do it.

It's just annoying.

Ben asks for this one to be on the inside of the left forearm, high and opposite to the widest point of the mark for Sokanth.

----

"Can I see your fonts?"

Ben's alone, for the moment, but Na-Tsuyon knows that when he makes his decision, his father or Shmi will approve it without question. It's no harm to let him browse.

"Basic, Mando'a, or Huttese alphabet?" she asks. "Or something more esoteric?"

"Mando'a, please."

He's eight years old, now. He's still far younger than most of her clients, but she's long gotten used to him. Even when he's acting like a child, there's something to it that doesn't quite sit right. 'Born middle-aged,' a few of the other civilians on base had joked.

She wasn't sure if she thought it was just a joke, these days.

Na-Tsuyon passes her fonts book to the boy, and settles back in her chair for a long afternoon of running numbers. He, meanwhile, goes to sit in the lobby, legs still not long enough to reach the floor, paging through with unwavering, unsettling gravitas.

Half an hour, and then Ben returns.

He points to a font. "This one."

"What's it going to say?"

"Vode An," he tells her, as serious as can be. "In black, over my heart. It's important."

"It's a fairly common phrase," she notes idly. "Should be quick."

She doesn't expect much of a response, and certainly not the one she gets.

"It was different for them," Ben mutters, not looking at her. She sees him twisting the toes of one shoe into the floor. "It was... it was different. I can't talk about it. They were brothers, actually brothers, and they had--they had nothing, they were basically slaves, but--"

"You don't have to talk about it," Na-Tsuyon assures him, a hand on his. "You don't have to explain it to me. If it means something to you, that's all that matters. I just need you to be sure."

"And buir to sign the paperwork," Ben quips, smiling at her. She notices that several teeth are missing. It's cute. "You need that too."

"That too," she agrees.

When Skywalker shows up, he hears what it is that Ben would like, and makes a few suggestions for a border--a gear that sounded too much like the Republic's symbol for a Mando'a phrase, a building on stilts from a city she's never heard of on a planet that rings no bells, a human genetic strand for reasons she can't imagine--most of which are soundly ignored, until Skywalker sketched out a stylized ship of... some sort.

"Venator," Skywalker says, and taps the image. "Nobody will know it except us, but it'll mean something to you, for them."

Ben looks at it for a long moment, and then takes the scrap of flimsi with Mando'a on it and lays it overtop the center of the sketch.

He stares at it for a few long moments, and then nods sharply and pushes it to Na-Tsuyon. "This, please."

He's such a polite child.

It makes it easier to ignore the more confusing parts of his presence in her parlor.

----

"Hi!"

Sokanth Skywalker is in her shop.

That's new.

"Hello," Na-Tsuyon says. "I didn't know you were thinking of getting ink."

"I'm not," she says, hopping up on a stool across the counter. She holds out a hand, and Na-Tsuyon clasps it with bemusement. "But you guys do piercings too, right?"

"We do," she confirms. "You're... ten?"

"Yep!" Sokanth chirps, kicking her legs back and forth. "Is that old enough to get these without permission, or should I ask my dad to come by?"

"At least twelve for piercings without in-person, signed approval from a parent or guardian," Na-Tsuyon says. "Though if you're anything like your brother, I don't imagine that'll be a problem for you."

Sokanth grins at her, bright and a little wild. "Nose, bottom lip, eyebrow. I don't know the actual terms, but I know what I want. Which do you suggest getting first?"

"I'd say nostril," Na-Tsuyon tells her. Most species even vaguely humanoid kick off with the ears, but that's not exactly an option for a togruta. "Let me get a chart and you can figure out what type of piercing you want, and what kind of hoop or stud. I don't actually do the piercings myself, though. Comm the General if you want this done today, though."

"Thank you~!"

----

Nostril, labret, and a horizontal brow, the piercer notes down at the end of the latest Skywalker visit. Na-Tsuyon wonders if the brow piercing will look strange with Soka's markings, and then doesn't think on it further.

----

Ylliben, almost nine, is silent as he gets the touch-up.

His father isn't here. Neither is Shmi. It's pre-approved, signed permission and all, but it's still odd that neither of Ben's adults is here.

Sokanth is, but she's almost as quiet as Ben is.

Na-Tsuyon has heard the rumors, but she's not going to say anything. She's not. It's not her business.

"Ben," Soka speaks up, towards the end of the appointment. "Ask her the thing."

Ben shakes his head. "No way."

"She knows more about tattoos and how important they are than anyone!" Soka urges. "Ask her!"

"Do you want to wait for your father?" Na-Tsuyon suggests.

"No!" both immediately yelp.

She pauses, glad the needle hadn't been to skin, and levels a look at Ben. He flushes and settles down, mumbling an apology for jerking as he had. She goes back to fixing the stretch of the binary suns tattoo.

Soka shifts in her seat, watching them intently.

"Shmi's upset with buir," Ben suddenly says. He doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "I'm... I don't know if you heard what's going on."

"I do my best to avoid rumors," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. "I did hear that the Mand'alor is about to have a grandchild, and something about an upcoming wedding. That much has been announced officially."

"Dad freaked out," Soka says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's happy for her, and he's fine with Jango being the other parent, but it kicked off a... philosophical crisis? Ben, what do you think?"

"Metaphysical, maybe," Ben mumbles. "Definitely existential."

"And he told Shmi some stuff and now she's hurt that he didn't tell her before and it's all a mess," Soka finishes. "So, uh, we don't... want either of them involved. Until. Um. Until that's settled."

Na-Tsuyon bites back any deeper questions she might have. "Alright. I won't pry. What did you want to know from me?"

"I had a plan for what I was going to get next," Ben says, staring at the fold of fabric over his sister's knees in lieu of something more pertinent. "A peace lily, on the inside of my wrist, for..."

"You don't have to tell me," she reminds him.

Ben bites his lip, and closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Neither of the girls comment.

"She was important," Ben finally says. "In the big memories. But she doesn't... she's not... she isn't here. And Jango is. And he's marrying Shmi, and they're having a baby, so I should put a mark down for him first, right?"

"He's gonna be Mand'alor, too," Soka adds.

"He is," Na-Tsuyon says, as neutral as she can.

"He's joining the family," Ben says, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. "And there's going to be a baby, and that's. That's important."

"There's no order that you have to get things in," Na-Tsuyon assures him, squeezing his shoulder in a light gesture of support. "You've prioritized family so far, so I think it would make sense to get a mark for the coming cousin, at least. Unless... is the lily for your birth mother?"

Ben's face twists, uncomfortable for some reason she can't begin to guess at.

"No," Ben says.

"Skyguy's Jedi Master did almost marry her when they were younger," Soka explains. She glances at Na-Tsuyon and then away and at the wall. "They had a whole dramatic 'forbidden romance' thing going on, 'cause Jedi aren't supposed to get married. She died before Ben came into the picture, though."

It's a neat enough explanation.

It feels fake, but much of what the Skywalkers say about their pasts does.

She's sure it's true in some way. In some perspective. From... from a certain point of view, maybe.

"Alright, then," Na-Tsuyon dismisses. "All things aside, I would suggest adjusting your order of tattoo acquisition, but there's no particular requirement by Mandalorian standards. Your choices are rarely anything that intersects with set traditions, nor do you have a historic clan or house that comes with mandates of the sort. It seems that you're leaning towards prioritizing something for the new additions to your family, though; you've made it clear that these things are important to you, and I think you should pursue it if you're comfortable with it."

Ben nods, eyes somewhere far off.

"It'll make him flustered," Soka pushes, kicking lightly at her brother's ankle. "Jan-Jan's still worried you don't like him anymore."

"He is not," Ben huffs. "He's just scared of buir."

"Nah, your opinion matters too," Soka argues. "And you've been avoiding everyone 'cuz Skyguy freaked out and Shmi's upset, so Jango's worried you're mad at him about the baby happening. If you get a tattoo about him, he might actually cry."

"Is that why you want me to take that route?"

"Not the only one," Soka says, utterly guileless. She blinks at him, bright and innocent. "But I definitely do want to see the future Mand'alor crying because you made it obvious he's family now. It'll be funny."

Ben sighs, very clearly being dramatic about it. "Soka, I'm not going to pick a tattoo based on what you think will be funny."

"Imagine his face, though."

Na-Tsuyon doesn't comment at the expressions Ben makes as he very clearly does exactly that.

"Well, kriff," Ben sighs, and Soka giggles at the swear. "I'll have to get a tattoo for Jango, then."

----

Ben is already nine by the time he comes in with his father to actually get the tattoo for Jango's addition to the family. The choice he makes isn't particularly imaginative, but it'll suit well enough. A mythosaur skull, the symbol of the Haat Mando'ade, in a grey the same shade as beskar.

There actually are traditions to this one, specific adjustments to the framing and stylization meant to indicate how one fits into the faction, but also how one is associated with the Mand'alor. Ben is family, and close family, but not related by blood, nor adopted directly by the Mand'alor, rather a relative through the riduur be alor.

Na-Tsuyon explains each element and adjustment in detail, lets them process and agree, until she's taking a needle to Ben's skin once more.

"Will you be getting one for the coming child as well?" Na-Tsuyon asks while shading in a curve of bone.

"Not yet," Ben tells her, quiet and oddly contemplating. "I need to meet them, first. Figure out who they are."

"Sensible," she agrees. There's the usual oddity in his phrasing, and she ignores it as ever. "Did you tell Fett that you were getting this?"

"No, it's intended as a surprise," Ben says, watching her work.

She can almost feel the coming question.

It does not come from the human she expects.

"Do you know any Mando tattoo artists in Little Keldabe?" the General asks, voice low.

She finishes the line she's on, lifts the needle away from skin, and turns to him. "You're leaving for Coruscant?"

"Not yet," Skywalker says. He meets her eyes evenly. "But... soon. The time's coming. A year, maybe two. The Force will let us know when the time is right."

"Uh-huh," Na-Tsuyon acknowledges this. She does not comment further. The Force is not her wheelhouse. If they think it wants them back on Coruscant, with the Temple, then that's what they believe.

"These are Mando work," Skywalker continues, almost painfully earnest, "and I'd like to ensure whoever maintains them until Ben stops growing knows the right way to handle Mando art."

It's really not that different from a standard tattoo artist, but she's a little charmed anyway. Enchanted, almost. The man really does care.

"I can get you some names and addresses next time you stop by," she promises him. "It's been a few years since I checked in on their work, and I'll need to look them over before I make any recommendations."

He smiles at her, relieved in a manner she finds appallingly open for a Jedi like himself.

Ben mimics his father.

----

She gets to attend the wedding, months later.

The food is very, very good.

(Ben waits until the reception to show off his new tattoo, and the future Mand'alor does, in fact, cry.)

(So does Shmi.)

(So does their eight-week-old daughter, but that's probably unrelated to the tattoo.)

----

"Do you think getting a belly button ring would be good?"

Na-Tsuyon doesn't lift her head from her paperwork when Sokanth poses the question to the piercer. She's in for the horizontal brow bar, this time, and the labret is going to be somewhere a few months down the line.

"That's really up to you," the piercer says. His name is Hujnak, and he's a Devaronian that's been working here since Na-Tsuyon opened up the place. She loves him dearly, but he stole the last piece of cake and for that he will have no help with difficult customers for the next fortnight.

Or until she gets bored.

"I'm leaning towards 'no,' but I'm not sure," Soka muses. "I like the idea of it, but I feel like it might get snagged on things more easily. Plus, it's going to be a point of higher damage and pressure if I get a gut punch. It's one of the parts of my body I'm never really going to armor up, you know?"

They do know. There have been screaming matches about all the Jedi's refusal to wear enough armor on many occasions. The Jedi prioritize their agility to such a degree that armorweave is more reasonable than actual armor, in their opinion. This is an opinion that Fett and Mereel both take issue with.

At great volume.

(Shmi has vambraces, a gorget, and greaves, Na-Tsuyon knows. Some of it was exchanged at the wedding. Shmi doesn't wear much armor, certainly less than even the children. Shmi, crucially, isn't a warrior or otherwise planning to see battle.)

"Then I would say it may be best to hold off."

"Phooey," Soka says, though she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Ben's gonna be cooler than me forever, then."

"You think tattoos are cooler than piercings?" Hujnak challenges. "I'm offended."

"He can just get more," Soka protests. "Without it looking weird or getting dangerous, I mean."

Hujnak hums, noncommittal. "And you're worried about being cooler than the younger brother you have told me is, and I quote, the biggest nerd ever?"

"Well, yeah," Sokanth scoffs. "He's gonna start acting older than me as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. I gotta have something to hold over his head, you know?"

"Seeing as you are the older sibling..."

"Ehhhh..."

Nope.

Not paying attention.

----

"These are House Kryze colors."

Ylliben's breath hitches.

He is ten. He doesn't seem ready to provide answers. She turns to the father instead.

"Will that be a problem?" the general asks, calm and even.

"Yes," she says, and Ben slumps. She continues, because this is her job, and for a reason. "Unless you have a ready justification for when House Kryze asks, yes, it will be a problem. If it were a landscape or an animal, it wouldn't matter, but the pairing of the colors and the peace lily is an explicit statement of loyalty to Adonai and his heir, Satine. Unless you've suddenly decided to adjust your political stance to total pacifism instead of your Jedi approach, or have another reason to take on House Kryze colors, I'd warn against it at all, and would refuse to perform the work myself."

Ylliben's eyes are fixed somewhere behind her, and shining wetly.

"Okay," the general says. "Ben, do you have any other pallettes in mind?

"These were her colors," Ben whispers, and then he swallows thickly. "I just..."

"Simplify," Skywalker suggests. He fiddles with a necklace half-hidden in his Jedi layers; the japor one is visible, but a dull gold glint is all Na-Tsuyon can see of the other before it's tucked away again. "She'd understand, yeah? There's political ramifications. Dangerous ones, especially to you."

Interesting thing to say about a woman who, by Soka's earlier statements, died well before Ben was born.

They could at least try to stop dropping hints about their oddities. She doesn't want to know more.

"Lilac," Ben finally decides. "And... pale silver. With a filigree pattern in the shading?"

"I can do that," Na-Tsuyon promises.

She does not ask further.

----

"We're moving to Coruscant in a month."

Na-Tsuyon's head snaps up, head tails jolting almost painfully with the movement.

Sokanth is getting her labret, finally. She's gossiping as Hujnak prepares the tools, as usual, and Na-Tsuyon tries to ignore it when they Skywalkers do that, she does, but...

"You're leaving," she repeats, feeling oddly blank.

"Um... yeah?" Soka answers. She scratches at one stubby montral. "We've talked about it before. I thought you knew."

"I didn't realize it was so soon," Na-Tsuyon defends. She's more upset than she should be. "I thought you'd be waiting until the little princess was older."

Sokanth blinks at her, slow and... not judging, no. Evaluating, maybe.

"I'm almost thirteen," she says, slow and deliberate and heavy. "And Ben's eleven. There's no hard age limit for becoming a padawan, but I'm getting into the peak years for getting chosen, and I've been living here instead of in the Temple. I haven't had years to impress a potential Master like the others. That might not matter; sometimes a Master sees their future student and just knows, but... I need to have other Jedi to spar with, not just Skyguy and Ben. And Ben's visions are getting stronger, and Dad was never that good with his own in the first place, so he's worried about being able to help at all. We could stay longer, but..."

She trails off, and shrugs, and the weighted air disappears. "It's not the same thing as a verd'goten, at all, but it's about the same age, you know? I should be in the Temple for it."

"What would a verd'goten equivalent be?" Hujnak prompts, when Na-Tsuyon fails to find her words. "Being an adult and equal member and all such things?"

"Knighthood," Soka answers immediately. "Dad got knighted when he was twenty, but that's really young, usually. His master was knighted at twenty-five, which was a bit late, but apparently there was a whole dramatic thing going on there that Dad never got all the details about."

"Becoming a Padawan is a sign that your teachers see you as someone that is ready to take on the responsibilities of a Jedi, yes?" Hujnak asks. "That you may not be ready to go out on your own, but that you're old enough to understand your oaths and choose how to follow them, and to protect others?"

Sokanth considers this, and then nods. "Yeah, I guess it's similar to using the verd'goten to gauge if someone's ready to swear the Resol'nare, that way. Still not moving out, and just about entering an apprenticeship, but enough of an adult to make the choice of how to change the world."

"I think most cultures have something like that around the same age," Hujnak comments. "Some do it a bit later in the teens, but it's usually around your age that most... well, most cultures who age at the 'human standard' rate--"

Na-Tsuyon can't help the reflexive snort of derision. Neither can Soka. Hujnak, the closest to human in the room and yet still very much not, smiles like this is exactly what he intended.

"--most who age at that rate do have it somewhere in that eleven-to-seventeen range, I'd think."

Soka shrugs. "Yeah, well. Still gotta go to the Temple for it, you know?"

"Are you going to take the verd'goten at all?" Na-Tsuyon asks, suddenly a little desperate to keep the Skywalkers here, with Mandalore and all its people, just a fraction of a moment longer.

"I don't think so," Soka muses. "I've been thinking about it, but I should probably talk about it with Jango, yeah?"

"Yeah," Na-Tsuyon says, and feels like she's swallowing down around rocks.

----

As it turns out, the timing is very deliberate. Three weeks later, Jaster transfers the title of Mand'alor to his son.

(Though Na-Tsuyon does not know this, twenty-six is older than Jango was when he lost the title, once upon another life.)

There is a week of festivity. There is food, and drink, and dancing. Some people get married. Some people make announcements of impending births. Some people reveal songs they composed in preparation for this very day.

For a week, Mandalore celebrates a new king.

Then, the Jedi and his children leave.

(Ben gives Na-Tsuyon a hug before he goes.)

(She tries to understand why she feels like she's losing something when he does.)

#Obi Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Shmi Skywalker #JangoShmi #Jango Fett #Disaster Lineage #star wars #time travel #de aging #mandalore #mandalorian culture #phoenix posts #Anakin and the Jedi Babies #tattoos #original characters #outsider pov #this is part one of three I think #it's two in the diddly darn morning and I am going to bed

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the-swedes-knees · 3 years

Text

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent.

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

#agent mobius #mobius #mobius m. mobius #agent mobius x reader #mobius x reader #loki series #loki #marvel #marvel x reader #sorry for the interruption from my usual content #but I love time traveling men

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axoxtxhxh · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Sub!Goshiki x DomFem! Chubby!Reader Part 1 Summary: You met your good friend Goshiki at work one day, having similar interests in books. When you start developing feelings for him, things get difficult. Especially when he asks a special favor. Content: Body image issues

A/N: Thank you for following along! We’re now on our fourth week of stories! Both virginity loss stories are three parts. The second part will release on Wednesday and the third part on Friday. Be sure to check out @millenialfanfictionaddictions story Oikawa’s Oasis! You can reach it through the Please Me Series Masterlist. Feedback is appreciated!

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. It wasn’t like you had your whole life planned out, in fact, it was quite the opposite. You didn’t know what you were doing half the time and you had reached a point in your life where you were kind of okay with that. While there were good things you tried to bring into your life, there was an even longer list of bad things you tried to keep out.

After hitting your late twenties, you decided it was important to take care of yourself. Getting rid of toxic friendships and focusing on your mental and physical health became your priority. You were doing a great job, as much as the rolls on your stomach and all over chubby look you had attested against it.

One of the other things you decided to finally pursue was your dream of being a romance novelist. You quit your nine-to-five day job that you hated and started working at your favorite bookstore in town while your nights were spent writing. The support you had from your friends at the bookstore was way more than you could ever have imagined. Even your boss loved hearing about your story ideas.

“You look tired.” Your boss, Dylan, joked as you walked into the breakroom, ready to start your shift.

“I was up late last night writing.” You hung up your jacket in your locker. “I could really use some… cof…fee.”

Your eyes lit up as you saw the full cup of coffee in your boss’s hand, extended to you. It was from your favorite shop down the street.

“How did you know I wanted coffee? Are you even real?” You took the cup and gulped down half of it.

“You forget, I’m your beta reader.” He laughed. “When you’re up writing, I’m up reading. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you!” You held the cup up to him, then took another big gulp.

“You get another tattoo?” He asked, eyeing your arm as you closed your locker. You looked down at your arm and smiled.

“Yep. Trying to finish up this sleeve.”

“I have a question.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting in his lap. “Why don’t you ever write with characters that look like you?”

“People like me don’t get to have romances like those in the books.” You shrugged and headed out to the floor.

The morning mid-shift was always your favorite. As much as you hated getting up early, the bookstore was at its quietest then and you could relax with your coworkers. You spotted your favorite co-worker manning the help desk and focusing on something on the other side of the bookstore.

“What are you looking at?”

“Shh…” They put their fingers to their lips. “I don’t want him to know I see him.”

“See who? What are you talking about?” You whispered, trying not to expose yourselves even though you still didn’t know what you were looking at.

“That guy.” They pointed and your eyes followed the direction of their finger to see a tall figure in the magazine section, his hood up, mask on and wearing sunglasses. You could see black bangs peeking out under the hood.

“So why don’t you want him to know you see him?”

“In case he’s stealing.” They whisper-yelled and you laughed.

“I’ll just go talk to him.” You stood up straight and made your way over. He looked a little less shady up close because you could see that he was lost in his reading and didn’t even really notice you being there.

When you first walked up, you saw him reading one of the car magazines from the shelf, but now that you were closer, you could see he had a book inside the magazine and was reading the book.

“You know, normally people put the magazine in the book, not the other way around.” You leaned closer to him and he jumped back, shrieking as he dropped the magazine and the book. He backed away from you and if he didn’t have his entire face covered with a mask and sunglasses, you could only imagine his eyes wide and his mouth open.

The magazine was all bent on the ground and you leaned over to pick it up along with the book. You could only imagine what he was reading that he had it hidden in a car magazine. Putting the magazine back on the shelf, you looked at the cover of the book. Romance?

“Were you reading this?” You held the book up to him with a smile.

“No.” He shook his head back and forth anxiously.

“Then why is it here?”

“It fell.”

“From where?” You questioned.

“Alright fine, I was reading it.”

He dropped his head low and you gasped sarcastically, your hand to your chest. “No! Really? I would never have guessed.”

“Very funny.” You laughed, looking back down at the book.

“So why are you hiding then? Or did you not notice there’s only like two other people shopping.” You gestured to the rest of the store. “Or maybe you couldn’t see well with those incredibly dark sunglasses.”

“That’s not it.” He pulled off the sunglasses and mask, dropping the hood to his sweatshirt as he looked around the store nervously. “I just don’t want anyone to know I’m reading it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” You looked at the book. It was one of your favorites. “This is a great book.”

His eyes widened as he quickly looked back to you. “You like romance novels?”

“I love them. I’m trying to write one actually. This one has given me a lot of inspiration for my current story.”

“That’s so cool.” He smiled, looking really amazed, you weren’t sure by what though.

“So, let me get this straight.” You narrowed your eyes skeptically. “You come in here to secretly read these romance novels because you don’t want people to know you’re reading them?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you just buy it and read it at home?”

“I have a roommate and I don’t want him to know.”

“You could go to the library.”

“They don’t have the ones I like and they don’t release as quickly as you guys do.”

“How long have you been doing this?” His mouth opened and he turned away, looking nervous by the question so you changed the subject. “Never mind. Honestly, as long as you’re not stealing or planning to steal, you can read however you’d like.”

You stepped back, adjusting the unorganized magazines, and turned to walk back to your station.

“Well, wait.” He went to grab your arm, but thought better and pulled back as you turned around. “You said you write.”

“Yes.” You nodded at him.

“Can I read your stuff?”

“Why would I let you read my work?” You laughed slightly uncomfortably. It was a weird question. He doesn’t know anything about you or your writing. You could actually suck at it. “I don’t even know you.”

“Goshiki.” He put his hand out with a smile and you shook it, telling him your name. “So we’re friends now?”

You started laughing. You couldn’t believe this guy. Friends? You met less than two minutes ago because he was being a creep in your store.

“You don’t have to laugh.” He grumbled.

“Why do you want to read my work so badly? You don’t know me. It could very well suck.”

“I just don’t have anyone to talk to about this stuff. I’ve been reading these books for years. I tried to avoid them in high school because I knew I would get made fun of, but I’ve never met anyone in person that likes them too. Not since you.”

The look on his face made you feel so guilty. Why did you have to have such a big heart? The guy just wants to talk about romance novels. He also had a point. You barely knew anyone that liked romance novels and you worked at a book store. Honestly, you could use a second opinion. Dylan had no idea what he was talking about half the time.

“Fine.” You sighed and he started smiling.

“Really?”

“Yes, but I’m not letting you read it without me watching. The last thing I need is you to steal my ideas.”

“That’s perfect.” He pulled out his phone. “There’s a coffee shop just down the street I like. We can meet there. Can I have your number?”

“Are you talking about Milstead?” You took his phone and typed your information, handing him your phone.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“Know it? I love it. I practically keep them in business.”

That’s where your friendship with the weird guy in the bookstore started. You weren’t so stuck in middle school that you would call him your best friend, but he was definitely your best friend. You had even caught him calling you his best friend to your coworkers and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have you smiling.

You had never gotten along with someone so immediately the way you did with Goshiki. You had an endless list of similar interests, from favorite books to your favorite coffee shop. You even had the same oddball order from the café. Though, you were both pretty sure that he accidentally got your order once and liked it so much he continued ordering it.

It didn’t take long for you both to start hanging out nearly every day and he started coming into the bookstore to talk to you rather than actually reading the novels he loved. After a couple weeks you trusted him enough to email him your work and it was only a month into your friendship before he was going over to your apartment to hang out regularly.

“Don’t you think it’s weird how close you’ve gotten?” Dylan asked as he helped stock the shelves. He had been wondering how your writing was going and if you were going to finish the latest chapter you had been working on. When you told him Goshiki was coming over to your place later so it wouldn’t get done, he worried.

“I don’t think it’s weird. Is it?” You didn’t feel uncomfortable. Honestly, Goshiki didn’t give off any of the red flags you were so used to seeing in people. He was genuinely a nice person who loved the same things as you.

“I don’t know. You just so happen to love all the same things?” He paused his stocking and looked at you. “Are you sure he doesn’t just have feelings for you and maybe he’s pretending to like the same things as you?”

“Stop trying to put me in my romance novel.” You laughed. “Guys don’t do that for me.”

Later that night you were in your kitchen waiting for Goshiki to get there. You had done something so stupid, something so completely thoughtless that you knew would ruin your mood yet you couldn’t resist the torture apparently. You weighed yourself. The level of fluctuating your weight did was honestly unbelievable. You always had good days when it was down, but days like today when it was up, you couldn’t help but let it sour your mood.

There was a knock at the door before it opened up and Goshiki walked in. You hadn’t given him a key or anything, but it was only a matter of time before you both hit that step.

“I brought Oreos.” He smiled, setting the container on the counter, pulling it open and eating one. He grabbed a second one and split it open, handing you the side without the cream. “Here.”

“You can have my side.” You tried to smile.

“But you always eat my half that doesn’t have cream.”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head. “I shouldn’t be eating it.”

“Shouldn’t be eating it? Are you sick?” He pulled another Oreo from the container and ate it in one bite. He was honestly so lucky he could eat whatever he wanted.

“No just watching my weight. I sort of fell back into some old habits.”

“What’s wrong with your weight? You look great.”

“Let’s get started on the story.” You tried to change the subject.

“Did you finish the chapter?” Goshiki’s eyes were wide and he spit the dryness of the cookies from his mouth out of excitement. You laughed as he quickly covered his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Maybe.” You smiled coyly, grabbing his hand and he grabbed the Oreo container. “Come on.”

Moving to the couch, you sat on the end, Goshiki plopping next to you, and you put your laptop in his lap. There was a tiny bit of anxiety building in your stomach as you sat there watching him read and you were pretty sure part of it was what Dylan had said earlier. Was it possible that Goshiki had feelings for you? You watched as he put another Oreo in his mouth, his eyes glued to screen of your computer, scanning back and forth as he read. You weren’t even sure if he was blinking, the glow of the monitor shining onto his eyes. There was no way someone could be that into you to fake that look of concentration.

You smiled to yourself and kept watching him read. This chapter had a pretty steamy scene in it but you’d known Goshiki long enough and seen him read enough of your work to know that it didn’t matter what he was reading, his expression never changed. His eyes were always wide with interest, mouth closed in a pout.

He put another Oreo in and you watched him as he chewed, his jaw working. You could see the sharp, jagged edges of the cookie through his cheek until it eventually became a smooth, round bump and he swallowed it, reaching for another.

Propping your head up on your hand on the back of the couch, you continued watching him. He was definitely good-looking. You had noticed how good-looking he was the first day you saw him in the magazine section, hiding his romance novel. Not wanting to interrupt him, you tried not to laugh, but definitely couldn’t hold back the smile as you thought about the memory. Would it be so bad if he did have feelings for you? You had dated some really terrible guys in the past. Goshiki wouldn’t even be close to the list those guys were on.

He licked his lips, wiping Oreo crumbs from his mouth and you licked your own lips, swallowing hard as you watched him. You liked the same food, the same coffee, the same books, you had so many hobbies that overlapped and you could honestly spend hours with him without getting bored. You started to think that maybe you were feeling anxious not because of what Dylan thought of Goshiki, but maybe what you were feeling about him. Was it maybe you that had feelings for Goshiki?

“Wow, that was such a good—” He turned to look at you but noticed something in your face, an expression he wasn’t sure of. “Everything okay?”

You had made a lot of questionable decisions in your life, some of them you regretted, some led you to the most amazing times. This last year especially was a time of making really great decisions, cleaning out the bad and bringing in the good. You weren’t sure which direction this decision was going to take you, but you leaned into Goshiki anyway. His eyes went a little wide as your lips barely touched. You wanted to give him time to pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t and that made you push yourself the last inch until your lips met his.

Soft, plush, velvety lips pressed against yours and for an instant you were taken out of the moment, your head swirling with a mix of feelings, amazing feelings that you weren’t even sure you could separate but it didn’t matter because the cocktail they created in your head made you feel drunk, stupidly drunk as you kissed him. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you pulled back.

“Oh my—I’m sorry—I don’t—"

“No, it… it feels good.” He brought his hands up to your cheeks and pushed his lips against yours again, this time without any hesitation. You never knew the feeling of his nose touching yours or the little puffs of his breath against your face, or just how warm, calloused, and big his hands would feel against your cheek. Suddenly you were feeling them all at once and you pulled him closer, your tongue licking over his lips until he opened his mouth.

He dropped his hand to your waist, rubbing at the fleshiness of your body and you couldn’t stop the heavy beating of your heart. The awkwardness you had briefly worried about didn’t exist, it was only bliss. It was the best kind of overwhelming and you wanted more of him.

Pushing the laptop to the other side of him, you lifted yourself up until you could climb over him, straddling his lap. His hands immediately went to your plump hips, cradling them, but again you wanted more and you scooted yourself closer.

“Uh—I…” He gasped, sitting back from you.

“Is this too fast?”

“I’ve just never—I mean, I don’t know how—I’ve never—reading it is totally different.”

“Are you okay?” He kind of looked like he was shutting down. He was saying a lot, but none of it was complete and made no sense to you.

His eyes widened as he whispered quietly to himself. “Holy shit, my dick’s hard.”

“Goshi—”

“I have to go.” He started standing up with you in his lap and you quickly moved out of the way so he could get up. “I’m sorry. I just… I have to go.”

He didn’t even turn around to look at you as he moved hurriedly to the front door of your apartment. You heard the door quickly open and close and you couldn’t even let yourself feel bad. You were just confused.

It was possible you misread the situation, but he seemed really into it. Maybe he changed his mind partway through. You didn’t want to think about you being the problem, but it was hard to ignore. He felt your weight. You sat on his lap and he held you and maybe he finally realized that you didn’t ‘look great’ like he always told you.

You sighed, sitting back on the couch and running your fingers through your hair. You had done so much this last year to better yourself. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. Great decisions would lead to great opportunities and you were trying to bring good things into your life. Falling for your best friend was not on that list, yet here you were.

Shit.

.....

@chaotic-nick @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes @serostapesweat @lovelyzabrak-meadow

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halfwaythereroyalwrites · 4 years

Text

Long Enough (Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x Reader) Kilig One-Shot

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x Reader (tried to make this as gender neutral as possible)

Warnings: Fluffy not smutty like the title suggests 😅. Secondhand embarrassment from flirting. Mention of buying snacks. Play fighting. No other warnings I can think of unless your secondhand embarrassment is really bad.

Word count: 2k+

Kilig is a Tagalog word to describe the feeling of excitement and exhilaration and possibly embarrassment from anything remotely romantic.

Masterlist

______________________________________

“Don’t you have some ‘important Santos business’ to do,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest to reserve some warmth.

“Nah, I thought we could go somewhere tonight,” Oscar replied, looking up at you from the driver’s seat of his red ‘63 Chevy Impala. Even from where you stood, you could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne wafting through the air. The very cologne he knew drove you wild and therefore refused to name, no matter how many times you asked. A slight breeze blew between you, sending a chill through your body. These cold LA nights were rare, and it caught you by surprise to be caught in one when walking home from Monse’s place.

The younger girl had asked you to have a night in with her to help take her mind off the latest drama with Cesar, and you happily obliged. Well...it was supposed to only be you and Monse. Five minutes into the night, Ruby and Jamal had shown up, eager to get in on a night of face masks, movies, and snacks. You didn’t realize how late it had been until you checked your phone and realized it was close to their curfew. After bidding Monse goodbye, you ushered Ruby and Jamal out and walked them back to their respective homes. This is how you got here now, in the middle of the street, talking to the big, bad leader of the Santos, Oscar Diaz.

Better known as Spooky.

“Where exactly are we going?” you asked, “There’s not much open right now.”

“Just get in the car. I thought you liked mystery and shit,” Oscar quipped, his signature smirk on his full lips. Your eyes narrowed at his answer, wondering what Oscar had in mind. Your time with Oscar consisted of movie nights at his place with tension so thick, you can cut through it with a knife. This was new and unexpected, and you weren’t sure if the fluttering feeling in your chest was a good thing or a bad thing yet. “Come on. I know your ass is freezing out here.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and walked over to the passenger’s side, mumbling loud enough for him to hear, “you’re lucky I’m fucking freezing out here...with your mysterious ass.” The passenger’s door was pushed open from the inside by Oscar, and you quickly ducked in and shut the door. Oscar shut the windows on his side, and you quickly did the same with your window, shutting out the air from further freezing you. He thankfully blasted the heater, and you wasted no time in adjusting the heaters to point directly at you, thawing the LA cold out of your body. “Why do you always drive with all your windows down? It’s so cold! See, feel!” Without warning, you grasped Oscar’s forearm with your cold, clammy hands.

Oscar sucked air in through his teeth at your sudden intrusion but did not make a move to pry your hands away, “Fuck, you’re cold!”

“See?! Ugh this is Southern California. We should never be this cold.” You retracted your hands away from him, realizing you were still holding on to his arm.

He smirked at the sight of you placing your face inches away from the nearest heater, the heater blowing your hair back, before shrugging, “I don’t know. I can warm you up if you want.” His voice became lower with every word he said, and you took notice of his raised eyebrow directed at you.

You cleared your throat, which has suddenly become dry, before saying, “Can we please get something hot to drink before we go?”

Oscar kissed his teeth before breaking out into a wide smile, making you forget the need to breathe for the briefest moment “Sure, buckle in.”

“Ugh thank you!” You reached around and buckled yourself into your seat and proceeded to lean closer to the heaters. The car was silent as he steered one-handed through the dimly lit streets of Freeridge. There weren’t many people out, and the only sounds to be heard were the blasting heaters and the low rumble of the engine. You took a deep breath in and leaned back into the seat before asking, “So where are we going?”

“I told you it was a surprise.” Another silence ensued as you turned your head to look at the Santos leader, who was looking straight ahead at the road, his face void of any expression.

“...but can I get a hint of where we’re going?”

“No.”

“...if we’re having a movie night, you could have just texted.”

“It’s not a movie night.”

“You haven’t texted me in the past few days,” you whispered. “That’s not like you.”

“I had to figure some shit out. I’m here now, aren’t I?” His response made you press your lips together and look out your window, crossing your arms once more. You could feel the heat of Oscar’s gaze intermittently focusing on you, burning the side of your head. The rush of heat going to your ears was accompanied by the audible thumping in your chest. You leaned your body against the passenger’s side door as much as you could and started contemplating words to say when Oscar’s hand gripped your left thigh. “Hey. Hey look at me.” You continued to stare out the window. “Hey, I’m sorry alright? Things got real tense with the Prophet$, and I had to sort shit out. I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.” You turned to meet his gaze, and it seemed all your anger had melted away with just a look into his dark eyes.

“Thank you. I was worried about you, and no one knew where you went, so I thought...something had happened to you,” you begrudgingly admitted, hyper-aware of the fact that Oscar’s hand on your thigh set a warm fire throughout your body. You wanted to throw up. Or hold his hand. Maybe. This...this...pounding in your chest. The sudden rush of warmth in your ears. The hairs on your arm standing up. Cold and hot at the same time with heat slowly crawling from your neck to your cheeks. What is this?!

“You don’t gotta worry about me,” Oscar’s voice broke through your storming internal monologue. Did his voice get deeper somehow? “I’ll always come back for you, babe,” he chuckled.

“Ok that’s...not necessary,” you made a weak attempt to push Oscar’s hand away as your cheeks burned in embarrassment over his new nickname for you. Oscar only squeezed your thigh in return and kept his hand exactly where it was. You watched him skillfully steer one-handed into the parking lot of the nearest corner store and turn the engine off. The still silence prompted you to turn your head to the handsome man seated next to you, only to find him already turned to you.

“What are you looking at?” You saw Oscar’s devastatingly dark eyes flit back and forth, holding your gaze as if reading your eyes could give a hint of the storm currently occurring in your mind. Oscar let out a chuckle before squeezing your thigh and giving it a light slap.

“Let’s grab snacks too. I’m hungry.” He let go of your thigh and exited the Impala, leaving you in a daze. Your hand instinctively covered the area on your thigh that his hand previously occupied, lightly feeling the remnants of his warm touch. Shaking your head at your actions, you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the car door, only for the handle to be pulled away from your reach by Oscar, who had pulled the door open for you. You muttered a low thanks, eyebrows furrowed at the Santos leader. He locked the car before walking ahead of you and opening the front door of the corner store, holding it open for you to walk in, You glanced at him suspiciously before thanking him again and walking into the store, taking note of the slight brush of his hand against your hip. You made a beeline for the hot drink station at the back of the store, clasping your hands together and slightly shivering as you shuffled over. Oscar was not far behind you, acting as your taller shadow, his breath slightly fanning over your neck as he looked over your shoulder. You swallowed the knot forming in your throat and kept it suppressed by making small talk. When it came time to pay for your snacks, Oscar had pulled out a wad of bills faster than you could grab the card out of your wallet. He grabbed the snacks as you told him a halfhearted promise to pay him back.

“Don’t worry about it. I gotchu,” he smiled, placing his hand on your waist and ushering you out the door. His cologne has taken over all your senses now, and the wires of your brain were beginning to short circuit. You found it hard to even think outside of this time with him. You found yourself taking notice of all the small ways he was currently driving you insane.

Like the way he still kept a hold on your thigh as he drove.

And how he told you about how he had watched the food show you had recommended on Netflix.

And how he asked you to feed him a gummy worm and you felt the faint touch of his lips as you placed one in his mouth.

He also told you to reply to a text from Sad Eyes on his behalf, telling him that he can’t hang out right now.

And with every laugh and every smile, he would squeeze your thigh which would send a jolt of endorphins through your body.

Before long, the winding road Oscar was driving up on ended on a flat lookout. There were only two other cars there, considerably distanced from the two of you. Oscar had parked the car to where the trunk was facing the twinkling lights of Freeridge down below. Without saying a word, he got out of the car and popped the trunk open, where he pulled out a large blanket, big enough to fit the two of you. You got out of the car, clutching your drink, snacks in the other hand, and let a cheesing smile make its way onto your face.

“What is this?” you asked Oscar who was now looking at you expectedly.

“I thought we could just chill for tonight. See the stars and shit,” he gestured upwards to the dark sky. You giggled at the lack of stars in the sky. Typical for Los Angeles. You handed your drink to Oscar who took it without question.

“May I?” you asked, looking between him and the trunk of his car. Oscar nodded, and you jumped up on the top of his trunk, and he followed suit, wrapping both you and him in the blanket. You rested your weight against him, placing your head on his shoulder. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you looked at the yellow lights of the city below. “Why did you actually bring me here?”

“...I wanted to ask you something.” You slowly raised your head off his shoulder, and looked at him, his face laced with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“What is it?” you whispered.

Oscar cleared his throat before focusing his dark gaze on you. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, and I thought...that maybe...we could give this a real shot.”

You grinned. “Oscar Diaz. Are you asking me to go steady with you?”

Oscar kissed his teeth at your teasing grin. “Come on, I’m being serious!”

“So am I! Are you asking me to be in a relationship or to be exclusive? They’re sort of different nowadays.”

“The first part.”

“...I need to hear you say it.”

Oscar gazed at you before cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. He whispered your name before asking, “will you be in a relationship with me?” You blinked at him a couple times before your hand came to meet his hand that was still caressing your face. You held his wrist and kissed the inside of his palm.

“...what’s the magic word?”

Oscar rolled his eyes at you before whispering, “please?”

You smiled before nodding, a little too enthusiastically. Oscar shook his head at you before returning your smile with a bright one of his own. “Ok now hold me,” you demanded, flinging his hand away from your cheek to go around your shoulder. You snuggled into the warmth of his body as he drew you closer and placed a kiss to your temple. “Took you long enough to ask me,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

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A/N: I have finally broken my writer’s block. There’s quite a few life changes and obstacles I’m going through, and finally being able to finish a fic was so satisfying. Let me know what you think and if you want to be added to my taglist!

General: @peppermintvanillaa @fantasticcopeaglepasta @panda-angela

Kilig taglist: @multifandomlife22 @thottiewinemom @princeabomination @svetlana-beilschmidt

#oscar diaz x reader #spooky diaz x reader #Oscar spooky Diaz x reader #spooky x reader #oscar diaz imagine #oscar spooky diaz imagine #spooky diaz imagine #on my block imagine #on my block fic #halfwaythereroyalwrites #kilig series #kilig one-shot

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fightxxmexxshiggy · 4 years

Text

Don't fear the reaper

You love to go urban exploring and you make contact with a sexy supernatural being. I wrote this during KINKtober

Kirishima x female reader

TW:CHOKING, ROUGH SEX, BREEDING KINK, TALK OF DEATH.

Word count: 3420

Walking through abandoned buildings wasn't the safest hobby but it was definitely the most interesting one. You loved seeing all the graffiti, art and equipment from a bygone era. Sometimes you went with groups when the buildings seemed more dangerous but today you went alone. As you made your way through the abandoned factory for today's exploration you noticed all the dusty work stations, they were so eerie the way they were still set up like a worker had walked away for a break and just never returned. You were honestly tempted to film the place but seeing as you were doing this on a saturday and Halloween no less you decided not to push your luck. Walking carefully you avoided the broken glass and some more crumbling areas in the concrete floors. This space was so wide open it made you curious as to what had been made here in the factories prime.

As you headed towards the stairs that would take you to the second floor you heard a thump and a voice shout "fucking rats." From above you. Slowly you took the stairs one at a time and called out asking if anyone was there. After a bit of shuffling the voice spoke again." If you're a cop no one is here if you're an urban explorer I'm totally here and would love some company." Laughing you stepped onto the second floor landing coming face to face with a redheaded man with surprisingly sharp teeth. Smiling at you he came forward with a hand out for a handshake. Shaking his hand you noticed how large his hands were and how strong his grip was. Letting go you introduced yourself feeling a bit awkward now that you could see the face that went along with the voice. With a wide smile he crossed his arms over his toned chest, pulling his shirt taunt over the muscles. You really needed to get layed if a rando you just met on an exploring trip was getting you hot and bothered. You were so caught up in your own thoughts you almost didn't hear him introduce himself.

"The names Eijiro Kirishima and it's nice to meet a fellow explorer." You smiled at him before looking away to take in your new surroundings. The second floor was a bit dark and seemed even more dusty than the first if that was possible. Walking further into the area you saw a wooden plank laying in the middle of the mostly clear walkway. As you looked at it Kirishima chuckled and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "That plank was my fault. I was walking further in to explore some more and a rat jumped out at me." Laughing you told him you had heard his comments on the rat earlier from downstairs. It was quite interesting to see such a large man blush like a child at being caught cursing. Quickly Kirishima bent down and picked up the plank to place it back against the wall.

Damn the man had an amazing ass and those arms were so cut you were definitely sure your pussy had just clenched a little. This was bad, this poor man was just being friendly and here you were imagining what it would be like to have his forearm around your throat while he did dirty things to your body. Clearing your throat you asked if he'd like to join for the rest of the second floor exploration. "I'd love that pebble. I usually wander around alone but I'd never say no to having company as cute as you." Blushing you looked away as you started to walk with him going deeper into the dusty space. To your left there were tons of planks and glass panes leaning against the wall and to the right were mostly boxes stacked against the railings. You assumed this must have been office space for the owners and admins of the factory. As you walked a little ahead trying to see what was by the farthest walls you heard the floorboards groaning under your weight before they completely went out from under you.

You were lucky and grabbed a part of the floor that hadn't caved in as you fell. You yelled for help and saw Kirishima walk closer to where you were hanging. His face looked conflicted as he made no move to help or even to give you any reassurance. You realized he wasn't scared to fall in but you couldn't tell why he wouldn't help. Sighing defeatedly Kirishima walked over without an ounce of fear and crouched down to make eye contact with you. "I don't know what to do with you pebble, my job is to guide your soul to the afterlife but I really like you. You're so sweet and shy, much too good to be restarted just because the plan says so." What was he talking about? His job was to guide your soul? Why was he talking like he knew you? You just met him 30 minutes ago. Had you just become friends with a nut job who planned to watch you die?

"Ah I can see that you're confused, I mean I would be too." standing up to his full high he towered over you as you continued to stare up at him with a mix of confusion and fear. He placed back and forth for a moment before turning to you and smiling that big sharp toothed grin that moments before would have made your tummy do a little flip. If hanging half out of a hole in an abandoned building wasn't enough what happened next shocked you so much you almost lost your grip. Kirishima slowly began to lift off from the floor just floating in mid air. With wide eyes you stared in shock, wondering if maybe you had gone a little crazy while hoping he might help you so that you didn't fall to your death. "Well I know what I'm about to tell you is a bit unbelievable so I decided to show you that I'm not joking before I explain. I happen to be a reaper and today was supposed to be the day you die. But like I said I really don't know what to do with you seeing as I don't want someone as manly and fearless as you to just be gone and reincarnated as someone else."

As if to further prove his status as a reaper the man before you started to change. His hoodie and shorts, which were pretty standard for building walks, melted away into a pair of black military style pants and boots along with a fitted black tank top that hugged his chest and back muscles in a way that should definitely be illegal. His arms were covered in a few black band tattoos that circled his wrists and biceps. What was the most astonishing was that his spiky red hair grew long, long to the point that the ends floated around his hips. His still smiling face was covered with a half skull mask leaving his mouth still exposed. "Hey pebble do you want to live as who you are now even if that meant some things about you would change or do you want to die and have me guide you to the next realm? I'll do whatever makes you happier even if it's not what I'd like to see." His eyes shone with sincerity through his mask and his smile seemed a bit forced. You could tell that even though he wasn't human like you he still felt the same emotions that you did. From everything he had said and shown you you could tell he held affection towards you. Enough so that he was willing to go against what was probably as natural as breathing for a reaper. Looking up at him still floating above you a smile broke over your face. You told him you wanted to stay as yourself whatever the changes might be.

Kirishima grinned at you somehow managing to look sweet and scary all at once. Wasting no time he floated over you and grabbed you by the back of your shirt with one hand. Instead of pulling you back to the second level he drifted the two of you through the hole and down to the concrete floors below. Letting go of the back of your shirt he held out his hand to you still trying to give you some control over the situation. As you took his hand he gave it a grateful squeeze before moving to sit with you on a dust covered bench. "Listen pebble I want to be honest with you. The only way for you to stay yourself is if you became my anchor. An anchor is kind of like a reaper's chosen soulmate and we only get a chance to have one every 1000 years of service." This day was getting stranger and stranger by the fucking minute. You could live but you would need to become this man's soulmate, basically his wife. Looking at him again you could say you wouldn't enjoy the physical parts of such a relationship. Honestly Kirishima had no business being this sexy. Well if this kind of thing was gonna happen to you Halloween was no better day for it to happen on. Squeezing his hand you agreed even though you knew he had more to explain.

"If you're sure then I'll take us to my home so that we can link our souls without turning into dust bunnies." The world around you faded out and changed into a huge bedroom that was painted black and red with posters of an old superhero movie lining them. There was workout equipment everywhere you looked, well that at least told you that his muscles were all from hard work and not just random spooky reaper magic. With no small bit of embarrassment you sat on his bed and rubbed your fingers across the covers looking anywhere but him. Taking you straight into his bedroom instead of a living room or something told you exactly what you had been guessing at. Linking souls was definitely going to require sexual contact. "Pebble look at me." Looking up you took him in once again almost drooling over his now shirtless chest as he loosened his belt giving you a tantalizing look at his black happy trail. He walked up to you and held your cheeks in his hands. He searched your eyes for a few moments and when he saw no fear or rejection lowered his head to give you a kiss. This kiss was slow and gentle but full of so much heat you were sure every nerve in your body was on fire. Kirishima's tongue licked across yours as he savored the taste of his soon to be anchor. Not wanting to just sit there and take it you put your all into the kiss licking his teeth, nibbling on his lips, and even sucking on his tongue the same way you wished to suck on another part of his body. Kirishima broke the kiss panting heavily as he let his hands caress down your neck until they reached the collar of the t-shirt you wore. With barely a flick of his fingers your shirt was torn down the middle, your bra sharing its fate. He pushed the shredded material down your shoulders letting it fall to the bed.

"I'm going to be as gentle as I can for you pebble but I have very limited control over myself at the moment. Your so fucking beautiful I swear my supervisor gave me your case cause he knew I'd fall for you." Crawling over you he straddled your waist and began to kiss and bite down your neck stopping only when he reached your breast. Pushing both your breasts together he kissed every inch of them worshiping the heavy mounds. With no warning he sucked both of your nipples into his mouth, bathing them with his tongue before biting them. After every bite he flicked his tongue against the hardened peaks earned himself little whines and moans of appreciation. Once he felt that he could no longer hold himself in check with just adoring your nipples, Kirishima slid down off the bed to crouch in front of you for the second time that day. Slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties and shorts he tugged them down and over your boots leaving you in only your favorite necklace and your socks and boots. His blood was fire in his veins as he took in the sight of you. Your pussy was so beautifully slick with your juices that it would have been blasphemous for him not to take a taste. Grabbing your thighs he used them to pull your ass to the edge of the bed where he drove in with no hesitation. Licking and sucking the lips of your pussy before using his tongue to separate them. Each swipe of his tongue drove you higher and closer to orgasm. He suckled your clit grazing it with those sharp teeth. The hint of danger from having such vicious looking teeth on something so sensitive threw you over the edge. The pleasure made you so mindlessly happy that you screamed out "eijiro." Like it was a prayer.

At the sound of his first name on your lips all rational thought was lost to kiri. He stood shoving his pants down just enough to free his throbbing cock before he pulled you so only your shoulders and head remained on the bed. With you folded over the way he wanted Kiri slammed his cock into your tight little hole. He was only able to fit about half of his massive girth inside before he had to pull back out leaving only the head inside. This move was the best he could do to get the right momentum to start his powerful digging thrusts. Each thrust was hard and determined, meant to help him reach his goal. And reach his goal is what he did, Kiri bottomed out inside of you after 5 thrusts. His cock head kissed your cervix on the last thrust pulling a choked sob from your throat. Being folded into such a position only made the stretching of your pussy feel that much more overwhelming. Kiri set up a hard measured pace,his only focus on getting his seed into your womb to link the two of you together. Grunting and growling he told you everything he planned. "Fuck pebble your so damn tight and wet. I need to get my cum inside your womb otherwise I might go insane. No one told me linking to your anchor would make me feel like this. I wanna destroy anyone who would ever think to take you from me." You whined desperately every time his cock head battered against the entrance to your womb. It was too much and not enough at the same time. Reaching up you tried to rub your clit only for kiri to grab your wrist and hold it in a firm grip. He was almost passed the point of words but managed a beastly sounding "not without me." Before he increased his pace and shifted his hips making sure every thrust hammered your gspot. Kiri leaning over you to rail your little hole was already a sight to see but the way his hair hung down and tickled against your skin made every nerve ending you had buzz with electricity. A few strands had started to cling to his face due to the sweat pouring off of him and you had to swallow to keep from drooling. This man was made for it seemed, he was everything you had ever fantasized about on those lonely treks through the newest abandoned explore. The sounds of your sex echoed through the room, wet sucking noises, the slap of skin on skin and the sounds only two people in a haze pleasure could make. As he got closer kiri started to slap three fingers on his free hand against your clit. The rhythm of the slaps matched his cocks thrusts so perfectly it caused your pussy to let out a constant stream of squirt. At his final thrust he locked his knees prepared for what was to come. Kiri's cum shot from his slit hosing against your cervix as the base of his cock swelled locking inside you. His cum was so hot and he hadn't stopped tapping your clit. All this combined with the swelling of his cock threw you over the edge, an orgasm ripping through your body so hard your eyes rolled back in your head. Once you had gone limp kiri pulled you up into his arms before turning and sitting on the bed, still locked inside you.

"You are my anchor now the other part of me that will light my way even in the darkest hour." Laying down kiri relaxed, one large hand stroking your back as your breathing began to even out. Just as you were about to drift off you felt shocks and tingling race up and down your arms. Leaning up you looked down at your arms and found you had developed the same tattoos that kiri had on his arms. When you questioned him on it he smiled happily before caressing each mark. "These are proof that our link is true and blessed by the fate in charge of reaper unions." Your heart did a little flip as you took in his love filled expression. By now Kiri's knot had gone down so you pulled yourself up and off of his semi hard cock. He protested wishing to sleep buried inside you but quieted down when you spun around and put your pussy over his face. Leaning down you took his cock in hand and began to lick all the cum and pussy juice from it. Following your lead kiri pulled your hips down and swiped his tongue through the combination of your fluids and his. Once you had his cock cleaned you started to tease him, digging your tongue into his slit. His hips bucked and his leisurely pace on your pussy became wild as he slurped and sucked away. Feeling mischievous you continued you playing with his slit but began to rub that sensitive spot just under the head of his cock.

That is where you went wrong or in this case very right. Kiri's switch was flipped as he lifted you clear in the air by your hips. He threw you into the middle of the room but instead of hitting the floor you stayed suspended in the air. He was using his powers on you! With his magic kiri floated you to sit on his cock no other part of him touching you but the cock pressed at your entrance. "Pretty pebble do your bolder a favor and count for me. I want to see just how much of me is claiming this pussy." You couldn't deny him since keeping silent only made him tease you gently with his tip. Frustrated and wet you began to count each inch. At six you really started to feel the stretching of your inner muscles on this heavy cock. At nine inches you had a little drool running down the corner of your mouth. At twelve inches your pussy was continuously dribbling squirt down Kiri's cock and balls. At fourteen you came whining his name, begging him to fuck you properly and end this delicious torture. All he did was laugh and slowly thrust inside of you keeping you well pleasured but unsatisfied. "It's ok pebble we have all the time in the world now. We're going to take this slow all night long." His last words were said on a beastly growl as he placed one hand on your throat and squeezed enough to make your pussy squeeze his cock in return. This whole Halloween had been nuts so an all night fuck fest with your new supernatural soulmate was just the cherry on top. Sobbing you reached back and grabbed hold of a lock of his hair looking for any part of him to touch that could ground you. His thrusts got harder as you pulled. Well you knew how to get him to fuck you harder. You couldn't wait to learn more tonight and for the rest of your eternity together.

#kirishima x reader #bnha kirishima #bnha smut #bnha simping hours #kirishima eijirou #kirishima fanfic #kirishima smut #mha smut

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wh6res · 3 years

Text

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

202 notes · View notes

skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

Cutie Pie

Synopsis: Who’s your secret admirer? Guess you’ll have to unmask him at your academy’s end-of-term ball.

Warning: none

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x Bang Chan, best friends Sana and Nayeon

Saturday was the most anticipated day of the week. The academy only allowed mail to be collected on Saturdays, so Jihyo, the unofficial resident adviser, would head down to the mailroom early in the morning and collect all the packages and letters for everyone in the hall. She didn’t need to do such a thing when everyone had access to the mailroom, but it was a passed down ritual from the opening of the girls’ dorm. There would always be a few girls in the common room, waiting for their deliveries of skin products and 3 AM impulse buys. You would know; you were a sucker for a sale, no matter how much money your parents made.

However, this particular Saturday, every single girl was awake at seven o’clock and impatiently waiting for Jihyo to appear. Even you, who had pulled an all-nighter on Thursday to cram study, had let your excited roommate and friend Sana drag you into the common room with no complaints. Despite how exhausted you felt, you wanted to know what the theme of the end-of-term ball was as well.

You yawned and huddled closer to Sana on the plush velvet couch. You wished she would have let you grab your thick comforter before you left. The usually lit fireplace — though more for decoration than actual function — held nothing but ashes, and the big, drafty room was colder than usual. You shivered and mumbled a few choice words to your roommate, who was in too good of a mood to retort back. Luckily, Nayeon, who was on Sana’s other side, threw a section of her own comforter to you, and you gratefully snuggled under it.

“Thank you,” you said, nose already buried by fluffy white fur.

Sana poked your arm. “What do you think the theme is this year?”

You shrugged. You were always bad at guessing. “Winter Wonderland?”

“That’s what we did two years ago!” she shook her head. “Hey, Nayeon. What about you?”

However, before Nayeon could reply, Jihyo entered the room with an armful of boxes. “Mail!” she cheerfully announced.

Normally, girls would descend upon her like a murder of crows to pick up their packages, but everyone stayed still and stared at the rolled up poster at the top of the mail pile. They all watched as she slowly set down the boxes in the middle of the room and eagerly waited for her to say the theme. But Jihyo only grinned and teasingly asked why no one wanted their orders.

“Jihyo! Tell us already!” Momo whined. She raised the pillow she was previously hugging, threatening to throw it at the older girl.

“Okay, okay,” Jihyo smiled. Agonizingly slow, she unrolled the theme announcement poster. “This year’s end-of-term ball is… Midnight Masquerade!”

A wave of gasps and whispers rippled across the room. This was something no one was expecting; more often than not, themes were recycled from the ones twenty years ago. Thrilled by the prospects of daring new outfits and dancing with a boy, the murmurs evolved into full length conversations. You slunk low into your seat while half listening to Sana and Nayeon decide what color to wear. A masquerade, huh? Not only were there now dresses and shoes to discuss, but also masks. Since everyone would be less noticeable wearing them, then maybe…

“Maybe your secret admirer will ask you to the ball!” Sana suddenly said out loud.

“Shh!” you hissed. You quickly scanned the room to make sure no one heard. Fortunately, everyone was engrossed in their own worlds.

Your roommate rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t know about him at this point? He bought all your leftover apple pies during the Fall Festival.”

“Who could forget?” you said, remembering how fifty apple pies were bought in a single purchase.

You paced the tiny area inside the booth. It was the last day of Fall Fest, and there were still boxes of unbought apple pies. If you didn’t sell them all in an hour, the club would lose money. Not that it really mattered, you thought to yourself, as JYP was a private academy that received exorbitant amounts in donations and tuitions anyway. Surely the student council would allocate some funds for the Astronomy Club. However, the club’s reputation would be hurt, and selling apple pies had been your idea. Being president sucked sometimes.

Seungmin, another board member of the club, soon returned from his break, and you guiltily dumped the task on him. You promised to come back ten minutes before Fall Fest ended, and he merely waved you off. You spent the rest of the time doing your best to steal customers from other food booths, but no one seemed to want gourmet apple pie when there was a lobster food truck around.

When your time was up, you headed back to the booth with a frown and a posture that would have been deemed unacceptable by your mother. To your confusion and delight, there were no more pies left. Seungmin explained that someone purchased all of them on behalf of his employer. He also offhandedly mentioned that the man muttered, “What is that boy going to do with all this?” while handing him the money.

You prodded Seungmin for more answers, but that was all he knew.

“And he sent you that cute card after, too!” Nayeon chimed in.

You received the card the next Saturday after the festival. When you went to check if you got any mail, there was a horde of girls surrounding the coffee table. Momo had an envelope in her hand, and you assumed it was another letter for her from her long distance boyfriend, but to your surprise, Momo herself presented it to you with a flourish. The fancy white envelope had your name inked across the center in rose gold.

“Who is it from?” Dahyun asked, standing on her tiptoes behind you, trying to read over your shoulder.

You carefully opened it and immediately felt heat rushing to your face when you read the simple message on the creamy paper: “I think you’re a cutie pie” followed by a line drawing of an apple pie.

Dahyun had read it out loud, and news that you had a secret admirer spread throughout the academy like a wildfire. Even after a month, no one could even mention pie without a teasing glance in your direction.

“What if he reveals himself to you at the ball?” Jeongyeon stage-whispered. Evidently, no one wanted to talk about dresses anymore when a mysterious boy was involved. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Too flustered by being the center of attention, you didn’t respond. You had to admit, Jeongyeon was right. Six-year-old you would have swooned at the current situation, and bold thirteen-year-old you would have pestered anyone and everyone for more information. Fall Fest you simply kept the note hidden in your desk drawer and secretly reread it. Sana caught you once, and it was embarrassing to say the least.

“Y/N, are you busy then?”

Sana’s words snapped you out of your haze. You looked at her. “Hm?”

“Shopping next Sunday!” she brightly answered. “Nayeon said she’ll drive us!”

So, it was set. You and Sana would meet Nayeon in the common room at 9:30 to check out the new boutique downtown. However, you already had an idea of what you wanted to wear and were starting to draw the design in your head. You made a mental note to call up your favorite fashion house to place an order. You would go shopping for shoes, but the dress and its matching mask was a done deal.

Sana and Nayeon had similar ideas, and the three of you made a promise to each other and yourselves to only focus on accessories though you were sure that pact would be broken the moment you all stepped foot into downtown.

The rest of the week flew by quickly. Amidst doing homework and studying, you chatted with the other students about the masquerade, which was only a month away. Some of the boys started asking girls to the ball with elaborate bouquets, self-composed songs, and in one case, a choreographed dance number. Sana and Nayeon crossed names off their “Who Could Y/N’s Secret Admirer Be?” list with each asking. By Friday night, their list was tacked onto the bulletin board in the common room so other girls could contribute. You stationed yourself on a nearby couch, pretending to be busy typing an essay on your laptop. You were too curious to actually write anything, so instead you watched like a hawk whenever someone even came close to the bulletin board.

“... and Ok Taecyeon,” Dahyun read aloud. “So, it’s not them. How about…” She closed her eyes and jabbed her finger to a random spot. “The wall?”

“Definitely not the wall,” you giggled.

“He’s kind of cute though. Dark blue paint, random fliers.”

You laughed at her as she began cooing at the wall, telling how dashing it looked in dark blue. Dahyun was always trying to make you feel better about the situation. She was the last person to come by for the night, and you begrudgingly headed back to your dorm to go to bed an hour after Dahyun left.

Saturday afternoon you went to check your mail after waking up. The winter coat you ordered arrived on Wednesday, and you desperately needed it now that temperatures were starting to drop. To your surprise, the common room was nearly full, and the commotion turned into silence as you came into view.

“Hey,” you cautiously said. “Did something happen?”

“You got a letter,” was the simple answer.

Like people passing each other buckets of water to put out a fire, the girls passed down the letter to you. You didn’t miss the sly looks that were exchanged. Once the thick envelope was in your hand, a sense of deja vu washed over you. When you glanced down, your name was written in rose gold, in the same loopy calligraphy from the Fall Festival. Your heart fluttered, and you knew why, but the lump of anxiety in your stomach you didn’t understand. Maybe it was because you wanted privacy for such a momentous moment. Maybe it was because you had fifteen pairs of eyes on you.

“What does it say?” Jeongyeon asked, graciously not saying what everyone wanted to know — “Who is it from?”

You might as well get it over with, you reasoned, since everyone would badger you with questions anyway. You lifted the flap, breaking the red wax. You noted that the family coat of arms featured two floppy-eared dogs and branches with rounded leaves. The last letter didn’t have a seal, you remembered. The same cream-colored stationery as before greeted your eyes, and you opened the card with gentle fingers, taking care not to crease it.

Meeting you would be grand. I’ll be waiting with a red rose in hand.

A pressed rose petal decorated the bottom half of the note, and you absentmindedly touched it while trying to slow your racing heart. Your eyes were glued to the message, rereading it over and over again. This was it, your chance to finally meet him. A hint of a smile started to show on your face, and Mina, observant as always, pointed it out.

“Is it something good?” she said, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, hiding your visibly flustered face with the envelope. Cheers erupted throughout the room, Sana being the loudest one of them.

“So, who is it?” Nayeon asked. “Is it BamBam? He’s been acting suspicious lately.”

“Jeongin? He always asks you for help,” Chaeyoung suggested.

You reread the card, searching for a signature, an inside joke, something to indicate the sender. Unfortunately, all you had was the seal, but you recognized none of the elements that would help you narrow down your search.

You showed everyone the broken wax. “Anyone know whose family seal this is?” You handed the envelope to the closest girl, who glanced at it and passed it to the next person.

When it reached Sana, she brought it centimeters away from her eyes, scrutinizing every little detail she could pick out. “It looks familiar, but I don’t know,” she finally said out loud. “I’ll ask around. Okay if I take a picture, Y/N?”

“Please.” You wanted to know who this mystery boy was more than anyone.

The envelope came back to you, and you carefully tucked the card inside. The crowd started to thin out as girls started to head back to their rooms or out of the dorms. So did you.

Once inside your room, the package that held your much needed winter coat was left discarded at the foot of your bed. With shaky hands, you reopened both the cards you had received from your secret admirer. You traced the words with a trembling finger, feeling the imprints made by the fountain pen, marvelling at how elegant his handwriting was. It was written by someone with a firm hand and a delicate touch, you imagined. Someone who was deliberate and kind and…

You shook your head. There was no sense in projecting your hopes of him on him, especially since you didn’t even know who he was.

Yet with only a slight feeling of embarrassment and some guilt, you lifted the stationery to your nose in a poor attempt to sniff out his cologne. All you smelled was expensive paper, and your whole body heated up when you realized how shameless you were a mere two seconds ago. Thank goodness Sana was busy and had no chance of bursting in.

You hid both letters inside your desk and opened your package, pretending that the past five minutes didn’t happen. The whole day was like that, pretending that you were cool, calm, collected when you really had the energy equivalent of five cups of black coffee coursing through your veins.

Sana came back with no new answers. At night, you drifted in and out of sleep, wondering who he was and how he would reveal himself to you.

As decided, you and Sana met up with Nayeon in the common room at 9:30 the following day. You yawned, regretting not taking any melatonin before you went to bed; you were tired from hours of unrestful sleep. Luckily, Nayeon, the driver, was in a much better state than you.

“I asked BamBam yesterday,” she said as she pulled out of the parking lot, “and he says it’s not him. I asked about his seal, and his is completely different.”

“He could be lying. What if he used someone else’s seal to trick Y/N?” Sana gasped.

“But why would he even do that? There wasn’t any seal on the first letter I got,” you replied. “It’s probably just a hint.”

“Ah! So he wants you to know who he is but is too shy to say it outright!” Sana declared. “But someone has to know. Is it too much if I post an ad in JYPaper?”

“Yes.” The school newspaper had many readers, and you didn’t want to be known as The Girl with the Secret Admirer again. “I don’t think they even allow things like that. We have at least three weeks to figure out who he is anyway.”

“Killjoy,” Sana pouted.

Soon, the three of you arrived in front of the boutique. As expected, the promise to buy only accessories for the masquerade was broken when Nayeon spotted an emerald green dress with lace details.

“Maybe I’ll wear this instead,” she wondered out loud. Before any of you could stop her, she grabbed it off the rack and brought it to the register, not even bothering to check the size.

You and Sana shared looks before heading over to the display of shoes. A cursory glance told you that none of them would match your dress the way you wanted. Despite that, you tried on a silver heel bedazzled with possibly real diamonds as Sana selected a black velvet pump. Nayeon returned with a brand new bag with the boutique’s name emblazoned on the front.

It was a similar experience at the other stores the three of you later visited. At least one of you would buy an unneeded item, while the main purpose of buying shoes for the masquerade was forgotten. The topic of your secret admirer, however, was not as lucky. At the end of the day, you had learned far too much about the Hwang family’s supposed seal, and Nayeon’s trunk was filled with shopping bags of various sizes and multicolored tissue paper. No progress was made.

“Y/N,” Sana started, her voice in an uncharacteristic lilt that typically meant she was going to ask for a favor, “can you take my bags too? Chan says he’s free now, and I want to ask him about the seal.”

“Can’t you just do it over text? I bet Chan wouldn’t mind,” you said. You threaded the handles of as many bags as you could through your arms. “You bought so many things.”

“If I do it in person, I’ll know if he’s lying or not.”

“He’s on the student council,” Nayeon pointed out. “We voted for him because he’s honest and trustworthy.”

“Please? He’s my friend, and I haven’t talked to him in ages,” she tried. For some strange reason, you couldn’t help but feel that it was a flimsy excuse for her not to take her fifteen bags back to the dorms.

“I’m your friend too,” you huffed. Despite your show of annoyance, you grabbed one of her bags as well. The last time she and Chan spoke face-to-face was two weeks ago, which was ‘ages’ since they usually had dinner together at least twice a week. “Fine. But he better know something useful.”

Sana lit up and eagerly waved goodbye. You called after her, “You’re treating me to dinner tomorrow!”

Nayeon added, “Me too!” as she picked up a black bag with gold ribbons for handles.

After three trips back and forth, Nayeon’s car was finally empty. Sana still had not returned, so the two of you went to the dining hall for a late night snack. Nayeon checked the “Who Could Y/N’s Secret Admirer Be?” list and read off the names still not crossed off.

(Apparently, Jeongyeon had created a spreadsheet and shared it with all the girls, so the list could be updated in real time. You were both surprised and not surprised at this news.)

“What about Felix?” she suggested. She flashed her phone screen at you, and Lee Felix had no strikethrough. “He’s a new transfer, so maybe that’s why no one recognizes the seal. Or maybe he doesn’t have a seal.”

You shrugged, more focused on the cheese platter on a nearby table. “Maybe,” you said, loading your plate with delicious morsels.

Nayeon mumbled something about your disinterest when food was in front of you, but she did the same. Chaeyoung, seated in a booth near a window with her own plate of cheese and crackers, waved you over.

“Rumor has it that your secret admirer is Lee Felix,” she said, forgoing a greeting.

Right beside you, Nayeon hissed, “See! I was right!”

“Someone saw him with some red roses last week, and your card did have a rose petal on it,” she continued. She nibbled on a small block of cheese as she looked for your reaction.

You chewed on your bottom lip. Was it really him? Was Lee Felix your secret admirer? You only knew him by a string of associations — Chan’s friend. Sana’s friend’s friend. He was pretty cute, you admitted.

“Maybe,” you replied, already thinking about his sharp jawline and the dusting of freckles across cheeks. “But only three more weeks until I find out.”

Sana had been acting strangely recently. She had started asking lots of specific questions about things you liked in guys. While you would have normally brushed this aside as Sana being Sana, she would follow up with questions like, “What do you think of this quality in a boyfriend?” Your answers were noncommittal, but she always smiled far too innocently and typed it on her phone. When your star-embroidered dress and its matching mask for the ball had arrived, a hint of a grin had appeared on her face. Then she had squealed, “He’ll love it!” and immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, like she had just told a huge secret. During the latest shopping trip with her and Nayeon — where you finally found a pair of heels you liked — Sana had smirked when the three of you unexpectedly ran into Chan and Felix, also shopping for the ball.

“Is it Lee Felix?” you asked moments after the boys were out of earshot.

She pretended not to hear you. “Hey, Nayeon, what do you think of that dress over there?”

You frowned, debating whether this meant it was Felix was not Felix. But it was clear that she knew something.

Weeks passed, and there was no new information about who your admirer could be. Much to your disappointment, Sana kept her lips sealed and tactfully changed topics whenever the masquerade was brought up.

Now that everyone was getting ready for the masquerade, she was dancing about you, deciding where to best place the decorative pins in your hair. You were fine with the situation earlier since you were waiting for Momo to finish Dahyun’s makeup, but Dahyun had been long gone.

“Here! No, here!” Sana selected a new location, deemed it not perfect, and took out the pin.

Momo, who had been patiently waiting to start on your makeup for a solid five minutes, gave you a sympathetic smile. “Sana, are you close to done yet?” she asked. “We’re going to be even later than we are now.”

“But she has to look perfect! She’s about to meet her secret admirer!”

The few girls present in the common room — where Momo had set up for the night — murmured in agreement.

Sighing, you snatched the handful of pins away from her and stuck them artfully into your curls. Or as artfully as you could in five seconds. It didn’t matter; they were shaped like stars, so they would look nice anyway. “There. Hair, check.”

After makeup was complete, Nayeon carefully tied your masquerade mask back, and Tzuyu held up a mirror for you. With Momo’s handiwork and half of your face covered, you barely recognized yourself. Your heart raced at the discovery; would he recognize you then? The letters he sent rested on your lap, and you absentmindedly touched the broken wax seal.

“All ready to go!” Sana cheerfully said. She pulled you up from your chair and linked arms with you. “Let’s find out who he is.”

Would it be Lee Felix, the top candidate among the girls, or someone who had gone by unnoticed? You gripped your skirts tighter in anticipation, and Sana slapped your wrist away in fear that you would wrinkle the fabric.

Downstairs, the ballroom was packed. Nayeon opened the double doors with bravado, and dozens of eyes looked in your direction. You thought everyone with their masks on looked like great horned owls staring you down, and you self-consciously adjusted yours, to Nayeon’s chagrin.

“What do I do?” you whispered to yourself. All the onlookers had returned to their own business, and you followed your friends through the crowd. “How do I even find him in all this?”

Nayeon had great hearing. “Red rose, remember?” she said. The baroque music nearly drowned out her answer. “He’s waiting with a red rose.”

“We’ll meet you by the punch table!” Sana shouted, already disappearing into the throngs of people. She grabbed Nayeon by the elbow, and you were left alone.

Stricken by the fact that you had no idea what to do and that your friends had basically ditched you, you stood in place. The letters were hidden in the folds of your skirt, and you repeatedly tapped on the sharp corner of the envelope to calm your anxiousness. You had imagined a Cinderella-like reveal, where the crowd would part and your prince would be waiting on the other end of the ballroom. Then he would reveal himself, and the two of you would dance the night away. Though in hindsight, the current situation was much more likely to happen.

You scanned the room, looking for any sign of red. Ties, dresses, masks, but not a single flower. Why was red such a popular color for masquerades?

“Y/N?” you heard to your left.

Eyes wide, you turned in that direction, only to see a boy with a rose in hand talking to a girl with a midnight blue feathered mask. Dahyun, you realized. Dahyun laughed and shook her head before pointing in your direction. Her and her eagle eyes, you gratefully thought.

The next part felt like a dream. Like a princess from a story, you picked up your skirts and walked up to him. It was him who was frozen in place now as you neared him. The background blurred as you focused solely on him, surreptitiously studying the exposed part of his face. His black mask blocked you from seeing his eyes, but the embarrassed smile was familiar.

“Hi,” he breathed, holding out the rose to you.

Heart beating, you took it and replied, “Hi.” After a beat, you blurted out, “Who are you?”

The smile turned into a grin, and you felt your cheeks growing hotter as you realized that his grin was just for you. Oh, he was cute. Or the lower half of his face was at least. “Don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” You checked the broken seal on the second letter. Was there a secret message on there that you missed or something? It was still the floppy-eared dogs and what you learned from Jihyo’s research was eucalyptus branches.

“Wow, Sana actually didn’t tell you?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought she would have.”

“Sana? What does she have to do with this?”

“She’s a mutual friend of ours. She’s one of my closest friends too. We’ve known each other for years.”

Then, it all dawned upon you. Sana, who thought the seal looked familiar, who wanted to speak to an old friend in person, who looked like she had been hiding a secret from you during the past three weeks. Sana, who had fussed over your appearance, who left you in the center of the ballroom for no real reason.

“Chan?” you whispered.

“Yeah. Are you disappointed?”

“No! I’m just surprised! I didn’t think that— Everyone thought it would be Felix, so I… kind of believed it…”

“If you want to dance with Felix, then I can get him for you,” he quietly offered, his face falling.

You caught his sleeve before he could turn away, and you didn’t miss his shocked expression when you quickly said, “No! I want to dance with you. Really.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please stay.”

You loosened your own mask and let it hang around your neck. Suddenly you felt shy now that all of your face was showing. You vaguely knew Chan from years of being friends with Sana, but this was a completely new experience and feeling.

“You look really beautiful,” he softly said. “I like the stars on your dress and in your hair.”

“You look handsome too,” you shyly replied. Sensing a possible awkward lull in the conversation, you asked, “So… why did you think Dahyun was me?”

He groaned and looked away. The tips of his ears matched the flower you were holding. “Sana told me your dress was dark blue, and Dahyun’s was blue as well.”

You smiled, remembering Dahyun loudly announcing that the common room wall was her date and that she would be matching with it for the ball.

“Did she tell you that I would be waiting here, too? She and Nayeon ditched me here.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. With a sudden burst of confidence, he stepped forward, his hands hovering around your waist. “She told me a lot of things, but especially about you.”

“Like what?” You hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck, and he jumped but pulled you closer nonetheless. The two of you began to sway to the music. “That I wake up in the afternoon on the weekends and she hates it because she has to tiptoe around?”

He laughed, and the lines around his eyes crinkled. “Yes, but other things as well. That you like stars and that you stayed up late to help her study for an exam even though you pulled an all nighter the night before.”

“Oh?” You remembered it, but you didn’t think she told anyone.

“Yeah. She made you sound unreal. I checked out the Astronomy Club booth in Fall Fest to meet you myself, but I got shy. You looked really pretty that day,” he added, making you blush. “And then I heard you and Seungmin talking about how many pies you guys had left, so I decided to help out.”

“By buying all of them.”

“Yeah. Kind of a stupid idea, now that I think about.”

“You definitely got my attention.” You rested your head on his shoulders and felt him sharply inhale. He relaxed soon after, and you continued with, “I couldn’t stop thinking about your card for weeks.”

“And I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he quietly replied, earning yet another blush from you.

He leaned closer, and you felt a breath get hitched in your throat until he whispered, “Not to alarm you or anything, but everyone’s watching us.”

A quick peek was all you needed to confirm his words. Dahyun was still lingering around, and Sana miraculously showed up, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Seungmin looked like he was giving Chan overly enthusiastic thumbs-ups.

“Do you wanna still wanna dance?” he mumbled. The music was loud enough that no one would be able to hear, but it was something intimate in a scene where the two of you were being gawked.

“Come with me,” you said.

“To wh— Oh!”

You slithered out of his hold and led him by the wrist through the crowd of onlookers to a more secluded spot near one of the giant windows in the hallway. Groups of people parted for you like the fairy tale scene you had imagined earlier. With your skirts flowing back and a handsome boy behind you, it certainly felt like a fairy tale. Once the two of you were alone, you leaned against the wall and looked up at him.

“So, who exactly is the guy beneath the mask?” you ask, pointing at him with the rose. “I wanna know more about him since he already knows so much about me.”

He pushed his mask up to his neatly combed hair and smiled at you, full dimples on display, galaxies in his eyes. “Just someone who thinks you’re a cutie pie.”

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #chan #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids x reader #twice #20201203

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adhd-disaster-willie · 4 years

Text

you’re the one that brings the sun; chapter 5/6

chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

warnings: swearing

word count: 2,757

notes: okay so this update took a while because I’ve been busy with school and writers block has been kicking my ass, but I think it’s worth it :)))

---

It was established in August that at least once a month, Alex will receive a phone call informing him to be at Julie’s house in ten minutes for a mandatory slumber party. It’s endearing sure, but he would like some sort of warning other than Luke calling him and saying that if he doesn’t show up as soon as possible, he’ll paint his drumsticks neon green. So that’s how Alex ends up sitting cross legged on Julie’s bed, putting Reggie’s hair into a bunch of tiny braids and watching The Princess Diaries for what’s probably the hundredth time.

“Lilly is definitely a lesbian,” Flynn says through a mouthful of popcorn.

Alex hums in agreement and Julie nods. “If only this movie weren’t made in 2001,” Julie says mournfully.

“Y’know I always thought that Joe was gay,” Alex admits. “Up until he dances with the queen.”

Reggie attempts to look up at Alex, earning an offended squeak from the latter. “Really?”

“Yes, now will you please stay still, I only have one more left.”

“Ok but there is no way Mia’s mom is straight!” Flynn says.

Julie seems to mull it over for a bit. “She does live in an old fire station. And artists are never straight.”

“Yea, like Willie!” Luke pipes up, sitting up from his position hanging halfway off the bed. “Willie’s not straight.”

“We should start a betting pool on how long it takes for Luke to bring up Willie,” Alex mumbles, his cheeks flushing pink. He ties off Reggie’s final braid and pats his head approvingly. “You look like a real princess.”

“Do I?” Reggie grins up at him with a bit of a twinkle in his eye and Alex chuckles.

“No subject changing,” Luke protests. “How’s Willie doing?”

“Still a pining idiot,” Flynn answers with a cheeky smile.

“I’m trying to watch the movie.” Alex shoves at Luke’s face and slides down off the bed to sit on the floor beside Reggie.

“You’ve seen this movie a million times,” Luke points out. He leans down so his head is hanging off the edge of the bed and smirks mischievously at Alex, who is pointedly refusing to look at him. “Aleeeex,” Luke whines. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”

��Alice, please,” Flynn says. Alex shoots her a look seeping with betrayal and Flynn raises their hands defensively. “I haven’t seen Carrie in a few days!” They protest. “I need drama.”

“Drama?” Alex asks. “Or blackmail material?”

Flynn shrugs, which only serves to cement what Alex was thinking. “Yea, nope. It’s not like anything has even happened since-” He cuts himself off, realizing his mistake and preparing for the onslaught of questions.

“Since!?” Luke cries. “Since what?!” He grabs Alex’s face roughly and looks at him with wide eyes. “Since what, Alex?”

“Nothing!” Alex squeaks, wrenching himself from Luke’s grasp. “Nothing! It was- let go of my fanny pack! Julie stop filming!!!” Alex swats at Luke’s hands and attempts to leap forward to grab Julie’s phone, but ultimately fails.

“I’ll let go if you tell me,” Luke teases in a sing song voice, his grin only growing the more Alex fights.

“Fine! If you just- sorry Reg the puppy-dog eyes only work on Luke and Bobby.” Reggie sighs in disappointment and Alex finally manages to get Luke off of him, huffing angrily and brushing nonexistent dust from his hoodie. “You’re a barbarian,” he mutters.

“Well?”

Alex responds to Julie’s prompting with a long-suffering sigh. “You have to promise not to make fun of me,” he says. They don’t promise. The movie is long forgotten as Alex’s friends gather around him, looking all too fascinated by his latest embarrassment. “He well… don’t laugh, ok. He wore a crop top last week and I tripped on my own feet and scraped up my knees.”

Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Nuh uh, there’s more, spill.”

Alex groans, burying his face in his hands. “They got all worried and started putting bandaids on my knees and I almost fainted. Then- please don’t make me say this,” Alex pleads, looking to Julie as if she’s his last hope. She shakes her head. “When they finished lecturing me I just looked at him and said ‘nice shirt’ and ran off. Nice shirt??? What is wrong with me?”

“Wait a minute,” Julie says, gesturing for Alex to pause. “You just… ran off? Where?”

Alex doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll paint your drumsticks if you don’t tell us,” Luke threatens. The difficulty is that Alex doesn’t doubt him one bit, and knows that Julie has a healthy supply of paint in a drawer just a few feet away from Luke.

Alex mumbles something under his breath and Reggie pokes him.

“Sorry what was that? Speak up.”

“Orange, I’ll paint them the ugliest shade of orange ever.”

“I went and hid in my closet!” Alex blurts. “For like an hour. I am never going to live that down.”

“That’s… incredibly ironic,” Julie laughs.

“I’m telling that story at your wedding.”

“Reginald, don’t even think about it!” Alex kicks Reggie lightly and raises his hand to flip off the other three, who are all dying of laughter. “I hate all of you. I need new friends.”

“Good luck with that.” Flynn pats Alex’s head; he can practically hear their stupid smirk.

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

---

Alex wakes up with his foot in Luke’s face, one arm thrown over Julie, his face in Reggie’s neck, and a very giggly Flynn perched on the end of the bed taking pictures. He sits up and murmurs sleepily, squinting in the oddly hazy room.

It’s gray and gloomy outside, quite fitting for mid-November, but far from Alex’s ideal weather. He’s always been partial to spring, when it’s not too hot and not too cold and not always cloudy and sad.

Flynn hops off the bed and onto Julie’s chair, where she spins a couple times before turning her phone to show Alex. “This is gonna be my new lockscreen,” they giggle. Alex stares at the photo, baffled as to how his arm was bent like that.

Breakfast is heaps of pancakes and fresh coffee (bless you, Ray) that for a moment, Alex considers just dumping over his head. Julie is curled around Luke for warmth throughout the whole morning and Flynn makes a point to gag at least once every 5 minutes. Alex knows she’s happy for them though, they finally got their act together a little over a week ago and at least this is better than the pining. Alex doesn’t say that though, because it will only get him a lecture on how he is not one to talk about pining.

Alex almost thanks a god he doesn’t believe in anymore when the rain outside doesn’t seem to make any moves into thunderstorm territory. Willie hates thunderstorms. He stays cocooned in a blanket until noon, but eventually Tía Victoria shoos them all out, claiming that Julie will never finish her homework with them all glued to her.

Alex is sopping wet when he finally arrives at his dorm, sadly no car can go right up to the entrance of the dorms. The first thing Alex notices when he walks in is the candles, and the second thing is the haphazardly thrown together fort in the middle of the room, which he narrowly avoids tripping over. “Willie?” He asks, lifting what he assumes to be the entrance and raising an eyebrow at Willie, who is grinning at him and shining a flashlight in his face.

“Ok, get that out of my eyes.” Alex clamps a hand over the light and Willie sticks his tongue out. “Did the power go out?” Alex asks, worry etching over his face. He can’t have all their food being ruined, with Alex living off his coffee shop job and Willie off of the occasional commission and odd check from his eccentric uncle.

Willie shakes their head. “Nope.”

“So why the… candles?”

“It’s fun!” Willie pulls Alex into the fort, stumbling back and just barely evading them toppling over each other into a quite compromising position. Willie presses his back against the couch and pats the space next to him. “It’s like you’re a little kid again.”

“Luke used to love making forts,” Alex admits. “We would move all the furniture in his living room and make the absolute worst blanket forts you can imagine. Like seriously, it’s no wonder none of us went into architecture.”

“Really? I can totally see you as an architect”

“That’s…”

“I’m joking, hotdog,” Willie giggles, bumping their shoulder together. He has a tendency to raise his eyebrows when he’s amused; Alex finds it all too endearing. Accompanied with the way their eyes crinkle when the laugh and the soft candlelight leaking through the thin blankets and draping over his features, Alex thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

“I was drawing you, y’know,” Willie says softly after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“The day we went stargazing, I was drawing you. You’re- you’re a good muse.”

“Oh.” Alex’s stomach flutters. “I uh… thank you.” He gives Willie a hesitant smile before turning to focus on the flickering light. His breath feels weighted, like every exhale means something, but he can’t quite pinpoint what. There’s a light breeze whistling through the crack in the door and Alex closes his eyes for a moment, pretending that it’s wrapping around him and holding him close. Alex didn’t get much affection as a child; his parents had always been very stiff. Sure, they loved him, but they weren’t that good at showing it aside from a rough shoulder squeeze and tight smiles so full of expectations. When he came out, even the snippets of affection faded; no more of his mother fixing his hair or giving him a quick kiss on the forehead when he was sick. Two months after his coming out, they just… kicked him out. He came home to find his belongings shoved carelessly into a trash bag or two and that was that. Luke more than made up for the lack of physical affection, but Alex knows that there will always be something missing.

Wide awake, Alex lets his head fall onto Willie’s shoulder. This time with care and attention, hesitancy. He hears Willie suck in a sharp breath but then the tension melts from their shoulders and fizzles into nothingness. For a moment, there is nothing but them and the pattering of rain against the windows.

“Lets go for a drive.”

Alex looks up expecting Willie’s usual carefree and impish grin, but he’s taken aback by his wistful expression and something bursts in Alex’s chest. Something that may be instinct and may be just an overwhelming surge of emotion.

“Okay.” His voice is barely a whisper, a single wisp of smoke snaking from a blown out candle.

The air is damp and the rain is coming down hard; Alex reaches a cautious hand out beyond the awning and winces at the downpour. But Willie is wiggling his stupid eyebrows in the way that makes Alex’s face heat and he can’t say no as Willie drags him through the wet grass, shrieking with laughter and going slower than necessary to relish in the water pouring down from the sky in torrents. They’re soaked to the bone and breathless, overflowing with mirth, by the time they reach Alex’s car and clamber into the seats. Right after a brief argument about who’s driving of course. (“You will not be touching my steering wheel with your grimy paint hands, William.” “Says you.”) So Alex is driving.

Willie has their hands pressed to the window, breath fogging up the glass and sending them into a fit of giggles every time. Alex switches on the radio and there’s a song playing that he recognizes but couldn’t sing along to; something soft and low, like lilting waves. Willie knows it though. And they’re singing. Oh. They’re singing. Alex almost has to pull the car to a stop and put his head in his hands because Willie never told him he could sing.

Willie’s voice is low and slightly raspy, but not in a bad way. Alex knows he’s heard this song before, but he’s 100% certain that this is his first time really hearing it. And it’s beautiful. Or maybe it’s just Willie. It’s probably just Willie.

Alex brings the car to a slow stop in the parking lot of an odd gas station that always seems to be closed. He doesn’t turn it off though, because he would rather die than have Willie stop singing. He leans his head back and breathes, certain he’s inhaling Willie’s voice. Willie’s voice which is like sparks on his skin, like smoke that crowds his lungs and opens his soul for the very first time. He feels a sense of mourning when the song stops and something else comes on, something peppier and sickeningly sweet. He switches the radio off.

“I didn’t know you could sing.” Alex isn’t even looking at them; he’s fiddling nervously with the strap of his fanny pack.

Willie smirks proudly. “You learn something new every day.”

“Yea.”

Willie traces a heart in the fog on the window and lets it sit there. Then he unbuckles his seat belt and pokes Alex’s shoulder. “Hey ‘Lex, come on.”

“No.” Alex shakes his head vigorously. “No. We’re already soaking wet and-”

“Hot dog.”

And damn it, the nickname may be so incredibly stupid but Alex has such a weird soft spot for it. He groans dramatically, making a point to wring out his hair, which is already mostly dry at this point. “You’re the worst. What if it starts thundering?”

Willie shrugs. “I have my noise cancelling headphones. And you can-” they cut themself off.

“I can what?”

“Nothing,” Willie squeaks. “Please. Please.”

So Alex climbs reluctantly from the car and stands in the parking lot looking far from amused. “You owe me.”

Willie laughs loudly, grabbing both of Alex’s hands and spinning him in an aimless circle, pulling them both into a dance to music that’s only in his head. They twirl Alex around several times, and Alex is certain that he’s going to actually fall over and faint. Willie raises his face to the sky and squints, letting the rain soak him without care. Alex is in awe and how open and free Willie is, like nothing can ever go wrong and if it does they’ll always be flying. He doesn’t realized they’ve stopped dancing until Willie turns to him with a curious expression. Their eyes rake over his face and Alex realizes he’s staring. But for once, he doesn’t look away. And for the first time, he sees the corner of Willie’s mouth quirk up and their eyes flick to his lips and even linger there for a brief second.

The rain doesn’t seem to have plans to stop anytime soon, and they’re both shivering and wet and Willie’s hair is dangling in front of his face. Alex reaches out and tucks it behind his ear, both of them holding a breath, waiting. It’s right there, right in front of him, and Alex is inches from just grasping it and clutching it to his chest. Willie takes a step forward so their faces are just inches from each other and Alex can feel their breath against his cheeks. He exhales shakily and raises one hand to cup Willie’s cheek, his touch feather light and afraid. Willie leans into the contact and grins upwards, their nose wrinkling fondly. He gives a silent nod and for the first time in years, Alex takes the plunge.

Their first kiss is soft and slow and Willie tastes like rain and green tea. Alex smiles against their lips, a breathy laugh escaping his own. He’d think this is a dream, but no section of his imagination could conjure something even a fragment as magical as this. They’re in the middle of a parking lot, cold and wet, and yet Alex feels the warmest he ever has. Alex is hesitant to pull away, but he does, just barely. Their foreheads stay resting against each other, like breaking apart would break them. Then it comes crashing into him. Alex just kissed Willie. He just kissed Willie. And Willie kissed him back! Holy shit!

“Wowza.” Wowza? What the fuck Alex?

Willie breaks into joyous laughter, throwing his head back and clutching Alex’s shoulders. And Alex laughs with him; he buries his face in the crook of Willie’s neck, his heart full to bursting. Wowza indeed.

---

notes: ...I did say I was thinking about a Willex rain kiss. I actually wrote like half of chapter 6 a while ago so I might be able to post it tomorrow.

chapter 6

taglist: @thatsanewflavor @spookiest-sapphic @dovesgrangers @julie-n-phantoms @frostknyte @thegaylink @nervousmiracletrash @crummycassidy @fairygclds @reallyintrospectivepeople @madsmax-37 @swamp-acad @kat-maybe-not @sunsetcurve123 @lookingthroughmirrors @queer-fandom-enby @over-under-through1 @willex-n-waffles @caliibee @stars-soph @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @nickalicious @andwhenwepart @maizsnex @fanofthepod @heademptynothoughts @thunderstorm-symphony @julieandthephantomsandme @i-spit-on-fire

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #willex #willex fic #ytotbts #you're the one that brings the sun #willow writes #willie jatp #willie nolastname #willie wilbur williamson #alex mercer #julie molina #reggie peters #luke patterson #flynn jatp #flynn nolastname

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [11]

Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

➜ Warning: Suggestive content

cr.

Life is like a box of chocolates — you never know if it’s gonna fuck you over and end up giving you the shits. It’s in the middle of the night when he feels someone crawling into bed with him. The sheets ruffle. The covers are pulled, and he feels a weight settle onto his hips. Jungkook’s shaken awake from his slumber and through the slits of his eyes, he sees you grinning down at him, palms laid on his chest. “Wh-What are you doing here?” Jungkook croaks with a voice thickened with sleep, completely disoriented. He tries to lift his head to look around his dark dorm room. “How’d you get in?” You brush your hair back and lean down close to him, whispering, “Does it matter?” Your hot breath skims against his skin and sends goosebumps all over his flesh. Suddenly, your lips lay on the juncture between his neck and shoulder and he feels your hips rocking into him. Immediately, Jungkook lifts his hands to find purchase on your waist, halting your movements. “We shouldn’t do this.” “Why not?” You pout and just to tease, you swivel your hips again, grinding down on him. Your name chokes out of Jungkook. “W-We’re friends.” “Really?” Your lashes bat, body heat warm against his. “Friends don’t do this, Kookie.” Jungkook realizes that you’re just in a white night slip with thin straps he can easily tug down. Your underwear is gone too and he can feel the heat of your center as you shift to sit right on his crotch that’s growing harder by the second. Jungkook groans and you whine back at him. You grab his hand, guiding it to palm your breast, and Jungkook squeezes. It feels soft like a pillow. “Friends don’t touch each other like this,” you murmur to him, rocking yourself against his clothed length. The bed creaks quietly and Jungkook can feel his pajama pants becoming damp. “Friends don’t get this wet.” You kiss his jaw. “Friends don’t want to touch each other.” “God, Y/N.” Jungkook doesn’t know what’s happening. But he can’t resist the temptation. He can’t control himself. It only takes one more eager jerk of your pelvis before he’s embarrassingly coming undone in his boxers like a prepubescent teen. “Feel good, Kookie?” you coo and when he manages a husky ‘uh-huh’, your lips curl. “Then why do you fucking suck at making cakes, huh?!” Jungkook’s startled when you abruptly screech into his ear at the top of your lungs and his horror only accelerates when you stand on the mattress, looming over him and placing your foot on his crotch. “You’re a fucking joke!” Your heel digs into his soft dick and he’s unable to pry it off, scared shitless. “Your cakes are DRY!” The whites of your eyes bleed red, skin morphing into purple as the strands of your hair raise. The word ‘dry’ is jarringly spat with multiple demon voices in low tones overlapping your own. It echoes all along his room, surrounding and suffocating him. All of a sudden, your jaw unhinges and smoke begins to ooze out towards him. Jungkook screams and his vision is flooded in pitch black. Jungkook jolts on his mattress. His eyes pull back. He hyperventilates, catching his breath. The first thing he sees is the white mug you gave him on his bedside table, ‘Jungkook — World’s Best Chocolatier’, unused and kept pristine. But he rolls away and realizes his hand has been tightly squeezing a pillow, that he’s dripping of sweat and his pants are soiled, that you’re not here — that you never were. What the fuck. It was a wet dream, or rather, a wet nightmare. // It’s an understatement to say Jungkook is utterly traumatized. He wonders if his subconscious is broken, but the nightmare has stained his brain permanently and he is still horrified by morning. He couldn’t fall back to sleep and stayed in bed motionless for two hours, deeply disturbed to his very core. He’s shocked out of his thoughts by a brush on his arm. Jungkook whirls his head over, and there you are. Manifested into thin air. Coming from nowhere. As if you were summoned through his thoughts like the devil. He screams and stumbles back. Your eyes are wide, brows lifted. “Jungkook?” “Fuck! You scared me!” He presses his hand over his heart where it’s thundering against his rib cage. “I called you three times! Did your one brain cell die? God, you’re so embarrassing.” People are looking at him, startled from his shriek and stopped in the middle of the corridor. Jungkook swallows hard and quickly collects himself. “S-Sorry.” “Geez, get it together, Jeon. Anyway, I was going to ask you about…” He tries to talk to you and not stare at the petals of your lips that had softly kissed his neck in his nightmare. He tries to focus and not let his eyes stray down to the swell of your chest that was firmly pushed against his own in the nightmare. He tries to ignore that nightmare, the nightmare of you climbing underneath his warm covers, pressing yourself to him, whispering in his ear— “Jeon—” Jungkook screams again, the silver bowl of chocolate knocking against the counter in a deafening clang, but thankfully not spilled. Your classmates are wide-eyed like you are and the teacher spins around, afraid that someone is on fire. “S-Sorry,” he apologizes to you and the rest of the people in the kitchen. Everyone turns back to their stations and you frown, ducking your head in second-hand humiliation. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?” You’re leaning too close to him, your scent is overwhelming and Jungkook’s heart is beating fast enough that it’s going up his throat. He might just have a heart attack. He frantically shuffles back to put some distance between the two of you. “Nothing.” “Really?” You have a doubtful expression. “Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?” “No, I’m not. I’m fine.” “A—lright then, weirdo. I just wanted to ask you if you have any extra eggs I can borrow.” “Borrow?” He quirks his brow. “You’re gonna give me back the eggs?” You grin mischievously and it does something to him that is quite unsettling. “Can I take some, please?” Jungkook swallows hard. He’s not sure why you’re batting your lashes like that, why you’re trying to act coy. It’s not cute. But he doesn’t comment, instead diverting his eyes and sliding the carton over. “Take it.” “Thanks, Jeon.” It’s not going to work and he knows it. Pretending and trying to ignore what’s on the forefront of his mind will only arouse more suspicion from you. It won’t be long until you think he needs to have medical attention. Which he probably does at this point. But your concern will only unknowingly throw fuel into the fire. Jungkook knows the only way he can shake this weirdness off is by switching strategies. And the best strategy of all is time. // When Jungkook enters the lecture hall, he urgently claims a spot at the very back, even if he can’t see the white board and he knows it’ll be hard to hear. He ducks his head, wearing the hood of his sweater and instantaneously picks you out in the crowd. You’re in the middle rows at the usual spot with your seat beside you saved. And as time ticks closer to the lecture, he can see you looking around, searching for him. 10:58 pm. Y/N: are you skipping class again idiot 10:58 pm. Y/N: im not giving you the notes Jungkook sees your text but doesn’t answer. At lunch, Jungkook books it to the dining hall and just dumps whatever is convenient onto his tray. He sits down and begins to scarf down his food. Yoongi, who hasn’t even been able to take a bite, eyes him. “Wow, you’re hungry today.” Jungkook chugs his water so the food can easily slide down his gullet. Yoongi lifts a brow at how he hasn’t answered and blatantly stares at him. “What’s your problem, Kook? Is someone chasing you?” The dark-haired man in his campus hoodie and dark jeans checks his watch. With his cheeks full, he mutters, “Class ends in three minutes which means she’ll be here in five.” “Who? Y/N? Did you do something to piss her off?” It’s not exactly that. But Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s too busy slurping up his noodles. Then swiftly, he stands with his tray and grabs the hard piece of bread in his other hand. “See you.” There’s a permanent question mark etched onto Yoongi’s face and the tired man watches Jungkook dump his unfinished food into the bin and runs off with more vigour than he could ever have. And like clockwork, exactly as Jungkook predicted, you come into the dining hall thirty seconds later. You pick up your food while humming and then sit yourself down across Yoongi. “How was class?” “Fine.” Yoongi doesn’t explain. He cuts straight to the chase. “Did something happen between you and Kook?” “What?” “He was just here.” “He was?” You turn around but the mop of black hair is nowhere in sight. You shift back to Yoongi, completely befuddled. “No, nothing’s wrong. He’s just been jumpy today, I don’t know what his issue is.” “Huh.” 12:06pm. Y/N: is everything okay??? Guilt crawls up Jungkook’s throat as he leaves another text unanswered. But it’s not his fault. You’re a witch for plaguing him with these feelings. These horrible feelings that he doesn’t even know how to begin describing. It’s like he’s horny but when he touches his dick, you’re the first person to come to mind. And it makes him stop — aware it’s too fucked up to continue. He can’t believe that the span of a few hours and one measly nightmare has changed the entire wiring of his brain. Or maybe you’ve bewitched him, cursed him somehow, voodooed him. Frankly, Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if you actually did that to get back at him for something he doesn’t remember doing. You’re a witch and you would probably cackle if you knew what was going on. 2:43pm. Y/N: wanna go eat out tonight 2:43pm. Y/N: im hungryyyyyy again 2:56pm. Y/N: BITCH 2:56pm. Y/N: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY LEAVING ME ON READ What Jungkook needs most is to turn off his phone and get away from you. Or at least, anywhere where he could potentially run into you on accident. So after class, he goes to the best place he can think of to get his mind off of things. “Damn, you look rough, dude.” Taehyung shuts the door to his dormitory room and grins. “Did you have another wild night?” “Uh, no, not really.” “What are we playing? Overwatch? League? PUBG?” “I’m good for whatever.” He plops onto Taehyung’s bean bag chair, ignoring the spilled chips on it. Taehyung’s dorm is ten times nastier than Jungkook’s room has ever been. It’s a literal dump. You would never step into it and he knows it for a fact. Taehyung’s pig style lifestyle is Jungkook’s ultimate refuge. “So you gonna tell me what’s up?” Taehyung glances at Jungkook as the loading screen appears. Jungkook musters a half-scoff, half-laugh. “There’s nothing up.” “Okay then.” There’s a long silence. The music plays. The screen continues loading. Jungkook sighs and leans back, gesturing wildly. “Okay. I had this dream.” Taehyung cocks a brow. “You had a dream?” “Yeah, and it was really, really, really, really weird—” “Dude.” The brunette laughs. “I get it. It was really weird. Get on with the story.” “And now it’s fucking with my head.” He releases another sigh. “It was about Y/N.” “Y/N?” Taehyung grins. “What? Did she shoot you point-blank? Did she knife you in a back alley and now you think this is some kind of sign for the future and you’re gonna die?” “No—” But before he can explain himself, Taehyung’s phone dings and he pulls it out. His boxy smile expands on his face and he momentarily shows his screen. “Well what do you know, speak of the devil, Y/N’s coming over here right now.” “What?!” Jungkook sputters, choking on his own spit, heart stuttering. Taehyung smiles. “I’m giving her the lemon meringue pie recipe in exchange for her red velvet cupcake recipe. Don’t tell Yoongi though, he keeps on talking about selling it and keeping it a secret, but I personally don’t really think it’s going to work— Hey! Where are you going, dude?” Jungkook has grabbed his bag and shoes, and is opening the latch on Taehyung’s window. Thankfully he lives on the bottom floor and it’s easy to climb out. “Are you being serious right now?” Taehyung stands, appalled. “Yeah.” He swings his legs over the ledge. “Don’t tell Y/N I was here.” Both of Jungkook’s feet land on the ground and he takes off running without glancing behind him. In the meanwhile, Taehyung blinks hard. He’s shocked and shouts out the window— “You never finished telling me about that dream!” You’re a witch — Jungkook’s sure of it. He has no solid evidence yet but there was just no way you could appear at every single place he’s at. Always two steps behind him. One corner away. He didn’t know it would be so hard to avoid you. You’re truly like the plague. “Jungkook? What are you doing?” The man is lightly jogging, but stops in his tracks. Hoseok and Aeri are hand in hand together in the middle of the path across campus. Jungkook automatically grins, thankful to see them. What he needs most is to surround himself with people and to not be trapped inside his own head. “Hey, guys! Was just going on a run.” “In jeans with your backpack?” “Never a better time for exercise,” he declares and Aeri laughs. But Hoseok quirks his head to the side, unsure. “Where are you going?” “We were just heading to the gelato place by the west building. We still haven’t tried it since it opened.” “Great!” Jungkook joins them happily, throwing an arm over Hoseok’s shoulder. He doesn’t realize how the way he stands in the middle forces their interlaced hands to break apart. Hoseok flashes him a dirty look that Jungkook’s subconscious chooses to ignore. “You’re coming with us?” “Well I haven’t tried their gelato yet either and I heard their strawberry flavour was pretty good.” “I heard it was good too!” Aeri smiles, trying to be polite. And when Jungkook isn’t looking, she sends a sheepish look to her boyfriend, mouthing to him that it’s okay. The three of them walk together and when the sidewalk becomes too narrow for three people, Aeri falls behind. Hoseok glances at her over his shoulder, apologies swimming in his eyes. Eventually, they get across campus and order before sitting out on a bench to enjoy their sweet desserts. It should be lovely — the weather pleasant as the sun is going down. Aeri is holding Hoseok’s hand comfortingly as they both eat their waffle cones. But the date is interrupted with Jungkook’s loud chewing and they’re squashed with three people out on the wooden bench. Hoseok’s thigh should be brushing against his girlfriend’s. But instead, it’s squished against Jungkook’s muscular ones. “If we’re watching a movie after this, I heard the new Terminator was pretty decent.” “We were planning to watch When Spring Meets Autumn,” Hoseok deadpans lifelessly, eyes blankly looking out at the distance as the man considered how this cute date turned out this way. “A rom-com?” Jungkook blanches. “Since when did you like rom-coms?” “I like them,” Aeri pipes up. “But I’m okay with Terminator too if that’s what you guys want.” “The reviews are pretty stellar, so it should be good. Are you planning to grab dinner afterwards too?” “Y-Yeah, maybe,” Aeri timidly answers Jungkook finishes his cone and dusts his hands off. “There’s a McDonalds nearby the theater and they have a new angus burger I’ve been meaning to eat too. We should try it.” Hoseok glares at him. Jungkook’s doe eyes overlook it. Suddenly the phone rings, and it’s Jung Hoseok’s saving grace. He sees the caller ID, smirks and answers, pulling it up to his ear. “Oh, hey, Y/N.” Jungkook’s entire body freezes. His muscles become rigid. Hoseok glances at him. “Yeah, great timing actually. He’s right here with me. We’re at the edge of campus right by the west building in front of Dog World’s Gelato. Yep. Okay. See you soon.” Shit. Jungkook gets up right away. “Uh—maybe we can hang out next time, guys. I should get going.” Hoseok grabs onto the bottom hem of Jungkook’s sweater before he can book it. The male’s fist is tight enough that his knuckles turn white and he musters a stiff smile, trying not to show how much he’s enjoying his act of vengeance. “Why, Kook? You should join us! Y/N’s actually coming right now! She’s been looking for you, right?” “Uh, t-tell her I’m busy. Just realized I have an assignment. Gotta go finish it before the deadline!” Jungkook rips his sweater back from Hoseok’s grip and runs for the hills. Finally Hoseok and Aeri are left at peace to enjoy their outing. “Is Jungkook avoiding Y/N?” Aeri asks curiously, watching Jungkook’s backside diminish. “They’re playing some kind of cat and mouse game. You should see the group chat.” Hoseok chuckles. “I don’t know if Jungkook’s checked at all, but Y/N’s out for murder.” Jungkook sprints across campus again, this time taking the route through the underground parking lot to avoid you. There’s only one person left who can save him and he trusts this person wholeheartedly. He knows they won’t betray him, that they’ll protect him until the very end. Sweet, summer child— “Jimin!” “Hey.” The boy grins, eyes crinkling into half-moons. He put down his pen on top of his textbook, seated at the small table in the corner of the second floor of the library. You never come here. He’d shit himself if you did. “I saved you a spot when you texted me.” “Thanks.” Jungkook’s out of breath and falls into the seat across from him. He turns to the windows to watch the sun lower over the horizon and Jimin smiles at him, chewing on his slices of deli meat. Jungkook never understood why, but the man loves snacking on deli meat and cheese. “Did something happen?” Jungkook steadies his breathing. “Nothing really. What are you working on?” “Just some theory for sugar work. Gotta prepare for that test. Do you need some water?” “Please.” He gulps down the rest of the water bottle that Jimin hands him, quenching his dry throat. And the brunette watches him with a grin, waiting patiently until he’s finished. Then, he asks— “Are you sure this has nothing to do with Y/N?” Jungkook wheezes on air. He chokes and sputters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His doe eyes are rounded like a deer in headlights. “How’d you know?” Jimin turns to the phone beside him, swipes and then quotes, “Where is Jeon? When I get my hands on him he is going to die I swear to god.” The way Jimin reads it is very matter-of-factly, deadpanning, but Jungkook groans, already imagining your yelling. Jimin looks at his friend again, eyes twinkling with amusement. “There’s more in the group chat, but you get it. So...what did you do?” “I didn’t do anything!” Thankfully, there’s no one around the library to send him a glare when he defends himself in a higher-pitched voice. But it’s a lie. It is his fault. Jungkook’s been blatantly avoiding you all day, running from you and leaving you on read. Yet, the ironic part and what killed him the most is that Jungkook was actually beginning to miss you. It’s just harder than he expected to distance himself. For the past few months, you’re almost always together. “I….I had this dream last night,” Jungkook confesses, finally letting the burden off his shoulder. Jimin raises his brows, lips falling to the side as he earnestly listens. “A dream?” “About Y/N.” Jungkook cringes, but lets it tumble off his tongue. “Itwasawetdream.” “Oh.” “Yeah.” He sucks in his cheek. Jimin’s expression is blank too, registering in the confession. Jungkook’s about to burst out laughing and spit out ‘sike’ to take it back. But his close friend beats him to the punch— “Isn’t that normal?” “What?” “I mean Y/N is attractive and you are too, so you’re probably attracted to each other at least on some human level. Isn’t it natural to be attracted to someone and think of them like that?” “Yeah, but this is Y/N we’re talking about here. Y/N.” The person who tells him about your face acne and your period flows — that tells him he sucks at icing and piping — the person who calls him a bitch when he slyly passes his used bowls in the sink while you’re washing your dishes — who tries to sing IU songs and absolutely grates his ears. But Jimin merely shrugs. “So? Y/N’s still human. It’s not weird unless you make it weird.” It’s easier said than done. Jungkook is being driven crazy by you. Jimin stares at him. “Do you like Y/N, Jungkook?” You? No. Of course not.

‘The fuck is wrong with Jeon?’ seems to be the question of the day. It’s pinpointed on your mind and one you have no idea what the answer could be. And the more you sit and think about it, the more you become enraged. Your blood is boiling, temples pounding, and you’ve never been one to sit aside and let things happen. So, you seek him out to get some answers. You sneak in and pound on his door at ten at night. Hard enough that the surface rattles against the hinges. He can run from you all he wants all day but he has one place to sleep at night. The door opens a sliver, Jungkook’s eye and big nose pokes out, horrified. “Y/N?!” You push the surface but he holds it. There’s a struggle. “W-What’s your problem?” Finally, you stumble in. Jungkook steps back. His room is pitch black but the light from the hall illuminates his small space and your eyes dart to his ruffled sheets, the laptop pushed aside, the lube on his nightstand by the cup you gave him for Christmas. Immediately it clicks and your pupils dart to his crotch. You see something poking out from his gray sweatpants and he covers it with his hands, but a moment too late. You groan. “Ugh. Are you seriously getting off, right now?” “Fuck off, I’m...just a little sexually frustrated.” “Is this what you’ve been doing all day?” “No!” “Then why did you leave me on read?!” You confront him, not leaving room for excuses. And as for receipts, you hold up your phone where tens of messages were left unanswered today. You sigh when Jungkook says nothing for an excruciating thirty seconds and you soften. “Just tell me what I did wrong, so I can apologize for it and fix it.” “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” “Then why did you ignore me all day and make me feel like….like some kind of clingy ex?” The words taste bitter as they come out. You’re reminded of what happened not too long ago, how you were ghosted by Kim Seokjin and you don’t appreciate Jeon Jungkook doing the same to you. You don’t enjoy being shunned and abandoned by your best friend. Jungkook can see the hurt in your expression and realizes he’s fucked up. Big time. His ears perk when you sigh frustratedly. “This morning, you act all weird and then you don’t show up to class and Yoongi tells me you shoved your lunch into your mouth and left seconds before I came. Okay. Whatever. I was going to let it go. Maybe there’s something up. Maybe you need space.” You step forward and he staggers back. “But then….but then Taehyung tells me you jumped out of a window when you heard I was coming.” Jungkook curses his friend for betraying him inside the recesses of his head. You’re imposing, closing the distance with one large step. Jungkook wobbles back. “And then when I call Hoseok to try to find you and see what the hell is going on, he tells me you’re over in the East building. But when I get there, apparently you’ve run off. Again.” “So what the hell?” You take one more step and the back of his knees hit the edge of his mattress. Jungkook falls back onto his bed into a seated position. He swallows hard, palms feeling sweaty. Your hair is falling in front of your face as you lean down, connecting your eyes with his. It’s just like it. The nightmare. If he wanted, he could reach out and hold your waist, sit you on his lap— “I had a dream about you,” Jungkook murmurs. Your brows furrow. “A dream about me?” Jungkook holds your gaze, unwavering. “You stabbed me.” It goes silent. Then you step back, bursting into laughter. You believe the lie. But Jungkook doesn’t relax. The sound of your giggles make him stiffen more as his heart rate picks up speed like he’s about to die. “You had a dream I stabbed you? Damn your subconscious must be really scared of me or something.” “Hey, it felt really real, okay? You like shanked me with a kitchen knife right in my stomach. It freaked me out…” You feel enlightened. Relieved. It makes sense in your brain as to why he was so jumpy this morning. He was probably scared enough to avoid you all day. And here you thought you did something wrong and the friendship was over. You approach Jungkook and grab his face. Your palms squish his cheeks together and you make him look at you. “I wouldn’t ever stab you, Jungkook,” you tell him with your utmost sincerity. “Not now. Not ever. So you don’t have to worry about it. At the worst, I would step on your foot or pull your hair. Promise.” He gently pulls your hands off him and holds it. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he says sarcastically with a small smile. “But I already know. You can’t overpower me.” “Is that a challenge?” You quirk your head to the side. “You just promised you wouldn’t ever stab me.” He grins boyishly. “But I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean to ghost you and make you feel….like I…” “It’s okay. I get it.” You smile at him. The corner of your mouth lifts, eyes tender, lashes fluttering. The warm light from the corridor casts upon your skin and features, making you glow. Jungkook stares up at you and swallows hard. The feelings train runs him over, the locomotive crushing his entire body, steel wheels stomping him flat. And he knows. Damn. He’s so fucked.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook reader insert #jungkook x reader #jungkook as a baker who's just basically opened his third eye #pray for his soul y'all #jokes aside this is one of my favourite chapters

547 notes · View notes

pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: something sad (Implosion)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him. A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS! Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence

Other parts in this AU: (Something Sad), (Anger), (Grief)

...

(Katsuki gets a taste of vigilantism)

“GET OFF!” Katsuki struggles against the hands pulling him down. Down. Down into never-ending darkness. Ahead of him is Deku, trapped in a swirling cocoon of shifting green sludge. The idiot is smiling, so bloody pleased with himself like he isn’t seconds away from death. He yells and struggles but the shadowy figures holding him are unaffected. All they do is watch with empty eyes.

Katsuki flings himself upright, taking several hash breaths. The air is still, the silence oppressive. Around him, the walls of his bedroom loom, the single remaining All Might poster he still has up glaring down at him. He is shaking drenched in sweat, hands twitching, itching, eager to blow something up. Anything to loosen the knot of empty, pointless frustration stuck in his chest. In between breaths, Katsuki rolls out of bed, yanking a jacket from where it is slung over his lopsided desk in the same move. He is not wearing a shirt and he doesn’t want to go out completely exposed.

The front door is deadlocked and needs a key. A change brought about by his continued unsanctioned trips outside. Luckily, it is not his only exit option. Katsuki yanks open his bedroom window, sticking his head out, scanning the narrow walkway that runs between his building and the next. Nothing moves, the dark space is empty save for the apartment’s collection of communal garbage bins. Quickly, he shimmies out through the narrow opening, twisting so he can drop feet first.

It is four stories down and he lets himself fall, forming twin blasts in both hands to slow his descent.

He had long theorised that he would be able to increase and decrease his momentum with controlled explosive bursts. Pain shoots through his ankles as he lands in a crouch next to the bins but it’s not bond-breaking, so he guesses his theory is correct.

Katsuki straightens, listening to the muffled sounds of a TV playing somewhere in the building next to him. It doesn’t seem like the sound of his blasts had caught anybody’s attention. The air outside is muggy, still warm from the day's heat. Another beat passes and he is strolling off down the street, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, bare feet silent on the sun-warmed pavement. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal. Now, if he could only find something to distract his dumb brain from re-playing the scene of Deku’s final moments that would be great. He needs something to fuel his anger and rage so he can distract himself from the new empty bitterness, burrowing into his chest.

The few people he passes are salarymen returning from an evening drinking and they all give him a wide berth. He glares, daring one of them to comment on his appearance or take issue with the fact that he is a middle-schooler roaming the streets at midnight. None of them do. The cowards.

Katsuki is cutting through backstreets, making his way towards one of the busier sections of the city, when a faint groaning sound catches his attention. He freezes, listening, eyes darting over the plain brick walls, scanning the taller office buildings and apartment complexes for the source. There…around the corner… two streets down…there is someone groaning. He stalks forward, following the murmur of angry voices. In between angry muttering is the yelp of a person in pain.

Katsuki breaks into a jog, turning in the direction of the noise, following till he can make out conversation.

“I told you to pay up old man. You stupid or something.”

“Please. I don’t have any money…”

There is the thunk of something solid hitting flesh.

Katsuki comes to a stop near the entrance to a shadowed alleyway just big enough to fit a small car. There is a group of three adults in loose clothing, looming over a downed fourth person. A tall lanky man with a metal bat, a shorter guy with bulging arm muscles, and a greasy-haired man holding a knife are focused on an older man who is holding a briefcase over his head like a shield. Thoughts of Deku fade to be replaced with single-minded determination.

“Hey losers,” he strolls out into full view, “How about you fight someone who’s not missing his geriatrics appointment.”

All three would-be muggers, he’ll call them Tiny, Lanky and Grease-Hair, freeze, turning as one to stare at him. In his chest his blood seems to come alive as his heart rate ramps up.

“What the hell?” Tiny looks to his fellow muggers for confirmation, “it’s a kid?”

There are few seconds of disbelieving silence before Grease-Hair shakes off their collective aneurism. “Hey kid! Why don’t you fuck off? This is none of your business.”

“You weak, wannabe-thugs got a problem with the truth?” He smirks, fingers twitching. His response has three, four if you include the Brief-Case man, incredulous looks directed his way.

“You got hearing problems kid? He said to fuck off,” Lanky steps forward, resting his bat across his shoulder in a display of aggression.

Katsuki cracks his knuckles as loudly as possible and settles into a semi-crouch, ready to use his blasts to propel himself forward. It was time to put his newly confirmed quirk ability to the test.

“Guess the standard for criminals around here just really sucks.”

“You got a death wish brat?” Grease-Hair brandishes his knife, coming to stand beside Tall-and-Lanky, “I’ll make you cry so fucking much you shit stain.”

“HA! as if you could!” All at once his anger, excitement and frustration spike into a wave of adrenalin.

Before Grease-Hair can take another step toward him, Katsuki launches himself forward, propelling himself with as big a blast as he can manage without breaking his arms. As Katsuki is naturally hardier than the average person-a secondly quirk characteristic- the blast ends up being pretty damn big. WHOOOM! It rattles the glass in the adjacent windows. His last coherent thought before he lets his mind succumb to the rush of exhilaration is that he needs to take out one of these guys as quickly as possible to even the odds.

Crunch, is the sound Grease-Hair’s face and nose make when he slams his knee into it. The snap of bones breaking is unnervingly satisfying. Grease-Hair topples over, eyes blank, expression of shock frozen on his face as he takes an express trip into dreamland. The knife clatters on the concrete.

“Holy crap!” The two remaining men offer shouts of alarm. The bat comes hurtling towards his head and Katsuki hurls himself to the side, ignoring the stab of pain that runs up his shoulder when he lands at an awkward angle. He flexes his hands, throwing both arms up in direction of his attacker who is now trying to bring the bat down on his legs.

BOOM!

Fire and smoke erupt between them, throwing them in opposite directions. The bright flash of light and heat provides enough cover for him to roll on his feet. Tiny and Lanky stumble backward and Brief-Case man makes a run for it while they are distracted. In the main street, several car alarms go off. Katsuki, being unaffected by the explosion, recovers first and leaps through the smoke, fists clenched. Moving his arm around in an arching swing, it smacks into Lanky’s head. He barely feels this sting in his wrist and knuckles as the skin on his knuckles break against his teeth. Blood sprays into the air.

It is at this point that Tiny recovers enough to retreat a few paces and make a slashing motion with his hand. Some invisible force slams into Katsuki’s side and he is flung sideward away from Lanky. Pain blossoms in his ribs and he lets off a clumsily blast to slow his momentum. He still hits the wall of the ally hard enough to leave cracks in the brick. Blood fills his mouth from where he has accidentally bitten into the side of his tongue.

A quirk effect? Something invisible that hit hard and had some range to it. Not great for him. He pushes off the wall, crouching, ready to dodge. Tiny drags Lanky to his feet. They are both glaring at him, eyes dark.

He coughs, and, even as the distant realisation that this might not have been a good idea tugs at his thoughts, he grins, “You pieces of trash are weak shit.”

“You’re fucking dead,” Lanky fumes.

Unfortunately- or maybe fortunately- Katsuki never finds out what the two thugs would have done next in retaliation because there is a loud, amplified shout from the ally entrance.

“FREEZE COMBATANTS.”

A blinding white light flickers on and illuminates the entire alleyway, making him wince and bring an arm up to shield his eyes.

“Shit. Cops.” Both Tiny and Lanky turn, obviously intending to make a run for it, only to realise that the ally ends in a tall stone wall.

“WOULD ALL COMBATANTS TAKE FIVE STEPS AWAY FROM EACH OTHER AND FACE THE WALL!”

Katsuki glowers in the direction of the megaphone-enhanced voice but can only make out the silhouettes of almost a dozen figures against the spotlight. Well, he’s definitely in shit now.

“ANYONE WHO DOES NOT COMPLY WILL BE SUBDUED BY FORCE!”

“Shit. Damn it.” Both men throw their hands in the air in a display of surrender not willing to try and take on what looked like half of the Musutafu police depo. Katsuki begrudgingly follows suit, his breath beginning to even out as the rush adrenalin dips now that the fighting was over.

“Turn around and face the wall,” Is shouted once more, “Keep your hands in the air.” The silhouettes begin their approach. And they all awkwardly stand in a line and stare at the grey brick. Around them, blasted fragments of asphalt and ripped up concrete stand as damning evidence of his involvement. Guess he’ll be taking that ‘trip to the station’ after all. No way the bastards were going to let him off with a stern lecture after this.

“I hope you’re happy you psycho shit,” Lanky snaps, drawing his attention and he notes that the man is now missing one of his front teeth, “Got us all fuckin in arrested.”

Katsuki spits out the blood that has been collecting in his mouth since he hit the wall. It spats on the ground near the man’s feet, “You got beaten up by a middle schooler. I did the criminal underworld a favour getting your weak asses off the street.”

That hits a nerve going by how the man’s face twists into a snarl of rage “Why you little…” Lanky lunges towards him and is immediately blocked by a swarm of police officers who have since surround them and tackle the man to the ground. “HEY, DON’T MOVE!” “GET ON THE GROUND” There is a lot of yelling, swearing, and spitting but the thug is quickly overwhelmed.

“All right, you, the one standing on the left…”

Katsuki shifts his attention from watching Lanky get wrestled into cuffs to the tired-sounding cop standing a few feet behind him. Is it just him or does the guy sound annoyingly familiar?

“Put your arms down and cross them behind your back…” the sentence trails off.

“Bakugō?”

Katsuki squints over his shoulder at the familiar face of Senior Officer Watanabe. So…not just him. Fucking fantastic. Said familiar face is frozen, surprised, hands half way to opening a set of bulky cuffs.

There is a long exhale, “What have you done now.”

“Done?” Katsuki sneers, “I saw these assholes beating the shit out of some old man so I beat the shit of them instead.” Now the fight is over, that feeling of irritable restlessness is creeping back.

The Senior Officer shakes his head in disbelief, “Geeze kid, this isn’t like setting off explosives in the park, vigilantism is a serious offence.”

“What? I was supposed to do nothing then?” He grits his teeth. There, he can feel it, the anger flaring up again.

“You’re supposed to call for help. You’re lucky we got reports of the altercation and responded as quick as we did. You’re a mess kid.”

“Tch. I was handling it.”

The man looks at him funny before letting out a long exhausted breath, “Are you going to come quietly so I can get an EMT to look you over or do I have to put you in these suppressant cuffs?” A pause, “ And where is your shirt … and shoes?”

“Do whatever old man.” Katsuki ignores the second question.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder, which he tries and fails to shrug off, pulling him off towards the entrance of the ally. The cuffs are handed off to another officer. They pass Tiny and Lanky who are both now sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands secured behind their backs, facing the wall. Grease-Hair, still unconscious, is being fussed over by two men in white and red paramedic uniforms. There is a small crater where Katsuki had let off his larger blast.

“Your handy work I presume?” Watanabe asks.

“Hell yeah it is.”

That gets another sigh, “This is all going on your record. You do understand that, right?”

It must be the remaining adrenalin that has him laughing, “Like I give a shit.”

#bnha #mha #Baku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugō #graphic descriptions of violence #major character death #coarse language #lots of swearing #vigilante bakugou #bakugou swears and gets into fights #Sludge Villain incident gone wrong #aka izuka dies #fanfiction #fanfic #bnha fanfic #angst #nightmare #something sad au

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cozy-neko · 4 years

Text

The Cherry On Top • Character Introductions • 01 | And so it begins • 02

With each cup of coffee Y/N placed in the cupholder, a low grumble accompanied the action. Each thunk of coffee that slid into each holder was a little more aggressive and heavy-handed than the task need be, but the air of irritation that emitted from the girl was undeniably strong, and the unfortunate barista that was tasked to make this foul-mood customer’s drinks handed her the last of her order before quickly slinking away.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Y/N continued to grumble under her breath the entire frigid three blocks back to the campus of where her office was located.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” A scowl was evident on the girl’s face the entire elevator ride up the tall skyscraper until it dinged and stopped at the 70th floor. It wasn’t until the doors slid open that Y/N sucked in a shaky breath and plastered a Crest-worthy, Splenda-sweet smile on her face as she exited the lift and entered the bustling office.

“Coffee’s here!” Y/N sang out and placed the two cup holders down on top of the front office’s counter tabletop.

“Y/N’s back!”

A scurry of workers crowded around the 21-year-old girl as she animatedly read off orders off the top of her head and handed them out, one-by-one to its rightful owner.

“You’re the best, Y/N-chan!” A senpai from the tech editorial department ruffled her head, earning a small whimper of protest as she tried to sooth her hair. It wasn’t like she spent twenty-minutes this morning trying to tame her unruly mane for nothing.

“Isn’t Y/N the best? She’s always so good at remembering who gets what.” Another senpai from the lifestyle editorial department chimed in and took a sip from her latte.

“Oh no, no! I’m just doing my job.” Y/N let out a forced chuckle, but it went unnoticed as her coworkers slowly disappeared back to their corner of the office to get back to work.

"Alright, you can drop the act, you fake."

The instant Y/N heard a snort coming from behind, the fake smile that was plastered to her face immediately dropped as she whipped around to face a chestnut-haired male.

"I hate it here," Y/N groaned and leaned her upper body onto the countertop. She let out a huff of air and blew a stray piece of hair away from her eyes. "I can't wait to graduate from coffee intern to staff writer."

"You're meeting with the Chief later today, right?" Oikawa Tooru removed his hands from the pockets of his slacks and eyed the remaining drink leftover.

"Mmm, yeah." Y/N let out a distracted sigh as her thumbs flew across the keyboard of her smartphone for a quick text. With the click of a button, she locked her phone and shoved it into her pants pocket and gave her full attention to the older male. "Chief told me that she had good news for me, and judging by all the overtime work and random projects I picked up over the past few months --"

"You mean bitch work?" Oikawa interrupted, earning a glare from the girl.

"For your information, my 'bitch work' got published last week! And that's besides the point. All that matters is that Chief has noticed that I'm a responsible worker who is willing to go above and beyond my day-to-day tasks and now I'm definitely getting the promotion that's been long due!"

There was a smug grin on Y/N's face while Oikawa rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you are a hard worker, Y/N-chan, but that doesn't mean you should be doing other people's tasks when it should be their job to do them in the first place."

"Can't you just be happy for me?" Y/N whined. "I didn't graduate from UTokyo with over $100k in student debt just to go on coffee runs. And I don't even get to have my own drink!"

Oikawa sighed and placed a hand on top of the shorter girl's head. "I am happy for you. And proud of you. I hope you get the staff writer position you wanted, and when you do get assigned to my department, I'll make sure to run you dead with ten articles simultaneously."

There was an evil, teasing glint in Oikawa's eyes which Y/N responded to by sticking out her tongue.

A ding! interrupted the teasing banter and Y/N checked her phone. She let out a quick squeal and a small hop.

"Gotta go! Ayame-san from tech has an article she wants me to write!"

Y/N waved goodbye and scurried away.

"Hey! I asked for a dirty Chai, not a mocha! What the fuck, Y/N?" Oikawa yelled after the retreating girl.

"Serves you right for making me do your coffee run too, Oinkawa!" Y/N's bubbly laughter echoed through the hallway as she skipped towards the tech editorial department.

Oikawa sighed and tugged at the front pieces of his hair. It was already nearing the end of the day, but he was still at least half an hour away from completing his remaining task for the day. He was currently in the middle of copy-editing an article one of his staff writers submitted earlier today when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Oikawa removed his glasses and pulled out his phone, rubbing his tired eyes while unlocking his phone. It was a text from Y/N.

She must've finally talked to Chief, Oikawa thought. He swiped his thumb to unlock his phone and read the text.

Oikawa grimaced at Y/N’s text. It was obvious the meeting did not go the way Y/N had wanted it to. Sighing, Oikawa stood up and packed his things. Looks like the article was going to have to be pushed back a week; there was a more important meeting he had to attend to first.

Y/N glared at her phone and bounced her leg, a nervous tick that Oikawa absolutely hated whenever she did. Maybe if he was here right now, he would've had the opportunity to scold her. Except his train was running five minutes late. Y/N groaned as she watched another minute go by.

Where's Tooru?

How much longer was he going to make her sit in agony at their favorite bakery and tea shop?

Right when Y/N was about to hit send on her phone, the shop door jingled, and in waltzed Oikawa.

"Alright, alright, I'm here. What happened?" Oikawa was slightly breathless, having sped-walked from the station and down the block to meet up with Y/N. He rolled up his button-down sleeves and removed his work badge from around his neck.

"So I got the promotion," Y/N began to which Oikawa cut her off.

"Okay, congrats, but that's hardly an existential crisis."

"No! Let me finish!" Y/N stomped her foot once, irritation beginning to seep in. Oikawa rolled his eyes, completely immune to Y/N's temper flare ups. Instead of retorting, he opted to take a sip of her fruit tea. "I got the promotion, but it wasn't the promotion I wanted."

"Did you get placed in lifestyle with Iwa-chan? I heard that department's kind of a mess right now. Iwa-chan told me their lifestyle editor's too busy hooking up with Hanamaki's layout intern to even run the department --"

"Tooru, for kami's sake, I'm begging you to shut up." Y/N groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I'm TK Mag's new gossip blogger. Chief wants me to freaking exploit influencers under the alias of 'Cherry' for the new Cherry on Top blog."

“The new what now?”

end notes:

→ the timestamps at the top of each photo are irrelevant. the timestamps that you want to pay attention to (or not. it really doesn’t matter) are the ones within the text chats.

→ if you see the word shanchou in oikawa’s and y/n’s texts, i accidentally misspelled the word shachou which means “president of the company.” i was debating whether i wanted to use the japanese spelling or just keep it as Chief. i changed my mind multiple times and decided to just go with the english version but got too lazy to correct the photo. 🤡

→ props to authors who only explicitly write smaus. creating each social post is so time consuming and slightly frustrating that i almost threw my phone across the room.

→ don’t come at me for my nonexistent and try-hard humor. 😔✋this is why i only write angst.

→ no kenma and akaashi this chapter, but they will be introduced in the next!

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#the cherry on top #haikyuu x reader #kenma x reader #kenma kozume #haikyuu smau #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu kenma #kozume kenma #haikyuu smau series #hq x reader #hq kenma #writings

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honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

Show Me I: Bitter Chocolate | [ Ivar x Reader ]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | even though its relatively recent since you’ve graduated, you’ve always had a passion for dessert making. you’re confident! just... maybe not with your new boss, ivar.

❛ tags | bjorn & hvitserk dynamic, baking or restaurant au, referenced osteogenesis imperfecta, reader sucks at picking up on clues, referenced deafness, deaf!ivar

❛ sy’s notes | i tried my best to lean on my shitty knowledge of baking shows to come up with some bullshit for this. additionally, he’s going deaf, hasn’t always been deaf. I tried to mix up since i usually see a lot of focus on the reader in reader inserts being the deaf one.

You’re sitting barrel down from a tasting table, rolling a ring size too short over and over along your middle finger. The more you try not to look like a meek new graduate with a grand diplome in pastry, the more you felt like you were up a creek without a paddle.

“Sigurd showed us your portfolio but-- I don’t think this was in it.” one of the owners stood by your pastry. He had the type of eyes that could intimidate anyone back-- man or woman -- and imposition in the way he folds his arms one over another. He’s massive.

“It wouldn’t be. I made it just for this.”

The man sitting next to him laughs as he plucks up the bottle of wine you brought for the dessert. Far from being insulted, or turned off, the brothers look amused. “Wine and dine, Bjorn, get it?”

The big blond ignores him.

“Ignore him.”

“A pistachio cake filled with raspberry, wrapped in a mirror glaze and topped with a half-moon of tempered sugar, Mr. Ragnarsson.”

“Call me Bjorn.” he corrects before gesturing to his much punier brother. His hair is smooth as honey, eyes a murky green-- or blue. His brother scratches his beard, lowering himself at eye level with your piece. “We’re both Ragnarssons. There are five of us. What do you think Hvitserk?”

“You tempered it yourself?” came his reply. He looks silly, alright, but he has the sort of hunger that you only hope to keep as a chef when he reaches for a fork. He slides his knife into the cake and pulls it apart.

“I wasn’t aware there was an alternative.”

Hvitserk looks up from his place lowered among the pastry. At once you think he’s making a mental note of how not to hire you, but his dumb grin widens, flicking his eye over to Bjorn. “I think she can handle him.”

Bjorn unfurls his arms and takes a fork, swiping into the pastry. His brother crunches on your spun sugar with a little bob of his head. “It doesn’t take much to impress Hvitserk,” he remarks, then eases his bite into his thin lips, considering what he’s eating for longer than he should.

“See, ah, ah?” Hvitserk teases, elbowing his much thicker brother in the gut. “She knows what she’s doing. Eat another. Do burpees later.”

“Shut up, Hvitserk.”

You bring your hands together and lace your fingers together hard enough that it’s like a prayer to god-- please, please, please let this be the one. For a moment, Bjorn looks unconvincingly at you. There’s something about you, you decide, that he has some reservations about.

You glance out of the office toward the grandeur of a full running kitchen. They’re crammed in it, everyone with their own station-- pans, pots, skillets, and plates. They’re squished three at a station and still, it seems to run at its perfect pace. You never hoped to be in culinary-- you wanted something bigger and better. Pastry-- that was your home.

“Well,” Hvitserk teases with a big, dopey smile. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Your plating looks like shiiiiit,” Hvitserk has this sing song to his voice that you could only attribute to a man that should have been on broadway.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bjorn leans back, raising his hands up.

“Too much sauce,” Hvitserk rumbles without missing a beat. “Looks like a jizzed up prostitute.”

“I hate to break it to you, brother, but most prostitutes wrap it.”

Hvitserk shrugs. “Guess you would know.”

The bad thing about working for five brothers was that you worked for five brothers. Bjorn and Hvitserk jumped off of one another in the kitchen like they were made to be there with one another. A head chef and his much littler, less imposing chef.

You rarely saw Sigurd, their brother, who kept himself to supplying before hours. Ubbe worked the front of the house. Time passed smoothly since your hiring a little over a month ago, and it was easy to get into the swing of the four brothers.

Despite there being five, as Bjorn once told you, you’d yet to hear of the last.

“Careful,” Ubbe stops you on your way in one day. You smooth your hand over your clean white uniform and tilt your head.

“What is it?”

“Our brother Ivar is back from England.” He almost seems anxious in his own sort of way. Strange for a Maitre D. But he’s there for his smooth personality and his handsome face-- because who could really get mad at someone that handsome? “He’s the head pastry chef. I’m not sure Sigurd let him know you were hired. He’s the sort of man that will snap on you if you’re the wrong person.”

This was why Ubbe was the front of house. Not only did he look good in a nice suit, or a good dress shirt with a slender tie, but he had the sort of stubbly smile that reflected genuine concern in his eyes. Enough to be imposing when he needed to be, enough to back down if that needed to be too. He must know something that you didn’t. You try not to think about it.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

You were the wrong person.

You know that you had done something wrong when you brought the chocolate molds out from the blast chiller. Not because it wasn’t some beautiful chocolate, but because when you flipped it-- it didn’t flip. Unfortunately for you, you’re not saved by extra time.

“That looks like shit,” Amma peers over your station, biting her lip hard.

“Amma-- shhh,” you hiss.

“It’s not like he’s out--” Amma drops her sentence when she hears a heavy footfall one after another from the slapping gates. You glance over where she’s looking, finding that the man who must be Ivar, walks in with the aid of a crutch under his all-black uniform. He looks like he’s all business, more so than all the other brothers, because of the lack of humor on his face. His brothers hardly acknowledge his presence. For you, it’s hard not to.

It’s not like he’s particularly bad looking, after all.

“Hi Ivar,” she chirps, rushing past him when he doesn’t answer. Amma, you shout as gently as you can whisper. She’s gone in an instant. Ivar makes his way past the busy lunch party toward your working area.

“Hello,” you say as he shoulders by you without a response. You figure-- because you’re a good damn employee -- that you should make friendlies with the last of the Ragnarssons. Something catches his eye and Ivar seizes to a stop and looks to your mold on your workstation. He snatches it from you, flipping it around onto the counter and slams it. Over-- and over-- and over.

And it’s not coming out.

And then worse, it breaks apart.

Ivar bows his head on his forearm and out of nervousness your find your eye wandering-- over to Hvitserk. He’s holding what looks to be a gravy boat in his hand, grimacing with a little shrug, as he mouths for you to pay attention.

Ivar thumps his thick knuckle at your work station. Try again.

Maybe worse of all-- the man doesn’t even say one word to you. You retemper the chocolate.

Usually, something simple like tempering chocolate? Easy, done, finished. No problemo. This is the sort of stuff you could do in your dreams! Except, Ivar has this quality about him, the kind that is scrutinizing even when he isn’t saying anything. The rest of the week progresses the same. Either he doesn’t speak to you at all or doesn’t respond to questions, or has that look about him that you’re the greatest fuck-up to walk in his kitchen.

For the most part, his other chefs seem to not only be used to that, but flourish underneath his scrutiny. Chocolate, something that is so simple, is now your worst enemy. He works hunched over the lead pastry table on his elbows when not on his crutch, glaring at your chocolate like it had done something wrong.

“--if it’s wrong,” you start.

Ivar glances up at you, hard. Shut up, it feels like he says. Your lips press together in a tight seal.

“Right. I’ll just go-- go get the cheesecake.”

Yeah, mini cheesecakes sound good-- somewhere where you could bury your head and scream in the many shelves of the frigid walk in closet. One where your inaccuracies didn’t have to match up to Ivar’s forceful standards and failure didn’t flash like a neon light over and over again. Ivar flips the molds over and slip your chocolate domes out of their home, reaching for the soft foam to go with the dessert. And again, he doesn’t even acknowledge you.

He’s being a dick, so you leave.

“Wow,” the door behind you clacked open. There’s a quiet shuffle of feet as Hvitserk comes in, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a not-for-cooking cloth, because that’s gross, and tips his head to the side. A lock of his chestnut hair clings to his sheening forehead. It’s fucking cold in here. Maybe that’s why he came in. Or, like the others, maybe he wanted to laugh a little bit.

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hvitserk laughs, clasping his hands together, then release. “You’d know if he hated you.”

“Yeah.” You snap back. “I do. He’s acting like a bitch. He doesn’t even talk to me.”

“He didn’t throw the plate at you.”

You snort. That’s a great start to a relationship with your new boss.

“But that might be because you’re a woman.” Hvitserk slips his hand beside your head, reaching past you to slide out the mini cheesecakes for the event, then taps you on the nose with his opposing hand, and you’re not crying, it’s just the change of temperature that’s messing with your head, because you’re NOT crying.

“Don’t worry babe,” Hvitserk strokes your back with his other hand. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“Not his other pastry chefs,” you say pointedly. Hvitserk opens his mouth, as if to tell you that you’re new, that Ivar will take time to warm up to you, when the door opens. Your boss stands there, holding his crutch stubbornly with one hand, looking at the metal tray. Then, his head shifts, accusatorily toward Hvitserk.

He turns to his brother. “I got your pie.”

“Hurry up,” Ivar says with a low drag that sounds slurred over.

Hvitserk shifts to the side, shrugging his shoulders, “But I got your pie.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Ivar stuffs his crutch under his arm to support his weight. Then, gesturing with two hands, he signs something that you only catch because of Hvitserk’s roaring laughter shaking the cooler altogether.

Hvitserk shuffles out, “Man, you just got back. Don’t be a bitch.”

Or maybe, you were the asshole.

After service, you’re sweeping the crumbles of chocolate that Ivar’s flung off the side during plating. The stations have been cleaned and most the other chefs had gone already. All but Ivar, reclining against his station, watching you sweep until he speaks with that same drag, the first words you ever heard out of him.

“I can teach you how to temper chocolate.”

You glance up at him, sweeping the bits into a picker upper, and you’ve never heard something more demeaning spoken in the kindest of way. His expression seems softer now. “I was nervous,” you excuse, bringing your hand to your chest. With a swirl of your wrist in a circle, you gesture, sorry. Ivar turns his head down. “How long have you been--”

“It’s a recent occurrence.” He snaps, cutting you off. “It’s not like-- not completely. Where did you learn that?”

“My niece? She’s uh-- speech impaired. I know ‘I’m hungry’, ‘Please’ and ‘More,’ too.”

Not the greatest way to start. Ivar cracks into his laughter slowly, running his hands through his long hair, then tipping his head back. His arms fold defensively over his chest. “Good for you.”

It should have died there, but rather, you went on.

“Look I’m not usually this shitty.”

He tips his head forward, raising his eyebrows. Really?

“--I’d like to show you that. I don’t work Sunday, if you have time for brunch?”

It’s not a half-cocked attempt for a date, it’s this stupid desire to show him you could be more than that girl who couldn’t make the simplest of dessert elements. It wasn’t sugar for god's sakes! It was chocolate! After a moment of mulling it over, he nods. You exchange phone numbers, and later, your address.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor

#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #vikings imagines #vikings/reader #vikings x reader

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brelione · 4 years

Text

Have You Ever Been In Love (JJ Maybank X Reader)

Warnings:Smut,fluff,mentions of really gross jellyfish stings

This is the first smut ive written so dont judge me pls

JJ Maybank had never been in love.He never wanted to be in love either.He had never seen it or understood how people could die for it.He had heard the story of Romeo and Juliet hundreds of times.How it had ended in a beautiful tragedy.Love was an illness that killed people.It was like a parasite that ate away at your heart and brain until there was nothing left.It sounded painful and he’d rather be set on fire then fall in love.He had convinced himself that he could never love anyone in such a way.He convinced himself that he’d only ever love someone like a sibling.He could never really fall in love.He had tried lying to himself over and over and had gone as far as to write it on paper over and over again.Nothing worked.He was sick with the plague of love.The first time he ever saw you he couldnt understand the feeling within him.He had been working at a gas station.That job had only lasted two weeks.His shift was from 12 am to five am and he hated it.It had been three in the morning when you walked in with your wet hair,slightly bloodshot eyes,bikini top and shorts.The terrible gas station lighting should’ve made you look like shit but you looked fantastic in his eyes.

You had waved to him quickly before heading to the back into the freezer section.You were limping ever so slightly,your flip flops echoing through the building.He kept staring at you,trying to figure out if he had ever seen you before.He saw the bright red lines across your thigh and shin.It looked gross and painful but you didnt even care as you grabbed a pint of ben and jerry’s icecream.You went over to the counter where all the coffee,syrup,sugar and cream was.You made yourself a caramel iced coffee before limping up to the counter.His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked down at you. “Hey,do you have like a band aid or something?”You asked.He frowned. “What for?”He asked,pretending he hadnt noticed the bright irritated injury.You grinned. “Um...jellyfish stings.”You answered.He shook his head. “Youre gonna put a band aid on a jellyfish sting?”He asked.You nodded,sipping the coffee and putting ten dollars on the counter.He leaned across the counter,glancing down at your leg. “Yeah,no.That’s pretty bad.You should clean that off and wrap it up.”He suggested.You bit your lip,shaking your head.

“Nah dude,i’ve got ice cream for a reason.It doesnt even hurt that bad like its fine.”You answered,grabbing the icecream.He handed you two dollars back,telling you to wait a minute before putting his hand under the counter and grabbing the box of rainbow bandaids and handing you one.You smiled. “Thanks,JJ.”You took the band aid,holding it up to the light. “Ooh...a yellow one.”You mumbled,putting the band aid in your pocket. “Do I know you?”He asked.You shook your head. “But you knew my name.”He squeezed the counter,trying not to blush at all.You pointed to his name tag.He had completely forgot about it.He nodded,biting his lip hard and looking away from you. “So what’s your name?”He asked.You grinned,grabbing your coffee. “Wouldnt you like to know,pretty boy.”You smiled before walking out.He watched as you left,letting out a loud sigh.He let out a laugh,not understanding the feeling that was taking over his body.He stared down at the counter for a while,scolding himself for falling apart like that.Flirting had always come easy for him.He’d never met a girl that he couldnt charm with his looks and his words,except Kie,of course.

But even she had blushed a good amount of times when they first met.But not you with your jellyfish sting and your ben and jerrys icecream.It wasnt until about a month later that he had seen you again.He had lost his job at the gas station because he was caught smoking weed inside.He wondered if maybe you had come by the gas station looking for him since he had left.He kept thinking about you,wondering your name or if you had ever cleaned off your jellyfish sting.He had been at The Wreck as he stuffed his face with french fries and listened to John B. and Pope’s rambling about something scientific.The fries nearly fell out of his mouth when he saw you walk up to the counter. “Hey,hoe.”You grinned at Kiara.She gasped. “Dude-oh my god its been like three months!”She exclaimed,coming out from behind the counter and hugging you. “Hey.”You repeated,pulling out of the hug.She said something quickly to her dad before literally dragging you over to the table where your other friends sat. “This is (Y/N)!”She told them excitedly,shaking your arm.You grinned at JJ before saying hi to the group.Kiara explained that you had been staying with your father in Massachusetts for the last couple of months and that you two had been friends since like seventh grade and whatever.

JJ hadnt been paying attention to her,only focusing on you.The overwhelming desire to laugh and hug you was almost scary.He even knew your name now.It fit you quite well.You looked like a (Y/N) for sure. “JJ,what do you think?”Kiara asked.He frowned a bit,trying to figure out what she was asking. “What?”He asked.Pope laughed. “Dude,pay attention for once.”He sighed.Kiara rolled her eyes. “I asked if you think (Y/N) should join us on the boat today.”She repeated.JJ nodded. “Yeah,yeah definitely.”He blushed,trying not to look at you.You grinned. “Cool,I’ll see you guys later then.”You winked at JJ before getting up and walking out of the restaurant.Kiara snorted in a laugh as JJ smacked his head down. “Have you two met before?”She asked.JJ nodded,picking his head back up.Kiara gasped. “Oh god-did you two hook up?Please tell me you did not hook up with my best friend.”Kiara waited nervously for his answer.JJ shook his head. “I wish.”He replied.He ignored the feeling,telling himself that he was just too high for social interaction and that was the only reason he felt the way he did.

He hadnt smoked in hours.His mind wandered back to a month ago when he had seen you the first time.He had been getting dressed at John.B’s that afternoon,trying to make himself look nice for when he saw you.He had changed his sleeveless shirt for the first time in two days.He had taken a quick shower,brushed his hair and stared at himself for a good five minutes.He wasnt in love.There was nothing wrong with wanting to look nice for someone.Kiara had basically yelled at JJ on how to get to your house. “No-no you gotta-OH MY GOD JUST LET ME DRIVE!”She had shouted and ended up driving the boat.She pulled up to your personal dock,waiting for you after sending you a text.Your house had chipped paint and six chickens roaming around your backyard.His heart sped up,breaths getting a bit fast as he waited for you to come out.When you did he couldnt look away from you.Your hair was tied up,a yellow highwaisted bikini tight on your skin.You walked past your chickens,down the hill and towards the dock. “Hey,loser.”You grinned at Kie.She held out her hand to help you on to the boat,pulling you so you were sitting next to her. “Hey (Y/N).”Pope greeted.

“Hey.”You grinned,fist bumping the boy.You leaned back,raising an eyebrow at JJ.He hadnt noticed that you were staring,to busy looking down where his eyes shouldn't have been.He licked his lips,looking back up at your face.You winked at him,causing him to blush and look away.He spent the whole day sending glances your way,glancing down at your thigh every once in a while.There was only some scratches left and a small patch of peeling skin on your thigh where the awful sting had once been. “So why were you in Massachusetts?”Pope asked,leaning his head on his folded shirt.You laughed quietly.That was a fun thing to explain to people when they had asked. “Well,you see,my half sister’s step mother’s cousin was getting married so I got invited.Obviously I decided to go but then like I got stuck up there because there was like a tropical storm or some shit and the wind was going ninety miles per hour and there were flash floods and the power went out and full as buildings like collapsed

.It was a huge mess and then like a couple days later it was negative ten degrees and all the water froze and I couldn't drive out cause of it and it sucked and I think someone like manifested bad luck on me.So it kind of sucked but then I got boba coffee in boston and I went to an aquarium and all these museums.There are so many hospitals in Massachusetts like it's kind of crazy.But then I ended up somewhere in the suburbs on my way back and I slept in my car for like four days until I got my car fixed and then I got here like a few days ago.”You explained,looking over at JJ to make sure he wouldn't say anything.Pope nodded. “So what museums did you go to?”He asked,continuing your conversation.JJ felt a bit jealous that you weren't paying attention to him like he was paying attention to you but he couldn't really be mad about it.He just wasn't your type.He wasn't in love.He just wanted you to like him.It had been two in the afternoon when they stopped in the middle of a clear bay.

JJ had watched to see if you were going to go into the water.He watched as you pulled your hair out of its tied up mess,nudging Kiara’s arm.She nodded,jumping off the side of the boat with you.JJ watched as you swam away from the boat around one hundred feet with Kiara close behind you.He watched the way your body moved in the water and how you kept purposefully splashing water into Kiara’s face.He listened to your giggles as you got back to the side of the boat,declaring that you had won.Kiara groaned,lifting herself onto the boat.JJ held out his arm for you to pull yourself up.He blushed a deep crimson as you squeezed his forearm lightly and thanked him.He watched as you and Kiara laid on your backs,basking in the sun while you had a small conversation.He had ended up jumping in the water with Pope,racing John.B and JJ to a buoy a few yards away.He had swam as fast as he could,saltwater splashing into his nose and mouth.He hoped you were watching.For eight months you had been part of the close knit friend group,officially being voted in in favor of everybody after a month of hanging out with them.While they all went to school you had just spent everyday at your house doing whatever you felt like doing.

You’d still swim and surf during the winter because the water wasn't even close to cold.You’d come around John.B’s house when he and the others were out of school.Sometimes you’d even spend the day at his house.Little did you know that JJ would skip the last half an hour of last period pretty often just so he could spend time alone with you.He’d announce himself as he walked in,his heart beating fast as he stood in the doorway.You’d always hug him tight and ask him how his day went and if he wanted to go surfing with you.He’d say yes every time and change into his bathing suit quickly.You’d get so excited to finally see everyone after they got out of school.Kind of like a puppy with separation anxiety.JJ would tell you everything about his day from what he ate at lunch to any jokes he had heard that he thought you might find funny.He’d tell you about a dog he’d seen walking around during P.E or an explosion in the teacher’s lounge microwave.He told you everything he could think of and made it sound as dramatic as possible just to see your reaction.You never questioned why he got back before the others every single day but it didn't really matter.You surfed for hours together before laying on your stomachs on your boards and floating across from each other. “JJ.”You sighed,putting your head down on your folded hands as they rested on your board.

He hummed,looking at you to give you his full attention. “Yeah?”He asked,waiting nervously for you to ask the questions you had.There were so many things you could say.Perhaps Pope had let something slip out.He had ranted to Pope about his feelings for you and how he couldn't understand.Pope tried to explain to him that he was in love with you but that wasn't possible.He wasn't capable of loving someone the way he loved you.He didn't love you.He just loved everything about you and wanted to be around you all the time.He wanted you to lay on his chest as he played around with your hair while you told him about your day.He wanted to take you on late night walks along the beach and collect seashells with you as you giggled about random things.He wanted to sing you silly songs as you whined for him to shut up.He wasn't in love with you.He just wanted you to love him and date him and be his.But that definitely didn't mean he was in love with you,right?You sighed as the sun beamed down on your skin,the water twinkling almost blindingly. “Have you ever been in love?”You asked him.

He bit his lip,glancing out at the horizon.He didn't know how to answer you or even how to react.You knew about his random hookups with tourons and how he was known as a bit of a man whore.He knew that you knew.But you didn't know that he hadnt hooked up with anybody since he had met you.He licked his bottom lip,looking back at you.You were looking at him,only your nose and eyes visible because the rest of your face was hidden by your crossed arms.He gulped. “Um...no.No.No i’ve never been in love.”He cleared his throat.You giggled,the sound echoing off your surfboard. “That was not convincing at all.Girl or boy?”You asked,interested in his story.He shook his head,grinning. “Nobody.”He answered,avoiding your gaze.You reached out,grabbing his arm. “Come on,J.Tell me about it.I’ll tell you first if you want.”You offered.His stomach churned at the thought of you loving someone.He didn't know why.Well,no,he absolutely knew why.He knew it was because he had a thing for you.

He didn't know what that thing was but he didn't really like it much.He nodded,waiting for you to tell the story.You sighed. “Alright.It was eighth grade and his name was Ryan.”You began.His eyebrows furrowed. “Ryan Field?”He asked.You nodded,making a look of disgust come across his face.You giggled. “You know what?Shut up because I was twelve,okay?So,anyways,he sat next to me in Geography and this was before I dropped out and I was barely paying attention.We’d pass notes back and forth and then I had his phone number and we’d text all the time and then we ended up dating.It was my first serious relationship and he broke up with me because he thought I wasn't like mentally stable enough for a relationship and I couldn't handle it.I guess he was right and it definitely hurt when it happened but thinking about it now I don't even know if I actually loved him or if I just was trying to like….convince myself I was happy,you know?I don't even know if love is even real because I used to believe in it when I was little but then I got into the real world and shit kind of just hit the fan.Its all just messy and it's probably all bullshit but it's nice to think that maybe there are people that we’re meant to be with.I don't even think I have someone im supposed to be with cause like,everyone i've ever cared about leaves me so now i'm constantly paranoid that you’re all gonna leave me so that's fun.”You spoke quickly and held up a peace sign.

His eyebrows knit together as he stared back at you. “You-you shouldn't feel like that about us.You know-you know that we'd never leave you.You know that we-that we all love you,right?You know that I love you and we all love having you around and that things wouldn't be the same without you.You know that,dont you?”He asked frantically,his hands tightening on his board.He couldn't believe everything that you just said.The atmosphere completely changed.It felt tense,the giggling and teasing from before had completely faded and was now replaced with nervousness.The clouds covered the sunlight,the air was cool and the small waves had calmed.You sighed quietly,sorting out what you wanted to say.He could've been lying about it.They all probably talked bad about you behind your back anyways. “We should get back to the house,looks like it's gonna rain.”You spoke quietly,paddling back to the shore.You sniffled as you walked on the sand,JJ jogging close behind you.

“We should seriously talk about this.Why wouldn't you tell anyone that you felt like this?”He asked.You let your board fall to the sand,turning around with tears in your eyes. “Because I'm scared,okay?Im scared that he was right about me not being mentally stable enough for relationships and that i'm a bad friend and a bad person.I don't even deserve happiness or relationships or love,god,i don't even know if im capable of it-”You ranted,tears coming from your eyes when he smashed his lips against yours.It was rough and desperate as your shaky hands made their way around his neck.You couldn't even wrap your mind around what was happening.His arms draped around your hips and held onto you like you were a life line,pulling away for a moment to breath before kissing you again. “JJ.”You whispered,still holding him close.He panted,eyes still closed as his forehead leaned against yours. “JJ,what the fuck are we doing right now?”You asked,out of breath.He licked his lips,knees weak and his bottom lip quivering. “I dont-I dont know it seemed like a good idea.”He whispered,still holding onto you.You didn't know how to react or even what to say.You just stood their,hands on the back of his neck with water dripping onto your fingers from his hair.

“Sorry,I shouldn't have done that.”His hands fell from your body.You pulled him back for another kiss,his hands on your waist as he pulled you impossibly close to him. “I meant it.”He mumbled before pressing a small kiss to your lips.You bit your bottom lip,letting out a small shaky breath. “What?”You asked.He gulped. “When I said we all love you...that I love you.I meant it.”He spoke quietly.He bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for you to respond.He was in love.Thunder rumbled loudly,the sky darkening as rain pounded down on the two of you.He didn't even care,only worried about what you were going to say.Your finger traced his jaw slowly,dragging your warm finger up to his temple and slicking his wet hair back.The rain sent shivers all over your body as you pulled him back down.He bit down on your lip,tugging it lightly before practically shoving his tongue down your throat.A moan ripped from your vocal cords as you pressed up against him.His lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck,kissing,sucking and biting.The rain became heavier and the air became colder. “JJ...J-we….we need to go-go back to the house.”You whispered,hand tugging at his hair.He let out a small sigh.

“Please-please-I need you now.”He whimpered,pressing himself to you so you could feel how hard he really was.You bit your lip,looking up at him. “You can last five minutes.”You told him.He shook his head. “I cant-I cant do it-im so hard it hurts.”He whined.You picked up your surfboard. “Then you’re gonna have to run back if you can't last.”You smirked,jogging back up the hill.JJ ran after you with his surfboard under his arms,tossing it down in the backyard. “Hurry,please.”He told you.You grinned,seeing the van wasn't there yet.He dragged you into the guest room while you closed the door and locked it.He pressed you up against the door,kissing you hard and untying your bikini top.He let it fall to the floor before moving downwards.Your breasts were cold from the water but he didnt care,leaving deep purple marks all over them.You let out small moans as your fingernails scratched against his scalp.

You pushed him down on the bed,straddling him and pressing a kiss to his lips.You sucked hickeys along his jaw and collarbones. “Please…”He whispered.He had never been this desperate before.He had never let anyone be on top before either.You began to roll your hips slowly,grinding on him.He let out a loud,raspy moan as he gripped your hips to make you go faster.His mouth fell open as his head fell back.You leaned down to create a dark hickey on his neck.You slid his bathing suit down,licking your lips.He bit his lip as he waited for you to do something.He let out a loud gasp as you ran your fingertip along a pulsing vein. “You like that,JJ?”You asked.He nodded quickly,making you grin. “Words,baby.I need words.”You taunted.His eyes closed tightly as he let out a whimper. “I like it-I love it so much,princess.”He squeaked out as your hand moved faster. “Please-please-just-”His sentence was cut off by a loud moan ripping through his throat. “Please what?”You asked innocently.He bit his lip hard,trying not to let anything else slip out. “Please just-please I just need you.”He moaned,back arching slightly.You loved having this power over him as you watched him fall apart in front of you.

“What do you need,J?Tell me what you want.”You spoke softly.He swallowed hard,sweat and water drops coating his forehead. “I-I want you to fuck me hard and-and I want to make you-make you feel good.”A half scream half moan left his mouth along with a string of profanities.You leaned down so you could whisper into his ear. “You wanna make me feel good?Oh,thats cute.”You whispered before sinking down onto him.He nearly screamed,eyes going wide. “Let it out,baby.No one can hear you.”You whispered to him.He let out a loud scream that was so loud it could break glass.You began to move at a hellish pace,letting out small moans. “Moan for me.”He told you,guiding you up and down on him.You let out loud moans,glad no one else was home.You were going so fast and so hard that you knew you probably wouldn't be able to walk properly tomorrow. “Im so close.”He whined.You went even faster than you thought possible,grinning as he let out a shout as he reached his high.You kept going after that,making him a bit confused but he didn't complain once he glanced down and saw as his member went in and out of you,your head dipping back as you let out a long,high pitched moan and squirted.He smirked,holding on tight to your waist before flipping you two over. “You’ve done so much for me today,baby,Let me help you out.”He spoke softly before kissing your forehead.His fists went onto the mattress next to your head as he began to pound into you ridiculously hard.Your fingernails dug into his back as he sped up,determined to make you come undone again.

It barely took two minutes for you to cum again,the juices leaking out and coating your inner thighs and his member.He pulled out,laying down beside you. “God,you feel so good.”He moaned quietly,arm around your waist.You grinned. “I know,baby.You’re so good for me.”You kissed his forehead.He leaned into your touch,burying his face in the crook of your neck.The storm was just calming down when you heard the door to the house open.You got up quickly,grabbing your wet towel from the beach to clean yourself out.You grabbed a random long sleeve shirt and slid on a pair of shorts,tossing JJ his pajama pants before tying your hair up to fix its messy state.You unlocked the door before sliding under the covers and resting on JJ’s chest. “Pretend to sleep.”You whispered to him when you heard footsteps coming down the hall.He nodded,placing his arms around you comfortably before closing his eyes.He heard the door open and a small gasp that had obviously come from Kie.He tried not to smile when he heard the loud click of a photo being taken before the door closed again.

#jj maybank #jj maybankxreader #jj maybank imagine #jj x you #jj maybank oneshot #jj #jj obx #obx #jj smut #jj maybank smut #john b #pope heyward #kiara carrera #jj outer banks #outer banks

264 notes · View notes

baodurs · 3 years

Text

i filled out this super cool button character profile by @extraordinarymage for sabrina! thank you for making this, it was a lot of fun to fill out <3 the bulk of it is under a cut and oh boy is it long !!!

Short, Quick Reference

Name: Sabrina Wiseman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: Kent

Main personality trait: Confidence

Secondary personality trait: Morbidity

Relationship with Nick: Full of love, haunted by unaddressed guilt and frustration. But mostly full of love.

Nickname for Nick: Saint Nick (used sparingly)

Resentful or accepting?: Slightly resentful

Main strategy (interpersonal, insightful, innovative?): Insightful

Ethical or expedient?: Expedient

GENERAL

Name: Sabrina Larkspur Wiseman

Nickname(s): Sab, used by anyone; Sabby, only Nick and Sally; and, of course, Button for Nick.

Birthday: I think I made her an October Libra for the purpose of a template I did months ago, but I’m not sure! No concrete birthday yet, I’m always very slow to nail down details like this.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair color + style: Blonde. A little past shoulder length, sometimes wavy. Usually a middle part. For Aeon, tied back in a bun.

Eye color: Blue, entirely because of the section of Frank O’Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” that goes, “My eyes are vague blue, like the sky...”

Height: 5′5

Piercings: Multiple in each ear, but a couple have started to close.

Tattoos: None yet! Sab likes the idea of a tattoo but is worried about finding the perfect design, whether she’d end up hating it, that the pain might be greater than she expects and she’ll look like a baby in front of her tattoo artist. I’d like to think she eventually consults Sally and/or Glitch to come up with an idea that she falls in love with, but I haven’t come up with what that would be!

Clothing style: Mostly solid colors, not a lot of patterns. Nothing super bright, but a fairly varied mix of pastels, neutrals, dark colors, black. Partial to denim skirts and sweater tops. Ankle boots. Likes a good turtleneck. She’s bolder when it comes to formal wear, and especially loves suits. Big fan of silk and satin.

Since she has a pretty accurate face claim, I’ll link some gifsets I’ve rb’d for appearance ref if you are so inclined.

STATS

I’m always adjusting minor things and swapping scenes around, but these are from my most recent Sab run! Most scores hover somewhere around these values.

Personality:

Confidence: 53%

Humor: 5%

Morbidity: 22%

Resentful: 57% | Accepting: 43%

Strategy:

Interpersonal: 12%

Insightful: 50%

Innovative: 10%

Ethical: 43% | Expedient: 57%

KEY DECISIONS:

What is Nick’s nickname and why?: Saint Nick, used very rarely. It’s a joking reference to the time she thought Santa was an evil Ment out to ruin Christmas, and a point about Nick overdoing it with the cheer. “Saint Nick” is usually code for “I know you mean well, but please mind your own business.” Otherwise, she just calls him Nick.

What is their favorite type of cookie (and its name and why?): Salted caramel chocolate chip! No special name.

What was their initial reaction to Sally hugging them, as kids?: She just froze. That could just be me projecting adult Sabrina onto her childhood self; I don’t imagine that she was as uncomfortable around strangers or quite as cautious back then. But that’s what I’ll stick with.

How did they ace the ASE test?: The in-game option she takes is “My entire life has revolved around strategic avoidance,” but the one about being just plain smart also sounds like her. If Sab has the chance to thoroughly (over)prepare for something, she will do it. Her mind blindness also has her constantly (over)analyzing situations. So, hard work and relentless anxiety!

Did they manage to win their first assignment? How?: Yes, by having Sally block the door. I’ve headcanoned some slight differences in how it plays out, which I wrote about in-depth here. To summarize, Sab thinks of blocking the door as a desperate last resort, not a clever loophole, and she pushes back against Rosy’s praise because she wishes she could have done it the “real” way. Rosy goes from being impressed to being annoyed that she’s willfully missing the point.

What was the primary emotion Button felt during the Aeon bombing (love, gratitude, etc?): Guilt. She feels very guilty about how much Nick has given up for her in general, but I think that in the moment, it’s on a smaller scale. The fact that Nick was on the phone with her when it happened, coming to her rescue like always, becomes emblematic of their whole relationship for her, and she really fixates on that.

Who drove them home from the hospital from and why?: Glitch. Sab responds to her initial text with “Are you sure?”, and is relieved when Glitch takes that as “Yes, please.” She doesn’t relish the idea of being around someone more connected to her family or Nick at that point.

How do they feel about Nick riding around in their mind?: Worried, at first. Just because it’s so unknown and absolutely insane. After seeing Doctor Amari, she’s excited! Sab is thrilled to be a Pollard Five and intends to take full advantage of it. I am not looking forward to seeing how she reacts when that’s taken away from her.

Why did Button agree to do the undercover mission?: To prove she still deserves to be an MIV. Sabrina feels stupid and reckless for putting herself, Nick, and Aeon in this position, but she knows she’s smart, and she hasn’t worked this hard for nothing. She wants to prove what she could do with a normal Pollard Score and make herself too valuable to give up even when she’s back to Zero.

Told Glitch about your mind blindness?: Depends on the playthrough. I’m constantly going back and forth on whether Sab meets Glitch for coffee or wanders the city with Nick in her second chapter 5 slot (after trying to track down Kent). If she does meet Glitch, though, she absolutely tells her; with how touchy Sab is about privacy, she couldn’t stomach not warning Glitch that Nick could hear everything they said.

Figured out K’s secret?: Nope. She finds enough of the clues to be given the “I knew it!” option in-game, but she didn’t actually put it together. Sab is too angry and embarrassed by learning that Kent is an AMO to find any reason to interrogate it. “The random guy I met before school just happens to be a jerk” is a perfectly sound explanation to her.

Found Noh’s clues?: Not at the metro station. Sometimes she sees the Vengeance brooms in chapter 5 (again, depending on the playthrough), but that’s it.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP:

Love Interest: Kent

Why them?: Sab feels an immediate kinship with Kent after learning about the NPO program. It’s kind of funny how quickly he moves from the least sympathetic position in her eyes (Ment who got past me and read my mind without my knowledge) to the most sympathetic (non-powered child of a prominent family aiming a league above where he “belongs”). A lot of new respect for his competence. Her fate is sealed when she realizes that his kindness at the hospital wasn’t him trying to make up for some wrongdoing, but just him being very sweet. (She had scoffed over “You needed help.” But now she’s like, “Oh. He meant that?! Fuck.”)

As they spend more time together, Sab realizes how weirdly similar they are in other ways, too. And she starts to feel safe/secure around him in a way that she’s extremely not used to. Growing up surrounded by Ments, Sab has a lot of issues about being too much, too difficult, needing to “be worthy” of love. So someone like Kent who is not a Ment, who has no “obligation” to care about her, and whose judgement she trusts implicitly? Being around him and being loved by him mean a lot, and I think will go a long way towards helping her reflect on her other relationships!

What are their first impressions of each other?: Okay, there are like 3 first impressions with Kent. First: he’s tall and handsome and secretly adorable, and they have similar career goals, so she’s drafting a five-month plan to woo him and get his number. Second: he’s a lying, self-obsessed loser who owes her many explanations. Third: oh no, the first impression was true! And he’s been continually, selflessly kind to her in spite of her overt hostility. Scratch the five-month plan, because the crush was only fun when it was entirely superficial; now she really, really likes him and that just sucks.

We know that Button makes a good impression on K by stopping for their dogs, but apart from that... I mean, the “we confused each other” from chapter 7 is very apt. Sab has lots of shifting personas, and Kent sees pretty much every one within 24 hours. The prevailing impression before everything gets cleared up is probably just that she cares a lot? About everything? Her stopping for the dogs, how seriously she takes the first assignment, the way she seems so deeply affected by something he said or did that morning. It’s a rare side of her to meet first because she usually pretends to be above everything.

What feature does your Button find most attractive in their RO (ex. appearance, personality, etc.)?: Probably his composure. And his... steadfastness? The way he seems unruffled by anything, his soothing presence. She really admires that about him and finds the calm contagious.

What do they do to spend time together?: Going on drives together! Kent driving while Sab plays songs she thinks he’ll like, talking or not talking. Cuddling on the couch while reading their own separate books. Museum dates. Walking the dogs together.

Do they argue? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? How do they make up?: I imagine that the first month or so of their relationship would be difficult, just because they’re both bad at expressing themselves and not used to relying on other people. Kent kind of negates a lot of Sab’s impulses to get defensive or hostile, so instead of arguments, I think there are more likely to be awkward periods where she’s just stewing in something without addressing it. Most of their fights would be, like, one of them becoming really distant for a concerning number of days until the other tries to awkwardly check in on them.

What does their future look like?: Uhh some random lore: I think eventually they do get married, despite neither of them caring that much about it. Sabrina would be excited to have something to plan, and she knows it would make the people around her happy. They have a long engagement; there’s never really an “official” proposal, just an acknowledgement that yeah, they’ll get married one day, and then eventually they get rings. The engagement is almost Sab’s favorite part, honestly. She likes planning and showing off her ring and calling Kent her fiancé, a lot of fanfare on her part for a wedding that ends up being very modest and chill.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS (Feel free to go in depth!)

Relationship with Nick: When I first started developing Sab, I thought that with as difficult/prickly as she can be, her relationship with Nick would be worse than it is. Never bad, but certainly strained, with more jealousy/resentment on her side. However, she rejected this. She is resentful, but never towards Nick—she internalizes the negative parts of their relationship so they manifest as guilt instead. And that’s the problem, not resentment. Sab thinks he’s overprotective, but that doesn’t make her angry; it just makes her sad. She wishes things were different and he didn’t feel so responsible for her, but she also doesn’t know how she could manage without him taking on so many of her burdens. So, guilt! So much love, but always looming guilt.

Having Nick in her head has helped. It’s added a new kind of guilt (“I’m a horrible person for being so giddy that people can’t hear my thoughts even though that requires my brother to be in a coma”), but getting inside Nick’s head for once and really feeling his love for her changes things. Makes her feel way more secure, I guess? It’s easier to see her brother as human person, a friend who loves her, rather than a perfect selfless paragon who sacrificed everything to raise her, which is an important shift.

There are also Things happening with self-presentation in the fact that they’re both models, and flirts, and pretend to be shallow. And the ways that they’ve responded to vastly different expectations. And selflessness versus selfishness. But I have no idea how to talk about that yet.

Relationship with Father: Strained and distant. Sabrina doesn’t necessarily blame him for leaving, but she hates how he’s handled it. She’s incredibly frustrated that John insists on keeping them in this miserable limbo of uncomfortable visits, even though moving away was (to her) a tacit acknowledgement that she and her parents are better off without each other. He’s trying to force a relationship that Sab thinks is ultimately harmful for everyone involved. For Nick’s sake, she’s willing to grin and bear the visits, but it never works because John can obviously tell it’s an act. He pushes her, she gets defensive, and so on to infinity.

Relationship with Mother: Like with John, Sab doesn’t resent Hope for the incident itself, or for leaving afterward. It was terrifying, and the idea of being around Hope makes her panic—but she thinks of that as just another irrational anxiety symptom, and she’s trying to work through it. What she does resent Hope for is letting it get to that point at all. Sab is incredibly bitter that Hope will suffer silently to the point of almost killing her (during the incident) and potentially herself (with the BRS), while Sab has no choice but to be completely open. Especially because they’re so similar in that way—she’s almost jealous. “Oh, so your silence is allowed to almost kill me and it’s ‘nobody’s fault’ but I can’t pretend to enjoy a single lunch with Dad without him calling me out for lying?”

And even though she doesn’t hold the incident itself against her, Sab is very hung up on “Why are you never quiet? Why are you always there?” She knows, on some level, that this was not a Personal Judgement against her. But because Hope keeps so much quiet, this is the only honest expression of her mother’s feelings that she can remember! It would take a lot for Sab to believe that Hope was really, genuinely interested in reconnecting with her, rather than just pretending to love her "enough” this time because to do otherwise would reflect poorly on Hope as a mother.

Relationship with Sally: Besties <3 Sally is the only member of the Wiseman inner circle that Sab doesn’t have complicated feelings about. They both have hidden morbid streaks that they bring out in each other, and can laugh about. They both have competitive streaks that work well together because they’re always on the same team. And their wants/needs from the relationship complement each other well, I think. Sally has always felt valued because she’s useful and not because she’s loved, while Sab has always felt smothered by love/care without feeling like she genuinely adds value to other people’s lives. So it means a lot to both of them that they’re able to help each other practically, while also genuinely loving and supporting each other outside of that.

Relationship with Gray: Full of trust and genuine care, but predicated on distance. Sab loves him a lot for being so careful not to cross any boundaries, physical or emotional, with her. She’s grateful that he’s there for Nick in a way that she doesn’t feel she can be. But "I like Gray because he doesn’t push me and is good to Nick” means that any hand he extend makes her defensive, because she’ll either view him as an emissary of Nick or start to panic because their normal routine is being disrupted (she doesn’t tell him about Hope in ch 3, for example).

They get along very well in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way, and bond over being cautious counterparts to Nick. Also, Sab never had a crush on Gray, but she is not immune to tall superhero and thinks it’s fun to fake flirt with him. (You know Isabela’s “You have pretty eyes” routine from DA2? Sab does that to Gray when conversations steer towards things she’d rather not talk about.)

Relationship with Glitch: I’m really excited about these two! They click from the start, and Sabrina feels immediately comfortable around Glitch, which makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever she catches herself. Externally, they have pretty different personalities, but they’re both perceptive and... socially manipulative? aware of their self-presentation?... in ways that they both pick up on right away. So it’s a lot of conversational maneuvering and trying to figure out what the other’s game is, while also genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

Relationship with Kent/Kenna: I could go truly insane here. See the romance section above instead.

Relationship with Kim: Sab wants him to like her sooooo bad. He’s one of the only people to ever really get through to her, re: my headcanon conversation after the first assignment. Authority figures tend to treat her as special, whether that’s negatively because of her mind blindness or positively because she’s such an overachiever. She had no idea how to respond to that not being the case (and didn’t handle it well at first), but chapter 6 solidifies her respect for him.

It also turns Rosy’s opinion of Sab around; he was impressed by her in class but left his office thinking she was self-absorbed and naive. But the bombing is a reality check, and her response is very measured and practical in a way that surprises him.

Relationship with Lev: She doesn’t mind the comparisons to Nick or the “maybe one day they’ll fix you” comments as much as you might think. They aren’t her favorite, but she prefers that sort of thing to the inspirational platitudes belied by coddling that she got from her family growing up. Sab has fond memories of Lev and is grateful that he’s always been kind to her, but doesn’t have any particular feelings apart from that.

Relationship with Clarence: Holds a grudge against him for causing a scene, making her late, and generally being a jerk. But she can’t fault him for being right, after what happened! Mostly she just wants to avoid him, but she’ll be thrilled to lord her success over him if/when she proves herself.

Relationship with Dean Branham: Like Rosy, another authority figure that Sab desperately wants to impress. But without the personal investment she has in Rosy’s validation, more “Oh, this person is in charge, so I should make her like me!” Despite Nick’s and Rosy’s reservations, Sabrina doesn’t really have a problem with being “strongarmed” or manipulated into cooperating; for now, she figures Branham was just doing her job and respects her tactics.

Relationship/attitude towards Ments in general: Mostly just uncomfortable and wary around them. Sab doesn’t want her mind read, and she figures that no Ment wants to be forced to read it either. So she has a pretty strict “no Ments” rule for close personal relationships (excluding Nick, Sally, and Gray, of course. But only Nick really counts because he’s the only one who can hear her thoughts whenever she’s nearby). Not out of hatred or resentment, just because she knows it will be easier for everyone in the long run.

Do they have any other important relationships, past or present? (Relatives, friends, etc.?): Not many, but yes! Sab dated around a lot in the 2 years before Aeon (more like year and a half, because she completely shut it down once she was more focused on preparing for the MIV program), but there are 2 relationships that were formative/important for her. A high school sweetheart, and someone Sab met through modeling. She doesn’t keep up with her high school ex, but the model is her best friend outside of Sally and Nick, and they still keep in touch! I’m still developing them/the relationships, and I’ll probably post more about them someday. They’re fun!

PERSONAL BIO

Describe their personality: Confusing and contradictory. She has two main modes that confuse people who meet both (e.g., Kent). She’s either cold, stuck-up, and sometimes hostile, OR she’s charming, frivolous, and sometimes flirty. Mode 1 is tense but stoic and inexpressive; mode 2 is seemingly relaxed but very posed and insincere. Mode 1 is for when she feels uncertain or has no agenda apart from “get to point B”; mode 2 is for when she’s more comfortable or trying to manipulate someone. Her actual personality is a bit closer to the second, but she doesn’t pretend not take things seriously or hide when she’s annoyed.

Strengths: Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. Very driven and hardworking. May not always act like it, but does have social skills/charisma; a great liar, if you can’t read her mind. Unfailingly loyal and loving to her favorite people, so so so warm and affectionate and supportive if she really loves you. Very perceptive.

Weaknesses: Way too proud. Can be petty and vindictive. Self-absorbed (she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s hard for her to see past herself sometimes). Stubborn, hates being wrong. And... emotional isn’t the word, but strong negative emotions can really cloud her judgement. It ties into her being proud, petty, and stubborn; if she’s really upset about something, she can cling to that emotion instead of re-evaluating it or moving forward.

Phobias: From this ask about the phobias that are planned to show up in-game, there are a few that I could see fitting Sab, but I want to wait to see how they’re implemented before I fully commit. Which is very metagame-y, I know (and I am very metagame-y about IF), but “fear of X” is so broad that it really does depend on when/how it manifests in the text.

That being said, agoraphobia is almost a lock; crowds do make Sab very anxious if she can’t keep track of everyone within a certain distance, and if she can’t leave when she starts feeling antsy. Claustrophobia is a maybe. The choice that triggers it (in chapter 4, about hating MRI machines) suits Sab, but I’m not sure if she hates MRI machines because she hates tight spaces, or if it’s more related to her general anxiety about hospitals, medical tests, etc. Which she definitely has!

What activities/club did they do in school?: She avoided anything group-oriented as far as possible. She took piano (maybe violin?) lessons and did recitals, but wasn’t in orchestra. The one exception was maybe National Honor Society or some equivalent, which she would have joined for her resume’s sake. And I think she would have tutored!

Where do they escape to when they need space?: A little used library corner, where she can people watch without being seen/heard.

How do they feel about/cope with their mind blindness?: Sab hates it but tries not to dwell on it. She knows that it’s no one’s fault, and she mainly just tries to... minimize it? Drown out her thoughts, limit her contact with Ments. And, least healthily, very rigidly managing herself. Because there’s so much of her that exists outside of herself, without her control, she tries to either filter or completely suppress everything else. Part of why she got into modeling, she can perform and be perfect and have total control over the final product of her body in the photographs for whatever campaign. Some Day This Will Be Better. But definitely not where she is in current canon.

How has your Button changed since the Incident with Hope?: Developed many new anxieties and disorders and syndromes :) She also became way more self-conscious, as in literally conscious of and way more tightly monitoring herself, what she’s thinking, what she’s expressing, how she’s sitting, etc. Less emotive face, more rigid posture.

If they weren’t an Aeon student, what would they be doing?: Sab would have beaten herself up forever if she “proved everyone right” by avoiding Unity/Ments entirely, so she’d want to stay in the family business somehow. She probably would have ended up doing scientific research on mental agility. Maybe even working for Mirrortech or some other biotech company, which I imagine would have been an interesting conversation to have with the family.

RANDOM FACTS:

Zodiac sign: Like I said, I assigned her Libra months ago for the sake of a template. But I don’t know enough about astrology to commit. Libra or Leo, probably.

Hobbies: Music, reading poetry, “cooking” (i.e., sitting on the counter and not helping while Nick makes dinner)

Likes: Watching other people (Nick) play video games, dressing up, taking long showers/baths, dark chocolate with caramel, back hugs

Dislikes: Being patronized, hot weather, going to the doctor, driving, doing anything she is not good at

Type of bedsheets: Bamboo.

Drink of choice: Cucumber mint lemonade! For hot drinks, some kind of caramel coffee. For alcohol, she refuses to get drunk because she’s terrified of having even less control of her mental broadcast, but at home/around people she trusts she’ll have a glass or two of wine. Doesn’t know enough to be picky, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

Favorite food: Probably some pasta dish Nick makes with asparagus and tomatoes and a lot of garlic.

Favorite color: Like a light turquoise!

Favorite music: Music to her was another mind-shielding tactic before anything else, so she tends to like upbeat-ish electronic/pop stuff. Catchy and repetitive, and/or with lots of personality to drown out her own thoughts. On the other end of the spectrum, she does have a soft spot for crackly, lo-fi, old or old-sounding slow songs—something about fuzzy recordings simulating a weak telepathic signal.

Favorite season: Hmm, spring and autumn are both good. She likes either side of winter.

Anything else you’d like to share: My heart and a long, fulfilling marriage, with anyone who reads all this 💍

#wow this is so long. insanity luv lit ral insanity #this was super helpful for articulating certain things about sab's character so it's already done its job #pls do not feel pressured to read Thousands of words about sabrina my beloved. but if you read all or even some of this <333 a kiss for you #why am i embarrassed to overshare about my own ocs on my own blog. i live here #oc: sabrina wiseman #also this was very much a stream of consciousness deal but i tried to go back and make it comprehensible. good luck all ye who enter here

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years

Text

Two Bisexuals Are Your Co-Captains

ao3

“I solved racism,” Mariner says, kicking open the ready room door. This should not be physically possible, as doors have progressed past the need to be opened, and are, in fact, automatic.

Boimler, whose face is currently one with the synthetic wooden desk, gives her a thumbs up but doesn’t move beyond that.

“Okay, I lied, I didn’t solve racism,” Mariner admits. “It’s still a problem in our galaxy. But, I did solve our captain problem!” she tries. This does get Boimler to remove his face from it’s fixture on the desk.

“You did?” he blinks up at her, creases in his face from where it had been smooshed against the hard surface.

Mariner dumps an honest-to-god paper file on his desk. “Check it out, twink.”

Boimler swipes the file, frowning as nothing happens when he taps it. Mariner helps him out, flipping the cover over. “So there’s this really nifty rule back from like 2039 that allows for two acting captains to co-pilot the ship simultaneously.”

“Are you serious?” Boimler groans.

“As Legato Infection,” Mariner confirms. “It was apparently instated for missions where the crew is like. Separated or some shit and need more than one captain coordinating. Because Starfleet was also part of the air force for a while, co-captains were basically just co-pilots. Like this was a whole thing. But it got overwritten with the First Officer Act of 2048 that instated First Officers as a fill in instead of a co-captain, able to make decisions and delegate, but it was never technically outlawed. Meaning…”

“We could technically take advantage of the loophole and-”

“Co-Captains!” Mariner punches the air. “You know what this means?”

Boimler blinks at her blankly. Beckett applauds herself over the alliteration, as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s our ship,” she whispers dramatically, already envisioning the communist flags with selfies of her and Boimler printed on them.

“Or it could just be your ship,” Boimler says, fear in his eyes.

Beckett grabs his collar, dragging him up to eye level. “Our ship.”

________

“Beckett no,” Freeman says flatly. Ever since The Incident--the one where the ship was overrun with the Pakleds that took out the entirety of senior command--she’s been in medbay, wrapped up in so many bandages she looks like a mummy from one of those really old movies Boimler is obsessed with.

“Beckett yes ,” Mariner says, taking a slurp of her cherry limeade slurpee. “You named me First Officer!”

“Then why does Boimler-”

“Ransom also named him First Officer!”

“So your brain jumped to Co-Captains ?” Mariner can’t see her mom’s expression, but from her squinty eyes she’s pretty sure it’s disapproving. “That is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“You can’t call your daughter dumb!” Mariner throws her hands up in the air.

“Mariner, you’re dumb.”

“That’s against parent rules! Everything I do is supposed to be a fucking delight!”

Freeman turns her judgy eyes to Boimler, who had been staring off into the middle distance, probably traumatized by all of the shrieking the mother and daughter duo had been doing since they entered medbay. Whatever, it’s not Mariner’s fault that her mom’s kneejerk reaction to her daughter charging into medbay with a bat'leth and no shirt on was to shriek like a goddamn banshee.

“You know what,” Freeman says, eyes locked on Boimler. “I’m already having a bad fucking week. Go ahead, make it worse I dare you .”

“Uhm-”

“We absolutely will do that,” Beckett promises, crossing her heart.

_____

“ ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL ,” Mariner says, over the ship’s speakers. D’Vana, from her position at the First Officer’s station, gives her a Disappointed Look. Mariner gives her a thumbs up back.

“ DUE TO OUR EXCRUCIATING CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOUR FORMER CAPTAIN AND HER FIRST OFFICER, ENSIGN BOIMLER AND I WILL BE YOUR CO-CAPTAINS TONIGHT. OR FOREVER, WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET.”

“Mariner, what are you doing?” Boimler says, storming onto the Bridge. Mariner, who had hacked the Bridge speakers to play Demi Lovato’s Confident every time Boimler entered, is pleased to note that nobody had figured out how to turn that off yet. Unfortunately for her, however, Boimler didn’t recognize his girlboss powers, and had been yelling at her every time it happened.

“I’m letting the ship know about our change in command, oh Co-Captain of mine,” Mariner says over the booming bass and Demi Lovato’s dulcet tones. In the corner of her eye, the vulcan side character that everyone thought was a Cool Guy, bopped his head to the music.

Boimler sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. “So we’re actually doing this?”

“Dude, I already made us friendship jackets. That shit had a no refunds policy.” She pulls a leather jacket that had been draped over their helmsman's head--bad for ship navigation, but good for dramatic effect--and throws it at Boimler. Boimler unfolds the pink monstrosity, sighing deeply at the neon-yellow glitter words Gatekeep Girlboss Gaslight emblazoned on the back.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s ABSOLUTELY necessary,” Mariner says, standing up. She turns around, showing Boimler her purple jacket which says Malewife Mansplain Manipulate in snot-green glitter.

“HOW DOES THAT MATCH.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DOES THAT MATCH.” Her voice echoes strangely, alerting her to the fact that the shipwide comms are still in use. She reaches over, flicking the switch off and turns back to Boimler, hands on her hips. “Is this an anxiety thing again? Do you need to go back on medication?”

“I don’t need to be on meds!”

“Then why won’t you wear our super secret special jackets!”

“Because mine is hot pink and says girlboss on the back!”

Mariner lets out a gasp. “Are you saying... Boimler are you adhering to GENDER ROLES?”

“No-no stop it -”

“You! You of ALL PEOPLE-”

“Mariner, cut it out!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT BRAD BOIMLER IS A-”

Boimler pulls the jacket on so violently that he somehow elbows himself in the eye. The pink really does go with his hair-which Mariner knows for a fact he dyes himself every three weeks. “There! Happy?”

“So so happy.” Mariner hands him a martini from the tray she had brought in and nailed to the arm of the captain’s chair. The one she hands to Boimler has a rainbow umbrella in it. “So, first order of business. I think we need car seats for short people.”

“Excuse me.”

Mariner picks up her own martini glass and takes a chug, choking on the strawberry chunks she had grinded into it a few minutes before Boimler got here. “You know, car seats? That shit you put babies in because cars are a danger to humanity but we keep buying them? I think the shorties on this ship deserve some protection.”

Boimler drains his glass. “Fine, whatever, I don’t even care anymore.”

______

Mariner is commissioning the previously mentioned communist flags with hers and Boimler’s faces printed on them, when Tendi comes into the ready room. She is wearing the face of complete and utter defeat that everyone else had been wearing since the Co-Captains had been instated. Mariner insists it’s because they’re sad that she and Boimler wouldn’t get to be captains forever. Boimler says it’s because everyone’s writing their suicide notes to their familes.

“Mariner, we need to talk,” Tendi says, using the opening line to every break up Mariner’s been a part of and seen on tv. Which is really weird because she didn’t think she and Tendi were in a relationship.

“I’m all ears,” Mariner says, which is a dumb fucking line because clearly she isn’t , but people say that all the time.

“I don’t want to be your First Officer,” Tendi says, crossing her arms. “It was fun for the first week, but after you made it mandatory to do the Macarena during the first ten minutes of each hour, morale has been down.”

“Hmm,” Mariner pets Boimler’s therapy cat, Dishwasher, thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll make that one optional. Any other requests?”

Tendi sighs. “No,” she admits. “To be honest, the ship is running at 98%, which is the highest any ship in Starfleet has ever run. I think Brad orgasmed when he heard about that.”

“You call him Brad ?” Mariner stares up at her friend, aghast.

“That’s his name?”

“Yeah, and his cat’s name is Dishwasher , but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to call her that!” Dishwasher growls at her name. Mariner shushes her, hands clamped over her ears. “She turns into a murder-rage machine when you call her by her given name! How do we know Boimler isn’t the same?”

“Because I call him Brad all the time!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh my god, he’s probably serial killing as we speak. I hope you’re ready to talk to the victim’s families and let them know that their loved one’s died because you couldn’t help yourself.”

Tendi stares at Mariner for a full minute. “Resignation,” she reiterates, pointing at Mariner. “I want to be a gross ensign scrubbing the deck again. Nepotism sucks .”

“Fine, you’re demoted. Go enjoy mediocrity.”

“I will.” Tendi storms out, kicking the door shut. Which again, is completely, 100% impossible because it’s the 23rd century or whatever-Mariner’s not keeping count-and automatic doors are now a Thing.

Mariner hacks their speaker systems to play the Wii Shop Channel Music-a reliac of the past only alluded to on private groupchats and servers- to play whenever Tendi entered a room. It’s the least she could do.

______

“As your First Officer,” a reluctant Rutherford says reluctantly, “I am here to remind you that that would be a very bad idea .”

“Rutherford, who’s the boss around here?” Mariner asks, hands on her hips.

Rutherford sighs. “You.”

“And as the boss, who makes all the decisions around here?”

Another sigh. “ You .”

“Then why are you being a killjoy over my decision to get down and dirty with my Co-Captain?”

Rutherford makes a shriek-y noise, like those boys who got their testicles cut off in the old days so they could sing opera. “Mariner, I’m serious, don’t do it .”

“Is it against regulation?”

“No,” Rutherford groans. “You’re both the same rank-”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You can’t sleep with Boimler just because you can!”

“That’s not why I’m going to sleep with Boimler,” Mariner waves him off. “I was sitting on his lap the other day-”

“Oh my god -”

“-in the Captain's chair--ooh we should look into getting another one of those, TWO chairs are better than one--”

“Mariner, to the point please.”

“Oh, yeah, so I’m in his lap and I maay have backed up a little too far and bumped up against-”

“Stop literally stop .”

“Yeah, so turns out Boimler is PACKING and I gotta hop on that train, so to speak.”

“Okay, you know what?” Rutherford shoves his padd at Mariner. “I quit, I can’t do this. I want to be a lower decks ensign again.”

“Wow, you’re like, the seventeenth person this week to quit. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been captain.”

“Yeah, weird coincidence,” Rutherford deadpans.

_____

“I may have fucked up, Mom,” Mariner shrieks, waltzing into medbay with all the grace of a duck pulling off a white bread heist. “I think you should take captaincy back.”

Freeman, who had fully recovered two days ago, but refused to engage in the chaos Mariner was purposely causing on her ship, looks up from where she’s reclining with her long island ice tea and swimwear magazines. “Really now?”

“ Yes . All of my friends hate me and I found out Boimler has purple pubs.”

Freeman almost drops her drink. “ What .”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still fucking, but like. Wow, I thought he dyed everything. Turns out that shit is natural.”

Freeman covers her face with one hand. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re keeping the ship.”

“WHAT.”

“I already spoke to your father,” Freeman gives her daughter a shark-like smile. “We agreed that this position of authority has been good for you. And, considering, the ship is running better than any ship in Starfleet since the inception of the Federation, the Admiralty wants you and Boimler to stay on.”

“ WHAT .”

“They think it’s an interesting social experiment that merits more research. Congratulations, you and your fuck-buddy are now ginnypigs.”

___

“I think, as a sign of protest, we should rename the ship,” Mariner says, draped across the desk in the ready room. Boimler, sprawled out all over the desk chair, snorts. The room has been completely revamped in pride flags and the previously mentioned communist flags. Mariner thinks it’s her best interior design work, but Boimler claims it’s an eyesore.

“What would we name it?” he asks, humoring her.

Mariner considers it, taking a swig of vodka. “Okay, hear me out. Q and Picard’s Loveboat.”

Boimler grabs the bottle out of her hand, taking a chug. “You know what? This might as well happen.”

They submit the formal request on Boimler’s padd a few minutes later and are both pleasantly-at least in Mariner’s case-surprised that it goes through. It’s likely that the guy in charge of filtering these requests is either very very bored or very very underpaid and either way Mariner likes his energy.

A few days later, they have Q AND PICARD’S LOVEBOAT stamped across the side of the ship in comic sans-a truly underappreciated font from ye olden days that Mariner dug up one night on the wayback machine.

It takes exactly four weeks for the Admiralty to catch wind of it-by then she and Boimler had been Co-Captains for almost two months-and, well, there isn’t much they can do about it.

She does receive a rather long voicemail from her dad that she promptly deletes. She’s not about that energy.

_____

“Boims, Boims, Boims,” Mariner chants, crawling into his bed. Boimler lets out a shriek as her ice cold toes slide up against his bare thigh.

“So you know how our ship got renamed so easily?” she says, once Boimler had stopped screaming. “Well, I found the dude who approved it. Nice kid, I want his gender. Anyway, looks like my dad is getting a new ship and they're getting someone to christen it.”

“Oh my god,” Boimler says faintly, turning his face into his pillow.

“I may have gotten us on the list of possible people to christen it. As in, the kid hacked the server for me and we're the only people on that list.”

Boimler looks like he's regretting everything ever. He also looks like he's kind of in love with her. Mariner inspires that kind of duality in people. “What are we going to name it?” his voice has a tinge of fear in it that both of them get off on. The kink is strong with this couple.

Mariner grins.

_______

THE DADMIRAL: ACT OF REBELLION OR GENIUS?

Ash H. Beiggs

Many of you may remember the highly criticized decision Starfleet made when instating “Co-Captains” on the starship Q and Picard’s Loveboat ( formally known as the USS CERRITOS). Well, Captains Bradward P. Boimler and Beckett E. Mariner are back with bigger and bolder headlines to make.

The chaotic young duo are renowned Federation-wide not only for running the tightest ship in Starfleet, but for their unorthodox methods. Captain Mariner in particular has been praised for her innovating thinking and usual personality. When asked about her decision to name Admiral Mariner’s ship The Dadmiral she simply claimed that “Mohammad had his mountain, Jesus had his followers and [she] had a molotov cocktail and nothing to lose.” Captain Boimler declined to comment.

The actual christening of The Dadmiral was reported as a “spectacle to behold” by many onlookers. Captain Mariner was seen streaking through the aforementioned ship, with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Her Co-Captain was not far behind her, but was reportably more restrained. The actual christening was completed by Captain Mariner who “yeeted the vodka” into the ships warp core, shouting “ One of us. One of us,” in rapid succession until she was removed by security.

Neither Admiral Mariner or Captain Freeman are available to comment at this time.

#i hate this fic but also it was The Most Fun To Write #stld crack #stld fanfic #my fic #marinler #brad boimler #beckett mariner #carol freeman #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #star trek lower decks #star trek lower decks fanfic

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