#either way im sorry for taking up space on your dash with this. um. i’ll get back to tling soon… maybe… if time permits…

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss the lxl divorce couch (it appeared in 1 image)

#this is h o r r i b l e who allowed me to type things into gdocs helloooooooooo~~~~~~~~ #complete and utter crack (mostly bc i forgor how to characterise 99% of the good dudes and ladies in this series lmao) #<-with that warning out of the way the divorce couch probably appears way too often in this tbh. u m. #(also very minor nghy bc i couldn’t control myself im not sorry) #this is the monster i spent my sick leave cooking up ig lmao #but man~~~~ i’ve tried to reread my past fics following a craving for bottom of the barrel worst of the 🅱️ad fics out there yk #h o w e v e r i could barely find anything coherent to read bc 90% of my docs are unfinished wips… i really played myself there huh… #oh well at least with this garbage i have one more critter to read when i wanna cringe at something bad lol #either way im sorry for taking up space on your dash with this. um. i’ll get back to tling soon… maybe… if time permits… #added to my personal cringefic compilation #<-seriously i don’t get how that tag is still in my autocompletes i barely use it smh

[citrinesparkles]

welcome home.

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 2,086 words. notes: requested by an incredibly flattering anon as part of my hundred followers celebration! thank you again for the feedback, and for enabling me :) also was subconsciously influenced by this piece. warnings: arguing, discussion of danger, reader gets accidentally threatened, patching up wounds, lots more swearing than my usual (but it's all mild language). angst and comfort, i think. super dialogue heavy. this is so long and a little (lot) messy just. prepare yourself

"man," a robotic voice echoed dangerously through the dark living room, sending chills through you. "did you pick the wrong apartment."

luckily, the voice was familiar. "um, the one i live in?"

he choked out your name, startled, and you flicked on the light switch to find him frozen in place with a gun in his hand.

"right." you said tensely, glancing at it- which made him jerk his hand down, shoving the gun into its holster as though it burned him- and looking back up at the eyes of his helmet. "so, uh, i'll turn a light on next time."

"you shouldn't be home yet," he said stiffly.

"i texted you like, three hours ago to let you know i'd be home a day early."

he swore quietly. "my phone's in the river."

"how did it- you know what, at least that explains the radio silence. you didn't think to have someone else- anyone else- let me know?"

"uh." he paused, tensing almost imperceptibly for a moment. "no. i was, uh, i was busy. i'm sorry."

"busy, huh?" something felt very wrong, and not just the fact that he had nearly shot you. "okay, i'll bite, busy with what?"

"nothing important."

the sinking feeling in your stomach intensified and your eyes narrowed dangerously. "important enough that you forgot to tell me you weren't dead in an alley somewhere, when you knew i'd be texting to check in anyway. leaving me worrying in a hotel room in another city."

"nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about." you were really getting sick of the sound of his modulator, but he continued before you could say anything. "go back to what you were doing, babe."

"yeah... uh, no." you stepped forwards and he flinched back defensively, making you freeze. "seriously, what is up with you tonight?"

"noth-"

"jason, i promise if you say nothing one more time, i'm going to lose my mind."

he shifted his foot back slightly, and you took a deep breath.

"okay," you conceded, raising your hands up in surrender and moving backwards yourself. "respecting your space now. that wasn't my best decis-"

your voice cut out when something under his jacket caught your eye.

something red.

"holy crap, jason, what the hell?"

he winced quietly. "you weren't supposed to be home yet, okay?"

"take that stupid helmet off already, would you?" you snapped, already moving to get the first aid kit.

"i would've gone somewhere else if i'd known, okay?" his voice, now clear and crisp without the filter, followed you down the hall.

"that does not make this better!"

"can you please not yell at me right now?"

you dashed back into the room, shooting a vicious glare at him. "jacket."

he slid it off gingerly, dropping it on the couch next to his helmet.

"can you get the armor, or do i need to help?"

even despite the domino mask he was wearing, you could tell he was rolling his eyes. "if i couldn't do it on my own, why would i have come here if i didn't think you'd be home?"

"hm," you took the piece he handed you and carefully set it on the couch, "maybe because you're a stubborn jackass?"

he grunted, sliding his undershirt off and passing it to you. "i don't wanna stain the couch with that."

"your priorities suck."

"it's the nicest piece of furniture we own!"

"it's still a couch!"

"it was expensive!"

"oh for crying out loud-" you threw your hands up again, this time in frustration. "fine! fine. i'll go put this in the tub and get a soak going. you-" you shoved the kit towards him pointedly- "start washing that off."

"how come you're calling the shots?" he snapped back petulantly.

"because my torso's in one piece."

"i have way more experience with this, i should be making the decisions here."

"oh, of course, my apologies!" your voice was absolutely dripping in sarcasm. "what, pray tell, would you have us do?"

he scowled at you for a moment before reaching for the first aid kit and flicking the lid open. "whatever."

you turned on your heel, stomping into the bathroom.

the shirt got thrown into the tub and the tap got tossed all the way on, and as the water crashed into the gray fabric, you took the opportunity to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply.

you opened your eyes a minute later, finding the water dyed a rusty almost-red from blood.

his blood.

you turned off the tap- gently pushed the handle, this time, the fire in your chest now largely extinguished- and made your way back to the living room to find him running a rag over the space below his ribs.

"may i?" you asked softly, stopping a few feet away and holding a hand out to him.

his jaw clenched and relaxed three times in quick succession, but he finally sighed and dropped his shoulders before holding the rag out. "yeah, c'mere."

you worked in silence, being as gentle as possible. jerking your hand back and mumbling apologies when he hissed.

"s'okay, comes with the territory."

you pressed the alcohol-soaked towel back against him, and he sighed.

"that was stupid, huh."

a small laugh escaped you. "it so was."

"can we..."

"try that again?"

"yeah."

you pulled back, standing up straight to meet his eyes. "only if i can take the dumb mask off of you."

"i thought you liked the mask," he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"jason."

he chuckled, wincing again when it jostled his wounds. "ouch. uh, yeah, mask. g'head."

you gently pulled it from his face, setting it neatly on his other gear before running your thumbs across the line of adhesive it left on his cheekbones. "hi there."

"hey." he leaned into your touch, vibrant eyes fluttering halfway shut. "so uh, welcome home."

"thanks. could've done without the gun, though."

a choking sound tore from his throat, his eyes flying back open. "holy shit, baby, i almost-" he jerked back from you, no regard for his side. "you almost- shit, shit, are you- i'm so sorry, i didn't-"

"okay, woah, hey-"

"i could have killed you."

it was a whisper, horrified and harsh, and while it was technically true, his tone teetered on the edge of a dark space you had seen before and really didn't want him falling back into.

"yeah."

you desperately searched for the right thing to say, rejecting variations of "but hey, you didn't actually", "maybe you should be more careful about waving a gun at people", and one particularly unhelpful "no shit, sherlock".

finally, you settled on a quiet, calm "but i'm still right here, okay?"

his hand flew up to cover his mouth, doing absolutely nothing to hide the near panic written on his features. "i could have killed you."

"okay, so, in the future, we'll... we'll uh, we'll come up with some kind of system for letting you know when i'm home, or something."

"oh, like a phone?" he asked harshly. "the one i was stupid and sloppy enough to dunk in the harbor?"

"that wasn't- i'm guessing that you had a lot on your plate." you waved the cold, bloody towel in your hand at his wounds. it made him curl in on himself slightly, stepping backwards again until his back hit the arm of the couch.

"no excuses. i could have killed you."

"i-"

"no, i almost shot without saying anything!" he exclaimed, brow furrowed and eyes stormy. "i thought someone had broken in, and i got so- i don't even know, damn territorial or some stupid shit- that i almost put a bullet between your eyes. i could have-"

"jason!"

he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his head, roughly tugging his fingers through his hair. "i almost-"

"but you didn't. okay?" every fiber of your being wanted to hold him, to tug him into you and put his hand against your ribs and show him you were okay and breathing, heart still pumping, but he looked enough like a cornered animal that you half expected him to bite you if you tried. "c'mon, jaybird. a life like yours, can you really afford almosts?"

"life like mine, i can't afford to let anyone close to me. apparently, if the goons and thugs don't kill you, i will."

"that's not-"

"what if i hadn't said something?" he snapped venomously. "what if i'd lost more blood and was loopy from it? what if i'd come home with a concussion- again- and didn't think past 'point and shoot'?"

"jason," you finally interjected. "you think i haven't thought about that?"

his eyes, grim and vicious and so full of emotion that you thought you could drown in them, dropped to the floor.

"because it's not a secret that your life is risky. you're risky. i know that. but you're worth every ounce of danger, okay? i'm choosing this, choosing you, knowing full well what i'm getting into, because you're worth all of it."

"i'm not worth any of it."

"that's not your call to make."

"it-"

"you think i need you to make my choices for me?"

"no, of course not."

"you think im stuck here?"

"do you feel like you are?"

"absolutely not." you inched forward again. "i'm here because i want to be."

"...i just... i don't..."

"don't want me to get hurt?"

he finally looked back up at you, eyes watery and jaw tense. "or worse."

"i know, baby. i know," you sighed. "but that's part of life, right? and if the hurt's inevitable, i want the rest of my time to be as nice as possible, and you make my life better. make me better."

"by putting you in danger?"

"it's gotham, handsome, i'm gonna be in danger either way. at least with you, i know i have someone looking out for me. right?"

"always," he said immediately.

"okay then." you took the last step between the two of you slowly, watching for any resistance. meeting none, you brushed your knuckles against his. "i can't think of anywhere i'd feel safer."

"you know that's crazy, right?"

you hummed quietly. "nah."

"i'm being serious."

"me too."

he studied your face silently. you smiled softly at him.

finally, a sigh escaped him and he scooted his hand forward, wrapping his index finger around your own and squeezing gently. "you're sure you want this? i can set you up with a place downtown for a bit. you'd never have to see me again, never have to worry about... all of this."

"i've never been more sure of anything." you said it firmly, confidently, letting the words hang in the air for a few moments before popping one eyebrow up playfully. "why, need to make room for a side piece?"

a startled choking sound escaped him. "excuse me?"

"i mean, when you were talking about being busy, it felt kinda suspicious."

"what is wrong with you?" he asked, exasperation and laughter coating his voice.

"listen, you were being evasive!" his head fell forwards, resting on your shoulder as he laughed.

"i didn't want you to know i was bleeding all over the place!"

"why, didn't want me to worry?"

"exactly!"

you reached your free hand up, gently resting it on the back of his head and playing with his hair. "then maybe, just maybe, you should have gotten someone to tell me your phone went for a swim."

"fair enough."

you stood quietly for a long time, running your fingers through his hair and enjoying the feeling of his breath against your collar.

"i..." he muttered, pulling back to look in your eyes. "i don't think- um. i don't think i'm..." he groaned, gaze darting to the ceiling. "i love you. but the minute you have enough of- of all of this-"

"i won't."

"but if you do, i'll... i'll understand, okay?"

you squeezed his finger gently. "okay." you inhaled deeply, dropping the bloody towel you were still clutching and slid your hand forward to hold his completely. "can we get a bandage on that and go to bed, now?"

"....yes please."

---

"wait!" you yelled, throwing the first aid kit haphazardly onto the bathroom counter and racing after him into the bedroom, where he whirled around with wide eyes. "i love you too! i never said it back- i love you too."

"don't yell like that- i thought something was wrong!"

"me not saying it back is urgently wrong, jason!"

#citrine writes #this was. this was a monster #i sure hope you enjoy because i'm unsure how quality it is #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #imagines #dc #dc imagines #dc imagine #blood cw #medical cw

[heywardsarchive]

Home [Harry Potter]

Requests closed! Based on this request by nonnie : id like to request a harry x gryffindor reader. its the yule ball and harry wants to ask y/n. but the other boys are all over her and he barely gets a chance. so basically y/n is cho but she says yes XD

Summary: Harry recalls a time when he wanted to ask y/n to the ball but couldn't gather the courage to ask her out.

Pairing: dad!Harry Potter x female reader

A/n: I think this is my favourite Harry fic I've written! Im a sucker for dad!Harry, basically any Harry. I just love that man.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Word count: 1.9k words

Memories are in italics

******

It was bedtime on a snowy January night in the Potter household as Harry Potter tucked his oldest into bed. James, only eight years old, was an energetic young boy. He wasn't ready to sleep yet and he was determined to stay up. The only way he could do so was if his father told him a bedtime story.

"Daddy," he started pulling his dad's sleeve, "tell me a bedtime story."

Harry looked down at his son who was trying to look as innocent as possible. "James, it's time for bed."

"Please daddy!" He gave his best puppy dog expression, his eyes the same as the woman harry loved most, and Harry melted. Both mother and son knew how to use their eyes to their advantage.

"Alright fine, call Albus and Lily and I will tell you a bedtime story."

James excitedly jumped out of bed and brought his siblings into his bedroom.

"Alright kids, what bedtime story do you want to hear?" Harry sat down on the bed beside the three children. "Tell us about the first time you had a date with mummy!" Albus said and lily and James nodded in enthusiasm.

"Alright then. So the first time we went on a date was when we were in our fourth year in Hogwarts. Remember the time I told you about the wizard tournament I was in?..."

The triwizard tournament, a disaster for Harry. He had unwillingly got thrown into a game he wanted no part of. He managed to complete the first task but the hardest part was yet to start. He needed to find a date for the Yule ball. In his opinion fighting a dragon was easier than asking a girl out.

He knew who he wanted to take but he was yet to gather the guts to ask her. He saw her multiple times over the week but everytime there was a distraction. Whether it was her friends pulling her away or a teacher snapping at him to pay attention. Harry was unable to get to her.

Ron too was struggling, unable to find a date. "Mate, you fought a dragon if you can't get a date nobody can." He told him as they walked through the courtyard of Hogwarts. "Right now, I think I'd take the dragon." Harry sighed. Ron patted his back. Harry's eyes drifted toward the crowd of students, his gaze stopping on her. Y/n l/n, she was the nicest girl in Hogwarts and everyone was her friend. She and Harry were acquaintances, they weren't close per se. Harry had been crushing on her since the end of third year when she helped him in potions.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting on a table doing potions work while everyone around them were talking about their dates to the ball. A boy sitting to Harry's right was whispering to his friend. Harry tried not to listen but potions was boring and he heard y/n's name and his ears perked up.

"Have you heard? David Arden asked y/n to the ball. She turned him down , do you think I have a chance?" He asked hopefully. The boy beside him, the friend he was talking to, scoffed. "She turned down David Arden, he's literally every girl's crush. What makes you think you have a chance? Besides she's turned down all the 5 guys who asked her out this week."

Harry returned to his work. 5 guys asked her out and she turned all of them down? What chance do I have now. He thought to himself. "Ron, do you think y/n will go with me to the ball?" He shook his best friend's shoulder. "You're the boy who lived mate, she'd definitely agree."

"She's turned down 5 boys this week ron! What if she turns me down too." Harry sighed. "You will never know if you don't try." Ron shrugged.

Harry made up his mind he was going to ask her out that evening.

"Did you do it daddy? Did you ask her to the ball?" Little Lily asked excitedly. Albus shushed his sister. "Let daddy finish!" Harry chuckled and continued. "As I was saying..."

Harry kept avoiding the fact that he had to ask y/n to the ball. He made excuses to do it later but the more he delayed it the higher the chance of him not getting to go with her higher.

As he returned from the great hall after dinner, he ran into y/n. The person he wanted to speak to. "Im so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." She apologized. "Don't worry about it, I wasn't looking either." Harry chuckled awkwardly.

"I'll be going then." She smiled, but hesitated a bit. "Hey Harry-" "y/n-" they started at the same time. They laughed. "You go first." She said.

"Uh sure, I uh wanted to ask you if you uh wanted to um gototheballwithme." He stuttered.

"Im sorry, what did you say?"

"Do you want to go to the ball with me?" He said, slowly this time.

"What did she say?? Did she say yes daddy? Did she??" Albus asked this time. "Ofcourse she said yes dummy, they're married!" James said to his brother.

Y/n bit back a smile. "Yes, I'd love to."

Harry felt a blush creep up his neck. "Uh great, that's amazing. Uh what did you want to ask me?"

"I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go with me but I guess you beat me to it." She smiled shyly. "I'll be going then, see you soon Harry." She kissed his cheek and walked to her common room.

Harry stood glued to the spot with his hand on his cheek a smile on his face. "You good mate?" Rons voice startled him, snapping him out of his trance. "Im brilliant, never better. I asked y/n to the ball and she said yes! Ron she said yes!" "Good job man, I knew you could do it!" Ron pat his best friend's back.

That night Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

"How was the ball dad? Did you have fun?" James asked curiously.

"Oh yes, we had the time of our life."

The day of the ball couldn't come faster. Harry's excitement was uncontrollable. He kept practicing his dance steps and talked to himself in the mirror causing Ron to shake his head and pass comments about Harry being 'whipped'. He didn't mind though, he was whipped.

Finally the day was here. Harry stood at the bottom of the staircase and waited for his date to arrive. He looked around the hall, it was decorated with Christmas decor, snow was charmed to fall, there were icicles on the ceiling and everyone was dressed up in beautiful attire.

As Harry was looking around, he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hello Harry." It was y/n. She looked absolutely stunning in her dress. Harry forgot how to speak.

"Did you actually forgot how to speak daddy?" Giggled Lily. "It's a saying lils." James explained to his sister.

"You look beautiful." He finally got out. "Thankyou haz, you look dashing yourself." She poked his chest playfully. Harry blushed at the nickname.

"Potter! There you are. We are waiting for the champions. You dance first." Professor McGonagall said. "Wh-what?" Harry stuttered.

"Yes! Now go on we don't have all night." She hurried both the teens.

"I really can't dance, I'm going to make a fool of myself." Harry whispered to y/n. "It's alright, just follow my lead." Harry nodded in relief.

As the champions entered the hall, Harry's grip on y/n:s hand tightened. She squeezed back to comfort him. Everyone's eyes were on them and Harry was feeling self conscious. They stood on stage and Harry placed his hands on y/n's waist and she on his shoulders. "It'll be fine." She mouthed. Harry nodded. His hands were getting clammy and his mouth dried.

The music started playing and all the champions started to waltz to the sweet melody. Both if them swayed to the music and Harry spun her around. He was starting to enjoy it. At last the dance floor was open to all. The attention was off Harry and he felt much better.

Y/n pulled Harry's hands to a more open space on the dance floor and started dancing to the upbeat song. "Dance with me!" She laughed. Harry looked at her and smiled. They both danced badly at the songs, having the time of their life.

Soon they left the dance floor to go and have some refreshments. "You know, I thought you'd turn me down." Harry said sheepishly. "Why would you think that?" Y/n asked curiously. "Because I heard you turned down 5 boys in the same week and I thought you'd turn me down too." "I turned down the other boys because I wanted to go with you." She placed a hand on his cheek.

"I really like you y/n. Im glad we came together." Harry whispered, his face moving closer to hers, staring into her eyes. "I really like you too haz. Alot." She closed the gap between them.

It was blissful. Harry didn't feel the butterflies that others say happen on your first kiss, it felt like coming home, it felt right. It was perfect. When they pulled away Harry realised that he had found the one he wanted to be with forever.

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Harry asked her. "Definitely." Y/n said kissing him once again.

"Ewww." Gagged all the children when Harry mentioned that they kissed. "Daddy has the cooties." Albus said in disgust. "I think it's cute." James said proudly. Harry laughed and ruffled his hair.

"What's going on here?" Y/n entered the room. "Daddy was telling us about the Yule ball!" Lily exclaimed. "Was he now?" Y/n said smiling at her family. "It truly was a great experience. Maybe when you go to Hogwarts you'll have one too!"

"Alright it's time for bed now. Let's get you tucked in." Harry clapped his hands. James settled himself on the bed and Harry kissed his forehead and shit the door. He tucked Albus while y/n tucked lily.

Shutting the door, Harry pulled his wife toward him. "I love you. You've given me three lovely children and the best life I could ever imagine. You stood by md through everything. I don't deserve you." He kissed her forehead.

"Oh haz, you have gone through so much you deserve everything and more and you make me the happiest woman alive. I love you so much." She kissed his lips.

Just like the day of the yule ball, this kiss felt right. Harry was home and he never wanted to leave.

*****

#harry potter x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter self insert #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #dad!harry #fluff

[lunarmessenger]

Can u do prompt 52 with either Saeyoung or (GE) Saeran saying it to MC/the reader? I have adhd so i tend to ramble and im always nervous that im annoying and talk too much, especially since i tend to repeat myself in order to rephrase what i've said in a more understandable way... if that makes sense. That last bit's probably irrelevant haha... ^^"

Ah- see what i mean? Lol... anyways it hits close to home and i would appreciate either of the choi twins -- or both! But i dont wanna burden you with too much haha, so just whoever works out better for you :)

Love your writing <3 <3

Of course!! My fiancée has ADHD as well, and I can’t imagine how it feels sometimes. Her little quirks that she has though because of her ADHD are adorable though, and I’m sure yours are just the same, honey. I’ll do both just for you! - luna xx

707

You sat behind Saeyoung as he worked at his computer, small bags beginning to form underneath his eyes from lack of sleep. He was handed a rather difficult job by Jumin that required some complex fire walls on a new program, his brows furrowing every now and then as he mumbled underneath his breath.

Being with him meant that there would be weeks, almost a month or two of distance due to his projects, and you knew this going into it. Yet, there were times that you couldn’t help but have your little impulsive moments and unfortunately, this was one of them.

A small giggle left your lips as you found a meme on your phone, looking up towards Saeyoung who was still busy typing away.

“Saeyoung...is it alright for you to take a quick look...?” You softly mumbled, the tone of your voice making him do a soft smile as he peeled his eyes away from the screen.

“Sure, MC. What is it?” You excitedly showed him, the two of you laughing as he pat your head.

“That was a good one! Let me know if you see anymore.” He meant well by saying that, really he did. But he didn’t think that you were going to pull him away every five minutes to show him a meme; some of them he didn’t really find as funny as you but laughed anyway. With each meme you showed him came a mini tangent of a memory, or event that it reminded you of, the sound of your voice bouncing around his brain.

It got to the point where you were so excited that you didn’t even wait for his confirmation, pulling on his jacket sleeve as you shoved your phone towards him. The action caused him to mistype, causing him to lose about half an hour’s worth of work. He couldn’t help it; his brain had been battling between listening to what you were saying while doing his work that he just...broke.

“Ah! MC! Why did you do that?!” He snapped, brows furrowed as he looked down at you on the floor. You twitched from the sudden tone of voice, eyes wide with worry as you looked between the monitor and his face.

“What...I...what happened?”

“I pressed the wrong key and now...! I’ve just lost so much work; I have to do it all over again!” He groaned, slamming his hands down on his desk before hanging his head and gripping his hair. You immediately stood up, phone tucked away in your back pocket as you used your hands to grip your arms.

The guilt made a couple of tears pool in your eyes, purposely avoiding his irritated gaze as you looked down.

“I’m sorry I...I let my excitement get the best of me. I didn’t mean to be annoying and mess you up honestly I...I’m sorry!” His irritated look quickly melted at your hurt tone, his hands reaching for you right as you dashed down the hall to get to your shared bedroom.

“MC!” You slammed the door behind you, running to the bed and burying yourself under the covers. You couldn’t be mad at him; if anything you were more mad at yourself for not keeping your actions in check. After a few minutes you heard the door open, biting your lip as you kept your eyes shut.

Slowly the covers were pulled away, and you felt his warm arms snake around your waist and pull you close. He burrowed his face in your neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the warm area as he sighed.

“I don’t think you’re annoying…I know…I don’t…I really like listening to and hearing what you have to say even if its a lot sometimes..” His voice drifted off as he continued. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I promise after this project I’ll take a break so we can have some time together, okay?” He mused, and that alone was enough to make you turn over in his arms and look at him.

“Are you sure?” He smiled, his eyes full of warmth as he nodded and pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I’m sure. I promise, MC.”

Saeran

The both of you had joined Zen and Yoosung for a day in the park; Saeran was still a little wary with everyone so you wanted to soften up the awkwardness with small get togethers. It was a picnic type deal; Zen and Yoosung were passing a soccer ball back and forth a few feet away while Saeran helped you set up all the food. 

“Guys! Food is ready! Come eat!” The two immediately ran to the blanket, Saeran handing out the small plates you’d packed with some silverware.

“Thanks! I’m so excited, I bet you make the best food MC!” Yoosung exclaimed, hurriedly filling his plate with some food while Zen chuckled and offered you a small smile.

“Yeah; I’m really happy we get to try some of your cooking.”

“Aw, thanks guys.” The praise made you blush while Saeran took your hand in his, sending you a soft smile as he nodded.

“I can confirm; they are truly an amazing cook.” All of you chatted endlessly; you were so engrossed in the conversation that you hadn’t realized that Saeran was slowly drifting from the conversation. It wasn’t that he was suddenly disinterested; it’s just that he was still struggling with his mental health, and sometimes too many voices all at once became too much.

“MC...?” He piped up softly, but he went unheard as Yoosung cracked a joke, all of you laughing together while Saeran shut his eyes to try and focus. He was overstimulated, and his thoughts became jumbled as he struggled to get the right words out without hurting anybody’s feelings.

“MC.” This time he was more firm, but still you weren’t hearing him. He grew frustrated, biting his lip as he tried to take deep breaths. Zen had barely noticed Saeran was trying to speak, about to tell you and Yoosung to calm down. But it was too late, Saeran’s voice coming out as a yell as he finally caught your attention.

“MC! Can you please stop talking for five seconds?” Everyone froze as you stopped, looking at Saeran as he looked away. The light mood was suddenly filled with tension, his leg bouncing from anxiety while you cleared your throat.

“Sorry, Saeran...” You trailed off, Zen and Yoosung awkwardly putting their empty plates down and grabbing the soccer ball.

“We um..we’re going to kick this around for a bit. Come join us if you want to.” Zen spoke up, making eye contact with you. You furrowed your brows as he gestured his head towards Saeran who was fiddling with his fingers now. You gave a slight nod back to him, turning towards Saeran and gently taking his hands in yours.

“I’m sorry, Saeran. I should have realized, I...I didn’t realize I was being annoying.” Your choice of words made his head shoot up in anger, brows furrowed as he furiously shook his head.

“No, MC! I don’t think you’re annoying…I know…I don’t…I really like listening to and hearing what you have to say even if its a lot sometimes..” He let out a sigh, leaning his head against your shoulder as he continued speaking. “I just get overwhelmed. I appreciate you setting up these little gatherings so I can get to know everybody better, but sometimes it can be a bit too much if they’re not spaced out.”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t express myself properly. I promise that I won’t snap at you like that again. Maybe we can come up with like...a code word? I don’t know...” He trailed off as he blushed, a small giggle leaving your lips as you cupped his face in your hand.

“Of course. How about we pack up and go home? We can talk about it more then.” You suggested, and that was enough to ease his anxiety as he pressed a small kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you, MC.”

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanon #mystic messenger short #707 #luciel #luciel choi #saeyoung #saeyoung choi #707 x mc #luciel x mc #saeyoung x mc #saeran #saeran choi #saeran x mc #707short #rayshort #lunarmessenger #i hate to say it but i've pulled a 707 on my fiancee #but i'm learning haha #sorry this took so long!

[chokefriends]

Pit-town Strays Ch.1

Kidlaw softness and redneck shenanigans in a northern mining town. Everything's fucked but whatever.

Rated T, no warnings, or just general warnings for setting-specific social ills and violence (racist cops, shitty parents, etc). Someone ordered wholesome kidlaw family feels? well HERE.

[Ch. 1] - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

Read on Ao3 too, I’m Ossicle

“What the hell are you going to Pit-town for?” Bellamy chewed at Law with his mouth open, a smarmy sneer on his pasty face.

“None of your business.” Law scowled, turning his eyes away from his brother’s ground-up breakfast. He shoved a random pile of coursework into his backpack.

“Well I know what kids like you go up there to do. Everybody knows.” Bellamy drawled on, like he knew shit about anything besides scamming beer and shooting bottles at the quarry.

“Don’t make assumptions, idiot. I’m just babysitting.”

“Why?”

“It’s called a job? You should try it,” Law suggested primly. “Feet.”

Bellamy lifted his feet off Law’s pile of textbooks. “Why, though? You got that big scholarship, I seen the letter when it came in.”

Law frowned at him. “How did you…”

“Well it was just there, so I read it. Why don’t you move out, if you got all that money? You hate it here so much.”

Law waved this matter aside. “I owe that money to someone. Give me the volvo keys.”

Bellamy didn’t move his stupid stumpy self from the ancient recliner—prized spot in the basement space the three brothers shared. “No, I need it, I’m meeting up with some guys later to go down to the quarry. Dad said I could.”

“Bellamy, I need it to get to town. Just gimme the keys.”

“Well I need it to pick up little ladies! You can hitch, right?”

Law didn’t bother arguing. He sighed through his nose and slid his feet into his severely ratty sneakers before heading out into the yard.

“Don't tell Dad where I am or I'll tell him about your girlfriend!” Law called on his way out.

“Obviously,” Bellamy muttered.

The ancient volvo wasn’t feeling cooperative today, or Law was having a lapse or something because he couldn’t fucking hotwire it. He slammed his fist on the dash and took out his phone. It was an oddly summery fall day—not too cold to walk or bike—but his shoes were getting thin in the soles, and Law didn't like asking his dad for little stuff like that. Didn't wanna be such a burden all the time.

He scrolled through his messages and sent a couple off to see about a ride. But Robin (who'd suggested the job) was teaching, and Baby (sweet, bitter Baby) was already in the sauce.

BB: i cn still come tho? you real stuck?? big bro awwwww im sry

You: Nono dont go driving if youre partying it up, Ill hitch a ride I guess

BB: Where?

You: Just into town

BB: Where in town??????

You: The Pit.

You: or whatever.

BB: LAWWW NOOOOOOOOooo jus kidding lol no judgement here

BB: id sell it on weekends too if i were pretty liek U

You: I’m not selling my ass!!!

BB: Lol

BB: sure

BB: why else ndn boi hangs w miner trash? Shady.

You: Lots of reasons, including a babysitting job. Don’t make assumptions.

BB: “babysitting”” “””job”””’

You: Yes.

BB: God ur sheltered

BB: shltered bebe in u nice rich house

BB: don get picked up there, pit-town piggies love ndn bebes

Law pocketed his phone with an eyeroll and started walking down toward the highway.

Once he’d found a ride and gotten dropped off, it was a twenty minute walk from the highway to the Pit. Law ended up climbing over the bare, rocky hill behind the truck stop, cuz his phone’s map had the place all wrong. On top of the hill, he could see the Pit in all its glory laid out before him.

Pit-town was the weird little enclave where the town’s mine workers were housed, in tar paper houses as outdated as the mine itself. The tangled machinery of the refinery loomed just beyond the houses, and above all that, the smokestacks. White smoke drifted from their peaks, as high above him as the clouds. Nothing except low bush berries grew around here—it was like an outpost on the moon.

Law went down into the village. Men with tattooed arms watched him from pickup trucks, and women smoking in lawn chairs whispered. Half-feral dogs barked and circled.

“Ya lost, hun?” one busty woman called from her front step as he passed, and her friends chuckled.

“No…” he mumbled back, and hurried on as they all laughed.

He was flustered and out of breath by the time he got to the address, on the other fucking side of the whole village. The house was like the rest: a single-storey bungalow on a small plot of land with a car port full of dead appliances. There was a little pink bike lying on the front step, and a short dog chain attached to a pole in the middle of the bare yard. A deep trail had been trod in a circle around the pole but there was no dog in sight. Law went up and knocked lightly.

He stood there for a few minutes, feeling the neighborhood eyes on his back, before trying again. He knocked a little louder. “Hey, um. Hello?”

A harsh voice called, “YEAH IT’S OPEN.”

Law tried the door. “No it’s not?” he called back.

“YEAH IT IS JUST KICK IT AND TURN THE THING AT THE SAME TIME.”

“...No, definitely not open,” Law assured him after trying every kick-turn combination.

“AH FUCK.”

“Yeah.”

“OKAY, CAN YOU JUST BREAK IN?”

“...What??” Law was almost offended.

“I’M DOING A THING, CAN’T GET THE DOOR RIGHT NOW, JUST TRY SOMETHING.”

Obviously Law could break into stuff, because his shitty little brothers thought it was hilarious to lock him out of the house all the time. And because their father thought it was prudent to keep things like Law’s ID in a secure location. Law didn’t think that skill set was a great way to start this ‘job’ thing, though… He looked around at the prying eyes across the street and they flitted back behind their blinds. He sighed.

The lock was just one of the doorknob ones, and the jamb didn’t have a guard on it so it was easy to get a credit card in there. The door swung open and Law stepped into a cluttered hallway.

“In here!” the big voice called from down the hall.

“I here!” a little voice added.

Law navigated his way carefully, stepping over baskets of laundry, unreturned empties, and sealed up moving boxes. Something obnoxious was playing on tinny speakers in another room. He rounded the corner into a sweltering little kitchen that seemed like the only clear spot in the house.

There was a very tall redhead with a face full of piercings sitting at the kitchen table in his boxers, and a much smaller redhead in a frilly blue bathing suit beside him. They were painting their toenails black, with their feet up on the table.

The bigger redhead seemed really shocked to see Law. He almost toppled backward on his chair. “H-hi! Uh! You’re Native.”

Law blinked. “Yeah. Um. You’re naked.”

“I’m Nami!” announced the little girl.

The guy was pretty much naked, by Law’s standards. Also kind of jacked… Law could feel his face heating up and was glad that it didn’t really show on him. The man sitting there in his boxers was pale as a fucking ghost, though, and so his sudden flush was super obvious. He rushed to recover from that intro.

“I don’t mean like, ‘oh, you’re Native.’ Well, obviously you are, heh, but I don’t mind or anything!"

“Yeah, uh.” Law nodded helpfully. “I don’t mind either, that you’re… naked.”

“Kidd is a naked...” Nami sang to herself.

“I'm not even,” Kidd protested. “I'm just hot as hell. Aren't you hot?”

“Am I??” Law was completely lost.

“Not—! I mean, yeah, but you're in a hoodie? Aren't you sweltering?” Kidd clarified.

“Oooh. No, not really. I like to keep covered up,” Law explained, picking at a fraying sleeve. He supposed it was weird to be wearing jeans and a hoodie in this weather, but no weirder than wearing Crocs in public, like people here seemed into doing.

Kidd was distracted by Nami painting patterns on her feet with the nail polish. “Fuck, Nami, stop, we just paint the nails. It’s messy, see? MESSY.” He took the tiny girl and sat her on the counter instead, then went about cleaning up the table. “Sorry about the door. Can’t go anywhere with wet toenails, it smears like hell.”

Law nodded harder and went to help him. “It’s cool, I know how to break into stuff. I mean I don’t usually! But your door was easy. Not that I’ll do it again!”

“Not a problem… uh, Kidd. I’m Kidd. Hi.” The guy finally got his head together and extended a hand. His fingernails were painted black too. He had a really firm grip.

“Law,” Law replied in relief.

“And this is my sister Nami,” Kidd jabbed a thumb at the toddler perched precariously on the counter. “She’s a fucking psychopath.”

Nami ignored them, sticking towels into the toaster instead.

“You have a dog too? I saw the chain outside.” Law wondered.

“No, Dad took the dog with him. And the fuckin car…”

“Your parents are both working?” Law asked, and immediately regretted it. God, he really was sheltered.

Kidd blushed again and started stacking dishes.

Law rushed to clarify. “Or, ‘parent'? I only got one too—a dad. I'm adopted though, and my birth parents are both passed, so.”

Kidd was wiping off each dish absently under the running water, not really cleaning anything. “We got a dad and mom, they’re just… not around right now. So it’s just us! Which is better, believe me.” He growled the last bit under his breath.

“Oh, got it.”

“Anyway. I didn't wanna ask someone to come all the way here to watch Nami, but that bitch down the street won’t take her anymore because of lice or property damage or something, and I got an interview today. I’ll prolly find another illegal daycare somewhere around here if I do get this job, though, heh.”

“Yeah don’t worry about it.” Law tried not to seem squeamish at the mention of lice.

“If they do take me I’ll be starting right away, so I might be out til pretty late,” Kidd warned him. “I’ll pay you for however long you’re here for though.”

“Sounds good. You gonna work at the mine?”

This seemed like another sensitive issue. Kidd looked away and muttered, “No… you gotta be 21, and take all these courses and stuff. And anyway, like HELL will I end up in the fuckin pit,” he finished with unexpected heat.

Law was saved from having to come up with a response by Nami blowing up the toaster outlet. The kitchen appliances all blinked out.

“FUCK! Again…” Kidd rushed to pick her up and sit her back on the table as a loud dryer beep sounded from the bathroom. “And fuck, there’s my pants. Listen, can you grab a fuse from the drawer there and stick it in? I actually REALLY gotta go, like right now.”

“Yeah of course!” Law watched the strange redhead duck through the kitchen door and pick his way down the obstacle course hall to another door.

He pulled his eyes away from the muscled back and onto the little girl, who was… eating nail polish.

“You!” Law scolded her, and put her in a chair. He grabbed the few towels that weren’t burnt, and tied her to the aluminum frame. “Okay, eat cheez-its while I fix this.”

Law had got the new fuse screwed into the panel and the nail polish off Nami’s face by the time Kidd came back, dressed in clothes that didn’t seem like interview clothes to Law: heavy duck pants and steel-toed boots. He grabbed a duffel bag that was sitting on a box stack, shouldered it and then stood looking at Law.

“Uh,” Kidd was blushing again. It was kind of amazing to see this tough blacklung brat acting so unsure. “If I come back really late maybe I could bring something? To eat? And we could eat it here?”

“Yeah, that'd be good.” Law shrugged like he didn't mind either way.

“KFC?” Kidd suggested.

“Oh I don't like breaded stuff. Fries are good, though.”

“Chinese?”

“I'm trying not to eat MSG actually…”

Kidd tried to think. “So what do you eat?”

“Mostly sushi.”

“I didn't know there was any sushi places in this shit town,” Kidd admitted.

“At the college there's one. Uh, but whatever you bring is fine, don't worry about it!” Law reassured him.

“Okay. Well, see ya.” Kidd made his way outside, yelling at some hovering dogs to git!, then started swearing. “Aw fuck, Nami's FUCKING bike…”

“You trip on it?” Law poked his head outside.

“No,” Kidd was looking at an empty front walk. “Fuckin kids took off with it again. I'll just go punch their dad in the throat later, not a big deal.”

“Holy,” Law commented mildly.

He watched Kidd pull a frankenstein-ian motorcycle out of a side door and roar away on it. Then he looked around to see if anyone had caught him looking. He was just sending a good glare at the prying eyes across the street when he remembered that he was babysitting. He returned to the kitchen where Nami was sitting once again on top of the table, drawing circles in a nail polish puddle with one finger.

“Your brother is an entire entrée,” Law informed her.

She didn't reply, intent on her craft. But she objected when he tried to pick her up. “Nooo!”

“No?” he put her down.

She glared at him, a tiny girl of no more than four, ginger hair in little pigtails and her frilly blue bathing suit spotted with nail polish.

“I'm Law,” he sat down so he was at her level, and introduced himself. “Lawww.”

“Law...” She appraised him solemnly for another moment and then seemed to deem him acceptable. “I’m being a witch,” she confided in a whisper.

“A witch?”

“Yah.”

Law sat back in the chair with a laugh. “My girl! Let's talk!”

Law had the kitchen scrubbed to his own exacting standards in short order, having secured Nami firmly to a chair (with duct tape and towels this time).

She was starting to nod into her cheezits by the time he'd finished, and Law figured it was nap time. He went to review the rooms along the hallway, looking for a baby room. He couldn't figure out the logic of the place, though. There was a largeish bedroom, which seemed to be the source of the stale smoke smell, mostly taken up by a tacky king bed and Seinfeld DVDs. It clearly hadn't been used in forever. He closed that door. Then there was a smaller room that might've once been a child's room, decorated with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and complex Lego structures piled in one corner. It was stacked floor to ceiling with file boxes and covered in dust too. Another small room seemed to be Kidd's hideout, though the bed was just a box spring covered in laundry and books. There was a guitar and practice amp, and a desk piled with half-dissected old laptops. Law resisted the urge to snoop, and closed the door.

He went back down to the other end of the hall, past the front door, where the narrow corridor opened into a small living room space. A couch and a single mattress were neatly made up into beds, in front of a large TV that seemed like the only new thing in the house.

“I want a Kidd nap.” Nami had somehow gotten out of the duct tape high chair and was at Law's side, rubbing her eyes.

“Okay? In the big bed?”

“You're silly,” she accused. She went to lie down on the couch, pulling a fuzzy blanket over herself.

Law went to sit next to her. He gestured down at the mattress on the floor, with its orange and blue comforter and many fuzzy cushions. “Is that your bed? Don't you wanna nap there?”

“No,” she explained patiently, eyes already closed.

“Right, obviously.”

He watched her shuffle and sigh her way to sleep.

“I could've had a sister,” he murmured, partly to her and partly to himself. “I mean, I do have a biological sister, but I didn't grow up with her. I think it would've been nice, though…”

Nami was already asleep when he looked over again. Easy! Law totally had this babysitting thing in hand. He pulled his stats assignment out of his bag, and got down to the real work.

Nami turned out to be a pretty chill baby, as well as being an utter terror. She mostly ignored Law, preferring to go about her little play tasks uninterrupted, with the TV playing in the background. “Being a witch,” she explained whenever Law asked what she was doing.

“Keep it up,” he encouraged her, turning back to his own work.

He quickly learned, though, to keep an ear out for silence, because she was probably blowing shit up. Law found her building a fire in the oven, then making what he was pretty sure was mustard gas in the toilet.

“How’d you do that??” He took the bleach from her and she threw a mild fit before toddling off to the next game.

By the time Kidd returned, Law was just sitting in a kitchen chair with his stats assignment disregarded in front of him, watching the four-year-old expertly jimmy the makeshift lock he'd put on the knife drawer.

“More twist on the lever,” an amused Law recommended.

“So this one's being a psychopath huh,” Kidd entered and threw his duffel bag on the table.

Law corrected him.“Um, she's a witch and a prodigy? She made several deadly potions with cleaning supplies today."

“Oh jesus now there's two of you.”

“One more and we got a coven.”

“Great. Nami, it's like 11, why ain't your ass in bed?” Kidd growled at his sister, who ignored him.

“She went down for a couple hours, but kept getting up when she heard a car go by. And I couldn't get any pajamas on her,” Law reported.

“Yeah she won't take the bathing suit off unless I bribe her. She's big into being a ‘mermaid’ this month, on top of being a witch.”

Nami had gotten the knife drawer open and was feeling around in it with one chubby hand.

Kidd scooped her up. “No knives.”

“A knife!!!”

Law shook his head and smiled. Child after his own heart. “What's she want a knife for?”

“She's been trying to slash my tires lately, so probably that. It's usually pretty funny to watch, but yeah, not at bedtime. Eh, Nami?”

“I WAN A KNIFE! A KNIFE A KNIFE A—”

Nami stopped and stared at the chocolate coin Kidd was holding up. She grabbed it and wiggled out of his arms. They followed her to the living room where she was stashing her prize under the couch.

“Holy, she's got a hoard,” Law gave a low whistle at the cache of foil coins and random shiny things.

“Yeah I think she's more dragon than mermaid,” Kidd commented.

Nami lay down in her floor bed, where she could see the glittering pile.

“I got food, if you wanna…?” Kidd nodded back toward the kitchen.

“Is she good here?”

“Yeah she pretty much puts herself to sleep, just leave WrestleMania on for her. She likes the noise.”

They went back to the kitchen, and Kidd turned on a thing Law had thought was a smashed toaster oven reconstructed with safety pins, but which turned out to be a radio. Kidd gestured to a bag on the table, and Law unpacked it while the redhead fiddled with the receiver. It mostly seemed to be picking up country music and static.

“Can almost get that alt rock station with this thing,” he muttered, “probably just needs another coat hanger.”

“You went and got sushi??” Law pulled out several little plastic containers.

Kidd’s back was to him but Law could see his neck and ears going red. He kept fiddling with the dials. “Yeah, whatever.”

“From all the way at the college?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“...I think that radio is using you as an antenna,” Law observed, changing the topic.

Kidd snorted and let go of the screwdriver-dial, and the radio went to mostly static. “Faboo. Maybe it wants a piercing too.”

His face had returned to a normal color under all that metal, and he joined Law at the table. Law offered him the dragon roll and took the sashimi plate.

The chopsticks were an obstacle.

“Do you stab it?” Kidd glared at the sushi and the two little sticks.

“No, look at my hand: hold one like a pencil, and the other one loosely—”

“I stab it.”

“Don’t stab it, hey, you’ll ruin the integrity of the roll shape!”

“Hm,” Kidd chewed his mangled piece. “Tastes like salad.”

“Here.” Law scooted over a chair. He took the chopsticks out of Kidd’s fist and rearranged them. Kidd’s hands were large and rough to the touch, and the scent of sweat and gas clung to his clothes. The sudden impression of body heat and machinery smacked Law right in the back of the brain.

“I’m gonna say this is finger food,” Kidd decided.

“Yeah,” Law agreed automatically.

“Yeah, fuck this. Want a beer?”

Law hated beer. “Yeah. I mean, whatever.”

Law sat and nursed the beer with determination, trying to pay attention to Kidd's animated take on government surveillance vans and Nicolas Cage. His brain was getting fuzzy really fast, though. He was such a fuckin lightweight.

“He’s not an actual human person, is all I’m saying. You seen his face tryna do face stuff?” Kidd argued, crunching his second beer can and tossing it in the bin across the room. "Nother beer? Hey, you’re not even done that one.”

“Tastes like bread,” Law noted distractedly.

“I guess. You don’t like Bud?”

“I liked the first movie,” Law hiccuped.

Kidd laughed like a fucking hooligan, and Law had to laugh too. Normally loud laughs grated on Law's ears, but he decided he liked this one. It wasn't mocking or cold; just big.

Kidd shook his head with a final chuckle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Me too. Sooo uh, what you studying at the college?”

“General science right now, thinking I'll go into the pre-med stream,” Law answered right away. “Or maybe something more research, less clinical… uh. Or you know, like. Whatever.”

Kidd actually seemed interested. “Yeah that sounds awesome. I always wanted to go into engineering, but pure research would be cool… You um. Doing some math, there?” He looked over at Law's assignment, abandoned on the table.

“Stats. The bane of my existence. Don't stare at it too long, it'll put the bleed on your brain.”

“...you're stuck, huh?” Kidd glanced over again.

“No.” Law sniffed. “I'm considering it from many angles.”

“Okay, man.”

“Oh, like you know anything about sample sizes and shit.”

Kidd shrugged, but the line in his forehead deepened. He cracked another tallboy.

Law gripped his own beer can in the uncomfortable silence that followed, and then downed the rest all at once.

“Nother,” he wiped his mouth and Kidd raised an eyebrow but passed him a fresh one.

“Git it in ya.”

“Mhm.” Law took a deep swig and almost fucking barfed. “Sooo… you make that bike yourself huh?”

“...yeah,” Kidd's face lost the put-out look and split into a grin. “Or whatever, I just added some stuff and changed other stuff… actually, it's…”

That got another good long ramble out of the redhead, full of startling laughter and crass parallels with female body parts. Law wondered idly if Kidd was actually familiar with any female body parts, or whether this was just how people in Pit-town talked.

“Hm?” Law sat up straight, realizing that Kidd had asked him something. His brain was definitely all swimmy now.

“Or I can give you a lift back now. It's a long way to the Rez.”

“I'm not from the Rez, I live down the highway. I can just hitch my way back, it's not a big deal." Law looked at his phone—after midnight.

Kidd was giving Law a look, like he wanted to say something about that, but then grunted and downed his beer instead. “Here, for today,” he said, taking an envelope out of his pocket and pushing a few folded bills into Law's hand.

“Thanks.”

“If you're free tomorrow I'll be working again at noon. And like I said, you can stay here tonight if the trip out is—”

“Oh!” Law felt his face heating up again. “No, I gotta get home. My dad's gonna kill me as it is. I'll come back tomorrow, though, okay?”

“Okay! Or, whatever, good.”

“Yeah.” Law stood and started stuffing things back into his backpack. “Okay see ya tomorrow.”

Kidd gave him a flippant salute and cracked another beer.

Pulling on his sneakers at the door, Law felt a little tug at his pant leg.

“Law, you are going to go?” Nami worried.

“Yup, gotta go home.”

“Law, you won't be here if you go,” she started snuffling.

Law picked her up and put her back in her bed. “I'll come back tomorrow. Okay?”

“No.” She hid under the blanket and kept snuffling.

He hesitated. “I have to go.”

“She’ll get over it in a minute,” Kidd told him from the doorway, leaning backlit against the frame with crossed arms. “It's better not to draw it out.”

Law looked at the little lump among the cushions and shrugged. He stood to go.

The redhead chewed at his tongue piercing and watched him. “Okay, I don't wanna be weird about this, but like. It's the Pit. And you're... You know?”

Law wasn't getting it. “I'm...?”

“C'mon, you stick out. And it's really late, and it's just past check day, and… it'd really just be faster if I gave you a ride.”

Oh, fucking chivalry or whatever.

“So I'll put my hood up,” Law dismissed this.

“It’s the Pit, though,” Kidd said again.

“... See you tomorrow.” Law left without drawing it out any further.

Law got halfway through the village before someone pulled up next to him, apparently to offer him further unwanted courtesies.

“Looking for a place to stay?” the man offered.

“Just heading home,” Law deflected.

This didn't seem to be the answer the guy wanted, and he followed Law in his pickup at very close range, until they got to the village limits and the end of the street lights. Law gripped his phone in his pocket. He heard the truck door slam just as he went to detour off the road between two houses.

Law tried not to back away as the guy advanced. “I'll call the police.”

“I am the police,” the man pointed to the badge on his belt.

"Shit..."

"And you're trespassing."

Law held onto his phone, a harsh roaring steadily growing in his ears. The smart thing would be to play dumb and helpless so he wouldn't fucking get shot, and just hope someone came by… but the man went to grab him and he panicked just as the roar peaked. Law snapped the fist holding his phone into the man's temple, and it made a loud crunch. A couple more frantic strikes sent the pig down in a confused pile of limbs.

Well he'd fucking done it now. Maybe he could run before—

“Oohhh shit, haha,” someone commented.

Law glared over at Kidd, who was sitting there on his noisy rat bike, peering at the man on the ground.

“Hi?” Law crossed his arms.

Kidd scratched his neck. “Saw him drive past after you left, and figured… yeah. I was just gonna come and like, bam! Do a drive-by with a crowbar. But that Rocky shit was actually way cooler, haha. Is that a brass knuckles phone ring?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…” Kidd considered the lump on the ground. “Kay, well. Can I drive you home now?”

“...” Law really, stubbornly wanted to refuse.

“Just so you can see how Marlene here rides,” Kidd patted the motorcycle. “Did I tell you I built her?”

Law's tension cracked and an incredulous laugh bubbled out. “Yeah. You told me. She's a beauty.” Kidd passed him the helmet and Law slid into place behind him.

“She’s a rubber-tit, chain-smoking old blacklung biddy, fuck yeah she's a beauty. You can ride her all day and night, she don't get tired.”

Law had been wondering how he'd get all the way home like this without popping a boner, but that mental image cleared it up.

“Uh,” Law gave the unconscious cop a guilty glance, “should we get this guy somewhere…?”

“Oh, I'll just call his wife to come get him, I guess,” Kidd snorted at the pathetic pile and took out his phone.

“You know him?”

“Everyone knows everyone here… hold on a sec. Hey, Mrs. Kyle? Yeah I just seen Kevin going off tryna fight that goose again.”

“Fuckin what??” Law snickered.

“Yeah, Cobb Road. Looked like he'd taken a good one on the head already. I dunno who taught that thing to make a fist. Yeah, anyway. Yeah, bye.” Kidd hung up, nodding to himself like that was it.

“No one's gonna believe that shit,” Law objected.

“Oh the goose? That's real, the thing's a monster. I think they should just shoot it but there's a pool on who'll defeat it in hand-to-hand combat.”

“...okay. Sure.”

“It's the Pit,” Kidd explained again.

Kidd tied a bandana onto his face as a windguard, and they pulled out of the village and onto the highway. It was fall but the air was warm and smelled like tar. Law held onto Kidd's waist and directed him by patting his arm and pointing. The smokestacks receded behind them, though the tar smell lingered on through the treeless landscape. Eventually Law signaled for them to stop.

Kidd pulled off the highway and stopped just under the lone streetlight at the turnoff. He looked around. “This is just a carpool lot. I might as well take you all the way home, right?”

“Nah, my Dad's already gonna be pissed that I'm out this late. If I ride up on a bike smelling like booze… yeah.” Law passed him the helmet and dismounted. “It's not far from here, I'm good now.”

Kidd was still processing the first part. “Aren't you in uni? You still have a curfew?”

Law shrugged. “He's strict. He just worries. Though, yeah, he's nowhere near as protective about my fuckin brothers so—”

At that exact moment Law's brain registered the whine of a familiar car, and he had to grip his bag to keep from bolting. He relaxed slightly when he saw it was just the Volvo.

“Hey Lawnboy,” Bellamy chuckled, leaning an elbow out the window.

“Hiii Law,” a gawky, sharp-eyed girl chirped from the passenger seat.

“Monet, my dream girl,” Law flirted mildly, leaning on the door frame. Monet giggled and Bellamy scowled.

“That your ~boyfriend~?” the blond troll mocked, jabbing a thumb at Kidd, who tensed and sneered.

“Yeah,” Law shot back.

There was a pause.

“Really???” Monet scrambled to get a good look at them both. Bellamy's face went slack with shock.

Kidd stuffed his head into the safety of his helmet.

“What're you doing?” Law questioned the helmeted Kidd.

“He's shy!” Monet squealed. “Ahhhh you guys are perfect!”

“Are you blushing?” Law tried to flip up the mirrored visor and Kidd held on stubbornly, shaking his head.

“Law, bring him to Hawk's place with us, I'll make youse guys’ drinks!! I got sourpuss and peach schnapps!”

“They're not coming to Hawk's,” Bellamy told her sullenly.

“Shut up Bellamy. Law, you guys coming?”

Law demurred. “Gotta work tomorrow, Monet-fique. Nother time.”

“Aw.”

“See you at home, Bellyache,” Law dismissed his pouting brother, who scowled.

“‘Babysitting’, huh. I'm telling Dad you're hoeing it up in the Pit,” Bellamy threatened.

Monet punched him in the shoulder. “Oh my god Bellamy no you're not. Later, Law! Byyye, strong silent boyfriend!”

Bellamy took his cue and screeched away.

Law turned back to Kidd, who was still hiding under his helmet. “Sorry. That was my brother. It just seemed like the best way to get him to leave.”

Kidd gave a slight shrug.

“So. See you tomorrow?” Law shouldered his bag.

Kidd nodded.

“Thanks for the ride. And for dinner and stuff…”

“Yeah it's whatever,” came Kidd's muffled voice.

“Oh yeah I mean, whatever.” Law started off down the road.

“Uh…! Thank you too, for… coming...” Kidd called after him a few steps later.

Law stopped and looked back awkwardly.

“...And for being chill about Nami's issues, and the house, and dealing with that creeping fucker… You don't have to come back after that crap. And if all this is gonna get you in trouble with your dad anyway,” Kidd offered in a nervous jumble, as Law wandered back over and stood there, feeling suddenly sad.

Law had had his share of sweet goodbye kisses under this streetlight, when he'd been a little younger and a little less worried about everything. He kinda really wanted another like that right now… But Kidd was holding onto the helmet on his head like a life preserver. And a kiss seemed like such a shallow, wrong-headed kind of assurance to offer against all ‘that crap.’

Law leaned in, and bonked his forehead lightly against the glossy helmet instead.

“Well, pick me up tomorrow, at the highway. So I don't gotta risk crossing the goose,” Law shrugged too, like it really was all just whatever.

He couldn't see Kidd's face but he could see his heaviness lift.

“You got it, Cap.”

The scruffy redhead leaned into his bike and the road, and became a fading engine roar in the dark. Law walked home slowly.

#kidlaw #KidLaw fic #eustass kid #trafalgar law #one piece modern au #Kid is a blusher #Law is an airhead #blue collar love #pit-town strays

[lxveille]

as in ‘crush’

joshua x reader

word count: ~ 5900 a/n: american university!AU; ambiguously non-american/non-native english speaker!reader; probably too much actual talk about IPA; the tiniest dash of  nsfw at the end

If only the course listing had warned you that concentrating in your English phonetics course would be made ten times harder by developing a truly GPA-threatening crush on one Joshua Hong.

“To facilitate pronunciation, the nasal consonant changes its place of articulation to match that of the consonant directly following…”

You are really trying to follow along with your professor’s eloquent example of an assimilation rule in the phonetics of standard English. Thus far all you have written down in your notebook, however, is just “ASSIMILATION RULES”, underlined twice with ‘homorganic nasal rule’ jotted underneath it. Since then, all you’d managed to do was rewrite over the word homorganic several times over. A part of you was trying to remember whether the professor had pronounced homorganic with five syllables or four. So at least you were still a little bit studious.

Most of you, however, is having to focus way too much on not letting your gaze flicker over to your left to where you know Joshua is sitting. He’s probably having no trouble at all following the lecture. His calm yet intensely focused gaze had been one of the first things that you’d been taken by. Other than just his overall appearance, which has been a distraction since day one of class.

“I think I’ve been mispronouncing im-polite  for years,” Seungkwan whispers to you from the desk next to you, emphasizing the nasal enough for you to clue in that he must be referencing the phenomenon your professor is going on about.

Most of those in Phonetics of the English Language are international students. Without anyone suggesting it be done, you tend to arrange yourselves in the classroom so that you’re arranged by homeland, or at least by mother tongue. You happened to be one of two in this class from your country; the other girl always sits on your right.

As it happens, the small group of students from South Korea sit to your left. Seungkwan was the one who sat on the rightmost end of that group, and so it was purely by this coincidence of this self-selected, entirely unofficial seating chart that the two of you struck up a friendship which seemed to exist exclusively within this one classroom.

You’re doing your best not to make your horrible infatuation with his friend too obvious.

“What does homo-organic mean?” you half-mouth at him, gesturing with your pen to your sorry looking notes. Seungkwan holds back a snort of laughter and shrugs at you. You give him a panicked look and then turn to your right, whispering desperately in your first language.

When you glance back over to Seungkwan, he raises his eyebrows to wordlessly ask if you got an answer.

“Can we compare notes after class?” you ask quietly. While you're posing the question, you gaze flickers beyond him and two more desks down to where Joshua is still. He has one elbow propped up on the fold-down desktop, chin resting in his palm and fingers curled in towards his lips.

“If you take notes!” he nearly threatens to go above the volume any student would dare use during side conversation.

“Shht, okay, okay,” you wave your hand at him to urge him not to risk making any kind of scene and turn your attention towards the front of the room.

Fifty-three minutes later, when the professor has struck her signature end-of-class pose of shutting her folder of notes and settling both hands on the table in the front of the room, the room erupts into a symphony of languages. Yours included, as you bid your compatriot goodbye. You about close up your notebook when Seungkwan pauses his conversation to remind you that you’d asked to revise together.

“I’ll meet you at the chairs in the hall?” The word lounge occurs to you to use, but you aren’t certain if it counts if the comfy furniture and low-set tables aren’t technically in a separate room of themselves. He nods and then slips back into Korean with his friends. You take it as your cue to finish gathering your things.

It’s cooler in the hallway. You’ll never understand why the university seems to think the classrooms can only either be uncomfortably warm or overly air-conditioned. You arrange yourself with your notebook and the course’s main textbook, already searching for extra answers in the chapter you’d only half-read the night before.

You hear Seungkwan and his friends leaving the classroom before you look up to see them. They’re laughing and (you assume) saying their goodbyes as he breaks off from the group to join you.

The two of you spend about twenty minutes going over notes and textbook chapters and doing google searches in your respective languages just to double check. At the tail end of this, Seungkwan is making notes in Hangul in the margins of his notebook while you’re busy flipping through the syllabus.

“Oh, I’m so glad the homework is just some IPA transcription,” you think out loud.

“Ah -- is it really?” Seungkwan doesn’t sound as relieved as you as he glances over at the paper in your lap. “I hate those assignments.”

“Why? It’s much easier than having to read all that theory and research.” Sure, the international phonetic alphabet had taken some getting used to, and one of the front pages of your notebook was covered in your handwritten practicing at writing the symbols out along with your notes on model words you were confident of in English for each consonant and vowel.

“I worry I don’t know how to say things correctly. Then get it wrong because of that.” He frowns only for a moment before his phone buzzes and distracts him from the conversation at hand.

“I’m happy to help if you ever want to check transcriptions together.” You doubt he’ll ever take you up on the offer. That’s been your experience with most other classroom friendships since you started school here. Friendships had mostly been found in your dorm’s common room and in extracurriculars.

“Thank you,” Seungkwan gives the standard response to such an idea, looking up from his phone with a sincere smile.

When you arrive to the next class session approximately ten minutes early, Seungkwan comes in shortly after and promptly starts asking to compare your homework. You blink with surprise for a moment before you click into action, pulling out your notebook and flipping the page where you’d completed the required transcriptions. In his evident rush to verify his work, you decide it’ll be easiest just to hand over your notes. With other students streaming you, you watch as Seungkwan glances back and forth between your work and his own.

“Ah, wait, why did you write this one with epsilon, but not schwa?” he asks, nearly slamming your notebook back onto your desk and pointing at the neatly-numbered seventh one down on your paper.

“Well… it’d be, like… wunt if you wrote it with a schwa. And it’s went,” you explain simply.

He glances over his shoulder, checking which of his friends have already arrived. “Thanks,” he says, and then he rounds on Joshua, nearly yelling something emphatically to him in Korean that has you feeling guilty even if you can’t understand a single word. An apologetic smile twitches at your lips when Joshua glances in your direction while Seungkwan is pointing at the transcriptions on his paper dramatically. As far as your aware, this is the first time Joshua has ever looked at you intentionally; the first time he’s looked at you for longer than a millisecond and it’s absolutely overwhelming to think that it’s happening because of homework corrections of all things. You divert your gaze before you get the chance to see the smile Joshua sends your way even as he’s being reprimanded.

Two weeks later, midterms are officially right around the corner. You have a study session scheduled in the library exactly fifteen minutes after your phonetics class finishes with a group of students in your semantics course. You spend probably a good part of the second-half of the lecture worrying about whether or not your classmates will able to help you with the questions you still have on the midterm material.

The moment your phonetics professor finishes going over the format of the midterm exam and announces she’s done for the day, you’re hurriedly putting your belongs back in your bag. The moment you’re about to stand up, however, a figure suddenly appears in the space you were about to step into, bocking your quick departure. You look up and find yourself at a total loss for words when Joshua is smiling down at you.

The hand holding the strap of your backpack lowers meekly as you give him a curious look. You close your mouth as soon as you realize you’re practically gaping at him.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

You nod, feeling as though the gesture must look dumb.

“Seungkwan says you’re really good at IPA and I think I’ll legitimately fail if I just using a schwa every time I can’t figure out a vowel. So, do you think you could help me study up on that?”

This is a joke. You think as much because the universe would never be so kind as to dump a beautiful boy in need right at your feet with a smile as sweet as Joshua’s. “Okay,” you answer despite the paranoid voice chiming in at the back of your mind trying to convince you that this will be a horrible mistake.

“Cool. Would the student lounge on this floor work?”

“I have to go to the library,” you snap back to your reality. “Um, now,” you add as you take a glance at your phone’s screen. Another international student has frantically texted you that he’s gotten to the library early and is already freaking out at the prospect of sustaining small talk with the quick-talking native speakers in your study group.

“Oh,” he sounds disappointed and your wistful heart is devastated at the notion. “Do you have enough time to take my number? We can text to figure out what’ll work.”

You’re in a daze through the whole exchange. Mostly because Joshua’s fingers brushed against your own as took your phone to type in his contact information. It wasn’t what you’d call sparks. More of a numbing sort of static that washed over you in a wave that left your fingers itching to be wound up with his.

“If you don’t text him I will grab your phone and message him on your behalf asking when he’s next available to spend a couple hours making out,” your closest friend scolds you in your shared mother tongue in the dining hall during lunch the next day.

You blush, and find yourself grateful - and not for the first time - that there’s no guarantee those around you can understand what you’re saying.

“I don’t think I can be alone with him. I’ll go out of my mind. My soul will escape out my stupid, open-hanging mouth and he won’t even get the help he wants.”

“There’s no way this guy is that attractive. You need some perspective, I swear.” She stabs a fork into one of the fries on her plate and then points it in your direction as another idea occurs to her. “Getting the chance to help him might help you realize he’s not some flawless being dropped down from the heavens. Nothing messes up my infatuations like hearing a guy say something  completely wrong on a basic facts level.”

“IPA is hard,” you defend, saying only the acronym alone in English.

“And you are really smart for mastering it. Be confident!” she urges. “We’ve also yet to consider that he might be asking for help from you not just for the sake of passing your phonetics midterm.”

Before you can reply you hear your name from over your shoulder. When you turn to look, you nearly drop your fork when you’re greeted with the sight of Joshua.

“Hi,” you switch into English and worry instantly that you might have food in your teeth or unflattering crumbs fallen in your lap.

“Everything go alright with your library thing?”  

“Is that him?” your friend asks, utterly shameless with the confidence that he wouldn’t be able to understand.

“It was alright,” you answer Joshua without acknowledging her.

“Oh, good.” He smiles and you’re certain your mirrored expression will give away the answer to your friend’s ignored question. “Any time to help a guy out with phonetics today?”

“Sure.” The word slips out before you think it through.

“Awesome.” His smile only flourishes. “I’m just grabbing lunch now but I’ll text you when I’m done?”

“Okay. That sounds good.” Truly, you’re astonished that you don’t stammer over your agreement.

Does my dorm work?

It had taken you a good fifteen minutes to answer that text after it first arrived from Joshua. You’d been managing a cohesive, casual conversation about when and where would work best to study up until that.  Once you’d brought yourself back to rational thought, you’d message back that it would be fine.

Which is how you’ve ended up standing outside a dormitory other than your own with a bag full of your phonetics materials and your phone in one hand as you wait nervously for Joshua to come let you into the building. He appears with a bright, appreciative smile and holds the door open for you as you come inside.

“Sorry if my room’s kinda a mess. My roommate and I keep putting off our big clean-it-all day,” he apologizes in advance as he leads you up the stairs to his floor.

His room doesn’t look that bad at all, save a few stray wrappers from snacks and bit of strewn laundry on the side of the room you quickly discover is not Joshua’s. When it’s decided that the most convenient place for you both to sit and work through the phonetic alphabet together is side-by-side on his bed, you’re grateful that the only thing that crosses your mind is how soft his duvet is.

“So… the IPA vowels?” you recall him mentioning being his point of weakness. He chuckles, and you spot a slightly embarrassed tinge to his smile. “Do you want to show me your transcriptions from class?”

Joshua hops up from the bed and brings back his notepad from class. “You’re playing teacher here, so no laughing,” he requests as he hands it over, opened up to a page full of messy IPA with corrections written in anywhere he could find space.

“You’re… obsessed with the schwa,” you conclude after about forty-five seconds of scanning the page.

“Hey! Obsessed is the wrong word,” he suggests, propping one socked foot up on the bed as he leans back on his hands, “I just default to it.”

“It’s usually not a stressed vowel,” you begin with, as you lean down to grab a pen out of your bag. With one hand holding his notebook, you resort to uncapping your pen with your teeth, holding the cap between your lips as you twirl the Bic around in your fingers to slip it onto the backend. Your preoccupation with the task means you miss the way Joshua’s gaze zeros in on your lips at the action; his own press into a thin line as he reminds himself you’re just doing something practical.

“This is an IPA chart for vowels, okay?” you speak idly as you start drawing out the arrangement of front-central-back and closed to open sounds. “And your favorite is right in the middle, mid-central. It seems like you mostly confuse it with other mid-placed vowels. But… um, both front and back placed ones.”

“You’re losing me already,” Joshua confesses with another short laugh at his own expense.

You hum lightly, drawing over a few of the phonetic symbols a second time as you try to think of how to explain it. “I usually think of an example word. One syllable. That way I know what sound for sure goes with each vowel.”

“Like, epsilon is more front than schwa,” you tap lightly at where the symbol is positioned on the chart you’d written out in his notebook. “And it sounds like in ‘bet’.” Joshua’s spine straightens up some as you beginning this explanation. You jot down your example underneath the symbol and underline the e in bet. “Then, more closed and more front is the /e/, which makes the, um… ‘ay’ sound, you know, like…”

“Bait?” he suggests. You nod, smiling encouragingly as you copy the word down, once more underlining the vowel. “Your handwriting’s nice,” he compliments as he leans in slightly to get a better look at everything you’re putting down.

“Nearby,” you carry own without expressing any kind of gratitude. His closer positioning has you feeling a bit more self-conscious. “Is the small capital i. It’s easy, like what’s in the word ‘it’, or ‘miss’, or... ‘kiss’.” He hums in understanding beside you.

“The back ones you mix up with schwa are maybe a little harder.” You tap the back of the pen against the paper; you hope Joshua won’t know it’s a sign of your nerves at his proximity. You’ve been smitten enough so far with just the look of him. You hadn’t anticipated that the smell of him would endear you all the more to him. A stay glance over towards his dresser doesn’t tell you what cologne he wears, but you’re certain he must be wearing something. No one smells this nice all on their own.

“Open-o isn’t too bad. Just, if anything makes the sound like in ‘thought’, it’s this one.” You circle the vowels in the word lightly, the ink barely leaving a mark on the page. “And then there’s the caret, which is sort of… right in the middle of schwa and open-o?” You trace the flipped v shape of the symbol. “It’s the ‘uh’ sound, as in ‘crush’.”

“I think I say it was a schwa,” he muses, watching as you write the word out.

“Crush?” you repeat, finally lifting your head to look at him.

“Crush,” he echoes more firmly. You have to admit his vowel is a bit more relaxed than when you pronounce it, making it sound closer to the schwa sound.

“I don’t know,” you surrender, fearing yourself unable to sustain eye contact without starting to blush. “You’re probably right.” You can practically hear the scolding your friend will give you for not sticking with confidence already. “You’re probably the best at English of the international kids in our class, I mean,” you reason.

“I’m from California,” he corrects you after a beat of awkward silence. You look up at him for a moment just to confirm his sincerity and proceed to shut your eyes with a grimace of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize because it feels like the only thing you can do. “I assumed because…”

“It’s okay,” Joshua cuts in gently, like he wishes this whole thing had not come up in the first place. Another aspect of the situation for you to feel guilty for. “It happens.” You are filled with dread. Just because he’s dealt with this sort of mix up before doesn’t make you feel any better for having added another tally to the instances of it.

Your mind is searching for some kind of segue into leaving, or any kind of excuse to get out of the room.

“They’re pretty close in pronunciation,” Joshua points out instead, pointing to the caret and the schwa on your vowel chart. Guilt still leaves you wordless, so you nod in agreement. “Maybe I should try a couple transcriptions with the tips you’ve given so far?” he changes the subject officially. It’s obvious he wants to move along. At this point abiding that desire seems like the only polite thing to do.

You only spend fifteen minutes more in his room, helping him through a few transcriptions with the vowels he struggles over the most. When you gather your things to leave, he offers to walk you back down to the front door of the building. You accept only because insisting he does otherwise seems like it will make things more awkward.

When your phonetics class rolls around again, you stop in your tracks at the doorway when you see the Seungkwan and Joshua have traded spots. Trying not to make your missed beat too obvious, you push yourself back into motion and slip into your usual seat.

“Hey, how’re you?” asks Joshua, eyes following you as you settle in.

“I’m okay,” you answer as you flip through to a clean page of your notepad. “Tired,” you add for a touch more honesty as you turn your head to look at him. “How are you?”

“Same, pretty much.” He shrugs. “I think I did alright on the transcriptions for today. Thanks again for helping me out with that.” You feel forgiven, or even as though he was never mad.

Throughout the entire lecture, your gaze plays a furtive version of tag with Joshua’s. Every so often you’d let your glances meet for more than a second. And these instances are accompanied with an upwards tick in Joshua’s lips every time, however fleeting the expression was before one of you would redirect your sight to the front of the room or to your notes. It feels as though each flickering glimpse at one another is tugging away at whatever chance at subtlety you ever had.

Next class, when it’s time to take the midterm exam, you sit one sit further over than usual. Putting space between you and Joshua is the only chance you’ll have at passing.

Come Thursday, when all your midterms have been completed, it’s easy to convince you to attend some party being thrown by some friend-of-a-friend in one of the suites in the more modern dormitory. You and your friends made the trek across campus with plastic water bottles filled with cheap whiskey and lemonade.

It isn’t difficult getting into the building. It takes a few moments of pounding on the front door before one of the residents passes by and is kind enough to open it for you. From there, finding the suite hosting the party is as easy as following the sound of heavy bass and loud chatter.

The suites may be bigger than a standard room, but it’s absolutely packed with students eager to let out pent-up stress from midterms. You take a large gulp from your bottle as your friends make their way further into the festivities.

Loud music keeps you from hearing Seungkwan calling your name the first time. He’s impossible to miss once he taps you on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you out before!” he exclaims the obvious.

“Me neither.” You have to shout from the volume around. “How did your exams go?”

“Ahh,” he throws his head back dramatically before putting it in clear terms, “I’m so glad they are over!” You nod an eager seconding of the sentiment. Unsure what else you can say to him, you take another drink from your bottle instead. “That doesn’t look like water,” Seungkwan comments with a grin.

“Do you want some?” you offer, “It’s lemonade and, ah… Jack Daniel’s?” You only half remember the brand name of the bottle your friend had passed you.

“Sure,” he accepts quickly; it’s likely the answer he would have given regardless of what you told him was inside the clear plastic. You hand it over and watch him grimace as he swallows a sip. “That’s strong,” he tells you as he passes it back.

“Sorry,” you laugh as you bring it back up to your own lips. “Sidenote -- is English easier to speak drunk?”

“Yes!” Seungkwan concurs, smiling so brightly that you can’t help grinning back at him. “Should we be drinking before class?” he asks facetiously.

“Probably not,” you advise through giggles you might not have had if it weren’t for the buzz of alcohol in your system.

You watch with widened eyes as another boy comes all but crashing into Seungkwan, arm looping around his shoulder and saying something energetically in Korean. You’re about to turn to go find your friends again when Seungkwan calls out for you to wait. He says something more to the newcomer which you can’t understand, though you swear you hear the name ‘Joshua’ somewhere in the middle of it. The stranger’s lips quirk into a smirk as he glances over to you.

“My name’s Jeonghan,” he introduces himself at Seungkwan’s behest. You give him your own and find that the handshake the two of you exchange feels oddly formal in this setting. “Let’s go find Shua!” he proposes immediately after, handshake turning into him leading you through the crowd unexpectedly. Seungkwan yells something at him in his first language as he tails after the two of you.

Joshua, as it turns out, is sitting playing some card game you don’t recognize in one of the bedrooms with a handful of others. He looks up from his hand with evident surprise as you three of you burst in. You find yourself caught in the middle of a conversation you have no chance to following as the three boys carry on in Korean. Jeonghan releases your hand around the same time that Seungkwan leans into your shoulder in a gesture that seems like it’s solely so he can keep his tipsy self upright.

“Sorry,” Joshua tells you just as you’re beginning to feel truly lost and a little bit paranoid about what they’re discussing. He stands up from the game in order to speak to you directly. “Jeonghan is ---”

“I’m what?” Jeonghan doesn’t let him finish, slinging an arm around Joshua much as he’d done to Seungkwan not long ago.

“It’s okay,” you intervene, utterly uncertain what’s going on but hoping nevertheless that you can take this chance to switch the conversation into English. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too.” Joshua smiles softly, and the expression shifts as soon as he glances to Seungkwan. It makes you feel like that fleeting look had been exclusively for you; that is was something quiet and meant to be kept between the two of you.

“How do you think the phonetics midterm went?” you ask, twisting the cap of your bottle back and forth idly.

“I have no idea! But could you believe one of the transcription exercises on it actually had the word ‘crush’ in it? I nearly gave up then and there,” he remarks. Up until that moment, you had forgotten about that particular part of the test. Though you had shared a similar feeling in the moment.

“How did you end up transcribing it?”

“With a caret, like you said.”

You burst with laughter and cover your eyes for a moment your free hand. “I used a schwa because of you!” you admit, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I guess we’ll find out which one’s right in the next week or so,” he laughs along with you.

You turn when you hear your name being called and send a quick wave in the boys’ direction before heading back out into the suite’s common room, where two of your friends are waiting with curious looks on their faces.

You don’t see Joshua for the rest of the night. Or rather, you don’t see Joshua again until hours later, when the bottle has long been emptied and you’ve started sobering up. You’ve switched your heels for the cloth flats you’d smartly thrown into your purse before leaving for the night and failed in convincing your friends who haven’t already left with somebody that it’s time to go.

You send a brief text that you’re leaving to the group chat to prevent any confusion before you begin your way down the staircase. It’s in the landing between floors three and four that you see Joshua again. He’s chatting with other students you don’t know, and you plan on slipping by without saying anything to him. In part because you know your hair and makeup must both be mussed up from the dancing you’d spent most the party doing.

You’re two steps down the next set of steps after passing by the group when his voice calls your name and draws you to a halt. With one hand holding the straps of your heels and the other one the handrail, you turn to face him. “Are you heading home alone?” he asks; there’s a different kind of concern in his tone than the one you’d heard from your friends.

“Yeah, it’s… less fun in there without being drunk.” The thought sounds worse out loud than it did in your head. But it makes Joshua laugh and sends you another one of those small smiles that you’ve officially decided are not good for your health with the way they make your heart flutter.

“Do you want someone to walk you?”

You don’t feel compelled to have someone go with you. You feel confident enough in the way home and lack fear in crossing campus alone at this hour from the number of times you’ve done it before. So, do you want someone to walk you? No. But do you want Joshua to go with you?

“That would be nice,” you say, smile growing in spite of yourself.

“Give me one minute to grab my stuff?” he requests. You nod. The moment he disappears, you lean back against the wall of the stairs as it dawns on you that you’ll be spending a good ten-minute walk alone with Joshua. The two of you hadn’t spent time alone since the study-session-turned-disaster.

True to his word, Joshua is coming back down the stairs before too much time passes. If he’d taken any longer, you think to yourself, you might have fled.

The awkwardness you fear will come never does. He asks you about where you’re from, about what made you want to study in the States. He’s patient when you struggle to find the exact words or syntax that you want. So much so that you’d say it doesn’t even require any patience on his part to sustain a conversation with you. You rally questions back at him and hang off every syllable of his answers.

It’s good that you both know the campus well enough that you can get away with spending most of the walk looking at one another rather than where you’re going.

He doesn’t work up the nerve to take your hand until the two of you are already at your building’s front door. The gesture keeps you from reaching into your purse for your keys. His hand sways back and forth with yours as you turn to face him with directly. “I’m sorry again, about Seungkwan and Jeonghan. They should know how frustrating it is to have people saying things you can’t understand right in front of you.”

“I’m not worried,” you try to prompt a smile back onto his features. “It would be self-centered to assume they were talking about me. I just… happened to be there.”

His head falls forward for a moment, blocking you from seeing most of the repentant look that crosses his face as he thinks of how wrong you are there. But he can’t bring himself to tell you that they were speaking almost exclusively about you.

“It’s a bit rude either way,” he tells you in place of any admissions.

You shrug and fail to find any words as Joshua lifts his eyes yours once again. There’s a shift in the atmosphere. A thin wire has been drawn between the two of you and is waiting simply for the right tug that will make the whole thing snap. You move a centimeter closer, testing just what will break the tension. The fingers laced with yours press a fraction firmer into your skin.

And then the moment is shattered by the door of your dorm digging into your back as it’s opened from the other side.  You’re jostled forward, nearly into Joshua’s chest before you catch your balance. He releases your hand in the same instant.

“Sorry,” the girl leaving the building says casually as she passes the two of you by.

Deciding it’s a sign, you take hold of the door before it can close all the way. When you turn to bid him goodnight, you find he’s taken a step closer to come inside as well. You tell yourself he’s just taking the way home all the way to your own door. It would parallel the way he’d insisted upon walking you to the front door of his dorm before.

You pull your keys out of your purse while the two of you are still going up the stairs to your floor. When you reach your door, Joshua catches you off guard as he brushes a hand against one of the cut-outs of motivational words you and your roommate had put up in honor of midterm season. “This is cute,” he remarks, scanning over the rest of the decorations on your door. You fiddle with the key in your hand and tell him it was your roommate’s idea.

“Is she in?” he asks, turning at the shoulder to face you while his hand still rests against the glossy wood of your door.

“I don’t know,” is the only honest answer you can give. “I know she went out tonight but I’m not sure where.”

“Can I come in if she’s not?” is his next question, and this one you have no idea how to decipher. So you answer nonverbally, with the ambiguous combination of a shrug and a nod at the same time.

At least, you have no clue until Joshua provides a touch of clarification in the form of a soft kiss. Your heels and keys all clatter against the hallway floor as the affection makes you drop everything. He pulls away from you with a chuckle that’s warm against your still-parted lips.

He crouches down and picks the shoes and keys up for you. “Only if it’s okay with you,” he reassures as he hands your keys back out to you.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and avert your gaze to unlock your door.

When you flick on the lights, you’re embarrassed by how relieved you are that your roommate isn’t yet home. You give him an okay sign with your fingers and wave him inside.

Joshua closes the door behind him and sets the heels he’d picked up for you down beside the door, careful that they remain upright even once he’s released his hold. You toe off your flats and set your keys down on your desk.

He catches your stare while he’s shrugging off his jacket and sends you a new smile. It isn’t soft and secret like the ones you’d been melting over before. But it sends a spark down your spine all the same. As he comes close, you find yourself immersed once more in the that unnamed, pleasant cologne of his.  

“Still okay?” he checks as his hands find their way to your hips.

“Definitely,” you respond, though your racing heart protests that it might not be okay if you end up bursting from the strange fortune midterm week has brought you this semester.

You only get a momentary glance at the smile your consent brings to his face before his kisses have you closing your eyes and surrendering to feeling.

But the chances for soaking in Joshua’s different smiles are far from over.

For instance, in about twenty minutes he’ll be smirking up at you from between your thighs and asking which IPA symbols you’d use to transcribe the first of moans he draws from your well-kissed lips.

#seventeen scenarios #joshua scenarios #seventeen imagines #hong jisoo scenarios