#growing up and sort of still there was a phone number i had memorized that has a very similar beginning to mine except | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

misscongeniality18 · 11 months

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Hi! Could you like to write something about reader and Peter where she knows him since forever and growing up they have fallen in love with eachother. Anyway at some point they split and later they meet again (maybe she is an FBI agent too and he asks for her help with Rose?). Then they argue because something dangerous happens so the truth? Thank you so much for your time!

I would absolutely love to! This idea is just *chef's kiss* but I hope you don't mind if I change and add a few things?

Still Falling For You, Part One - Peter Sutherland

Synopsis ! Peter meets another agent assigned to protect Rose, and to his surprise, it's his high school sweetheart--you. (Starts after Peter spent the night on the couch outside of Farr's office.) Pairing ! Peter Sutherland x fem!reader Genres ! Friends-to-lovers, (sort of) enemies-to-lovers Warnings ! Angst, fluff, language, violence, no use of y/n Disclaimers ! Everything I know about the FBI is from TV shows, so this might be an unintentional crossover with Criminal Minds? Idk, it just happened Word Count - 1733

" It took us a while Because we were young and unsure With love on the line What if we both would need more But all your flaws and scars are mine Still falling for you " - Still Falling For You, Ellie Goulding

Requests are still open, but please be patient! Thank you!

Masterlist Request Guide Part Two

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After making it through a car chase, managing to stay hidden through the night, and getting Rose safely to the hotel, Farr wanted to add another agent to the detail protecting her—a personal agent in the hotel room while the Secret Service remained in the lobby.

“Think of it as a gaining a partner,” she said. “This agent is coming straight from the head office. She was top of her class and is one of the best criminal profilers on the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. POTUS was close friends with her mother, so she pulled a few strings to get her to come here on special assignment.”

As he considered it, Peter supposed it would be nice to have someone with Rose while he could go back to Night Action. If something were to happen, he would need to be there to answer the phone. Rose memorizing the phone number only proved how much she was freaked out by the situation she was in. He’d stayed on the line and talked to her through the night just to reassure her that everything would be alright.

“Here she is now,” Farr said, looking over Peter’s shoulder and calling out a familiar name, and the sound of it made his skin break out in gooseflesh.

At first, Peter thought it was just a coincidence, another agent having the same name as you. But when you stepped around the corner into the foyer of Farr’s office, Peter was spiraling backwards through time to his high school days, to a time of laughter and holding hands, to sweet kisses in the rain and feverish ones underneath the bleachers. Peter was brought back to a time before his life fell to pieces.

The two of you had grown up next door to one another, quickly becoming best friends. When Peter’s mother died, your own mother offered to help Peter’s father with taking Peter to school and basketball practices, to feed him dinner when he had to work late, to help keep order in their lives. Whenever Peter wasn’t in his own home, he would be at yours, and as you grew older, you and Peter would only grow closer.

It came as no surprise when the two of you had started dating. Your parents had even hoped it would happen. You and Peter had known each other the way no one else did. And through your relationship, you had been each other’s firsts. First kiss, first love, first everything. It was epic, but even epic things can come to an end.

When you both were sixteen, Peter’s father was arrested. The two of you had tried to get his name cleared, but then Pete Sr. died, and the rumors speculated that it was either a car accident or suicide. That had been Peter’s downfall. You had tried to be there for him, but he slowly pulled away from you. He would stay home and have cereal for dinner instead of coming to your house for a home-cooked meal. He would walk to basketball practice instead of getting a ride from you on your way to cheer practice. He would stop answering your phone calls and send you to voicemail. He even stood you up on the night of your senior prom.

Eventually, you’d had enough. You walked up to his front door and rang the bell, but he hadn’t even answered. You knew he was inside. You could see him sitting on the couch.

“Peter,” you had called out. “I know you’re struggling, but you need to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t.”You thought that might stir him to move, but Peter hadn’t budged.

“Look, Pete, I don’t know if I can continue waiting for you. I don’t—“ You choked on your tears, and a few had managed to escape. “I don’t think we can be together anymore. I’m sorry.”

That was the first thing Peter thought of when he saw you again, the sound of you crying. He’d kept up with how you’d been after graduating high school through your mom’s posts on Facebook. He saw the pictures of your college years, of Spring Break trips and summer vacations that he no doubt would’ve been on if the two of you had stayed together.

When your mother died in an accident during your sophomore year of college, the posts stopped, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to look at your profile or even contact you. He’d felt horrible after how he treated you when his father died, and he didn’t want to add salt to the wound when your mother passed.

Even after ten years, you still managed to look as beautiful as you did back then, only more professional and grown up. Your face had sharper features, but your eyes were still soft and kind, reminding Peter of lazy summer afternoons laying in the sun. Oh, how he had loved looking into your eyes.

And now, he still couldn’t seem to look away.

Peter was surprised to see you, even more so as an FBI agent like him. You’d always had an interest in criminal justice, intending to become a lawyer after completing your undergrad, but Peter never would have guessed that you would turn to psychology and become a profiler. He supposed it might be useful for protecting Rose from the whackjobs who were after her.

“Peter,” you gaped, startled to be seeing him again.

He breathed your name, reminding you of the last time he sighed with your name on his lips, and the thought made you blush. You cleared your throat, your voice tightening. “How are you?”

He stared down at you, and it was frustrating that he was still freakishly tall. At least, compared to your height. “Um, I’m fine. You?”

“Fine.”

Diane Farr looked between the both of you with narrowed eyes. “Do you two know each other?”

You nodded. “We grew up together.”

“And we dated,” Peter continued, and you shot him a glare. He should not be bringing up your personal history together at the workplace.

Farr raised a brow. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No, ma’am. It won’t,” Peter assured, and he looked at you for confirmation.

You nodded. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. Why don’t you join Peter to see Rose at the hotel?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded again, trying to keep your words to a minimum, because if you were to speak, you were afraid that you would say a lot more than you intended.

Peter led you outside to the car. You started toward the driver’s side, so used to being the one who drove whenever you were in a car with Peter. However, Peter beat you to it, and you glared at him in frustration. “So you can drive now?”

The banter between you picked up as if you’d never spent any time apart, only with more anger and hostility. “Yes, I can drive.”

As you slid into the passenger seat, you studied him, seeing the change in him from the stubborn teenager to mature and suave adult he’d grown into. You also couldn’t help but notice that he’d bulked up a little, too.

You blinked, returning to your annoyed expression. “At least I don’t have to drive you around anymore.”

“You were the one who offered. You are older than me, so you got your license first.”

You glared at him. “By only four months. Besides, you kept failing, so I had to keep driving.”

“Are we really arguing about this right now?”

“You tell me.”

Peter sighed, a grin spreading across his lips. “Still as obstinate as ever.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted.

“And you still like to have the last word, good to know. I’m still wondering why you never followed through with becoming a lawyer.”

You swiveled your head to face him, your eyes narrowed and frightening. “Who said I didn’t?”

“So you’re a lawyer and an agent?”

“Double major in psychology and criminal justice, and I went to law school, so yes, I’m a lawyer and an agent.”

Peter shifted in his seat, his eyes checking the car’s mirrors every once in a while. He wasn’t sure what to say. You’d done more than he expected, and he couldn’t help but swell with pride over your accomplishments. After all this time, you were still amazing.

“What made you decide to become a profiler?” He asked, glancing in your direction before turning back to the road.

Your chest tightened, and your throat began to ache. “My mom.”

“You mean her accident?”

You clasped your hands together in your lap, head lowered. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“What?”

The car jerked as Peter spun to face you. You grabbed the ‘oh shit’ handle as you cried, “Watch it, Peter!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, correcting himself and the vehicle. “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?”

You sighed, leaning back in your seat. “She was killed in a bank robbery. Two unsubs, a classic case of a dominant and submissive. She tried to talk one of them down, but he shot her instead. She talked to the submissive, who would’ve done anything for the dominant’s approval—“

You caught sight of Peter staring at you as he pulled up to the hotel and put the car into park. “I studied the security camera’s footage after I joined the BAU. I won’t go into the technical details to bother you, but my boss wasn’t happy that I was looking into cases without permission. He let it slide though, as long as I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

Peter grinned at you, the same mischievous smile that would make your heart flutter when you were younger. “Still have that rebellious streak, huh?”

You refused to let the blush form on your cheeks, but you still bit your lip in embarrassment.

Peter noticed that little action, and it still drove him crazy. He cleared his throat, taking the keys out of the ignition. “Are you ready to meet Rose?”

You nodded. “What’s she like?”

Peter smiled again, and the butterflies filled you once again. “For as well as I know you, I have a feeling that the two of you would be nothing but twin pains in my ass.”

You quirked your lips in a smirk. “There is nothing I would enjoy more.”

Yeah, I rolled with this idea and didn't want to make it too long, so it's going to need a part two.

#the night agent #peter sutherland #peter sutherland fanfic #peter sutherland x reader #peter sutherland x you #fanfic

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fknmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

Come in From the Storm

Warnings: smut (minors DNI pls thx), swears, drinking bourbon straight from the bottle

A/N: be gentle, I haven’t written smut in months

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The first time you think you’ll marry Rhett Abbott is the first time you see him hold a baby - the day Amy comes home from the hospital. You’re just kids, still in high school, but the way her tiny little body fits in just one of his long, lanky arms, her head resting snugly in the palm of his hand, the way he smiles down at her and coos sweet little nothings… It’s a given fact, written in stone on your naive little heart, that you’ll grow up and raise a family with this boy.

Of course, young love is a fragile and fickle thing, and barely two years later you’re leaving for Chicago for college, leaving Rhett to take out his broken heart on anyone with a warm body and a “yes”. The breakup is ugly, it’s loud, it leaves tiny bruises around your eyes where you cried so hard you puked; but your mama hides the garbage bags of memories you try to throw out, tucks them away in the attic for maybe when they’re older they’ll come back to each other.

Rhett Abbott calls you once during rush week when he’s shithouse drunk, and then he doesn’t speak to you for six years.

You never meant to stay away so long. You always meant to come home after graduation, to open your own firm and give back to the place that raised you. But Chicago has a job for you, a job that comes with six figures and a corporate black card, and your daddy says you’d be insane to turn it down, that you’d do better to work for someone else for a few years before striking out on your own. Wabang isn’t going anywhere.

When you return, it’s almost for his funeral. He’s worked too hard for too long, and now it’s time for you to help him let go of the ranch that’s been his whole life. You can’t manage it, you never intended to, but you’ll be damned if the Tillersons are going to swoop in and steal it for a fraction of what it’s worth. So while the realtors and the lawyers sort out what’s worth what to who, you move him and your mama into a cozy little two bedroom in town. It’s close to the office that now has your name on the door, tiny and nothing at all like Chicago, but it’s yours.

Every Tuesday you drive out to the ranch to check on the place. Not that you need to. Your parents’ employees love it like it’s their own, and you hope whoever buys it will keep them on. They’ll probably tear down the farmhouse, though. It’s fine. The floors creak and too many of the boards are tripping hazards, the wallpaper hasn’t been refreshed since Reagan, the plumbing is a goddamned nightmare. Still. You’ll miss it.

You’re checking the flue in the downstairs fireplace when footsteps echo through the empty house, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You recognize his walk, would know the sound of his boots anywhere.

“Hey.”

Your stomach falls through the floor. He’s leaning in the doorway between you and the kitchen, hat on, feet crossed, tall. Handsome.

“You ok?”

You blink, give your head a little shake. “Yeah, just…. surprised.”

“I woulda called, but I… got a new phone awhile back, lost all the numbers.”

“Oh.” You’ve had the same cell phone number since you were fifteen, and he memorized yours before his own.

“Yeah.” He looks down at the floor, toeing at an imaginary spot on the wood. His hair’s a lot longer than it used to be. “So you’re really selling, huh?”

“Yeah.” You’ve held your own in front of billionaire CEOs and a former prime minister, but apparently Rhett Abbott can still leave you speechless. Your breakfast is threatening to come back up.

He clears his throat, twice. “Got any buyers?”

“I, uh… I don’t know, there’s a team of lawyers and… stuff… handling it.”

He nods, his mouth a thin line, and there’s a few moments of silence before he shifts away from the door frame. “I gotta get back. S’good to see you.” He’s gone before you find your voice again.

Three days later, the realtor sends you an offer. The Abbotts - Cici and Royal - want the land, and will meet asking price on a single condition - that Rhett buys the house plus three acres around it.

“What does that boy want with the house?” Your father has to ask you twice. You’re reading over the email for the fifth time.

“I don’t know.”

Rhett answers your call on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Meet me at the house.” You don’t even bother to change into real clothes, something you regret when the cool air of the evening hits your thin t-shirt and lounge shorts.

He’s waiting for you on the porch swing, the one the two of you helped your parents hang ten years ago. The storm clouds rolling in the distance are menacing but far enough away, for now. There’s a bottle of bourbon on the railing.

“Guess you got the offer.”

“What the fuck, Rhett?”

He shrugs. “Mom and Dad need the land. I need to move out.”

“Into my house?”

“Your house?” He leans back into the swing, arm draped over the back. “Yours? You haven’t been home in ten years.”

“Six,” you correct him sharply. The sudden anger is warm in your chest.

“Somehow feels longer.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Or maybe not long enough.”

“How the hell can you even afford…”

His smile fades, eyes narrow, and you leave the sentence unfinished. “Why do you care?”

You don’t know. There’s no logical reason to be upset. The Abbotts are offering ample money. Rhett can’t live at home forever. But to move here, into a house full of memories of a future that never came to be…

“Have a drink with me.” He rises from the swing and grabs the bottle. You mean to refuse, but a clap of thunder startles you; when you turn to look, the storm has moved in much faster than you anticipated.

You find him opening cabinet doors, searching for cups. “We moved everything out.” It doesn’t phase him. He just unscrews the cap and takes a drink, offering the bottle to you from where he leans against the counter. He splurged on the good stuff.

Maybe you shouldn’t be perched on the counter sharing a bottle in your empty kitchen, but the wind has whipped up and the sudden downpour isn’t letting you leave any time soon, and after a few pulls from the bottle both of your tongues are a little looser.

“So. Big city girl returns home, then?”

You set the bourbon just out of his reach. “Yep.” He’s looking everywhere but at you.

“Surprised you remember your way around a stick shift,” he nods out the window towards your father’s truck, and you roll your eyes at the implication. “Can take the girl off the ranch but not the ranch out of the girl, I guess.”

You stay quiet, willing the storm to blow on by so you can get the hell out of here.

“Surprised to see you in boots, too, not really the image you aim for anymore is it?”

“Shut the fuck up, Rhett.”

He chuckles, leans over your body to grab the bourbon, and the smell of him makes your belly clench and your eyelashes flutter. “Still a mouth on her, at least.” He tips the bottle near upside down, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand when he’s done. “Some things never change.”

“Like you’d notice if I did,” you mutter, grabbing for the bottle. “Haven’t even seen me for six years, and-”

He grabs suddenly at your jaw, pushes himself between your legs with a hard look of fury. The bourbon crashes to the floor, glass shattering, but neither of you pay it any mind. “And who’s fuckin’ fault is that, huh?”

You return his glare, centimeters from his face. “I asked you to come with me.”

His laugh is dark, bitter. “Yeah. Bring your dumb hick high school boyfriend to sit around your high rise while you…” He trails off.

“While I what?” You push at him, forcing him a whole two inches back. His hand releases your jaw. “Make something of myself?” It’s your turn to be furious. “I paid cash for a whole fucking house for my parents, I’ve been all over the fucking world, and you’re still just-” A sob catches in your throat.

“Still what?” The storm outside is no match for the one in his eyes. “A dumb hick?”

“One of us had to do something with our lives, one of us had to get out of here.” A tear spills down your cheek; you always cry when you’re mad, dammit, but the sight of you crying has never been something Rhett Abbott can bear. His face softens, and he wipes at your face with his calloused thumb.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice strains against the sob still threatening to break out of you. “You’re not… I didn’t mean you’re…” You swallow at the lump in your throat. “You didn’t even call me, Rhett.”

You see the moment his heart breaks, the wobble of his lips before he presses them to yours, forceful but unbearably tender, too. He tastes of the bourbon and the faintest hint of tobacco. Your hands rise instinctively to tangle in his hair and keep his mouth on yours, for even as he parts his lips to deepen this kiss you’re terrified he’ll pull away.

His arms circle themselves around you to pull your bodies tight together; he’s stronger, broader, harder than you remember. You slide your hands down his neck, over his shoulders, up to his face, frantic to be as close to him as you can, and when you have to lean away for a gasping breath he attacks your neck with desperate kisses, returning your soft moans with his deeper grunts.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters in between kisses. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The hard, stiff fabric of his jeans is rough against the flimsy fabric of your shorts, but you meet the rocking of his hips with your own and that delicious friction is almost enough to make you come.

“I missed you,” you whimper, your voice finally cracking as the tears start to flow. “I missed you so much for so long…” He trails his lips over your jaw and across your cheeks, his hands coming to cup your face as he again licks into your mouth.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he grunts, and it makes you laugh even as you cry. He lowers a hand between you, shoves it past your waistband and into your panties where he drags a knuckle through the gathering wetness. “Fuck,” he grunts again, rolling that same knuckle over your clit and returning his mouth to your neck when you let your head fall back with a gasp. There’s a molten heat blooming in your belly, a tension coiling itself at the touch of just his fingers. The boy you left behind was enthusiastic but awkward, unpracticed; this is a man who knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“More,” you beg, the steady circling of his finger growing tortuous as that tension coils tighter. “M-more, Rhett.”

He growls before he rips at your shorts, tearing them down your legs and whipping them across the room with your panties while you grab at the button of his jeans, silently thankful he hasn’t worn one of his stupid belt buckles that do nothing but get in the way. He almost pulls you off the counter when he jerks you forward, but pins you in place with one hand while the other finishes pushing away his jeans and boxers; you get a brief glimpse of his erection before he’s too close for you to see, one hand firmly at your hip as he fists himself in his other, lining himself up with you.

Your eyes meet and suddenly he’s softer, slower, another kiss to your mouth when he parts your lips with the head of his cock and slips himself inside of you, fingers tightening on your hip when you let out a breathy moan. He’s bigger.

“Oh my god.” His forehead drops into the curve of your neck. Your legs burn with the effort of this position, but the sweeter burn of his girth is the only thing you can focus on. “Oh my god,” he repeats when he slowly pulls out and buries himself again, pushing another gasp from your chest. He takes his time, wetting his finger with his tongue to again draw circles over your clit while he pumps leisurely in and out of you, lifting his head to watch your face as that tension coils ever tighter. Outside, the storm rages.

He feels himself move more freely within you and his thrusts get faster, harder, grunting with every one. “Rhett,” you whine. “Oh god, oh god, baby, it’s… Rhett, fuck, I…”

“So good, so fucking good,” he says. The pressure on your clit is making your toes curl, ankles locked around him. “Fucking belong here, with me-” His breath hitches when you clench around him, his hips stuttering but his finger on your clit never loses its rhythm. “So good,” he repeats himself, “always so fucking good and mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Fuck, yes, it’s- I’m-fuck, Rhett, fuck!” Those blue eyes are laser focused on you as you struggle to hold his gaze before your orgasm bursts through you and you fall back, scrambling for grip on the smooth counter as you roll your body against his, curses and moans and his name spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it til he comes with an explosive grunt, lifting you nearly off the counter and into his arms. The subtle rut of his hips is the only thing that moves then, the two of you wrapped up like if you hold each other tight enough it will hold back all the years of hurt.

A piercing crack of lightening makes you jerk in fear, the motion causing him to slip out of you, but his arms are steady around you, his face buried firmly in your neck. He speaks, but you can’t make it out over the thunder.

“I said it was supposed to be ours,” he says, rising to rest his forehead against yours. “I thought if I bought it, the house, you would stay. With me.”

That’s ridiculous, you think to yourself, but he looks so sad. “Rhett.” Your voice is soft, tired. “I already came home.”

“To Wyoming, yeah, but…” He works at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I always thought we would end up here, in this house, raising a couple kids, getting old. And then…”

“I left.” The words hang between you.

“Yeah.”

“I wanted you to come with me.” The words are a pitiful excuse. Rhett Abbott does not belong in Chicago.

“I wanted to go.”

The both of you are holding back tears, but this conversation happens now or it never happens.

“One phone call. Six years, you call me one time?”

He looks ashamed of himself. “First it hurt too much. It never quit hurting, but after awhile I was more afraid of hearing you were fine without me.” He sniffs, clears his throat. “I missed you so hard, it would’ve killed me to hear that you didn’t.”

You tighten your arms around his shoulders and bring your lips to his ear. “I’ve loved you since I was thirteen years old.” It’s his turn to choke down a sob. You lean away to look him in the eye. “But I had to go. You have to understand that, you know I’m not a rancher.”

He nods. “I know.” You stroke your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his eyes close as he leans into you. “I’m not asking you to be. Just… if we could, maybe, think about it. Us, here. I make good money on the circuit, and working for dad, I can take care of us, you can work as much or as little as you want.”

“Got it all planned out, do you?”

“Since I was sixteen.” His smile is crooked, sure of himself again. He grazes his fingertips over your arm that’s still hooked around his neck. “Is that still what you want? A life together?”

You lean up to kiss his cheek. “We’ve been a part a long time. Don’t you think we should get to know each other again again?” On the outside you’re level headed, on the inside you’re screaming move me in tomorrow and let’s start making babies.

“That would be the rational, intelligent thing to do, yes,” he says. “But why should I start making rational decisions now?” He grins down at you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your reply is quick, and it widens his grin. “Let me get my parents settled. Get my office up and running. Take me on a date, let me see if I still like you with your pants on.” You pinch at the wet spot on the hem of his shirt, the both of you giggling. “But yes. Yes, I still want a life with you, Rhett Abbott.”

He leans in for a soft, sinful kiss, and the heat in your belly blooms again. The storm will rage for hours more, but you’ll pass the time just fine.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbot smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #your honor i just love an awkward cowboy

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haehaeming · 3 years

Text

100 random facts about SJ members that may or may not help you with your FF

Or if you’re just... bored

1. Eunhyuk doesn’t like finger prints on screens, glasses, etc... It’s a little thing I find cute

2. Kyuhyun was a fan of SJ’s music before debuting with them

3. Leeteuk knows what ‘daddy’ means in a sexual context

4. Leeteuk also understands the concept of a sugar parent, but it was not a positive experience for him. It’s possible other members also understand this concept.

5. Kyuhyun likes men and women

6. Yesung writes his own music

7. Leeteuk has many unreleased songs

8. Eunhyuk has difficulty with his emotions in a general sense, so he’s thankful SJ understand him

9. When Kyuhyun was a teenager, he has to rebel against his fathers wishes to debut as a singer.

10. Kyuhyun dated many girls as a teenager, but only kissed one

11. Sungmin and Kyuhyun have the highest amount of testosterone among SJ members. This was public information a long time ago, though, and alcohol consumption has probably lowered the number a little over time.

12. Sungmin and Kyuhyun share a love of wine

13. Ryeowook is an affectionate drunk

14. Leeteuk is a Leo Venus which means he’s very annoying (read: passionate) in his relationships (This fact was corrected by @fanbynature , it originally said Heechul was a Leo Venus too but he’s actually a Leo Virgo, bonus fact!!)

15. Donghae thinks Eunhyuks lips look best in the morning.

16. Eunhyuk understands the concept of drag.

17. Yesung is very talkative but only when you’re close to him

18. Yesung would kiss SJ good morning back in the dorm days

19. Kyuhyun shows love through acts of service

20. Yesung shows love through quality time

21. Leeteuk is a huge flirt, any fan who met him more personally will tell you

22. As far as we know, Yesung used to collect all sorts of jewellery.

23. Ryeowook and Leeteuk are into cute things (phone cases with cute characters, charms, etc)

24. It’s said Yesung and Sungmin will sleep the least amount of time, but Ryeowook will sleep the most

25. Sungmin and Leeteuk share a moon phase (Waning Gibbous)

26. Back in the dorm, Donghae would also wake his members with affection, but no kisses.

27. Donghae lost his first love because he was too clingy.

28. Kyuhyun and Leeteuk were consider ‘mom’s friend’s kids’ in their school days because they excelled in everything they did. Like the scold ‘why can’t you be more like my friends kid’

29. Kyuhyun has a HUGE fanboy past. Now he can barely use the Internet without making it clear he’s old.

30. Shindong doesn’t like to be clothed at night or in the summer. He takes off his clothes unconsciously

31. Donghae was entrusted to Leeteuk by Donghae’s father

32. Donghae keeps his habits from the dorm days around Leeteuk even now. When he and Leeteuk would share a room, Donghae would cuddle Leeteuk. Even now, when they share a room to sleep, Donghae sings to Leeteuk to try and lull him to sleep.

33. Kyuhyuns relationship with Donghae has been a little bit confusing for him, but recently he said Donghae is like SJs son

34. Yesung’s favourite song is ‘I’ll Make Love To You’

35. Sungmin is the only introvert in SJ

36. Kyuhyun, Leeteuk and Sungmin are open to book recommendations at all times

37. Because of Koreas age system, Yesung and Sungmin are basically the same age.

38. Sungmin technically ages 2 times on his birthday.

39. Teenage Leeteuk celebrated little milestones in relationships like ‘100 days anniversary’

40. Leeteuk would rather be called his stage name than his given name.

41. DBSJ* worked with a ghost in the recording studio, according to Sungmin

42. Donghae and Eunhyuk share a love of strawberries

43. Kyuhyun does not like to be called with pet names

44. Yesung has always shown interest in Canada for whatever reason

45. Ryeowook played the triangle in his school band. Literally

46. Yesung, Donghae and Leeteuk don’t drink.

47. Leeteuk and Kyuhyun love the colour white

48. Sometimes, Kyuhyun unwinds by solving math problems

49. Kyuhyun cited himself in his college thesis on K-pop’s popularity.

50. Leeteuk is taller than Sungmin. It’s more drastic than you think

51. Donghae and Sungmin have both been deemed as ‘naturally cute’, but oddly enough, Sungmin has said he doesn’t act cute anymore. Donghae hasn’t changed in terms of cuteness once

52. Donghae is very fond of dogs. Kyuhyun and Ryeowook are not

53. Sungmin and Eunhyuk were the closest friends predebut. They would take the bus to SM together and make sure nobody else sat next to them. There’s a picture somewhere online of a predebut Sungmin resting his head on Eunhyuk during one of those bus rides

54. Leeteuk didn’t have many friends when he was younger. Leeteuk still thinks he doesn’t have many friends.

55. Donghae and Sungmin share forgetfulness.

56. Leeteuk and Heechul became friends easily because they’re the same age and look out for each other. Also because if Leeteuk was busy or resting, Heechul would be the oldest and have authority over the young SJ for him.

57. Leeteuk and Kyuhyun taught themselves how to cook. Ryeowook and Sungmin were good at it from the beginning

58. Leeteuk wanted to become an idol because of 90s kpop groups looking super cool. He wanted some of that for himself and now I think he’s one of the coolest people ever

59. Leeteuk smokes

60. Sungmin used to sleep in a pink nightgown. Even now, he doesn’t let the fact go, but he says it’s embarrassing

61. Predebut Eunhyuk stole a Shinhwa CD from SM to impress a girl

62. Leeteuks waist size is 26 inches. The ideal size for women in the west

63. Leeteuk entered to win special edition Nike shoes 100 times total. He won

64. When a younger Sungmin was frustrated, he would vent online. Similar to how Leeteuk would when he was younger

65. Sungmin recently said men ask him for his number when he goes out

66. As far as we know, Yesung used to worry about whether or not he would live to grow old :(

67. Donghae has always had a love of poetry

68. Kyuhyun’s originally near-sighted

69. Both Yesung and Leeteuk struggle to define their relationships with others

70. Yesung doesn’t smile a lot when cameras aren’t on him

71. Eunhyuk doesn’t like seafood. Donghae does.

72. Donghae doesn’t like sweets. Eunhyuk does

73. Sungmin was the first member to open his YT channel back in 2018.

74. Ryeowook is said to be a heavy drinker

75. Leeteuk finds peace in the rain

76. Kyuhyun is said to have one of the biggest hearts in SJ, alongside Leeteuk

77. Eunhyuk first appeared publicly in 1992 on a TV show by complete accident. It made him happy

78. In order to sleep in a new location, Donghae sleeps best if there’s something near him that reminds him of home. This is an old fact holds up today, Donghae often sleeps close to his members

79. Predebut, Eunhyuk and Junsu purposefully tried to make Donghae cry

80. Every roommate Donghae has had, he has had multiple complaints about all of them

81. Yesung bought a turtle a long time ago because he felt bored without a pet. Even after buying the turtle, he was still bored

82. Eunhyuk is constantly getting ‘friend zoned’ by Donghae. It’s mostly Donghae who calls them as friends, Eunhyuk got a million other words

83. Sungmin studies English and music every day.

84. Leeteuk loves to learn and is always studying something new as well

85. In high school, Leeteuk studied German

86. ‘Don’t give up’ was Sungmin’s motto in elementary school

87. Leeteuk and Sungmin are big Na Hoon Ah fans

88. When Donghae was in elementary school, he was taller than his classmates and even had a nickname relating to how tall he was

89. Sungmin is still mistaken for his 20s

90. Sungmin loves to eat, he talks about food a lot, but still diets strictly as a couple with his Saeun~

91. Eunhyuk is clumsy

92. Leeteuk is very different off camera, but he’s always aware of hidden cameras, so it’s impossible to catch him ‘normally’.

93. Leeteuk and Yesung curse like sailors

94. Kyuhyun and Shindong share great memorization skills

95. Donghae doesn’t like to eat alone

96. Yesung is the only Virgo in SJ. Kyuhyun is the only Aquarius.

97. Leeteuk finds some men to be cute. Particularly men with beards (in terms of dating)

98. Sungmin wants to record music in English for his international fans

99. Sungmin and Leeteuk both have a fan they consider a friend

100. Eunhyuk loves to be in Japan

#super junior #suju #eunhyuk #donghae #yesung #kyuhyun #shindong #ryeowook #leeteuk #sungmin #heechul #🖤 idiot

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

In With The New, Out With The Old

Hotch packing Jack up for college

None of it feels real.

For two years after he and Haley divorced he lived in an apartment of boxes. It was some sort of punishment he created for himself while also creating a dissonance he could be lost in -- that he didn’t need to unpack just in case. He had his suits in the closet, his work would not take the fall for his personal life’s failings. The coffee maker sat on the counter, one of the only appliances hooked into a light socket. The necessities followed -- two mugs for coffee, a glass tumbler for the whiskey sitting on the counter, and one plate for when he ordered take-out he couldn’t just eat out of the box.

It had taken him months to buy a mattress, he was perfectly miserable sleeping on the couch. He had only taken Jack to the apartment once, needing to switch into more park-appropriate clothing. Between them, he and Haley agreed that the best thing for Jack was consistency so he would spend all day with Hotch but he would always go home to Haley. He knew this could be used against him in court, Haley could take Jack from his so easily it terrified him but he also knew he’d let her. He was more powerful, he had more strings to pull and more people on his side but the thought of getting on the stand and having his friends call her a bad mother made him feel even worse. So he knew that if it came down to it, he would let Haley have Jack rather put either of them that sort of grueling case.

This was a shared thought between them. Both are aware of the other’s power over the other. Neither will act on their own.

He had only bought a mattress because of New York. Limping home he’d sunk down into his old faithful couch only to wake up the next morning with achingly stiff sutures in his leg and his face stuck to a throw pillow, the blood drying like glue. He had to call Emily and Derek that afternoon. Unable to drive himself with his concussion and consequential blurred vision Emily had come over to pick him up, never said a word about what he’d been sleeping on in the months before. Neither did Derek when Hotch got too dizzy coming up the stairs, the stitches in his leg bleeding through his jeans and so pale Emily had to hold him upright to get him to the bench in the lobby. He was left there, listening to Derek and Emily bicker their way into forcing the mattress into the apartment through the pounding sound of blood rushing in his ears.

That was years ago and yet they’ve created its mirror image once again in his living room.

All of Jack’s belongings in boxes spread out in every room of the house. Packing up to leave.

“Art?” Emily mumbles disapprovingly. She’s knelt down in front of Jack’s bookshelf, dismantling the organized shelves to pack them into boxes. It’s a different method than the one that Hotch uses. Jack has them categorized by author and general theme and as Emily takes down all the books she’s gotten him about cults and psychology and crime she can’t help but feel a little cheated. Jack knows all about crime. He’s had Macdonald’s Triad memorized since he was five -- could give that method of thought its critical analysis as not a precursor to antisocial or serial killer behavior but more as a demonstration of a child’s poor coping skills or as the indicator of a dysfunctional home environment. He’s a well of information about cults, knows the “B.I.T.E.” system.

And he’s throwing all that away because Hotch took him to too many museums as a child?

Jack doesn’t say anything when he hears her grumble about art again, he’s had this conversation so many times. He knows she’s not really mad and she’s not even that irked but she needs to do something with the feelings she has about him leaving and this is just the best way she’s come up with. Better than crying -- which she’s also done far too much of.

“I think art is a great idea, kid.” Derek teases his hair as he passes, sweaty and hot from dragging Jack’s belongings around the place.

Hotch works slowly where he’s been assigned. They all work around him. He’s more freelance than the others. His job is to do what he can and leave the rest for someone else. Today his physical capabilities are not in the way. Derek does all the heavy lifting that Hotch knows is supposed to be assigned to him, it’s his duty as the father of the freshman moving away. He finds himself in the living room, one of Haley’s old photo albums on his lap. Thumbing pictures he can remember going with Haley to print. Pictures he can remember being in. Ones that he took.

He’s crying again.

Emily comes out with a box of books on her hip, having figured out the perfect ratio of books to box to prevent them from falling out the bottom. She sees Hotch wiping his face with a tissue, hiding away but unable to fully pull away right now. The hurt raw. The fear is too much.

The second that Hotch got the chance he left home and never came back. Over the years he returned to his hometown only when he had to -- when Haley’s parents couldn’t be convinced to come to see them. It didn’t matter how down bad he was, Hotch did it on his own. When his mother died when he was thirty he’d talked to her only once since moving out. Then it had only been for the benefit of Sean, who he had driven all the back to Virginia to collect and drove to college.

He fears Jack will do the same and it terrifies him in so many ways.

His own death will come quickly, he knows he’s only made it this long because he’s not alone. Without Jack, there’s no reason to keep going on, not with the way his body aches from years of abuse and neglect. More than that, he knows what growing up that fast did to him. As a child, the things that happen to you are out of your control. Children are sponges, not yet able to take control and mold themselves. So their reactions to abuse and neglect and even just trivial everyday things are but a reaction they are taught to form or never corrected on. But Hotch never corrected his behaviors as a young adult. He couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone, not at twenty, or thirty, and still at forty.

He spent his twentieth birthday on the side of the highway in a broken down car freezing his ass off with negative twenty-three cents in his bank account. No one to call because he couldn’t bring himself to believe anyone would come -- but Haley would have, or Jessica, or the sociology professor who gave him his number for emergencies or “just anything you can think of, just in case you need me”.

He doesn’t wish anything like that on Jack.

The cycle of self-destruction and fear and loathing.

But Jack knows how to form healthy relationships with people. He’s more worried about Hotch.

The car ride is nearly silent.

Jack cranks his window down and lays his head on the seal, lets the wind blow his hair back from his skin, and closes his eyes. There’s no air conditioning but it’s not that bad. The air has cooled off, the thunderstorms taking over the area sucking the humidity from the air as the wind picks up. It’ll get bad again in a day or so but today is nice and Jack wants to enjoy it. To sit contently with his dad and just try to soak it in before he’s thrown into the world of college.

Emily had promised him several times she’d make sure that Hotch didn’t turn himself into a hermit. Jack has grown up watching those two spar off so he knows she’s perfectly capable of getting Hotch out of the house. More than that, Jack knows he’s just going to miss his dad.

“Please--” Jack’s in the middle of trying to reorganize his stuff when he sees Hotch come in with one of the big boxes, one of the heavy ones. “Dad!” Jack takes it from him, not listening to Hotch’s complaint about being able to carry a few boxes. That he won’t break that easily. “Please, just leave the heavy stuff to Emily and Derek. Help me put my clothes away? Please?”

He nearly cries again folding Jack’s t-shirts away. Once upon a time, Jack’s shirts were about the size of his hand. Tiny delicate little things about the size of rags. Now he’s wearing the same size as Hotch, a grown man standing there racing to beat Emily to the heavy stuff because he doesn’t want her lifting it all either.

“Well,” Derek announces, setting the minifridge down, “that’s the last of it.”

Emily offers Hotch her hand and he takes it, grunting as he moves his body back upright.

“Well,” he declares, looking around the room. “We’ll leave you to it. Let you get everything sorted out how you like.” Hotch smiles and Emily and Derek step in to take their hugs, imparting half-wise ideas and a no-questions-asked ride home from anywhere.

“I love you,” Hotch says, he’s quick because he knows he can’t keep his composure if he stays here for too much longer. “I’ll send you care packages, you’ll just have to text me if you think of something I don’t send.”

Jack nods, pretending to make himself busy putting away the rest of his clothes. Trying to downplay his own feelings.

“Ok.”

Hotch nods and they leave, he doesn’t want to make a scene. They’ve hugged and Jack needs to unpack. He’s done. He’s only two doors away when he hears Jack’s door gets thrown open.

“Dad!” Hotch turns and stumbles, an armful of the little boy who was once the size of his forearm. He squeezes Jack tight, laughing through his tears when Jack holds on. “I love you too.”

Hotch holds him for a solid minute, just balanced there with his hand on the back of Jack’s head. “Alright,” he whispers. He sniffles a little, smiling as he cups Jack’s cheek wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m just a phone call away, okay? Any time of the night, you know where I am. You’ll be fine. You’re going to make mistakes and you’re going to fail tests and cry over boys and drink too much but you’ll be okay. And-- And if you’re not…”

Jack nods, smiling as he says, “I’ll call Emily.”

Hotch smirks, “well.. After a certain hour, yeah I suppose you’ll have to but yeah. Just call, okay?”

“I’ll call.”

Hotch nods and he has to force himself to let go and walk away. To let Jack do this.

They’re halfway down the hall, far enough away now that Jack won’t see or hear when Hotch starts to cry. He forces himself to keep going. Not to look back. Emily takes his hand, squeezes his fingers and he looks over at her tears in his eyes, and tries to smile.

Emily drives his truck home, she plans on feeding him chocolate and ice cream, and wine this afternoon to improve his mood. He gets a text and he smirks, he actually laughs.

“Let me know when you get home, old man. Tell Emily not to keep you out too late.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction

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chaoticminhos · 4 years

Text

coughing up the butterflies that died in my stomach when you broke my heart

--”It was draining, he thought, pretending to love you.”

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: mafia au, angst, fluff, smut

warnings: death, guns, chan’s kind of an asshole

word count: 9.7k

a/n: this is the longest shit i’ve written to date n i’m kinda super really proud of it, also sorry for the total fall out boy move i pulled with the title hhh i just like it a lots

you let out a content sigh as your boyfriend trailed his lips along your neck, biting down lightly and sucking on a sweet spot he knew by heart by now. he pulled away and admired his work before capturing your lips with his, pressing your hips down against his growing bulge and making an attempt to deepen the kiss. you pulled away from him with a giggle.

“hyunjin, i really have to go. i promised my dad i’d be up early to help him with some work stuff tomorrow.”

he pouted, “what do you even have to do? why can’t he do it himself?”

you laughed at your boyfriends clingy behavior, “i’m supposed to talk to some girls he’s considering hiring. says i’m less threatening than a tall, scary-looking old man.”

“what’s he hiring for?”

you sighed, he always did this. whenever the topic of your fathers business came up, he could never let it go.

“hyunjin.”

“what?” he tossed a hand in the air, keeping the other delicately on your waist, “is it so bad that i’m curious what my girlfriend does for a living?”

you sighed as he continued.

“i mean, we’ve been together for months and i still know basically nothing about your family business,” he let out a small laugh, “i’m starting to think it’s something illegal.”

you scoffed, smiling down at your boyfriend.

“baby, it’s not illegal, it’s just... private.”

“sounds pretty sketchy to me.”

you brought your lips to his again, smiling against them as you lifted yourself off of his lap with a giggle. he reached out to you with a pout on his face as you distanced yourself from him.

“baby, no, stay a little longer.”

you laughed, tossing your phone into your bag with the rest of your things and putting on your shoes.

“i would if i could, jinnie.”

the pout remained on his lips until you made your way back to him and gave him a last kiss before leaving for the night.

“i love you.”

“love you too.” he smiled up at you from his position on the couch.

the smile left his features the second the door shut behind you, sinking deeper into his couch with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, and pulling out his phone to dial his bosses number to give his daily update.

it was draining, he thought, pretending to love you.

the phone rang a couple times before it was picked up, his bosses voice on the other end.

“anything new?”

“no, chan.” he ran a hand across his face, “same as the last five months. she still won’t tell me anything.” he sat up, “and she’s never going to. can’t we just accept that this mission failed and find another way to compromise the park mafia?”

“she’ll crack or slip up eventually, hyunjin. she loves you.”

hyunjin let out an exaggerated sigh before ending the call, “who doesn’t?”

he gathered his own things and stepped outside of the apartment, locking the door behind him. although his gang owned the place and he could stay there if he wanted to, he much rather preferred the mansion with the 8 other boys. they’d only bought this small apartment for the sake of his current mission, you’d obviously know something was up if he took you to a huge mansion.

no, to you, he lived in a small, mediocre apartment that had a creaky floor and annoying neighbors. to you, he worked as a teachers assistant for the college the both of you were attending and that’s how he got his money.

it was partially true, he did attend the same university as you. you were a freshman and he was in his sophomore year. he didn’t work as a teachers assistant, though. chan provided all the money he needed to keep afloat so he had no reason to work a regular job. to be fair, dating you was kind of like his job.

he was majoring in business, just like you were. that’s how he made himself present in your life, sharing so many classes with you.

a few weeks into the first semester of your freshman year you ran into someone while on your way to class, bumping right into the chest of one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen. you later learned his name to be hwang hyunjin.

“oh, i’m sorry!” you squeaked before looking up to see who you’d accidentally crashed into.

“it’s okay, that was totally my fault.” he reached his hand out to you with a big smile, “i’m hyunjin.”

you hesitantly took his hand, face flushing as your skin came into contact with his, “y/n.”

“where are you headed, y/n?”

“i have a business lecture soon.”

“really? so do i! let’s walk together.”

you awkwardly agreed. there wasn’t any way for you to get out of it, not that you really wanted to. despite your shy behavior at first, he kept a good conversation going as he walked you to class. you told him that you were majoring in business to help out with your family business and he told you that the only thing that stressed him out more than classes was his dog.

he offered a small wave when you two split as you entered the classroom.

you sat in your usual spot and glanced to see where he was seated. how had you never noticed him before? sure, the class was huge and there were a bunch of people but you were sure you would have noticed someone like him before. now that you had noticed him, though, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.

you recognized some of the boys he sat with. jeongin was a freshman just like you, so you had met him during the freshman introductory meetings and all the ‘student bonding’ activities the school made freshman go to. you knew jisung as well, he was in your biology class. you’d even been paired with him for a project at the way start of the year. he was a good partner, even though he complained the whole time about being one of the only sophomores in a class full of freshman. it was okay though, because he stated that you were an okay freshman.

as you continued to scan his friends for anyone you knew, you noticed him looking in your direction as well. his eyes caught yours and you turned your head quickly, face flushing red as you turned to the front.

you spent the whole class thing of and sneaking glances at the pretty boy you’d bumped into earlier that day.

hyunjin had asked for your phone number that day after class was over, stating with a red face that he was going to ask you before but he got too scared. from then on, the two of you texted constantly and it wasn’t long before he asked you on a date. you obviously said yes.

you quickly learned that he was so much more than a just pretty face. he told you more about his dog and how much he loved animals, his eyes lighting up whenever you asked how kkami was doing. he talked so fast when he was speaking of something he really cared about, tripping over his words and apologizing every other sentence for it. he’d gotten over that by now, he stopped apologizing when you told him you thought it was cute.

he told you about his friends and even introduced you to them. the first time you met them was at his small apartment and you were amazed that you and all 9 of the boys could fit in there. jisung recognized you from class and even remembered your name, which surprised you. you didn’t think of yourself as very memorable. he said someone as pretty as you was very memorable. hyunjin said jisung wasn’t allowed to talk anymore if all he was going to do was flirt with you and you laughed because as much as you enjoyed his friends already, no one could take you away from him.

about a month into the relationship, you had become close with all of the boys. you spent most of your time with hyunjin, but you no longer felt awkward with the other boys around and you weren’t embarrassed by their teasing about you and hyunjin anymore. you learned that most of them were also focusing on business. the only ones who weren’t were jeongin and seungmin, who were in computer programming,

you thought it was odd at first that so many of them were in business. your father always told you to be careful around groups of friends that all majored in business, but many of them had family businesses to take over or help with, just like you. you figured their family ran different sorts of businesses than yours did, but a business is a business no matter how big or legal.

despite your dad not trusting your business major boyfriend or his friends, you came to trust them all very quickly. especially hyunjin.

even after just a month and a half of dating, you knew you loved him. you called him the night you realized it and told him. you figured there was no point in waiting, you had these feelings and you weren’t sorry for it. you could practically hear his smile through the phone as he told you he loved you too.

when you told your dad you loved him, he told you to break up with him.

“i don’t trust them,” he said, “they’re probably a gang.”

“they’re not a gang, dad. not every kid majoring in business is doing it to help their father run an illegal business like i am.”

illegal.

sometimes the word illegal made your stomach feel weird. sure, you knew your dads business wasn’t clean, but it wasn’t anything terrible either. it’s not like you assisted with sex trafficking girls or blowing up buildings with bombs. your dad assured you that nothing you assisted with was ever to hurt anyone or cause anyone danger. you just laundered money. and it wasn’t like you were the ones selling the drugs, you just cleaned the money made from others selling the drugs. it’s different. and you believed him. after all, your dad was a good man. he’d gotten involved with some sketchy men and now your family was roped into illegal activities, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone and he was just doing what was best for your family and following orders from his boss. he owned his company, but he still worked for someone else. so even if there was anything strongly against your morals, it wouldn’t be like you had a choice.

he explained it to you as a partnership of sorts. they got the money, you weren’t 100% sure how, but selling drugs or theft of various kinds was most likely, and all your family did was clean up the money.

but even then, you knew what you did was very, very illegal. just because you were following orders doesn’t mean you couldn’t get charged. you had to keep everything you did quiet and you couldn’t talk to anyone but your own family about it. your dad made it clear what could happen if anything about it got out. lots and lots of legal action, or, if you somehow managed to evade the police, being killed by his superiors for messing up.

so to everyone other than your mom and dad, you were just a rich family who liked to invest in places and own buildings. it made a lot of money and it gave you means to launder the money through. you would figure out ways to slip the dirty money into transactions and make it legitimate and able to use.

it was hard keeping it from hyunjin, you didn’t like lying to him. okay well, technically you didn’t have to lie too much, but you had to keep a lot of the truth away from him. sometimes you wished you could talk to him about things, this type of work gets pretty stressful and there’s some stuff you don’t really want to talk to your parents about. plus, whenever you voiced your anxiety revolving around the business and being involved in it you got the same lecture about it being nothing to worry about so long as you keep your mouth shut about it all and don’t mess up.

you couldn’t talk about it much, but hyunjin asked about your work a lot. you knew it was just because it’s kind of weird when your significant other doesn’t really talk about their job. he understood that it was private though. you told him you handled a lot of the financials for things and that stuff was best kept to just employees. again, it wasn’t really a lie! you did handle a lot of money and financials. maybe you should have taken more than the base level economics classes in high school.

you thought nothing of his curiosity, you’d be curious if he didn’t talk much about his job, either. he made a lot of jokes about you being a secret spy and things like that which made you laugh. he made jokes about you being involved with illegal things, too, but you knew he was joking. he didn’t know, there would be no way for him to know, so you always blew it off and joked back.

but he did know. him and the rest of the boys, they knew as much as there was to know about your family business. they knew who your father was and they knew what type of business he ran. in fact, they knew more about the type of industry your father ran than you did yourself. you were under the impression that the family business consisted of cleaning dirty money, but that was just the start of what your father ran.

he was the head of one of the most dangerous korean mafias, the largest one known for sex trafficking in the country. stray kids focused their attention on bringing down people like your father. sure, they had to pull some legal strings of their own to accomplish their goals, but it was for the benefit of others in the long run. plus, they didn’t hurt innocents. not any more than they had to, at least.

you, however, were not innocent. most of the boys, hyunjin included, had given up on the idea of you knowing much about your fathers business. they thought you genuinely didn’t know anything bad was happening, but chan was convinced it was an act. no one could be as involved in a business as you were and not know specifics about it. no, you knew what your father ran, he was sure of it.

hyunjin turned the doorknob to the mansion and stepped inside, locking it behind him. he was probably the last home, and if he wasn’t, everyone had a key.

he carried his things to his room before heading back down the stairs and into the living room where all 8 of his friends were sitting and chatting.

he plopped himself down in an empty spot beside felix on the couch, immediately addressing chan.

“it’s a waste of my time, dude. she doesn’t know anything.”

hyunjin watched as chans jaw clenched. he did not want to be having this argument again.

“she does, hyunjin.”

“i don’t think she does, hyung. and even if she did, it’s obvious we aren’t getting anything out of her.” jisung spoke up.

“she’ll slip up, jisung.”

it was hyunjins turn to speak again, “it’s been over five months and she hasn’t shown any sign of knowing anything about what her father does. i think she really thinks it’s just a normal business.”

“if she thought it was a normal business why would she be so secretive about it?” chan challenged.

hyunjin shrugged, “lots of completely legal things need to be kept secret.”

“you just want to be able to break up with her so you can whore around campus again.” felix teased, causing hyunjin to send a glare in his direction.

“she thinks she’s my girlfriend felix, i have no problem getting my dick wet.”

“even with your dick in her you can’t get any more information out of her in nearly six months than jisung did during a two week bio project.”

“why are you complaining, jinnie? i’d be all over her if i didn’t know who her father was.” minho chimed in, also earning a glare from hyunjin.

“shut the fuck up.”

“you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

chan cleared his throat to interrupt the bickering, turning to address hyunjin again.

“give it until the six month mark. if she still hadn’t cracked or slipped by then, we’ll find another way.”

hyunjin scoffed, “what, send another one of us on a useless goose chase to try to get information out of her she doesn’t even have?”

“hyunjin, i get that you’re frustrated and six months is a long time to pretend you love someone, but-“

he didn’t quite catch the rest of what his leader said, his mind pausing for a moment at those words.

“pretend to love someone.”

he wasn’t given time to analyze why those words made something inside of him churn before chan was snapping his fingers in front of his face to gain his attention back.

“are you good, jinnie?”

“yeah,” he sighed, brushing off his brief moment of discomfort, “just exhausted.”

“it’s hard work, man. you’re a good actor. she really thinks you’re head over heels for her.”

a laugh fell from his lips, “where’s my fucking emmy?”

three weeks.

just three more weeks and then he could end things with you. three more weeks until he could stop going to that shitty apartment every day after his classes and instead just head straight home to the mansion. god, it’s been forever since he was able to go home before sundown. he always had to stay at the apartment until late at night on the chance that you’d want to see him or come over.

three weeks he reminded himself as he got up to address the knocking at the apartment door. he greeted you with a smile and wide arms.

“hey, baby.”

you snuggled into his chest, “i missed you.”

“you literally saw me last night, you crybaby.”

you pouted up at him, “it’s been almost 24 hours! that’s way too long!”

he laughed before placing a kiss to your nose, lightly holding your arm and leading you to his living room.

“i already picked a movie, but you can choose a different one if you want.”

you glanced at the screen and pretended to think for a moment, he knew you could never say no to this movie, it was one of your favorite.

“i guess this one will do.”

he chuckled as he made himself one with the couch, opening his arms to welcome you into them while the movie started. he pulled a blanket up over the two of you and secured his arms around you, making sure you were comfortable before focusing his attention on the movie.

about halfway through the film, your witty comments and replies to your boyfriend stopped and were replaced with tiny snores. feeling tired himself, he shut the movie off and reached for his phone to let chan know he would be staying at the apartment tonight. he couldn’t leave you here alone, a real boyfriend wouldn’t do that. he carefully shifted your bodies so you were both laying down and you started to stir, a small groan of annoyance passing your lips.

“shh, baby, go back to sleep.”

you complied, immediately falling back into slumber. as he secured his arms around you once again and you buried your face in his chest in your sleep, he couldn’t help but to smile.

you looked so cute when you were asleep. how did you manage it? you weren’t even doing anything, but you made a funny feeling pool in his stomach. without much thought, hyunjin placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“goodnight, baby.”

two weeks.

well, technically it was a week and 6 days. that’s how much longer he had to keep the ruse up. but that countdown was far from his mind.

he was in your apartment this time, and the second you opened the door for him, he had it slammed shut with your back pressed against it. you let out a surprised noise as his lips crashed to yours, but you made no effort to stop it. it was messy, full of teeth, but you couldn’t get enough of it.

you were finally able to speak when he pulled away and started trailing kisses down your neck.

“hyunjin, what’s gotten into you?”

“just,” he spoke between kisses, “had a long day.”

he had multiple tests and he was sure he bombed most, if not all, of them. he was angry and frustrated and he needed to calm down. the first thing that came to his mind whenever he needed to destress was the same as always— you.

you let him pick you up and you wrapped your legs around his body as he carried you to your bedroom, lips never leaving your own. he’d been here so many times that he knew where he was going without having to look.

he laid you with your back to the mattress and wasted no time ridding the both of you of clothes.

he brought his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before taking it into his mouth and sucking. you moaned at the feeling, he knew just what you liked and he delivered every single time he took you to bed.

you whined when he removed himself from your breast, the cold air hitting your wet nipple. he traced sloppy, wet kisses down your stomach and across your thighs, stopping before he could reach where you wanted him most.

you would have whined, but you were cut off by his finger suddenly entering you and his lips attaching to your core. he pumped his finger in and out of you slowly before adding another, and then another until you were moaning out that you were close. he pulled away, earning an annoyed huff from your mouth. you’d expected it though, he loved to tease you.

it wasn’t long before he was bottoming out and pounding into you so hard that you almost felt sorry for your neighbors for having to hear the bed squeak like it was.

“baby,” you panted out, “i’m close.”

he took that as his sign to bring his thumb to your core, paying attention to your sensitive bundle of nerves. he could tell by the way that you clenched around him and moaned his name that you were coming undone.

he snapped his eyes to your face, eyes screwed shut and bottom lip pulled between your teeth. god, you looked absolutely gorgeous like this. the sight of you in such deep pleasure threw him over the edge, giving a few last thrusts before pulling out of you and stroking himself through his orgasm as he spilled onto your stomach. he rode out his high before leaning down and placing a soft kiss to your lips. he took up, admiring the way you looked, all fucked out with his seed covering your stomach. there it was, that feeling in his stomach again, almost like lightning bugs were coming alive inside of his tummy.

he grabbed a washcloth and cleaned himself off before wiping you clean as well and then helping you to the bathroom. he pulled on a pair of boxers and went to get you a glass of something to drink and a snack.

you were already back on the bed when he returned and he frowned.

“baby, i could have helped you back.”

you laughed, “it’s okay, my legs aren’t too sore.”

he raised an eyebrow teasingly, “oh, is that so? do i need to work harder next time?”

you laughed again, taking a hold of his arm and pulling him down to lay beside you. he kissed you lightly, reaching to the floor to hand you the t-shirt he had been wearing before for you to put on. you slipped it over your shoulders, loving that it smelled like him.

he smiled, you always looked so cute and small in his clothes.

he made sure you drank some water and ate a little before allowing you to bury your face in his chest and fall asleep. he sent a message to chan yet again that he wouldn’t be coming home that night. in fact, he’d barely slept at the mansion in the past week, spending most of his nights either here or at his ‘apartment’ with you.

one week.

one more week was supposed to be how much time left hyunjin had with you, but that all came crashing and burning as you stared blankly at his lit up phone screen. he stepped out of his bathroom with a towel around his waist and was met with your confused and hurt eyes.

“hyunjin.” you started, “what the fuck is this?”

you frowned, coming closer to see what you were talking about. there, on the screen of his phone, was a text message from chan.

“she’s not going to break within the next week. bring her to the mansion, i have a plan.”

his eyes widened and he snatched the phone from your hands, quickly dialing chans number and holding the phone to his ear as he used his other arm to try to secure you from running out. he quickly gave up, putting the phone on speaker and tossing it aside and using his full strength to pin you down.

“hello?” chans voice rang from the phone. no response.

“hyunjin, what’s going on?”

raising his voice above your cries, hyunjin spoke.

“chan, get to the apartment now! she knows.”

it didn’t take long for chan and the rest of the boys to arrive, the mansion wasn’t that far away and it’s not like they were obeying any speeding laws.

it was surprisingly easy for hyunjin to keep you contained while they were on their way. after a few minutes, you stopped struggling against him. there was a look in your eyes that made him feel like throwing up and he almost wished you would keep fighting against him so he wouldn’t have to see it.

you didn’t struggle as they lead you to a car and shoved you in the backseat, either. you knew you were no match for 9 guys. plus, what were they going to do, torture you? nothing could hurt you more than the aching in the pit of your stomach at that moment. hyunjin didn’t love you.

they didn’t bother to cover your eyes on the car ride or to shield you from seeing their home. great. that meant it didn’t matter what you saw. they were probably going to kill you. you choked down a sob as the idea of hyunjin holding a gun to your head.

they brought you into a room with a cement floor and cement walls and you scoffed lightly, they must do this often, you thought, to have a whole room for it. there was even a big, deep brown stain covering a part of the floor, showing that they’d brought people to and disposed of people in that very room before.

you didn’t fight as they brought your hands to a set of chained cuffs that were connected to the wall. there was about four feel of chain, giving you a small area to move around. you tugged lightly as they secured the cuffs around your wrists, there was no getting out of them. not that it mattered.

even if you did manage to escape that room somehow, it was no use. you didn’t know the layout of the building. sure, you knew that they’d brought you down a flight of stairs and you’d made a right turn somewhere or another, but you hadn’t been paying attention.

you only moved to acknowledge them when they all crowded into the small room, watching you like they expected something from you. you felt tears roll down your face as you observed the people you called your friends and the boy you were in love with mutter amongst themselves about what to say first.

“what am i doing here?”

chan was the one to respond and you caught on pretty quick that he was the leader of whatever they had.

“you tell me, y/n.”

you leaned your back against the hard wall and slid down until you were in a sitting position, pulling your knees to your chest.

“is this about my dad?” you began and chan raised his eyebrows as if to say i told you so to the others, “did we cut you short? i’m sorry, we had a rough month last month and-“

changbin cut you off, “cut us short?”

you nodded, “not clean enough? i swear we’ll make it back, pay you double what we missed-“

“what are you talking about?”

you frowned, “isn’t that what this is about? we- we launder for you, right?”

chan crouched down so he was eye level with you, “we don’t give a shit about money laundering, y/n. we’re concerned with the human trafficking and selling young girls and boys like they’re cattle.”

your eyes went wide, “we don’t-“

hyunjin scoffed, “y/n, why do you really think your dad puts out ads for young interns so often? where do they all go?”

you looked at him. his tone was so, so cold, but you swore you saw something akin to pain in his dark eyes.

“he has you screen all those girls for jobs, but do you ever see them at work?”

you shook your head.

“but you already knew that they weren’t getting jobs, didn’t you?” chan questioned.

you processed their words and the more you thought of it the more it made sense. why else would he have you interview so many people when you couldn’t think of anywhere they would be put to work? no, there had to be an explanation. your dad would never do that. your mom would never okay it.

your eyes locked with chans and something inside of you broke, he really thought you were involved with human trafficking. he thought you were capable of conning people your age into trusting you and then giving them to creepy old men to buy and use like toys. his eyes showed no sign of doubting himself on it.

you broke down, burying your face in your hands and curling up into yourself, trying to disappear. how could he think that of you? is this what they all thought? what hyunjin thought?

chan scoffed and stood as he was about to say something else, but jisung interrupted in a hesitant and soft tone.

“hyung, i really don’t think she knew.”

chan looked at him before looking back at your distressed state, desperately trying to catch your breath and stop the tears. you didn’t want to look so pathetic in front of them.

“we can talk more later. she’s no use right now.”

he turned to leave the room and everyone followed him out, save hyunjin. he lingered, waiting until everyone else was out before pulling the door shut and crouching down next to you.

he reached a hand to smooth down your hair but you recoiled from his touch. he seemed shocked at your reaction but regained composure so quickly you weren’t even sure if what you saw was surprise.

was he really still going to act like he cared? the tears staining your cheeks weren’t given a chance to dry as more fell over them.

despite your attempt to hide how badly you were breaking, your voice shook with every word you said.

“why, hyunjin?”

he stood and shrugged, his caring personality from moments before long gone. you guessed you had imagined it after all.

“it’s just work.”

“you-“ your voice broke, “you never loved me! you let me think you loved me.”

he just stared at you. you couldn’t tell what was worse, when he pretended to care or moments like that where it was obvious he never did.

“you let me fall in love with you, hyunjin!” you were yelling by now, “i trusted you! i let you take my virginity and i-“ you choked down a sob, “i loved you so much.” you raised your eyes to meet his, “it meant nothing to you? you didn’t feel anything? all the times you said you loved me and all the times you made love to me, you felt nothing?”

if there was any flicker of guilt or pain he felt at your words, he did a hell of a job hiding it.

“nope.” he shrugged, speaking with a dry tone, “having something to put my dick in was just a perk of the job.”

you didn’t say anything else, you just watched him leave in silence, letting yourself sink completely to the floor as the door shut behind him.

you couldn’t see it, but in the hallway just outside the door, hyunjin pressed the back of his head against the wall as he brought his hands to his face, desperately trying to shake the aching feeling from his heart.

to say you were surprised when they actually brought you breakfast the next morning would be an understatement. you expected cruel, harsh punishments until you confessed to things you didn’t even know.

instead, you got a neat plate containing pancakes, eggs, and some bacon, all delivered by the youngest of the group, the only one that was a freshman with you.

you hesitantly accepted, chuckling softly at the plastic cutlery.

“thanks, jeongin.”

he fidgeted nervously, “no problem, noona. hyunjin said you liked this kind of stuff for breakfast so-“

he stopped speaking mid sentence when your eyes snapped up from the plate to him at the mention of your boyfriends name.

was he even your boyfriend anymore? ex boyfriend?

“did he make these?” you gestured to the pancakes. jeongin nodded, and suddenly the food didn’t seem as appealing as it had when he first brought it.

you managed to choke down most of the meal, but not even a whole bottle of maple syrup could cover up the bitter taste the food left in your mouth. you thought back to all the other times he’d made you breakfast like this.

the morning after you let him take your virginity came to your mind. he’d woken you up with a gentle kiss and gave you breakfast in bed. he ate with you and told you how much he loved you, that he never wanted to lose you. the memory used to be one of your favorites, now it just made you want to throw up the pancakes you’d forced down your throat earlier.

jeongin stayed with you until you told him you were done eating and you were surprisingly sad to see him leave, shutting the door behind him when he left and leaving you alone in the cold room again.

jeongin brought you all of your meals. he brought you lunch and dinner that day. he sat with you the whole time you ate those, too. he always seemed like he wanted to say something to you but was hesitant to. he seemed to genuinely feel bad for doing this to you.

jeongin was the only person you’d seen all day until a few hours after dinner, you couldn’t tell the time, the nine of them squished into your cell again, just like the day before. you were mentally preparing yourself for another emotional draining.

you flinched when felix took a step towards you, reaching his hands to yours. he assured you he didn’t want to hurt you, saying that jeongin mentioned he’d noticed you needed patching up. he examined your wrists, all bruised and cut up from struggling against the cuffs. it’s funny, you hadn’t even realized your injuries. hell, you hadn’t realized you were struggling enough to cause yourself injury.

he pushed the cuffs away from the major cuts and bruises before taking an alcohol wipe to them. you hissed when it came in contact with your cuts, wincing at the way the cloth turned red so quickly.

he wrapped small bandages around both of your wrists, both to keep the old cuts from opening and to prevent new ones.

felix offered a small smile as he finished up and joined the rest of the boys on the other side of the room.

the gentle moment was short lived.

“anything new to tell us since yesterday, y/n?”

your eyes fell on the source of the voice, none other than chan. you let out a sad laugh.

“it seems like you’re the ones enlightening me.”

he lurched forward, grabbing the chain of the cuffs and pulling you close to him so your faces were only inches apart. you winced at the harsh movement against your wrists.

“you think this is funny?”

you didn’t respond, so he tugged the chain again, earning another small cry from you. this was not the chan you knew and it terrified you.

“hyung-“ jeongin began, only to be cut off by a glare from chan.

“no.”

another small tug, what a fucking sadist.

“no, i swear, i don’t know anything. okay? i swear.”

he stared into your eyes for longer than you were comfortable with before releasing his grip on the cuffs, letting your hands drop.

without saying anything more, he left the room. the others went to follow him out, but were stopped by your small voice.

“jeongin?”

he turned, making his way to you. you lifted up your wrists, showing the bandages completely bled through. chan tugging on them must have irritated them. hyunjin lingered at the door and watched the way you let jeongin move your hand around to look at it so comfortably, so different from how you’d cowered away from him the day before.

it frustrated him, seeing you trusting jeongin like that. it should be him, right? you don’t even know jeongin that well, but you’d know him for months. he couldn’t blame you, though. why would you still trust him after everything he’d put you through?

he was snapped out of his thoughts as jeongin met him at the door and stated he needed to go to the medical wing to get bandages to replace the bloodied ones you had on. hyunjin contemplated staying with you while jeongin went to grab the supplies, but one quick look at you could tell you were begging him not to.

he was angry at chan. there was no reason to treat you like that. he didn’t care that it was you because he didn’t have any feelings for you, but no one deserved that treatment when it’s unsure and improbable that they’re guilty.

he didn’t have any feelings for you. it was just him getting used to not having to act like he did. he didn’t actually care for you.

he didn’t, right?

jeongin brought you breakfast again the next morning, immediately going to check your bandages. he smiled when he saw that they hadn’t been too soiled, meaning you didn’t bleed too much since last night.

you stared at the food and it was like he could guess what you were thinking.

he nudged you with a small smile, “i made breakfast this morning.”

you chuckled before taking a bite of what he’d made.

“chan hyung says he believes you, by the way.”

you cocked your head in confusion.

“he thinks you’re innocent.”

you scoffed, “that’s good, because i am.”

“he’s really not that mean, you know.”

you huffed again, raising your wrists and showing the bandages and cuffs.

“he’s a sadistic prick who kills people for no reason.” you gestured to the blood stain on the floor.

“oh, you mean that? no, chan shot him because he ran a huge animal fighting ring.”

your eyes widened. okay, maybe the man deserved some respect.

jeongin had had just left to take your plate to the kitchen when hyunjin, changbin, and chan entered your little cell.

you noticed hyunjin eyeing the bandages but chose not to vocalize it.

“we believe you.”

you remained seated on the cold floor.

“but we can’t just let you go, you’re a threat now. you know who we are and you know we’re after your father.”

“so, what? you’re going to keep me locked up in here forever?”

“i was thinking of giving you your own room and bed actually, but if you’d prefer this...”

he glanced around the room and the corners of your mouth turned up at chans attempt to joke with you. this was the chan you knew. not the one who toyed with your injuries the day before.

“look, y/n, i know he’s your father, but it’s clear you don’t want anything to do with what he’s really running. if you want, you’re welcome to stay here.”

“and if i don’t want to?”

he smiled again, “well, it’s not really a choice, i was just trying to be polite.”

this even got a smile back from you, which irked hyunjin even more. you could look chan in the eyes and smile for him when he’d practically tortured you less than 24 hours earlier but you couldn’t even meet his eyes?

“so?”

chans phone chirped and he slipped it out of his pocket.

“okay.”

he nodded to show he’d heard your response, “i have to go. seungmin says the front cameras detected motion.”

he handed the key to hyunjin before hurrying out the door. hyunjin made a move towards you, but stopped when he saw the glare on your face. he turned, handing the key to changbin. he clenched his jaw shut as changbin moved closer to you and you didn’t do much as tense up at his proximity. we’re you really that angry at him?

before changbin could unlock your cuffs, his phone went off with the same sound chans had.

“shit, more motion detectors went off.”

he passed the key to hyunjin and, seeing that he was your last option, you allowed him to get close enough to you to slip the key into the handcuffs, finally freeing you of them.

you rubbed your wrists, wincing at the contact. he looked at your wrists and your tear stained face.

there was nothing he wanted to do more in that moment than kiss it all better.

suddenly, two men you’d never seen before stormed into the room, guns raised. hyunjin seemed to recognize them, stepping in front of you.

“woah, woah, woah! chan cleared her, she’s good to go.”

was he protecting you? no, he was just standing up for you because chan had decided to keep you alive.

“that was then. he changed his mind.”

hyunjin adjusted the way he was standing to a more protective stance, covering your entire body with his own. maybe he did care.

“what? why?”

one of the men gestured to you with his gun before lowering it, “her little rescue squad showed up.”

hyunjin turned back to you as if to ask “is that true?”

you shook your head, you didn’t know anything about a rescue. how did your dad even know you were here?

“move, hwang. chans orders.”

you felt your stomach drop as he slowly moved out from in front of you. your eyes went wide and locked with his. he looked just as scared as you felt.

you turned back to the two men as they raised their guns again. you shut your eyes, praying that despite what they’d done to you, all nine of the boys got out of this alright. and despite how much you loved your parents, you hoped that they got taken down.

you took in a deep breath, waiting for the gunshot.

you felt your heart stop as two shots rang out.

you slowly opened your eyes, you didn’t feel a bullet wound. you were met with the two men laying on the ground with bullet holes in their heads. you turned to see hyunjin putting his gun back into his waistband before reaching out for your hand.

you pulled away, maybe he had just saved you from assassination, but you were not going anywhere with him. you had to find jeongin, he would keep you safe.

you weren’t able to act on your decision, though. he grabbed your arm, right above where the bandage stopped so he wouldn’t hurt you, and pulled you out of the room. you cringed as you stepped over the two bodies, careful not to step into the puddle of blood.

he lead you down a hallway that you vaguely remembered walking through when they first brought you here. you follow him up a staircase and he mumbled to you that he was taking you to his car so he could get you out of there. just before you were able to reach the garage, you was cut off by a few men you didn’t recognize. you looked at hyunjin, assuming they worked with him, but he shook his head. before you registered that they must work for your dad, two men had pulled hyunjin away from you and were holding him still. another one of the men pressed a button on the device in his ear.

“sir, we found her.”

you couldn’t run, they would kill hyunjin. you had no choice but to wait for who you assumed was your father to show up.

when he did, he immediately pulled you into a big hug. you pushed him away, disgusted. he didn’t seem to notice your disdain, grabbing your wrist and lifting it up with concern in his eyes.

“i told you they were no good, honey.”

you pulled yourself from his grip, ignoring the sting in your wrist for doing so.

“don’t fucking touch me.”

he reached out to you, but you swatted him away.

“my angel, what lies did they tell you to make you act this way?”

you swallowed hard before speaking, “they said you run a large human trafficking ring. that you use the people you say i’m interviewing for jobs and sell them to people like they’re just a toy to play with. people my age, dad.” your voice shrunk, “how long until you run out of people to pawn off and decide to sell me?”

he let out a small laugh, “sweetheart, i would never let you get in the hands of men like that! look, i even saved you from these pathetic excuses for men.”

hyunjin jerked around in the men’s arms and you locked eyes with him for a moment. you turned back to your father and forced a smile onto your lips.

“you’re right, daddy. you saved me. i should have listened to you when you told me to break up with him so long ago.”

he smiled back, “it’s okay cupcake, we all make mistakes.” you tried not to cringe as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“here,” he pulled a gun from his waistband, the one he swore he only carried to protect you and your mother, “you deserve the honors.”

you took the gun from his hands, forcing a smile to stay on your face as you familiarized yourself with the way it felt to hold. you’d shot a gun before, but never outside of a shooting range.

“you remember how, dear?” your father asked.

you nodded, lifting it up in both of your hands and pointing it at hyunjin. his eyes were frantic, like he knew you were planning something, but there was still an ounce of doubt, a small part of him that thought you would pull the trigger.

you clicked the safety off and fired a shot at the floor without hesitating. the noise rang through your ears, it was sure to be heard around the entire mansion, right? the boys would hear it and come running to help.

your dad lunged to take the gun from you but you raised it again, pointing it at him. everyone was shocked and hyunjin took that as an opportunity to free himself from his captors, moving so he was shoulder to shoulder with you and pulling out his own gun. you ignored the volt of electricity that shot through you at finally being close to him again.

your fathers men raised their own weapons and your dad made no attempt to have them lower their arms.

he let out a dry laugh, “i thought i raised you better than this.”

before you could spit back a reply, hyunjin did it for you.

“what, better than not operating a sex ring?”

“better than spending her time with some lowlife-“

shots rang through the building and you felt hyunjin tackle you, trapping you between his body and the floor and shielding you from the gunfire. after what felt like hours, the noise stopped and you heard minho speak.

“jesus fucking christ, is that all of them then?”

hyunjin slowly picking himself up off of you, checking to make sure the coast was clear before letting you back out into the open. the first thing you laid eyes on was the body of your father, fallen to the ground with a hold in his chest and his white button up stained red.

“no!” you screamed, and hyunjin pulled you into his chest, shielding you from looking at your fathers corpse any longer. you wept into his chest. you barely heard him yell for someone to move the body as you felt your heart snap even more, which you didn’t think was possible.

you only looked back up when you heard chans voice, and he sounded mad.

“hyunjin, why the fuck is she still alive?”

you jumped at his words and hyunjin held you tighter.

“why would she need to be dead, hyung?” he yelled back.

he didn’t respond to hyunjin, instead directing his words at you.

“how the fuck did they know you were here?”

“i-i really don’t know chan, i’m sorry, he always talked about thinking you guys were a gang and i guess he assumed it was you who took me and-“

you cut yourself off with a sob, muttering ‘i’m sorry’ over and over again, hoping to god he would see that you didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

changbin approached him, wrapping and arm around his shoulder and suggesting they go for a walk. chan agreed, leaving with changbin.

jeongin kneeled down beside where you and hyunjin were still bundled together.

“he’ll calm down, noona, he knows you didn’t do anything, he’s just upset. felix got shot.”

you sat up straight, “what? is he okay?”

jeongin nodded, waving a hand dismissively, “he’s fine, it was just a graze, but hyung’s always been super protective over felix.”

you nodded, relaxing into hyunjins arms again. you had been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t realized that the rest of the boys had moved all of the bodies already. your chest stung when you remembered your father was among them.

your father. he was dead, but what about your mom? was she okay?

you patted your pockets for your phone, but they’d taken it from you when they took you from hyunjins apartment.

“hey, woah, baby, what’s wrong?”

“can i use your phone?”

he agreed, pulling it from his pocket and handing it to you. you dialed your mothers phone number.

as the phone rang, you ran possible scenarios through your head. did she know what your father was really doing, or was she in the dark, just like you?

the phone went to voicemail. you left a message saying it was you and that you were okay and to call back when she got it.

you couldn’t stop thinking about why it just kept ringing. why didn’t she answer?

you handed hyunjin back his phone and allowed him to help you stand. you weren’t injured, but you were shaking from the stress of what had just happened and your legs nearly buckled underneath you.

he caught you, picking you up in his arms. you didn’t have the effort to object like you normally would whenever he picked you up.

he told the boys he was going to take you to get cleaned up and they okayed it, saying they would handle clean up and for him to focus on making sure you were okay.

you felt bad when he laid you on his bed, it was so nice and neat and you were gross from being locked up for days. he insisted that it was fine as he dug through his wardrobe for the smallest pair of sweatpants he owned before lifting you back in his arms and carrying you to his bathroom.

you were in awe as he sat you on the edge of the tub, who needed a bathroom this fancy? he laughed at your amazement, tugging the hem of your shirt.

“let’s get these off and you can see how nice the tub is, yeah?”

you nodded, allowing him to slip your short over your shoulders. you removed the rest of your clothing yourself while he got the bath ready for you.

“is this temperature okay, baby?”

you reached a hand into the water and nodded.

“perfect.”

he helped you into the water and you chuckled as he poured some bubble bath solution in.

“you take bubble baths?” you teased.

he scoffed, “are you crazy? of course i take bubble baths.”

he helped you scrub the dirt off of yourself and you couldn’t help but feel bad that he was helping. he was still fully clothed, the fabric getting drenched the more he interacted with you in the water.

when you commented on it, he smirked, “what, you saying you want my clothes off?”

you laughed and hit his arm, causing bubbles to stick to his shirt sleeve.

his eyes widened and his smile grew, “oh, it’s on!”

he leaned forward to tickle you but he missed, falling into the bath beside you.

you threw your head back and laughed as he pushed his hair back and wiped the bubbles from his face.

“ew! i fell into the gross y/n water!”

you went to hit him but he caught your arm, careful not to grab the hurt part of your wrist.

“i’m just kidding” he spoke softly, leaning in to place a gentle kiss to your lips.

he helped you wash up a bit more before draining the tub and taking you to the shower to wash off. although you bathed, that meant you sat in that dirt and grime for the whole time.

he stepped in with you, it’s not like he had anything to lose with his clothing already drenched. you smiled as he poured some of his shampoo into his hands and worked it through your hair, it smelled just like him.

when you were finished, he gave you the pair of sweats he’d picked out earlier and one of his sweatshirts, the one you always asked him to wear so you could steal it. he made sure you were comfy and had something to drink before showering off himself, finally slipping out of the uncomfortably wet garments and stepping into some sweatpants and a sweatshirt of his own.

he walked back to his bed smiled at the sight of you in it, fast asleep. he couldn’t blame you, you’d had a rough couple of days.

his attention was moved from you to his phone when it started buzzing on the table next to his bed. he frowned, not recognizing the number of the caller. regardless, he answered and put the phone to his ear.

“hello?”

“y/n? oh my god, who are you, where’s y/n?”

it must be your mother. he shook you awake, feeling guilty that he had to wake you when you obviously needed the rest.

“baby, it’s your mom.”

you took the phone from him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“mom? are you okay?”

a sigh of relief fell from her lips, “i’m fine baby, the police just showed up at my door and told me all of the things your father was involved with. god, i’m so sorry baby, i had no clue. i thought it was just... anyway, they offered me witness protection if i testify against the company, i won’t be charged with anything. i just-“ she cut herself off with a sniffle.

“i know, mom, me too. “ you paused, “did they tell you about dad?”

“yes, sweetheart, they did. they got an anonymous call stating where his body was. looks like he was shot. it’s less than what he deserved.”

you let out a little gasp, “mom!”

“what, baby? it’s true, you and i both know it.”

you sighed, she wasn’t wrong, but he was still your father and her husband, “i guess so.”

“okay sweetheart, it’s late, you should get some sleep. call me if you need anything, okay? i love you.”

“okay. i love you too, mom. goodnight.”

you handed hyunjin his phone and he placed it back on the table before leaning over and placing a kiss to your lips. he crawled under the covers with you, pulling you close to his body.

“i know chan offered you your own room, but what would you say about staying in mine?”

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

Thunder’s Getting Louder | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: Fluffy

Time/Era: Modern/High School AU

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Y/N and Edmund are best friends until he comes over to help her with college applications.

Request: Hello!! Im was wondering if you could write and Edmund x reader where they are best friends and one of them has tiktok and then they make the "kiss your best friend" 👉👈 I don't know if I explain it well hehe but if you need and example I can send it to you or if you really don't know what it is do as you please 😅

A/N: Thank you for the request :D I hope you enjoyed! Lmk what you think :)

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

Being in your last year of school before University is a storm; the whirlwind of applications and tests, the rain of sadness when it comes to leaving your friends, and the thundering excitement of your heart. Y/N’s mind was constantly a hurricane of teenage emotion.

While she may be the hurricane, her best friend, Edmund Pevensie, was the eye of the storm. No matter what Edmund was faced with, his mind seemed to always be clear and his actions were well thought out. Not only that, but he got early acceptance to his dream college and a weighty scholarship to aid his studies. Early acceptance meant very little stress on his mind and more time to enjoy his final year to it’s fullest.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Edmund asked, shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. His long legs stretched under the lunch table and crossed at the ankles lazily.

“Nothing, I’m just trying to read the text on this Tik Tok, it overlaps with the caption,” Y/N twiddled her thumb over the screen, trying to make out the message. Edmund laughs carelessly and snatches the phone out of his friend’s hand. He presses the power button with his thumb before places the iPhone facedown on the table.

“Tik Tok is going to melt your brain, you know. Then there won’t be anything going on in there.” Y/N rolls her eyes and takes a bite from her sandwich.

“Don’t look at me with that judge mental look in your eye, Pevensie! Maybe you should get addicted to the app like the rest of us!”

“I would but I’d like to keep my brain un-melted.” Edmund took another bite of his salad and a big gulp of his water. “I might need it for next year.”

Y/N huffed playfully and rolled her eyes. “Ah, right, my bad. I forgot you’re some sort of super genius. Silly me!” Edmund leaned his elbows on the table and shot an amused look at Y/N. “A genius who has eaten a salad for lunch every day since he was 12.”

“Hey! They’re good, thank you very much!”

“Live a little, Ed. Eat some ice cream for a change! Download Tik Tok! Run around town naked! I don’t know!” Y/N threw her hands into the air

Edmund choked on his lettuce, “I am NOT running around town naked!”

“You’re missing the point!”

“I don’t think there is a point, Y/N.”

“Come on, people would eat you up! You have a cute face and girls love cute faces!” Edmund’s cheeks reddened considerably and he reached for his water again.

“I don’t want them to eat me up, Y/N.” His voice came out as a squeak.

“Why not? I’d personally love to watch your videos. I’d be your number one fan,”

“You already are my number one fan,” Edmund smiled shyly towards Y/N. “Anyway, how’s the applications going?”

Y/N groaned and piled up her trash. “Ugh, don’t even remind me. I have no idea what I’m supposed to write.”

“I could come by yours after school to help if you want? Maybe that could help ease the storm inside your mind a little.” Edmund took Y/N’s trash and placed it with his own. A large smile graced her face and she nodded enthusiastically.

“You always know exactly what to do to help, Ed. Thank you.”

Edmund beamed as the bell rang.

You received a message

It was Y/N’s study hall period, so she was trying to get a jump start on her college essays. Y/N glanced at her phone before opening her notifications. One of her friends had sent her a video on Tik Tok.

this reminds me of you and edmund.

The video was of a pair of teens, probably a year or so younger than Y/N. The girl in the video was trying to teach the boy a dance while the song Electric Love was playing in the background. When the chorus starts, the girl cupped the boy’s cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. Y/N scrunched her eyebrows as she read over the caption: decided to try the kissing my best friend trend. now were dating #fyp

Y/N watched the video for a second time.

why is this me and edmund?

Y/N watched the video for a third time.

you know why, Y/N.

By this point, Y/N had watched the video so many times she practically had it memorized; she envied the girl in the video. How did she have so much courage to kiss her best friend? How would Edmund react if she did that?

Y/N’s thumbed hovered over the sound icon; she needed to see more of these videos. As she clicked the sound, Y/N realized there were hundreds of videos of girls kissing their boy best friends. Y/N chewed the inside of her cheek and scrolled, the hurricane in her head growing more intense.

Horror stories of Edmund rejecting her or laughing in her face played through her mind. But, still, Y/N couldn’t stop scrolling until the final bell rang.

“My brain is fried, Ed. Can we take a break?” Y/N looked up from her laptop and groaned. They had been working on her applications for nearly two hours and her eyes were beginning to sting from the harsh screen light.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. We’ve made a lot of progress,” Edmund smiled and sat next to Y/N on her bed. She glanced at his side profile and admired the curve of his jaw. It was so sharp and defined, Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to trail kisses up and down it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Y/N’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “No, I was just wondering what my chances of you saying yes to making a Tik Tok with me were.”

“Slim to zero,” He responded, deadpanned.

“Oh, so there’s a slim chance?” Y/N could feel her heart thumping in her chest. The thunder in her mind storm was so loud, she could have sworn Edmund could hear it.

“Will it make you stop bugging me about that stupid app?”

“Yes!”

Edmund sighed, “Fine, just one. What do I have to do?”

Y/N stood from her bed and gestured to the open floor space. “Just stand here. I’m, uh, gonna teach you a dance.” Y/N took a deep breath as she set up her phone, clicked the sound, and pressed play.

Electric Love started playing through the speakers as Y/N began to dance lamely. Edmund, oblivious, started to copy her movements. Y/N’s heart was going a mile a minute and her legs shook under the harsh vibrations of the thunder. She still had a few seconds to chicken out if she wanted.

Y/N turned towards Edmund and he had the cutest focused expression on his face. His eyebrows were scrunched in thought and his lips were pierced as he tried his best to mimic Y/N’s movements. She took a step closer to him, which he copied, and scanned his facial features. His pink lips were plump and slightly parted, his cheeks held a slight blush and his skin was smooth and perfect.

Y/N took a final deep breath and pressed her lips to his.

The music faded out of existence and the world grew blurry; the only sensation she could feel was Edmund’s chapped lips pressed against hers. The kiss was soft and contained, like a gentle rain shower, until his hands found her waist and everything accelerated. Lighting bolts of electricity flowed through their veins, making a single shiver travel down their spines.

Y/N’s senses were flooded with nothing but Edmund; the familiar taste of coffee on his lips, the smell of mint, the soft material of his shirt, and way his hair ticked her forehead. No one but her and the boy she loved existed at that moment.

Edmund pulled away and looked down at her with his chocolate brown eyes. Y/N had never experienced that look in his eyes, and something about it made her want to experience it over and over.

“It’s about time,” Edmund mutters, his thumb stroking the skin of Y/N’s waist. He dipped his head down again, catching her lips in another electric kiss.

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fangirl-writes · 4 years

Text

Mommy?

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warning(s): Smoking, swearing, references to sex.

Notes: DISCLAIMER - Fake Wife. Fake Child. All things said and implied in this fic are fictional and have nothing to do with real life. No hate towards any of Roger's Previous or Current Relationships.

I imagined 80s!Roger, but you can go for Ben!Rog if it suits your fancy.

(PS This Roger Can Fuck Me Up)

Summary: After Roger's son mistakenly calls you mom, Roger begins to realize some things about you.

Roger was tired.

The moment he walked into the studio, you could tell.

His sunglasses were covering his eyes, but he was slightly hunched, his hair was a mess, and he only muttered a ‘morning’ instead of his usual boisterous announcement.

The other boys almost didn’t notice his arrival, too focused on tuning their instruments or going over some lyrics. It wasn’t until his son, Alexander, screamed at the sight of you did they look over.

“Hey, the little man is here,” Brian said with a smile as the boy let go of his father’s hand to fling himself into your outstretched arms.

You stood up and propped him on your hip before giving Roger a look. It wasn’t the first time he’d come in like this.

He turned away from you and started to head for the drum set.

“Hey,” you said, grabbing him abruptly by the elbow. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t meet your eyes through the dark sunglasses and was suddenly very interested in the color of the carpet. “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Rog-”

“Really, Y/N, m’fine. Just drop it, okay?”

You released him, not satisfied with his answer, but you didn’t want to get him going this early in the morning. It wasn’t worth it.

Alexander pulled at your necklace to get your attention.

You smiled at him, pulling the chain gingerly from his fingers. “Let’s go sit down, and we can watch your daddy and uncles practice, okay?”

Alexander nodded excitedly, and you took a seat on the couch in the control room, so it wasn’t too loud for the little boy’s ears.

Alexander’s mother, Cheryl, wasn’t exactly the perfect wife and mother. She and Roger had been involved in an unhappy marriage for quite some time now. You absolutely loathed the woman.

At first, all the boys thought you were just jealous, but over time they came to see her for what she truly was and never doubted your judge of character ever again.

Cheryl was one of those women who liked the celebrity life more than the celebrity. She liked Roger for his money and his fame, not just because he was Roger. It was despicable. They fought nearly every night, Roger would sometimes drink himself into a stupor, and poor little Alexander would call you on the phone to tell you that “Daddy’s had too much juice.”

He never said anything about Cheryl, but she was never there when you came over.

You’d known Roger wanted her only for a good shag the moment you’d met her and he’d accidentally called her Crystal.

“Really, Rog, it’s never going to last if you can’t even remember the girl’s name. And honestly, she seems like a bitch.”

You and Roger were sat outside Freddie’s place, passing a cigarette between you.

He glared at you. “Oh? And what’s your fuddy-duddy boyfriend’s name again? George? Jacob?”

“Jeremy, actually. But I’ll tell you a secret,” You said, leaning closer to the drummer. “I don’t think it’s going to last either.”

You took a drag from the ciggy.

“Shall we bet on it then?”

You laughed, the smoke exhaling from your mouth. “What?”

“Bet on it. Whichever of us dumps our piece first owes the other. Mm. Twenty?”

“Twenty?” You leaned even closer to him, nose to nose and voice just above a whisper. “Quite low for a Rockstar, don’t you think?”

Roger hummed in agreement, looking at your lips with desire behind his eyes. “Perhaps...”

You ran a finger across his jawline. “Unless, of course, you desire something else from this bet?”

He licked his lips before taking the bottom one between his teeth. “Maybe I do...”

“And what would that be?”

“I think you know very well what that would be.”

“Do I? Maybe I need a reminder.”

“Ah, a reminder...”

He was so close now. You could smell the scotch he’d stolen from Freddie’s cabinet on his breath over the tobacco. It was as intoxicating as the drink.

He was about to inch forward again when-

“ROGIE!” Cheryl called from inside. “Where have you gone?”

You scowled as Roger immediately pulled back from you and took the cigarette from your fingers, taking one last drag before snuffing it out with his shoe.

“Coming, er-”

“Cheryl.”

“Cheryl!”

Of course, you’d lost the bet because Cheryl became pregnant, and you didn’t think you could stand Jeremy for another nine months. Sometimes you thought he married her just to spite you.

You were a different woman then, and he was a different man. You grow up, and you change, and you get over petty feelings for someone you couldn’t have.

“It doesn’t fucking need slowing down! God, it’s fucking creeping at the moment!” Roger shouted.

The boys began bickering back and forth, causing Alexander to stir in your arms.

You laid the boy out on the couch and entered the recording room. “Would you be quiet! Alexander just got to sleep, and you’re arguing over a stupid pacing problem. Pick it up, slow it down, who the hell cares! Just be quiet.”

Brian and Roger shared a look before muttering to themselves and returning to their instruments.

“Thanks, mum,” John called from his chair.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Roger pulled off his sunglasses to rub a hand down his face, and you caught a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes. You frowned. Oh, how you wished you’d been wrong.

He caught your eye, looking guiltily away from you. Confirming all of your suspicions.

“I think we should take a break,” Freddie said, noticing your silent conversation.

All the boys seemed to agree and put their instruments down to follow you into the other room.

You picked up Alexander again and he moved against you.

“Shh, it’s okay, buddy, go back to sleep.”

The boy cooed against you, snuggling into your shoulder. “m’kay, mommy,”

Your mouth dropped open, Brian ran into the control board, John dropped his newspaper, Freddie’s eyes were wide, and Roger looked like he was going into shock.

You cleared your throat and rubbed Alexander’s back, swaying back and forth to put him back to sleep. Too surprised to say anything.

Roger seemed in the same boat because he wouldn’t stop staring at you, even after he’d sat down. It made you slightly nervous.

“Where’s Cheryl today?” Freddie asked, barely hiding the smile on his face behind his coffee cup.

You glared at him. He pretended not to notice.

“She uh-” Roger still wouldn’t stop looking at you. “Went out with some friends...I think. Wasn’t home when I got up.”

You scoffed. Of course, she wasn’t. Was she ever there?

Roger had just come to the same conclusion. It was no wonder his son called you mommy. When was the last time Alexander ever woke up to Cheryl being there? Or when he went to sleep? He couldn’t remember.

But he could remember you being there.

He guiltily remembers all the nights that Cheryl drives him to drink, and Alex has to call you for help. No little boy should have to use the phone, let alone memorize your number.

But you always came.

He started to wonder how many dates you had to cancel, how many friends you had to bail on. Just because Roger couldn’t get ahold of himself.

Had you always been that beautiful? He wondered, watching you stroke Alexander’s head. ‘Course you had. He could remember in the early days when you and him...

“I think I’m gonna divorce her.”

The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it.

Brian choked on his coffee, John looked up from the newspaper with his eyebrows raised, and Freddie looked positively gleeful.

You were looking at him with wide-eyes.

“Is that so?” Freddie replied, barely hiding his joy. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You know, I always thought you and Y/-”

Brian elbowed him in the ribs.

The tables had now turned. You were avoiding Roger’s eyes while he stared at you intently.

Suddenly, a memory came flooding back to Roger. One blocked by his drunken brain.

“Roger,” You said, shaking his shoulder. “Come on, Rog, talk to me,”

Instead of replying, he garbled something sort of like words and you sighed.

“Well, at least you’re not dead. Come on,” You threw his arm over your shoulder and hefted him from his seat at the kitchen table.

Roger grumbled. “Alex...where’s-”

“He’s in bed. He called me.” There was bite in your voice, but he was too drunk to really notice.

“Mmmm...good. Always so good, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes. “God, you need a shower. Vodka, really? Picked the fucking worst thing to get wasted on.”

You dragged him into the nearest bathroom and dropped him in the shower before turning on the cold water.

“Bloody hell!” Roger yelled and you smacked your hand over his mouth.

“Keep shouting and you’re gonna wake up your son. Bet he’d be really overjoyed to see his father sitting in a shower fully clothed. Bet he’d ask a lot of questions-”

He smacked your hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Good. Now undress.”

He seemed to get shy for a moment, surprised by your request.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, Rog, you can’t do this yourself, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Seeing your logic, he relented and started undressing. Pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to you.

You smiled at him, taking it and setting it on the counter next to the sink.

He fiddled with his belt, grumbling as his fingers wouldn’t remember the action that they’d done a thousand times before.

You set your hands on his gently.

He looked up at you. “Let me.”

He dropped his hands and watched dumbly (and a little embarrassedly) as you undid his belt easily and pulled down his trousers.

Normally, he’d make a joke or cheeky remark about you wanting to get into his pants, but something about that night seemed to screw his mouth shut long enough for his eyes to really see you.

When he was finally naked (there was some trouble with the socks, he fell, you laughed, Roger cursed, you told him to shut up), you turned on the water again as he sat on the floor of the shower.

Roger swore under his breath. “Still gotta be fuckin’ freezing?”

“Yes. It’ll help sober you up,”

He pouted as you sat back down with the shampoo, conditioner, and soap, crossing your legs under you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back underneath the stream of water to wet his hair. “You really need to stop doing this. One day, I might not be available.”

Roger hummed in response as you guided him back forward, removing your hand to pour the shampoo into it. “I know.”

You rubbed your hands together to make suds before running your fingers into his hair. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t just divorce Cheryl. She’s never there for you, and she’s definitely not there for Alexander like I-”

You didn’t continue, blushing mildly, but Roger understood what you were gonna say. ‘Like I am.’

Your fingers lathered the shampoo over his scalp and massaged his head. He felt like he was on cloud nine at the feeling of your hands running through his hair.

He whined when you stopped and you grinned. “Gotta rinse, ya big baby,”

He did as he was told, leaning back into the water without your help.

You smiled before getting up and sitting on the edge of the tub to help him get all of it out as well as washing the suds from your hands.

You repeated the notion with the conditioner.

“Think you can handle washing your body without help?”

Roger smirked. “I don’t know. I might need you to come and shower with me. Only way to really get me all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, you’re definitely sober now. I’ll get you some new clothes and throw the other ones in the laundry.”

Roger missed you when you left.

He missed the feeling of your fingers in his hair.

It was weird. You two had had sex in the past, but it felt like that was the most intimate thing that you’d done. Roger felt taken care of. He hadn’t felt like that since...well since he was a kid.

Cheryl had never made him feel that way. They hadn’t even ever showered together, their intimacy was only sexual, it wasn’t loving or soft like-

Like you.

"Roger? Hey, Roger!”

He snapped out of his daze as Brian clicked his fingers in front of his face.

“You zoned out on us there, buddy, you okay?”

Roger blinked rapidly for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I was just lost in thought, I guess.”

“Please,” You finally spoke up. “You’re tired, Roger. We’ve all noticed.”

But you were the only one who would say anything.

“Y/N I-” He stopped. Unsure of what to say.

You were looking at him expectantly, curiosity filling your pretty (e/c) eyes. Did they always shine like that before?

“I- uh...” Why couldn’t he say anything? Why was it so hard to say what he was feeling? Was it because the guys were right there?

You sighed. “Roger, I really need to pee, so if you could take Alexander while you figure out what it is you need to say to me.”

You handed Alex gently over to Roger’s arms, the little boy’s sleep going uninterrupted.

You left the room, and once you were out of earshot, all the boys turned to Roger with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” John asked.

“What? Of course, I am, what do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, Alexander called Y/N ‘mommy,’ and then you totally shut down. Like you stared at her for a good fifteen minutes.”

Roger felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“Then you said you were going to divorce that retched Cheryl, which I hope you were serious about, by the way,” Freddie said.

“Of course, I was serious about it. I think it’s time I got rid of ‘er. Honestly, Y/N’s been telling me for years-”

All the boys started grinning.

“What?”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else?”

“What? Do you menaces want me to say I’m in love with Y/N? Because you already fucking know that.”

Brian handed John a few bills.

Freddie clapped his hands together. “Well, finally! Honestly, I’ve been waiting for you two darlings to get together and honestly-”

“Fred!” You scolded, coming back into the room just as Alexander sat up from Roger’s chest.

“Daddy?” The boys said sleepily. “Daddy, where’s mommy?”

You frowned. “Alexander, you’re mommy is-”

“Right here,” Roger said, making you look at him with surprise.

Alexander gestured with his hands for you and you picked him up off of Roger, who was grinning ear to ear.

“You think you’ll ever want to be a mother?” Roger asked, running his fingertips along your arm. The two of you were laying in his bed, cuddled up together, his gray sheets the only thing covering your bodies.

“That’s an odd question, considering,”

He rolled his eyes. “Just answer,”

“Someday, yes, with the right guy,” You replied. “What about you? Any plans on becoming a daddy?”

He smirked at you. “Well, I mean, occasionally-”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled a moment before looking down at you. “Yeah. Someday. Not soon, though. My life’s too unpredictable right now. I’m hardly in one place.”

You hummed. “You still find time for me.”

He kissed your temple. “I’ll always find time for you.”

“And I’ll always be there for you,”

Looking back on it, Roger had been in love with you even back then. Friends didn’t do what you two did. What a fool he was for not acting on it. Perhaps he’d been afraid of love.

But, now, looking at you, he wasn’t afraid at all. His heart was full.

“Roger, what’re you-”

“Can I talk to you? Outside?”

You nodded, not about to turn him down.

You passed Alexander to John before following Roger out of the studio.

You stopped just out front and watched as he dug into his pocket and pulled out his lighter and package of cigarettes, taking one out before offering the pack to you.

You shook your head. “I don’t do that anymore.”

He smiled, stuffing them back into his trousers and lighting the cig. He breathed in deeply before exhaling, the white smoke falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t.”

“I know. I’ve told you,”

You had a strange sense of Deja Vu as you watched Roger smile, pressing the cigarette to his lips.

You shivered, crossing your arms, goosebumps crawling up them.

“Here,” Roger shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

Accepting the offer, you slid your arms in the sleeves and pulled it tight. It was surprisingly warm and smelled like his cologne.

He reached over and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers.

You looked over at him as he took another drag from the cigarette.

Suddenly frustrated, you plucked it from his fingers and extinguished it with the heel of your boot.

He turned to you, surprised, sunglasses covering his eyes. You reached up and pulled them off, revealing his tired blue eyes to you.

You sighed, reaching up and running your fingers through his soft hair. “What are you doing, Roger?”

“Trying to work up the guts to tell you I love you.”

You were shocked, hand stilling at the back of his neck. “You- you do?”

He smiled. “I think I always have. Just never realized it until now.”

You laughed, tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what to say,”

“How about that you love me too?” Roger replied, his own eyes watering.

“I love you. Rog, I’ve loved you for years.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, a soft laugh passing his lips. “Well, that’s a relief. If only that was it. If only we were ten years younger and I was gonna take you back to my hotel room and show you exactly how much I love you.”

You laughed. “Sorry, Rockstar,” - you placed the sunglasses back on his head - “but you’ve got a kid I adore to take care of and a nasty wife to divorce.”

“Ah, well, right now, all I wanna do is kiss you like I’m twenty-five.”

He leaned closer to you, nose bumping with his. His breath smelled like tobacco, but it was the furthest thing from your mind.

“And perhaps I’ll let you,”

This was all he needed before advancing the last few inches and pressing his lips to yours.

It was different than how you had kissed in the past. This was new. It was full of love and longing. It made your heart ache with happiness as you clung to him.

Roger sighed into the kiss, absolutely blissful. You tasted sweet, just like he remembered. His hands slid up your back, the leather of his jacket cold against his fingers.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

It almost pained Roger to pull away from you.

You grinned, turning around to see Alexander running out of the door towards you. John was standing in the doorway, mouthing an apology as Brian and Freddie peaked over his shoulder.

You bent down, brought the little boy into your arms, and stood back up to look at Roger.

He couldn’t help but smile as his two favorite people beamed at him.

Roger ruffled Alexander’s hair, making him giggle.

Freddie grinned from behind John. “What a perfect family.”

Brian shook his head with a small laugh. “It’s not over yet.”

“Far from it,” John added.

Freddie waved their comments off. “Well, right now, I think they look pretty happy. In fact, Brian, would you do the honors?”

Brian brought his camera to his eye and snapped a photo.

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagine #queen x reader #ben!roger taylor x reader

325 notes · View notes

lizbotw · 3 years

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SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL: MIDORIYA’S ROUTE - SENSES

YOU’VE CHOSEN A WINDING PATH: TURN BACK NOW (MASTERLIST)

pairing: midoriya x reader

summary: It’s probably best to bring a flashlight and watch where you’re going in dusty old cellars.

a/n: the fourth route of the halloween collab with deku and the prompt “tangled traps” ♡ also the title may or may not have been inspired by spiderman’s spidey sense

word count: 2k

“I think you should go first.”

“Wha- why?! You’re the one who got dared.”

You stood at the top of the basement stairs next to Midoriya, the darkness below seemingly endless. Leave it up to him to get dared to go explore the lower level of the cabin you had specifically avoided because it gave everyone the creeps. And to make matters worse, you had been roped into this as well because he had been graciously allowed to choose one other person to go with him. Why he chose you of all people was a mystery, and although any other time being alone with him would make your heart pound in happiness, right now it was pounding for an entirely different reason—one that may or may be related to your imagination running wild at what lay just a few steps below you.

You heard the sharp intake of breath and when you looked at him, you found that he was standing straighter now, a determined look in his eye. “Let’s just get this over with. It shouldn’t take long.” And then he was descending the steps, careful with where he placed his feet to avoid slipping. You followed in suit, grip tight against the worn out railing you could barely see.

You heard the heavy thud of a footstep. “I think I reached the bottom,” he called up and you could only vaguely tell where he was.

It wasn’t long until you reached the final step as well and then stepped out onto the floor of the basement. There was an earthy smell from the space being dug so far underground, but there was also a faint musk of all things ancient—seems like no one had been down here in a long time. Reaching your hand out in front of you, you realized you couldn't even see it.

“Midoriya.”

“Yeah?”

“Hold on, I’m going to touch you. Don’t scream.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but you knew there was a look of indignation from his tone alone. “You say that like I was planning to!”

“Shut up, I’m just trying to save us the embarrassment of the others thinking we’re actually scared.” You blindly groped in front of you, trying to place where he was based on his voice. You hand made contact with fabric and you could feel the warmth underneath. You patted the area, confused, trying to place what it was. “What am I touching?”

“Uh… that’s my shoulder.”

With that in mind, you slowly felt your way down his arm until your touch brushed against his hand and you hooked your fingers with his.

“What are you-”

“So we don’t get lost.”

That seemed like explanation enough for him and he adjusted his grip to hold your hand tighter, pads of his fingers pressing against the back of it.

“So… what now?”

“Kaminari did say we had to find something down here and bring it back as proof.”

“But how? I can’t see anything. We should just go back up.”

You felt a tug on your hand and realized that he was walking ahead, pulling you along with him. “There has to be some sort of light source down here. Hopefully we’ll eventually find a light switch or something.”

You followed him, praying that you didn’t trip over something. “I don’t think this place has electricity. We really are stuck out here.” You felt something brush against your leg and you jolted, clamping down on your lip so you didn’t yelp—what the fuck was that? There was the clatter of metal falling next to your feet—something small—and an idea filled your mind. Maybe you could just grab this mysterious object and book it upstairs? That should satisfy the conditions of the dare, right?

You shook your hand out of Midoriya's, but then you felt him reaching back to grab a hold of your fingers, making a noise of confusion. You shook them off one more and spoke before he could do it again. “Hold on. I think I found something.” You crouched down and hesitantly reached out to skim your fingers along the floor, feeling the dust that had gathered from no one being down here in who knows how long—gross. Just as you were growing frustrated, you felt something cool press against you. It was solid and as you fumbled to grab a hold of it, you felt your thumb brush against a button. You clicked it and light flooded the space in front of you. A flashlight. You shone the light around you, seeing now that stacks of boxes filled the room, along with old newspapers strewn about the floor. In the far corners of the room, large, draping cobwebs had formed, although you had been lucky enough to avoid them so far, not having ventured very far into the room just yet.

There was a dull ache in your cheeks and you realized you had been beaming—no pun intended—at the discovery. Finally, something was going right around here. You had to show Midoriya. Your face fell. Speaking of which, where was he? You remembered the faint footsteps in the back of your mind when you had let go of his hand. Had he gone up ahead?

You rose from your crouched position to scan the room again. No sign of him. Where in the world—

“Hey, (Y/N), I think I found something! Come look, it’s-” He cut himself off with a strangled noise. There were heavy steps as though he were stumbling over his own two feet and you heard muted “mmphs” and “hmphs” as though he couldn’t open his mouth to yell properly. There was a crash that made you jump and then a groan of pain. You swung the light to shine in his general direction and found him collapsed on a knocked down pile of boxes, silver spider webs that glimmered under the light draped over him.

He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the light and you shone it a little off from him so it wasn’t as direct. Actually seeing what was on him now with the illumination had Midoriya gasping in surprise and quickly clawing the strings off of him, especially trying to tug the ones on his face off.

You fought back a laugh, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I was about to tell you to watch out for those.”

He had succeeded in getting most of them off and was spitting out the remnants that clung near his mouth, brow furrowed. “Yeah, but you didn’t.” Midoriya tried to get up but fell back onto the boxes with a clatter, so you walked over and offered a hand to pull him up. He gratefully took it and was on his feet seconds later. “Thanks.” His small smile morphed back into disgust right away though and he stuck out his tongue. “I think some of it got in my mouth.”

“What do they taste like?”

“The spider webs?”

“Yeah.”

Midoriya peeled off a section of web that clung to his arm and held it up to you. “Wanna try?”

“Ew, no!” you shrieked and ducked away out of his reach while he was chuckling at your expense. The laughter eventually died down though as the flashlight began to flicker. You groaned. “Come on, I just found this. Don’t die on me, you stupid thing.” You knocked it against your hand and that seemed to fix the problem momentarily, the light shinning brilliantly one again.

Midoriya was rubbing his head now, wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. “I think there’s a light switch somewhere over there. I felt it poke my side when I ran into the wall before.”

You used the flashlight to search against the worn-out wall, its white paint peeling in long strips, and found the switch he was talking about. It looked to have been fully white at one point too, but right now it was slightly yellowed and showing clear signs of age. You flipped it and the room instantly filled with light. Both of you shielded your eyes from the glare, but you forced your eyes open a few seconds later, now taking in the entire space.

It wasn’t exactly clean, but it wasn’t as messy as you’d thought. There was a thin coating of dust on everything. A bookshelf was against the opposite wall and adjacent was a wooden desk. Its surface was cluttered and overflowing with papers, however, you noticed something against the back corner that had you squinting to get a closer look.

“Is that-”

It seemed like Midoriya had noticed it too and a thumping filled your heart as he carefully walked over to it, making sure to avoid the hanging spider webs now. A light green antique telephone was what both of you had your attention on and you stayed still as he picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear to hear if it worked. There was a beat of silence, and then— “There’s static.” He looked you dead in the eye, still holding the phone to his ear, and a boyish grin spreading across his face. “It works.”

Your eyes widened. “No way.” You quickly stalked over him and grabbed the phone from his hand, pressing it against your own face. The crisp sputter of static filled your ears—an active line. “...you’re right.”

“We should tell the others!” He turned to go bounding up the stairs, but you grabbed a hold of his arm to stop him.

“Wait, let’s try it first. What’s U.A.’s number?”

Midoriya wasted no time in reciting the digits to you and you spun the dial on the rotary in accordance, the wheel moving smoothly despite its apparent age. He paused when he was done. “How’d you know I had it memorized?”

“If anyone has it memorized, it’s you, Midoriya,” you replied offhandedly as you pressed the phone again to your ear with a baited breath. You didn’t want to tell the others just yet and get their hopes up for nothing if the phone really couldn’t work, and although they would be none the wiser if you didn’t tell them anything at all, now your hopes were up at just finding this. Please work, please work, please work— you heard ringing on the other side and almost dropped the phone. “Holy fuck.”

“What? What is it?” Midoriya was frantic now, your sudden panic sending him into a tizzy.

“It works, Midoriya. It’s ringing.” You were full on smiling now and in the middle of your euphoria, tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear to free up your hands and grabbed him by the front of his shirt to pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you with no resistance, pulling you tight to his chest, and you two were practically jumping with glee at the discovery, so much so that neither of you had the chance to get flustered at the sudden proximity and the way you were pressed together (although the thought may or may not come back to haunt the both of you as you lay in bed the next night).

Midoriya finally pulled away, holding you at arms length, grinning so widely you were sure it was going to split his face in two. “I’m going to tell the others, okay?” You frantically nodded in reply, too happy to form words, your own lips pressed into a hard smile. You watched as he took the old rickety steps two at a time and disappeared through the doorway at the top where you two had stood minutes before just as you heard someone answer the phone and the sound of U.A.’s receptionist’s—no doubt working late at the office—sleepy “Hello?” filled your ears.

In the midst of your excitement, no one thought to mention how odd it was that a long abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere had enough running electricity to power a phone in the first place.

YOU’VE REACHED THE END OF THE PATH: RETURN TO THE CABIN

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thanksbarton-moved · 2 years

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Make Steve cry 2022: Tony has been killed.

well played anon. i'm not ready for this emotional spiral and yes im placing this in his main because it's 3000 times worse there. @stcrk also i have no visual for this because I don't think Chris has anything that will fully represent this picture.

He's at home with their dog when he finds out about what's happened. It's chaotic for a long time and Tesla's running around like crazy in what Steve can only assume is some sort of panicking mechanism. The news reported it first. The fucking news! And there's death hoaxes about Tony all the time.

So many of them and every single time they were less and less believable. But this was actually believable. Sure, planes were supposedly one of the best and safest ways to travel, and things going wrong weren't as common as other forms of transportation or so he'd heard. But things still went wrong and planes still crashed.

He hadn't started actually panicking about things until he had heard from Rhodey and he'd heard his actual voice. The way it wouldn't stay steady at all and the way it was so soft that if he didn't have enhanced hearing that he would never have heard it. It was true. It was actually true.

He was dead and he wasn't married anymore. How do you just stop being married? And their dog was losing her mind at the moment. His phone was blasting in his ears with texts and calls from every single person that had his number and knew Tony. Even news outlets were requesting a comment. A fucking comment? How? What would he even say?

And then it occurred to him that one of the calls had to be from her. Fuck, their surrogate who was probably also losing her god damn mind at the moment. Steve was good at compartmentalizing things in most cases. You had to keep moving and go on. It was inevitable. But when it came to Tony and Bucky? He was shit at it. The absolute worst. Bucky was fine though. He was fine and he was still working on himself and they were best friends.

Tony was fucking dead. His husband was dead and he hadn't even gotten to go to an appointment to see their kid on a screen and why was the room just spinning? It was spinning right? He hadn't even registered the phone had slipped out of his hand and onto the ground until Tesla was aggressively sniffing it and bopping her nose against it.

Shit, what was he supposed to do? He was always so strong and he never gave up even when Thanos was going to straight up end him because he was all that was left, he had stood there, ready to die. But this? How do you just keep going on without the person you loved most in the entire world. Not talking for a long time after the split of the Avengers over the accords had been horrible enough and they had just been friends then.

They were married and in love and building a huge future now. Funnily enough, breathing had always been difficult for Steve growing up, it kind of came with the territory of being a small and sick asthmatic with other ailments. But he hadn't had issues since the serum. But he felt like he couldn't breathe right now. Was there even air in their house? It was huge. He knew that. But it felt like the walls were closing in and even the dog in the background wasn't working to ease anything.

Okay. No he had to keep going right? What was there to do? Call the surrogate back. No, he knew her name, memorized it and every detail about her. But right now all he could think about was spending the rest of his life alone with a kid that would never know Tony.

Aching. Yeah, that sounded about right. Was he crying? He couldn't tell right now. It was just too much all at once.

"Fuck."

#anons #long post tw #( yeah my husbands pretty cool. but he’s not as cool as me ~ main )#stcrk #death tw #plane crash tw #pregnancy tw #dog tw #anxiety tw #grief tw

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

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Cross My Heart - CH.12

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: Flangst

WC: 2347

SERIES MASTERLIST

The next day Dean had moved her to another safe house and they had spent the two days far away from anyone. She didn’t really ask him why, not that it matters to her anymore, anyway. They have everything they need here and they didn’t want to risk going into town and expose her to the public eye. Not when Chuck’s plan comes to an end today.

Dean texted Chuck this morning, telling Chuck their coordinates but it was the one from their second safe house. Not this one. He does have something in mind and even though he hasn’t told her about his plans, she thinks she kind of knows.

The safe house they’re in now is apparently not really a safe house. Dean said he spent a lot of time here and it’s close by a lake. They took a stroll there once and she liked it. Likes the quiet of it and somehow when she was there, standing by the lake and breathing in the fresh air, it felt like her problems were all gone.

She doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. Only knows that they don’t want to go back to what they were. There’s no going back. Not after all she’s been through.

When it’s safe for her to go back, though, she’s determined to find a lawyer and divorce Chuck. She doesn’t even care about the money, it was never about the money. It was about Chuck’s reputation all along and the only loser in this is going to be her. Because she’s sure that Chuck will be able to turn this all around and make out that she’s the one to blame for the divorce. But strangely, she’s ready to take that fall. Maybe because she knows that Dean’ll have her back, no matter what.

Dean has fucked her on every surface of their new cabin, and has made her come more in the last days than she ever did in the marriage with Chuck. But it’s not only about that. It’s also about the way he treats her. He never made her feel uncomfortable, never did pressure her into anything and it makes her wonder if a relationship should be like that? She never knew anything else than what she had with Chuck.

While Dean’s still in the showers, she decides to cook them breakfast. She hasn’t cooked in a while, though, kind of hopes that it’s going to be edible at all.

She turns the bacon in the pan and jumps up when she feels an arm coming around her waist, before Dean lays his chin on her shoulder.

“Smells good,” Dean whispers, “Could eat you up.” His other hand that’s not around her waist slips beneath her shirt, and she doesn’t wear any panties, which grants Dean a super easy access.

“Dean,” She chuckles as he kisses along her neck, his scruff tickling her. His other hand palms over her ass, squeezes it lightly. She gasps, letting her head fall back against his broad shoulders, “I’ll burn them.”

He kisses along her cheek, “It’s not my fault you look so fucking delicious,” His hand goes between the crack of ass cheeks, toys with her pussy from the rear, “No underwear, too. How am I supposed to resist you like this?” He dips two fingers in easily, she’s still plenty wet from his teasing in bed this morning, right before he pushed himself up and went to take a shower, leaving her hot and bothered.

Dean’s a total tease. She had learned this the hard way. And apparently, his willpower is stronger than hers.

“Dean, the bacon,” She warns him, doesn’t really want him to stop though. She keens, arches her back, wants more of it.

He chuckles, his chest rumbles and she can feel the vibrations on her back. Taking his fingers out, Dean licks at them. She turns her head and he grins cockily, “You’re right. That would be a waste of bacon if you’d burn them,” He kisses her forehead and helps her set up the table as if nothing happened. As if she wasn't so close to coming on his fingers.

They eat in silence and Dean’s kind of absent. She can see that bodyguard Dean’s back. Can see it in the tense of his shoulder. He frowns more and is more lost in his thoughts.

Y/N offers to do the dishes afterwards, leaving Dean time to do whatever’s on his mind. He starts up the laptop, they still haven’t heard anything from Chuck yet regarding the coordinates Dean sent out. But she also knows that Dean has a plan because he’s typing away at something on his laptop. It seems like he’s chatting to someone.

After she’s done the dishes, she sits down with him and watches him work on his firearms. He’s cleaning them and checking them up. It looks so easy, Dean calloused fingers working swiftly. She bets he can do it blindly and she blushes when she thinks where his fingers have been moments before.

“Am I turning you on?” There’s that cocky smirk again and he’s full on looking at her while his hands are still working on his gun.

“No?” She says but she blushes some more, has to squeeze her thighs together to ease the throbbing that she feels between them.

Dean sorts out a laugh, “Liar,” With his next breath he asks, “Can you handle a gun?”

It’s her turn to grin, her lips stretched big on her face.

“Not mine, Christ, Y/N.” He almost rolls his eyes.

“Oh,” She giggles, “Then no.”

“Maybe you should learn how to use one.”

“Yeah,” She says, “Maybe,” But actually she doesn’t want to. She can barely cook without hurting herself, she doesn’t think having access to a loaded gun will be any good.

Dean looks back to the gun, assembles it quickly before he works on his other one. She doesn’t know why he has so many.

“You ever killed anyone?” She asks, and then thinks that it’s a really stupid question because he’s an ex-marine and was deployed, and of course he killed at least one other person, he must have.

His face changes and there’s a growing crease between his eyebrows, “Yeah,” Dean says. It’s almost a whisper, “Yeah, I have.”

“In the war?”

Dean nods, and turns his gaze back to the gun.

She doesn’t press further, just sits there and watches him. And after a while, Dean starts to talk again.

“I was on a mission, we’re twelve of us. And it was all routine until there was an explosion that blocked our way and they came jumping out from their hiding spots. We were surrounded without an escape.”

Dean takes the cloth and wraps it around his finger, dips it into some kind of grease and starts to clean the gun with it, “More than half of us didn’t get out of there. And I was with Cas.”

“Cas is an ex-marine too?”

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, doesn’t look like it, though. He had some troubles adjusting when we came back and he’s been battling his inner demon since.”

“You do too.”

“More than you know.” Dean clears his throat, “Cas got stabbed in his thigh on that day. A young guy launched forward and I tackled him to the ground. Everyone was struggling at keeping the enemy at bay and as far away as we could, and I straddled that guy while bullets were still raining on us.”

Dean grips his gun a little tighter, the white of his knuckles showing, “I still remember the look in his eyes. He was maybe barely legal, and while I looked at him, his face turned white. All I could see was the fear in his eyes. He was so fucking terrified and that’s when I thought, he’s a human being too, y’know.”

She nods.

“And then I thought that the last thing he’ll ever see is my face, and that’s no way to die. The last thing you see should be of someone you love and not of someone who’s going to shoot you in the head. I decided to quit right then and there. I don’t want to be at the receiving end, if I can avoid it.”

Dean sniffs a little, tears pool in his eyes and she gets up, walks around the table to stand next to him. She lays her hand on his shoulder until he tilts his head towards her, leans it against her stomach and she cradles his face, strokes his head.

“But now you’re still working a dangerous job.” She says because it’s true. He could get shot either.

He lets go of the cloth and his gun, wraps his arms around her waist and stares up at her, his chin resting on her stomach, “Not every bodyguard job is the same. 99% of it it’s just me trying to protect people from crazy fans. There’s nothing really dangerous about it.”

“I’m sorry.” She says, feeling guilty to have dragged him into this.

“Don’t be,” He turns her around in his grip, makes her sit on his lap sideways and noses at her temple, “Besides, I think after this is done, I’ll quit.”

“You will?” She asks him and he chuckles, kisses her cheek.

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is low, the bass transfers over to her body, “I met this girl and I think, when this is all over, I’ll ask her out.”

At the mention of a girl her heart drops into her stomach and there’s a momentary numbness but then her lips spread into a small smile upon realization, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if she would say yes, though.”

She turns her head, kisses his nose, “I think she will.”

“You think so?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I know so.” Her hand comes up, paints along Dean’s face with her thumb. There are so many freckles, and she thinks she’s memorized them all by now.

He replicates her smile, holds her just a little tighter and rests his chin on her shoulder, “I wanna take you out properly. Take you places you wanna go. Wanna walk around, holding your hand. Wanna take you to meet my friends, and I wanna meet yours, if you — ”

Dean gets interrupted by his phone.

It’s an unknown number to him because he frowns but she knows the number by heart. It’s Meg’s.

“Meg,” She whispers and Dean picks up, putting her friend on speaker.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?” Meg’s voice is loud and furious.

“Woah, Meg, calm down, will ya?” Dean’s almost equally loud but maybe because Meg is so loud. She’s sobbing on the other end, too.

“You killed her, didn’t you? I’m on my way to the police station, by the way, don’t even think that you can get away with this!”

“I killed who?” Dean growls.

“Y/N!”

It’s then that Y/N speaks up, “Meg, I’m okay, nothing happened to me. Don’t go to the police!”

“Oh my god. Oh thank god, you’re alive. You’re really okay? Oh my god!”

“I’m really okay,” She gets out from Dean’s lap and stands next to him, one hand on his shoulder to calm him down because she can feel his blood boiling underneath, “What makes you think that I’m not okay?”

Dean’s already typing in her name in google and clicked on the first link that shows up.

BREAKING: A SEVERED RING FINGER WITH WEDDING RING SENT TO FAMOUS RECORD MOGUL CHUCK SHURLEY

The article mentioned that Chuck has identified the finger as hers and there’s a picture of the engagement ring and her wedding band.

Her jaw drops.

“Y/N? Still there?” Meg asks between sniffs.

“That’s total bullshit!” Y/N cries out, “I haven’t worn my wedding band in ages except I had to play the happy wife.”

Dean’s been awfully quiet. His lips are pressed into a tight line.

“Why would someone do that?” Meg asks, “And why doesn’t Chuck say that you’re safe with your bodyguard?”

Dean clears his throat, “Because if Chuck says it was me, he’ll be going down himself. He’s not a fucking idiot, unfortunately. He knows that I have all the evidence that I’m hired to keep her safe and he got all the updates on our whereabouts by texts and emails.”

“But whose finger is it? Ewwww,” Meg sounds disgusted, “And why?”

“Meg,” Dean says, “Does anyone know that you have my number?”

“No,”

“Good, keep it a secret. Don’t go to the police. Play along, be the distraught friend. Don’t reveal to anyone that Y/N’s safe and sound. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Y/N hears Meg squealing on the other end and even Dean has to chuckle at that.

“Right, Meg, please, please stay away from Chuck until I know what’s going on, okay? If you stay away he won’t be able to bother you to ask if you’ve heard from me.” She tells her friend.

“Of course.” Meg says, “Alright, I need to go back to work then. I’m so glad that you’re okay. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

Dean disconnects Meg and they both stare at each other, neither of them know what to think about it.

He pinches at the bridge of his nose, “How did he get the rings?”

“I have them in my jewelry box. I didn’t take them with me. Where do you think he has got the finger from?”

She places her hand on her stomach, feels nauseous just thinking about it.

“I guess we’ll know when the finger has been examined. Unless he succeeds in manipulating the test results as well.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” She feels her tears pooling, one of them drips down her cheek. She doesn't even want to cry.

He stands up and wraps his big arms around her, making her disappear into his chest, “I don’t know. I don’t like it but I got you, alright? We’ll figure it out.”

CH.13

#cross my heart #dean winchester #bodyguard!dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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just-jordie-things · 4 years

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Wisdom Teeth (part two) - Richie Tozier

word count: 2930 warnings: swearing summary: Richie doesn’t remember all that much of what happened after his operation... but he does have a hazy memory of a kiss and it’s driving him mad. ___

When he came to, Richie wondered for a minute where the hell he was. Because he definitely was not on his bed at home.

It only took a few seconds for his brain to wake up for him to realize he was at (y/n’s) house, sprawled out on her living room couch. The thought brought a smile to his sore mouth, and he rolled onto his side, pulling the covers back over himself as he got comfortable to go back to sleep.

But as he switched positions, he caught sight of her.

She was passed out, and it must have been unintentional, because there was no way she would have willingly slept in the living room chair. Her body was balled up and her limbs were sticking out at weird angles, in ways that he knew were going to hurt when she woke up.

But she looked so precious when she was sleeping, and he hoped that he hadn’t worn her out too much.

He vaguely remembered the events of the day before.

Getting into her car with a lot of struggling, eating jello, a kiss, watching movies-

Richie shot up from the couch, and it was at that moment he figured he probably wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

A kiss!?

Had they kissed? Had she really kissed him?

He grabbed his glasses from the coffee table and rubs his eyes roughly before putting them on.

The memory was fuzzy, and he wasn’t sure if it really happened, or if he’d just dreamed about it. Fuck he really hoped it was real, he really wanted it to be real.

(y/n) sat up straighter, all sorts of popping sounds coming from her as a result as she stretched and groaned.

“Jesus Christ,” She muttered, hands on her back as she tried to get the last of the cracks out. “What time is it?” She asked Richie, who had just been sitting on the sofa, staring at her.

“Um- did I wake you up?” He asked, but she shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so,” She answered, rubbing her eyes before turning around to look at the clock on the wall. “Oh my god it’s already noon, I hope you weren’t waiting up because of me” She said, getting up and stretching even more.

“No- no of course not, I just woke up” He assured.

He watched while she fixed up the cushion and the blanket on the chair to make it look better.

He watched her like he needed to study and memorize each of her movements. And she wasn’t blind, she noticed how weird he was being.

“You alright?” She asked, picking up her pillow.

She’d managed to bring her pillow and blanket from her room to be comfortable watching movies last night, but didn’t manage to go back to her own bed when she started to grow tired.

“Um, yeah, yeah I’m… fine” Richie mumbled back. He covered his awkward answer with a yawn and a stretch.

“And how are the holes in your mouth?” She asked, only kind of teasing.

“It’s not that bad, just dull pain,” He shrugged. “I once almost got eaten by a demon clown, so..”

(y/n) laughed, holding her pillow close to her chest.

“I’m gonna take a shower, and then I’ll make breakfast?” She offered.

“What are you gonna make that I can eat?” He asked.

“Breakfast… smoothies?” She tried.

“Babe, please don’t ruin a bunch of good and decent regular food by blending it-”

“I was going to use fruit, dummy,” She retorted. Richie shrugged, and nodded his head approval. “I’m gonna shower now”

She left the room, heading off with her pillow and blanket, and still, Richie’s eyes were trained on her.

He could just ask about the kiss, but the idea of asking her that sort of thing made the hairs on his arms stand up and a chill of anxiety go down his spine. What if it was just a dream and she thought he was lame?

Or worse.

What if it did happen, but only because she felt so bad for him, what if it was a pity kiss?

Richie scrambled up from the couch and practically dove for the telephone.

He dialed one of the only numbers he knew by heart, but only because he used to call it every day in the second grade.

“H-hello, this is-is B-Bill-”

“Yeah I know its fuckin’ you Bill you have a pretty telling voice”

“R-Richie?” Bill spoke, confusedly, through the line. “H-how’d the sur-surgery g-go-?”

“It went fine, move on Bill, there’s bigger problems,” Richie cut him off again. He didn’t have the patience to go through the pleasantries with him right now. “I think (y/n) and I kissed”

“Y-you think?” Bill repeated, obviously confused by the statement. “You d-don’t r-remember?”

“I was practically high!” Richie declared, whisper-screaming into the phone.

Bill was silent on the other end, and Richie was left to imagine the bored ‘really?’ face he was making.

“Okay, not high, but seriously, I don’t remember anything before the anesthetics wore off. Not well, anyways. It’s kinda blurry”

“Richie, y-ou’ve s-somehow remembered all the n-nights you’ve g-gotten w-wasted. I th-think you c-can re-remember if you k-kissed-”

“I can’t tell if it was a dream!” Richie cut him off again.

“Y-you’re d-dumb. J-just ask-”

“I’m dumb? Bill, I can’t just ask her if I kissed her”

“O-okay, sh-shut the f-fuck up. Y-you called m-me,” Bill snapped, tired of not getting to finish a thought. “I-I thought you l-liked her?”

“I do” Richie mumbled defeatedly.

“W-well then w-why not j-just risk it a-and ask?” Bill suggested. “M-maybe sh-she likes y-you back?”

“What if she doesn’t though? What if it wasn’t real and she-”

“I’m p-pretty s-sure she does,” Bill argued. “She w-was the one to p-pick y-you up from the hos-hospital, a-and you t-two are r-really close,”

Richie didn’t say anything, pondering the idea that (y/n) could return his feelings. He liked thinking about it, reading into the things she’d say, the way she’d call him sweet names without really thinking, and she did tend to touch his arm more than necessary.

“Do you r-really h-have to th-think about it all w-while we’re s-still on the ph-phone…?” Bill asked awkwardly. “I k-kinda have h-homework t-to do…”

“Yeah fine, bye Big Bill” Richie muttered, and placed the phone back on it’s holder.

He sat back down on the couch, trying to think as hard as he could about what happened yesterday.

“Why the hell do you want to marry me? Because I bought you jello?”

Her voice rang in his head, and he was sure that she’d said that. The confused face she’d made a vivid image in his head, too vivid to have not happened.

“You’re al’th’o very pretty”

He remembered saying that. Richie cringed at the compliment now, realizing how cringey he’d been when he’d flirted with her. Usually he was pretty smooth, or at least funny. That comment was neither.

“So!” (y/n’s) voice rang out as she came back into the room. “Strawberry banana, or mixed berry?”

Richie turned to look at her. She’d changed into a fresh set of clothes, and her hair was still kind of damp. She looked really pretty, and he’d been right to tell her so yesterday.

“Rich?” She snapped her fingers in front of her face. “You in reality, babe?” She asks, and she starts to laugh when he blinks rapidly to focus.

“Yeah, sorry. Whatever you want to make” He answers, and she’s already heading into the kitchen.

“Strawberry banana it is” She decides.

He followed her into the other room, sitting at the counter while she gathered the ingredients for their breakfast smoothies.

And he just can’t bring himself to tear his eyes off of her. Especially her lips. If he had kissed her, he knew that her lips had to have been as soft as he imagined. Like kissing a marshmallow-

Richie cleared his throat, trying to disrupt his daydreaming and get back on the right track. Remembering.

“You sure you’re okay today?” (y/n) asked, dumping ice and fruit into the blender.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He lied with ease, but she still doesn’t believe him.

Her eyes meet his, and she studies him for a minute, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. But it’s hard, because even though she can read him pretty well, Richie Tozier’s a bit of a loose cannon.

“You’ve just been quiet,” She shrugs. “And usually you don’t shut up” She adds playfully.

Richie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, so she starts up the blender.

He was still being weird, but she knew that he’d tell her what was going on in time. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to hold it in, she knew, because it wasn’t the first time he’d let something bother him this much.

It was pretty easy to get on Richie’s nerves though, so (y/n) tried not to worry too much. He probably just didn’t want to tell her how much his mouth really hurt.

They drank their smoothies in peace, and the quiet wasn’t too uncomfortable. Richie relaxed as much as he could, and tried not to dwell too much on yesterday. His memory would come back to him in a matter of time, he just had to wait. And he figured spending the day with (y/n) would help trigger it.

They played games and watched movies, and she did what she could to keep his focus off of his mouth, as well as reminded him to take his pain medication.

It was nice to have a whole Sunday to themselves, just the two of them. Richie wished that he’d had the guts to spend more alone time with her, but at least he had her all to himself now.

(y/n) liked having him over as well. Even though he did whine about his jaw, and made more inappropriate jokes than usual. He couldn’t help it. However a part of her found it charming.

(Any of their friends would have made fun of her for thinking so.) ___

She drove him home that evening, since it was a school night and his parents were expecting him back.

It was a short drive, but the whole time his leg was bouncing anxiously in his seat. To the point where it started to make (y/n) nervous as well.

It got to the point where she just couldn’t take it, and reached a hand over to place it on his knee, still his leg.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” She asked softly, glancing over to him quickly, before looking back at the road. “Are you worried about going home?”

She was well aware that Richie didn’t always get along too well with his parents, and it had been odd that they weren’t the ones to help him out after the surgery. She assumed his nerves were because he didn’t want to go home to them.

When he didn’t answer, she looked at him again.

“Richie?” She called, thinking maybe he’d zoned out. He’d been doing it a lot today, and again, she’d wrongfully assumed it was the pain.

“Sorry,” He finally spoke up, and let out a long sigh. “I can’t seem to focus today”

“That’s okay,” She said, about to retract her hand, but Richie grabbed it before she could.

She cast him one more glance at the odd action, her worry increasing, but she didn’t take her hand away.

“You don’t have to apologize,” She added, folding her hand into his. “And hey, if you want to come over tomorrow after school, I’ll kick your ass some more at Space Invaders” She added, trying to keep her tone as chipper as she could so the mood would lighten.

There was still a heavy tension in the car though, and it was completely Richie’s fault.

(y/n) wasn’t sure what was going on with him, but it was starting to make her shoulders droop and she wanted a hole to open up beneath her and swallow her whole so that she didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

When they arrived at his house, she walked him to the door, as she always did, because she was polite like that.

With a sigh, she gave him a perplexed look, a nervous smile plastered on her lips.

“You know if they’re weird or something you could come back over,” She said, rambling a bit from her own nerves. “You’d have to sneak in, probably through my window, and honestly please try to wake me up first because I will think that you’re a murderer trying to break in-”

“Okay, (y/n), calm down, I’ll be fine,” Richie cut her off because she was really starting to derail. “I don’t mind staying here tonight, it’s no big deal”

She bit down on her lip, and nodded her head.

“Alright then,” She said softly. “G’night, I’ll see you in the morning”

She forced a bright smile, before turning and heading off of his doorstep.

Maybe she just needed to go home, take a bath, and call Beverly to talk this through in order to calm her mind-”

“(y/n) wait!” Richie called, after she was already halfway down the driveway.

She spun around, a look of shock on her face from his outburst, but he continued yelling before she could say anything.

“Did I kiss you yesterday?” He blurted out before he could chicken out. “See I- I keep on replaying it in my head and I just can’t fucking tell if it actually-”

“No,” (y/n) answered abruptly, walking back towards him.

Almost instantly, Richie deflated. His heart sank to his gut and he frowned.

“That’s not what happened,” She explained. “You told me that you wanted to get married-”

“Oh god” Richie muttered, hanging his head.

“-and then you told me that you were gonna get me to fall in love with you,” (y/n) continued to recall yesterday’s events as she walked back up to him. “And then you admitted that you’d liked me since the second grade- very incoherently by the way-”

“Oh my fucking god,” Richie leaned his head back, staring up at the skies. “If you’re up there, please, kill me now”

(y/n) giggled at his antics, and stopped just in front of him.

“And then I kissed you,” She corrected, softly. “Is that what you’ve been all anxious about today?” She asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

Just like that, all the nerves that he’d passed off to her, disappeared. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side.

Richie covered his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“Why are you so bothered? Did you not… mean it-?”

“No! I- of course I meant it!” He said quickly, and (y/n) nearly jumped at how quickly he’d declared so. “I just- I feel bad that I… I didn’t remember”

A small smile quirked up on her lips, and she stepped forward, leaning up on the tips of her toes and pressing a light kiss against his cheek.

He dragged his hands away as she did so, revealing a pink blush on his face.

“You were all drugged up Richie, don’t feel bad,” She said sweetly. “Had I known you’d been overthinking about that, I would have talked to you about it, or something. I just figured it didn’t need to be talked about”

“Well I- I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to uh… you know, ruin anything”

(y/n) grinned, a wide, cheeky grin.

She pulled his hands away from his face completely, and tugged on them just a little bit to pull him closer.

“Ruin?” She repeated, tilting her head to meet his downcasted eyes. “Richie, you wanted to marry me yesterday, like, more than I’ve ever seen you want anything,” She explained, her wicked grin turning into a sweet smile. “And I don’t- I don’t think that really ruins anything in my opinion,”

Bashfully, he looks at her, trying to hide his own smile.

“I didn’t think I’d get you all nervous though, Trashmouth” She teased.

“Jesus christ, fuck you,” He said, his tone too sweet for the words.

His hands pulled out of hers, only to grab onto her waist with one, and tuck the other behind her head, pulling her in close so he could lean down and slant his lips against hers.

He’d been right, her lips were soft like marshmallows. And sweet like them too.

She pulled away after a moment, and she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’ll take you to that church now, if you’d like” She teased.

“You’re gonna make fun of me a lot, aren’t you?” He grumbled, gazing down at her affectionately.

“Oh, definitely. I think it’s only fair, seeing as I dragged your ass all over the place yesterday. Because you claimed you couldn’t walk”

“Nah, I just wanted your hands all over me,” Richie teased, leaning down to steal another quick kiss. “I better get inside”

She bit down on her lip to keep herself from grinning like a lovesick fool, and nodded her head, dropping her hands from around his neck.

“Alright,” She said softly. “I’ll see you later then, Rich”

He winked back at her as he opened the door.

“See you tomorrow, wifey” He retorted, and went inside before she could tell him for the millionth time they weren’t getting married.

But as she was driving home, she thought what the hell? Maybe he’s right. ___

taglist: @thegr8kush @lemonypink @darling-egg

xoxo ~ jordie

#richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier fanfiction #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader

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general-mahamatra · 4 years

Text

Visus Cæcus

Focus: Eret

Genre: Spooky Season

TW: Blood and injuries

Pairing: Platonic Fundy and Eret

Wordcount: 6283

Read it on AO3 here

Note: This is part of a trade with the glorious @strawberry10 !! They have my whole heart and this piece has been a work in progress for maybe a month now. It’s only fitting I post it so close to Halloween :)

The crunch of decaying leaves and broken twigs mixes with the soft chirping of birds. Sunlight peeks through the leaves, sending shadows across the path and illuminating the forest and accentuating the vibrant green of the foliage. On such a perfect afternoon, the forest is lovely. Tranquil and perfect--almost too good to be real.

A soft breeze rustles the canopy followed by the scutter of a squirrel climbing a nearby tree. Everything is serene… virtually untouched by humans despite the man-made path twisting through the forest.

It goes for ages, disappearing through the trees. Where it goes is impossible to tell with the way it turns. Undergrowth stretches over the brown trail, small bushes encroaching as young saplings reach across--a strain for sunlight.

Laughter breaks through the peace and the crunch grows louder. Shoes tread along the footpath, ignorant of the bugs that scuttle out of the way. Two people walk along the trail, bags on their backs, and dressed for a hike. They were chatting, entertaining each other as they made their way down the path.

One of them nudges the other, grinning as if they had just said the most clever thing. The other, a brunette, rolls their eyes with a small smile.

“C’mon Eret, you know I’m right!”

The brunette--Eret--scoffs. They shove the man back, just enough to make him stumble. “You are not. There’s no way that’s even possible!”

“What do you mean?!” He exclaims, eyes wide with shock. "I'm always right! I'm literally always right!"

"Fundy," Eret deadpans.

"Yeah?"

They stare at each other, quiet for a moment.

"How the fuck are peanuts meat?"

Fundy can barely contain his laughter as he tries to explain, “but they are! They’re literally meat, they’re with meat on the food pyramid. And, AND! They basically have the same protein. SO,” he points at Eret, “checkmate.”

“That’s not how that works!” Eret protests. “That’s not how that works at all! Just because they’re with the meat doesn’t mean shit!”

Fundy hums. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“They’re a nut!” the brunette whines. “They have nut in their name, they’re not ‘pea-meat’!”

The ginger chuckles, covering his mouth as the other tries to argue. It was clear Fundy wasn’t going to back down from the dispute, he had no intention to let Eret win, even when they had a point. Besides, he’s not dumb, he knows they aren’t meat. It’s just fucking hilarious.

After calming down enough to talk, the points to Eret’s pocket. “Get your phone out, prove to me they aren’t meat!”

“Fine! I will!” Eret fumbles with their shorts and pulls out their phone. A couple of seconds pass followed by an “aha! They aren’t meat!” They began to triumphantly read the blurb, far too confident over the fact that they won the debate. “Peanuts do not come from animals. So they are not meat. Although they are called a nut, they are not... a nut…” they trail off, a small frown appearing. “The peanut is a legume, related to the pea family.” Eret huffs and turns off their phone, shoving it in their pocket.

Fundy cackles, the sound disturbing a nearby bird. With a flurry of black feathers, it flutters off.

“It’s still not a meat,” they grumble.

Fundy steps closer to them, grinning as he pokes their shoulder. “But they’re not a nut~” he coos, clearly proud of his victory. If it could even be called that.

Eret rolls their eyes and shrugs the man off but the upturn of their lips is a hint of their amusement. They were enjoying the back and forth--it was far better than the two walking in silence. After all, they weren’t too sure they’d last a week in the woods if they didn’t have the sort of chemistry for lighthearted banter.

The two found the forest a week ago just driving around town and immediately decided to explore it, especially since they’re visiting Fundy for a couple of weeks. What could go wrong anyway? It’s just a forest in the middle of nowhere.

Though there were times as they were getting ready that Eret thought about some of the… warnings they’ve seen. They never took them seriously, but they always found the posts interesting.

They were warnings about going to certain places in the dark or at night--warnings about the things that stalk the cornfields of the Midwest or the forests around the world. Hell, even the creatures that lurk beneath the surface, just waiting for a ship to pass by to take without a warning.

As the two continue, Eret’s mind wanders. It drifts to the text posts they’ve seen and just how serious they seem. They were so detailed and specific, it made them start to wonder if maybe there was something behind them. There’s no way someone could come up with those warnings and make them so realistic without having something to back them on.

One that won’t leave them alone is a caution about the forests. The number of times they read it… they had it memorized at this point.

Start traveling during the day, it is always asleep by dawn and it will leave you be.

Never move at night.

Stay on the path at all times.

Never set a campfire outside of a designated area. It can smell the smoke and it will find you.

Always travel with a group. Never go solo. If someone gets injured, never leave them alone.

When the forest goes silent, stop moving immediately.

If you don’t, the crowns will come. When you see the crows, it sees you. Stop talking immediately, find a different way to communicate. It can mimic your voice.

When the crows swarm, run. Do not let them injure you. It can smell the blood.

If you stray from the path, find it again as soon as possible. The longer you are off the path, the more likely it will find you.

If you can't find the path, never stop moving at night. Rest during the day, run during the night. It hunts at night and if you stop, it will attack.

Keep anyone injured close, never leave them alone.

If you hear someone call for help, do not go to it. It’s a trap.

Eret shakes their head to clear the thoughts. There was no reason to be thinking about the list. The paranoia is stupid. It was made to scare people--a short thing for the niche group of people addicted to horror.

They're on a hike with their best friend, not on an exploration trip to try and get murdered by some forest monster. Whatever that forest monster is.

The thing is only ever referred to as "it".

But the reassurance that it's fake doesn't do much to calm Eret's nerves. If anything, it leaves them anxious--wondering if maybe… just maybe it isn't fake.

No, stop. It's fake, it's literally fake. Why the fuck would this stuff be real?? They think. It's just a forest.

The absence of their friend next to them is what makes Eret pause and look around. So caught up in their thoughts, they didn't even realize Fundy stopped walking. Turning, they find the ginger frowning, brown eyes staring at something obscured by the trees.

"Fundy?"

The man raises a finger to his lips, shushing Eret. Slowly, he points to his ear and glances at the brunette. "Do you hear that?"

Confused, Eret looks the same way Fundy is. When greeted by nothing but trees and chirping, they shake their head.

"Listen closer," Fundy insists.

Eret glances at Fundy, slightly concerned but curious nonetheless. They fall silent, this time trying to focus on the noises around them.

At first, there is nothing but the regular ambiance of the forest. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A few more seconds pass before they finally notice it. A rustling--faint and distant. It only grows louder, almost as if it’s approaching. It puzzles Eret, making them frown slightly as they comment, “What… is that?”

Fundy steps closer and squints into the trees. His hands wrap around the straps of his bag, his quizzical expression mirroring Eret’s feelings.

“I have no idea.”

The two stand there, watching. Maybe if they were thinking straight, they would’ve continued. But not everyone is bright, are they?

It’s the first crow darting out of the dense tree line that makes them jump, the bird squawking and frantically flapping its wings. Eret watches it, mouth agape as they stare. Confused, they can’t pull their gaze off the struggling bird.

They don’t even realize the shuffling is still getting louder.

Eret points at the bird and turns to Fundy. “You’re telling me we got scared by that?” There’s a slight smile on their face that only falters when they realize Fundy isn’t smiling and is instead still looking at the trees. “Fundy?”

The ginger doesn’t respond and instead backs up. Slow at first, speeding up within seconds as he grabs Eret. “Move, MOVE!”

Eret doesn’t get a chance to react before more birds burst from the trees. Their screeching is quick to overwhelm the two as a couple of birds turn into ten, then twenty, then a giant shrieking mass.

Feathers are everywhere, flying around as the crows swarm. They twist and turn, diving around as they grab each other with their talons. They rip each other apart, spraying blood and guts everywhere. The cawing never stops as bodies drop to the hiking trail, the hot crimson liquid misting the two humans as they try to get away.

And then the birds turn their attention elsewhere: right on the two.

“GO GO GO!” Eret cries, throwing their hands in Fundy’s direction. They make contact and manage to shove the man, forcing him to turn around and book it to the trees. He’s able to get his arms over his head to protect him from the birds. Eret, though?

They weren’t fast enough.

Crows latch onto them. Peck them, claw them. Their clothing tears under the sharp talons as Eret tries to swat the frenzied animals away. Panic gripped them and completely emptied their mind of conscious thought. It left them running off instinct, and it’s their downfall.

It only takes a couple of heartbeats for the crows to start digging into their skin. They shred the brunette’s shoulders, drawing blood under their sharp claws. Eret cries out and frantically tries to rip the birds off.

But a slash to their cheek is what utterly terrifies them.

They don’t even hear Fundy shouting at them to run.

Some of the birds stick to their upper body, but others go for Eret’s head. More specifically their face.

Razor-sharp claws do their work. They make the brunette finally start to try and cover their face. Even with the birds in the way, Eret did what they could, trying to force the animals away. But not before the most excruciating pain they’ve ever been in radiates from their face.

A blood-curdling scream tears through their throat. High--full of terror and agony. Their hands were on their face as the birds kept coming. But the simple touch only makes it worse, stinging every open wound they touched. Made Eret lower their hands only for them to come away hot and sticky. Bloody.

Eret stumbles back, shaking and terrified as the birds keep coming. They’re quiet, trying to back away…

Another slash to their face.

The world goes black.

They can't stop screaming.

Hands grab their shoulders and drag them back. Eret struggles to stay upright, feet catching on roots and bushes. They fumble around, frightened. They can’t tell where they’re going or who’s holding him or what’s going on. Their hands shoot out and grab onto a tree. Nails dig into the bark, break under the pressure.

A whimper falls from their lips as they continue to be pulled along.

But the birds are gone.

Eret’s pulled along for a few more paces before they’re stopped. They stumble, lightheaded and sick for reasons they don’t understand. All they know is the feeling of something trailing down their cheeks. Blood… tears… a mix? It’s everywhere.

Arms wrap around them, stabilizing them. A soothing voice follows the action.

“Eret… Eret listen to me, I need you to listen to me.” Fundy. Their friend. “Eret please, look at me.”

They turn slightly, blindly following the man’s voice. It’s dark… Why is the forest so dark…

A hand guides their head, making them turn a bit more.

“Open your eyes,” Fundy says.

It’s then Eret realizes they’ve been squeezing their eyes shut the entire time. It hurt so much to open them. Like something is stuck in them, stabbing their eyes every time they try to look around. They reach up, pressing their hands to their eyes only to gasp. The shock of pain that rushes through them is enough to make them let out another small whimper.

The hand never leaves their face and Fundy tries again. “Eret, don’t- stop. Don’t touch them just open them, please.”

Eret shakes their head.

The pain…

It’s horrible.

They’re shaking at this point, arms now wrapped around themselves as they lower their head. They don’t pull away from the touch… instead, they lean into it a bit.

The only soothing thing in the world of agony Eret’s living in.

“Eret… please,” Fundy begs.

A shaky breath. They look up and open their eyes. The sound that comes out of their friend is nearly lost to Eret as they immediately close them again. It hurt… so much. More of whatever was in their eyes fell down their face, wet and sticky. It trails into the corners of their mouth, leaving a salty… coppery tang on their tongue.

Blood and tears.

Fundy starts mumbling. Eret doesn’t understand him. Everything around them fades out, sounds becoming muffled as if their head had been dunked underwater. Their stomach knots and their body sways. A dizziness takes hold, making their breathing short and head spin. They can’t seem to catch their breath, every inhale shorter than the last as they struggle to breathe.

Eret digs their nails into their arms. They couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

The bag on their back is really heavy, teetering their balance.

Take it off…

Cold, clammy, unsteady.

So much is overwhelming and yet there’s nothing at all. The world is dark and quiet but the pain in their eyes reminds them they’re still awake. The feeling of Fundy’s hands on Eret’s elbows trying to keep them upright…

They open their mouth as if to talk but all they can do is wheeze.

Breathe breathe breathe…

A second passes and their knees buckle. Eret collapses against the ginger and before they even drop that far, they fall unconscious.

Eret moans as they wake up, body sore. Their head is fuzzy, mind vacant of thoughts. Everything is black and their awareness of their surroundings is gone. The only things they can tell are they’re lying down, the bag is gone, and there’s a weird pressure on their face. It rubs weird and keeps their eyes shut when Eret tries to open them.

The pain that follows only makes them whimper.

But then a voice… someone is talking to them. It’s inaudible. Can’t tell who’s talking.

Shuffling followed by someone’s hand on their shoulder.

They nod off as the person tries to get their attention.

The next time they wake up their arm is slung around someone’s shoulder. An arm around Eret’s waist is what’s keeping them upright as they’re being partially carried, partially dragged through the forest.

Their foot catches on a root, causing them to stumble. Eret’s reaction is delayed to the point they’re guided by the man carrying them, only barely managing to pull their foot away with the man’s help.

“Come on… ..almost… ..got this.” Fundy. It’s Fundy carrying them.

Eret doesn’t catch much of what the ginger says, only nodding in reply, hoping that it’s the right answer.

Fundy’s hold on them tightens.

Time passes as a blur. Unable to see, Eret is barely able to tell how long they’re awake. Sometimes they fade to unconsciousness, sometimes they’re aware and helping walk around. Their sense of direction has long since vanished as well, the brunette completely relying on the man carrying him.

Eret trips; their legs come out from under them. Fundy catches them, a death grip on the brunette.

“I gotcha.”

Fundy’s mumbling under his breath. They’re still moving, only much slower. He’s messing with something at the same time, Eret can tell from the way the man is struggling to hold them up with one arm.

“Come on… Turn on…”

“Where the fuck is the path?” Fundy mutters.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Don’t die, come on!”

Eret gets tugged along, Fundy seemingly more frantic than before. He’s moving fast, trying to get the taller one around obstacles with less care than before. Panicked, almost.

Both hands are on Eret now. Tight, nails digging into their wrist.

The ginger breathes heavily and Eret can feel him shifting around, constantly looking back.

“Eret, Eret wake up. Wake up right now.”

They lift their head, dazed and confused as they once again become aware. Their face scrunches up as they turn their head towards Fundy.

“We gotta go, you gotta move,” Fundy hisses. He sounds freaked out… Eret can’t figure out why. “You gotta move.” He starts to pull them along, forcing them to get their feet going.

Caught off guard, they lose their balance. Fundy doesn’t wait, not this time. He continues to tug Eret along, set on wherever their destination was. Forces Eret to get their act together and stay upright. They try their best, struggling quite a bit to keep up.

Eret manages to hold their own despite being unable to see. With their feet on the ground and the ginger guiding him around trees and undergrowth, the rush becomes easier. It gives them a chance to finally talk. “Why are we-?”

Fundy shushes them. Pulls them along faster. “Stop talking, just keep moving.”

They fall silent.

Eret didn’t even realize they passed out again until they’re suddenly being dragged along the forest floor. Arms wrap under their shoulders and around their chest; their feet trail through the brush and debris.

They lift their head. Barely moves much else, lulling in a fit of exhaustion.

Breathing is hard… really hard. Short, rapid, erratic. Can’t get enough in can’t take a deep breath why is it so hard to breathe?

They start to move but it’s sluggish. Weak hands reach up and try to pry the arms off.

Breathe… need to breathe…

Fundy is quick to try and get them to stop. "Stop- stop it! Quit moving, you're only going to slow us down more!" His voice is low and hurried. It seems strained and distant…

...is he running from something?

The brunette wakes up to being propped up against a tree. The two had stopped moving at some point. When, Eret wasn't entirely sure.

With Fundy no longer holding them up in some way, Eret assumes the guy had finally found them a place to stop so he could sleep. It only makes sense.

Rubbing their eyes, they come to find their face covered in bandages. The rough cloth was stark compared to the smooth skin they expected to feel. Carefully, they run their fingers along with the bandages. They're wrapped around most of the upper half of their head, concealing their eyes and ears.

Covering the horrible wounds that mar their face.

Lowering their hands, they find more haphazardly wrapped gauze around their shoulders. It pokes through their shredded shirt.

Makes them wonder just how bad it was.

Their hands shake as Eret pulls them away from their chest. So much so fast…

The two just wanted to hike, to explore. And yet within hours, everything had gone to shit.

And now they have no idea what time it is or where they are or where Fundy is.

"Fundy?" They try to sit up further, looking around despite being unable to see. Somehow the darkness only makes the world lonely.

There's shuffling nearby followed by the crunch of leaves. "You're awake!" More movement and then a hand is on Eret's shoulder. "How are you feeling? You alright?"

A stupid question really.

Eret feels like shit. Constantly being jostled around while unconscious, waking up over and over and being forced to run… it's hard to feel alright after all of that. And yet, at the same time, they were in considerably less pain than before.

"I'm… okay?" They sound uncertain. "What happened?"

Fundy doesn't say anything at first. He seems lenient to explain and the silence has a weird air to it. It doesn't sit well with Eret.

Soon enough, the ginger says, "a lot. So much.” There’s a pause. “After we got thrown off the path by those birds we got lost and… and I tried to get back to the trail.” The hand falls away, fingers trailing along Eret’s shoulder before dropping entirely. “I couldn’t find it. But! You slept pretty hard I’m glad you’re alright.”

Eret frowns. That… That’s not…

That didn’t explain what happened every time Eret woke up. The carrying, the running, the dragging, none of it.

“What else?” they press, tone skeptical. “We were running, right? Why did we run?”

And there’s the hesitation again. Almost like Fundy doesn’t want to answer him. “Uh- It- It was nothing! Nothing really!” The man spoke quickly, voice pitching up at the same time. “Just thought I saw the path!”

Odd.

“Where are we?” Eret asks.

Leaves crunch as Fundy moves. “Somewhere in the forest. I don’t fucking know where.” He sighs. “I got lost last night… I have no fucking clue which way is what.”

Night.

“You mean it’s morning now?”

“Well, yeah.”

< If you can't find the path, never stop moving at night. Rest during the day, run during the night. It hunts at night and if you stop, it will attack. >

The thoughts come back, whispering in their ears and latching on to Eret’s conscious mind. Paranoia and anxiety refuse to leave them alone, pushing for them to think about the short list. That horrid, horrid list.

< When the crows swarm, run. Do not let them injure you. It can smell the blood. >

Eret froze, their entire body growing tense. It's just a list, it can't be real. Some stupid post they saw one day that happened to stick with them. They're just paranoid.

< “We gotta go, you gotta move,” Fundy hisses. He sounds freaked out… Eret can’t figure out why. “You gotta move.” He starts to pull them along, forcing them to get their feet going. >

They reach out, shaking hand finding itself on Fundy's shoulder. "Fundy," Eret says slowly. It earns a small hum. "What did you see?"

The voice that answers is quieter than usual. Small, frail almost. Vulnerable in a way Eret has never remembered Fundy being.

"I- I don't know."

The two ended up sleeping, exhaustion overtaking their need to stay awake and leaving them napping throughout the day. Though, more often than not, Eret finds themselves awake. Sitting propped against the tree, head resting against the truck as they stare up into the black expanse that is their vision.

They never were claustrophobic. Small spaces didn't make them feel too bad despite their height. Busses, trains, rooms… they were always fine. But the inky darkness that became their reality is constricting. It wraps around their body, suffocating them and leaving them to writhe and struggle in isolation.

But it's all mental. Up in their head in a world only they know; a world they'll never escape. The only signs of the toll the blindness takes on the man are the faint, quick breaths in and out. And with Fundy asleep somewhere nearby, there's no one there to see Eret holding themselves, lips pressed in a line as they try and stay calm.

If there weren't bandages over their face, maybe a trail of tears would adorn either cheek.

Shuffling makes them perk up. Drags them out of their head and forces them to pay attention to their surroundings. Something was moving nearby.

“Fundy?” Eret calls quietly, just in case the man was still sleeping. The lack of a response is enough of an answer. “Hello?” Now it was more directed to whoever or whatever was moving around.

Not like an animal could reply to them, but maybe someone was wandering off the path. Someone who could get them out of the damned forest. It was worth the shot.

When nothing answers them, Eret sighs and leans back against the tree. The small flicker of hope that ignited in their chest dwindles, snuffed out by the silence.

How far from the path are they anyway?

For all Eret knew, they could be ten feet away. Move around a couple of trees and there it would be. The man-made trail hikers travel on every day covered in sticks and decaying leaves, surrounded by beautiful plants and scenery and just… perfect.

But they’ll never know. They’ll never know just how close they are to the stupid path because those fucking birds STOLE THEIR SIGHT.

They take a deep breath, nostrils flaring as their hands ball into tight fists. A second passes and they slam the side of their hand against the cold hard ground. Frustration and anger isn’t a common emotion for Eret, it never has been. But sitting there with one of the most important senses ripped away from them, drowning them in a world of perpetual darkness… it’s starting to get hard to keep their emotions in check.

Sighing, they force themselves to relax, fingers uncurling and shoulders slouching. There’s no way the two of them are gonna be able to get out if they can’t stay calm. With so little experience getting mad, there’s no telling what could happen.

Tilting their head back, Eret stares up towards the sky. Wonders what it looks like… how the canopy must look with the yellow leaves dispersing the golden rays from the sun across the forest floor.

Shifting grass right next to Eret startles them. It’s faint, only audible because of the silence that hovers in the clearing, and it confuses them. Sitting back up, they carefully reach their hand towards the sound.

They lower their hand, fingers outstretched as they try to touch whatever is there. It could be a rabbit. A fuzzy little animal just hopping around trying to find something to eat or somewhere to sleep…

What they feel is not a bunny.

Slimy and boney, gnarled like a tree root but warm like a living creature. It writhes beneath their hand, moving around like a… a finger.

The sound that comes out of Eret is one of disgust and horror. A distorted scream rips through their throat as they try to pull their hand back only for whatever it was they touched to grab their wrist. A strong, wretched hand tightens its grip. Larger than a human’s, nails sharper than should be possible. Digging into their wrist, slicing up the delicate skin.

They kick out, squirming in the thing’s hold as they try to shove it away.

“Let GO of me!” they shriek.

Their foot makes contact with something solid. A grunt follows and the grip loosens.

THUD.

The thing lets go, a warbled cry following suit. Heavy breathing can be heard above Eret before something heavy is dropped on the ground. Barely even a second passes before Fundy speaks, the man on the ground next to Eret with his hands on their shoulders.

He sounds breathless as he talks. “Hey, hey it’s alright. Eret. Eret, look at me.”

Probably the worst thing someone could say to a blind man but it got the brit to react anyways. They turned their head slightly, hoping they were facing the right direction. They reach out, trembling hand finding a perch on Fundy’s arm. Once certain they were holding the ginger, their grasp tightens. A grounding.

“Breathe,” Fundy directs. “For the love of God, please calm down. It’s gone, you’re alright- we’re alright.” The reassurance is partnered with the gentle pull into a hug. Arms--human arms--wrap tenderly around their body. The ginger stays there despite the tension in the brunette, refusing to pull away until Eret finally melts, burying their head against Fundy’s shoulder as they return the gesture.

Fists ball into Fundy’s shirt and a choked sob rattles through the brit’s body. The slow-motion of the ginger rubbing their back is joined by what sounds like his own struggle to keep from crying. Hiccuped inhales and steady exhales… Fundy was... Trying…

Eventually, Fundy whispers, “it’s evening, we need to keep moving.”

Walking with the guidance of someone with sight is more off-putting than trying to learn a new language. At least, that’s what Eret would compare it to. It’s like relearning how to walk. Their perception of reality permanently altered, sense of balance destroyed, and their ability to perceive their surroundings forced to rely on their hearing and touch. But surrounded by a thick forest, they’re more than thankful for how accommodating their friend is.

Fundy laughs quietly. “Come on, you know it’s true.”

Eret scoffs, wishing they could roll their eyes at the man’s stupidity. “I can’t believe this is your focus right now.”

“Would you rather me talk about the fact we’re lost in a forest nearly out of food traveling in the middle of the night with no service, a dead phone, and your severe lack of a phone?” Fundy asks, voice deadpan. “Personally, I think my Minecraft boyfriend is far more important.”

Using their free hand that’s not wrapped around Fundy’s shoulder, the brit lightly punches the ginger’s side. “You proposed to him with a diamond only for him to get possessed! And then he had a fucking baby and George claimed to be the father!”

“WELL,” Fundy started, “that’s beside the point. Fuck you.”

Eret chuckles with a fond grin. It’s nice, being able to have a normal conversation despite the impending doom of whatever the hell went after the brit back where they were resting.

A slight discomfort is felt on the back of their head, making them shiver. A weird feeling. One that sets them on edge and spikes their anxiety. But they ignore it, preferring to focus on Fundy.

"Can't believe you got engaged and your man had-"

"Help!" The distance cry of what sounds like a young child can barely be heard. At first, Eret thinks it may be a trick of the ears, the wind whistling just right through the leaves. But Fundy stops walking.

He heard it too.

The child calls out again and it sets in stone the reality of the situation. "Please! Help!"

The two adjust their course and start to make their way towards the voice. Stumbling through the undergrowth, tripping on loose plants, and smacking against low hanging branches.

< If you hear someone call for help, do not go to it. It’s a trap. >

The wails grow louder but so does a weird smell. It makes Eret scrunch their nose, face contorting to one of disgust when they're first hit by the scent. "What the fu-"

Fundy shushes them, shutting them up. He doesn't clarify why, simply pulling the brit further along. Closer and closer to the cries of the young child.

"I want my mommy!" The kid cries, voice cracking with sadness.

The two come to an abrupt halt and the horrendous stench assaults Eret's senses. Malodorous and foul, it makes them gag as the smell becomes unbearable and so fucking strong they can taste it.

Eret covers their mouth, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from vomiting right then and there. Nothing could describe what they were experiencing. Nothing would ever be able to describe it. From everything they’ve dealt with in their lives, nothing prepared them for the sheer revulsion they were feeling

Something they vaguely remember their mother telling them creeps into their mind.

< “You never forget the smell of rotten human flesh or burning flesh. People say it haunts them for years.” >

They blocked that memory out years ago but now that they’re standing there, struggling to keep their head clear because of the stench, they can’t help but think about it again. Their head spins, dizziness growing as they reach up to cover their mouth.

Buzzing… Is that buzzing? Is all Eret can hear now that the child has gone silent. Loud and annoying, way too similar to the sound of a fly.

The tickling feeling of a bug landing on their hand is what confirms their suspicion. Shaking the bug off, they go to grumble a complaint but it’s drowned out by Fundy’s panic-stricken commands as the ginger drags them back.

“Come on- Eret work with me we need to fucking move right now.” He lets go of the brit, instead of focusing on grabbing their shoulders and spinning them around, shoving them back the way they came. Forces them to run--to get their legs moving.

The young child calls out again. “No- wait- please! Come back! Where’s my mommy?”

Fundy’s grip moves from Eret’s shoulders to their wrist, now pulling them along. Weaving between trees, ignoring their protests as they stumble around and run into branches. The two don’t stop moving and soon enough, Eret figures out why.

Crashing follows them. Plants being trampled and branches being ripped apart. Distorted voices begging for the two to come back. Children, adults, boys, girls… all warping and twisting like a broken record.

“Please, come back-”

“-not scary-”

“Hurt you! We won’t!”

“Come back…”

“I wanna go home.”

Heavy breathing… feet slamming against the hard ground… being yanked around every which way as Fundy navigates the forest. Getting them away from the thing chasing them, away from the horrible image Eret can only imagine had been laid out before them.

Their shoulder rams into a tree and the brit gasps and trips up, feet catching against the roots and making them stagger, nearly falling right then and there. The shocking pain that shoots down their arm disorients them. Hit right on the bandaged gashes from the birds’ sharp talons.

It makes Fundy grab them by their upper arm, becoming a better support as their fleeing continues. “Come on, keep moving. We gotta keep going.”

Eret’s only response is a nod.

Move.

Keep moving.

A warbled shriek from behind makes them cringe. Panic and adrenaline. A rush to run. Get away.

Run.

It’s the motivator that gets Eret to finally match Fundy’s pace, finally managing to ignore the obstacles in their way as best as they can. Trying to get away from the creature right on their tail.

“I think-” Fundy pauses for a moment. “I think I see something!”

A small spark of hope ignites in Eret. What the ginger sees, they have no idea, but that doesn’t stop them from hoping. Maybe, just maybe-

An excited cheer comes from the ginger. “Yes! YES! LIGHTS!”

Safety.

The two continue their push forward, exhaustion starting to set in and nearly making the brit slow down. But they can’t. They can’t. They’re so close…

Something grabs their ankle and tugs. Pulls their foot out from under them and sends Eret flying to the ground. They slip from Fundy's hold, falling into the dirt with a cry cut off by the wind being knocked out of them. They reach out, scrambling for purchase as the thing pulls them back. Nails did into the dirt, rip up small shrubs…

They finally get their hands on something. A tree root. Rough bark digging into their skin, leaving small cuts as it scraped against their palms. "FUNDY-"

They kick, doing everything they can to hold onto the roots while trying to dislodge the creature. It’s to no avail, the thing tugging and nearly making Eret let go. The bark shreds their hands and rips their nails. Makes them scream. Makes them almost lose their hold.

The ginger says something. What it is, Eret can't tell, but it vaguely sounded like "hold on."

No shit.

A pained, gargled cry, and then the creature let's go.

Fundy's helping them up now, getting Eret to their feet so they can keep running towards the lights. "They're so close, we're almost there!"

Breathing ragged, the brit does what they can to stay upright and focused on moving. It burns…

Their breath hitches when they run into another tree and it takes Fundy guiding Eret to put their arm around his shoulders for support to get them to ignore it.

It hurts…

Eret flinches when the ginger starts shouting. Presumably at whoever had the lights. They can’t process the words but from what registers, the man seems just as hopeful as the brit.

The two slow down, finally done running. More hands find themselves on Eret’s shoulders and arms, more voices speaking up and talking all at once. The touch makes them snap into reality--makes them listen to what’s going on.

The first thing they hear is Fundy. Breathless, happy, relieved. And a hand on their cheek as Fundy lets go of them… then they’re pulled into a tight hug. A head buried against the crook of their neck, cold, shaking hands wrapped around their shirt…

“We did it,” Fundy whispers. “We’re out…”

Eret returns the embrace, limbs weak and movements slow. They refuse to let go. Even when the ginger begins to profusely apologize. On and on… and Eret refuses to listen.

They’re safe.

#eret #the eret #fundy #itsfundy #dream team rpf #rpf #prince's writing #horror #halloween #spooky szn :)#l'manberg #dream smp #dream smp rpf #fanfic #platonic

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years

Text

Title: School Unity Club

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @bebexox4

Pairings/Characters: Hajime Hinata/Nagito Komaeda, with appearances by both Chiaki Nanami and Kokichi Oma. Others mentioned.

Rating/Warnings: T. Some mention of self-deprecating thought might be a relevant warning. There is also occasional swearing.

Prompt: Non despair hopes peak au with Enemies-Friends-Lovers komahina

Author’s notes: Hi there!!! Happy Komahina Secret Exchange, and I hope you enjoy your gifts!!! :D This is prompt one of two you can expect this time around. This was really fun to work on hehehe. Thank you!!!

1. Okay, Why Are We Starting a School Unity Club Again?

The first time Hope’s Peak Academy tried to recruit Nagito Komaeda, of course he turned them down: he was unworthy, he insisted, trying to laugh at himself, trying to raise his metaphorical palms in obvious surrender. I mean, come on. Hope’s Peak… haha, that was for genuinely amazing people. For the Ultimate Students, glimmering irrefutable beacons of hope to everybody else. They were — no. Nagito couldn’t go to school with people like that. Practically superheroes, so hardworking and disciplined and just everything Nagito knew he didn’t deserve to be. What would he even say? How would he know where to sit, or when to participate in class discussions, or how to tactfully say no when they felt obligated to invite him along places?

But, in the end, Hope’s Peak Academy hadn’t so much wanted Nagito as a student, he gathered, as they’d wanted to study his luck. Nagito’d always had unreasonable, relentless, mythically impossible luck. Amazing things happened to him, and then… like clockwork, like the gears of the universe churning away… equally devastating things inevitably followed. The Ultimate Lucky Student. That’s right. After years of fallen-apart loved ones and distant extended family members and snakes slithering out of his bathtub drain the second he realized “You know, I think this might be my favorite brand of shampoo,” Nagito Komaeda’s absurd luck was finally going to help somebody. Hope’s Peak could learn from his luck, and that was worth humiliating himself daily, stumbling around Ultimate Students, rambling and awestruck. That was worth knowing he’d never belong, because he hadn’t worked for his Talent. It wasn’t really a Talent at all.

When Nagito was happy, he knew he was sure to feel tears burning against the back of his eyes very soon. He was happy about the chance to attend Hope’s Peak, despite everything, despite knowing he should have turned the invitation down again, whether his luck could be useful or no… and so, of course, bad things followed. Bad things he hadn’t talked to his classmates about, yet, and probably never would. Because it wasn’t like Nagito had come to such a prestigious institution expecting anybody to actually care about him. It wasn’t like he would have clawed his way in without being invited. Right?

Nagito liked to think that was right, anyway, just the way he liked to think he didn’t actually want any of his fancy, impossible new classmates to contradict him when he described himself as worthless, a faceless background character in their lives. Why should they tell him he was more than a bystander? Nagito would hold the camera when his classmates wanted a group photo. That should be more than enough. If he wanted to get something done for their sake, he could lean on his Ultimate Luck. If he drew a lottery number, it would always win. If a car was careening out of control through the school grounds, it would be sure to hit him before it clobbered anyone else. A weird system — a horrible system, from some points of view — but it was the least Nagito could do. It was his so-called “Talent,” after all.

Maybe that was why the Reserve Course had never made a lot of sense, to Nagito. See, some people could pay a hell of a lot of extra tuition money and buy their way into Hope’s Peak… but not as Ultimates. It felt like a flashlight demanding to be called the sun, to Nagito. Like a puddle on the street insisting it was the ocean. If Ultimates really were “hope,” then how dare anybody scramble around to grab their spotlight away, right? Reserve Course attendants would probably be easier to get along with than the Ultimate Students, given that Nagito was more or less “one of them”… a nobody, a stranger, an intruder here in this place for gods. But he didn’t go looking for friends among the Reserve Course, either. Why should he want to be buddy-buddy with arrogant pretenders? It wasn’t like Nagito had ever felt especially good at talking to people, anyway. He’d probably say something wrong; he’d probably mess something up; he’d probably just get furious. Wouldn’t you want to turn off the flashlight that thought it was the sun?

Better not to delude yourself, even if the truth was ugly, full of shaky, simpering smiles and resignation. Happiness led to pain. Good luck led to misery. On and on and on, and Nagito had been fairly sure he’d graduate from Hope’s Peak without any of his classmates having memorized his full name. You know, if he lived that long.

That’s why it was all the more surprising when Chiaki Nanami… the Ultimate Gamer… kept insisting on talking to him. Of course, Chiaki was kind to their whole class. She had no reason to sit silently and play phone games with Nagito until his phone caught fire in his hands — she had no reason to chat about his favorite super-indie horror titles during breaks in schoolwork, coming over to stand by his desk on purpose. Chiaki wanted to understand everybody: she told Nagito as much, honestly. Chiaki wanted their whole class to be a team, and so when she asked Nagito to show up for movie nights he did. He knew he’d suffer the bad luck for it later, but he picked up the phone when Chiaki called him every time.

If she wanted to be friends with everyone, Chiaki shouldn’t have to work for the Ultimate Lucky Student’s friendship, obviously. He should be a shoe-in. And it wasn’t really that Nagito was having fun that kept him sticking around, probably. It wasn’t really that he was starting to banter with the Ultimate Mechanic and the Ultimate Gangster, as if they were actually… uh… friendly acquaintances, or something, either. Chiaki told him he was reliable, even if he still wouldn’t admit he belonged with the rest of them. Even if he said hurtful things sometimes and didn’t seem to realize it.

“What?!” Nagito had balked, then. “Have I insulted you? Oh, no. No, that’s unacceptable. For someone like me to speak badly of an Ultimate Student, even without meaning to —”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Chiaki had answered. She reminded Nagito of a cat, pretty consistently… heavy-lidded eyes, and a voice like a tail swishing slowly back and forth. She didn’t look up from the game system in her hands as she drawled at him. “You say horrible things about yourself, and about how you can’t understand why I’d want anything to do with you… makes me feel like you don’t think I can pick my own friends. I say I think you’re okay, and you spend the next half an hour telling me why that’s a stupid thing to think. Kazuichi says he’s glad you stopped by to help him work on that robot project he’s building, and you have to make him apologize for thinking ‘trash like you’ deserves to hang out with the Ultimate Mechanic at all.”

Nagito wasn’t sure how to respond to any of that. He’d cleared his throat.

“Your friends will hurt when they see you hurt, Nagito. I always heard people in games saying that, and now I know it’s true. Okay?”

“Hm. Okay… if you’re sure, as an Ultimate Student.”

“I’m sure as your friend Chiaki.”

“Interesting. I mean… yeah, I’ll do my best not to hurt you?”

Nagito had been watching the way he talked about himself around Chiaki Nanami for about a week before she came to him with a plan she’d been working on with the Ultimate Supreme Leader. Kokichi Oma was a couple years behind them, but he was always scheming like the “Spawn of Loki” the Ultimate Animal Breeder declared him to be — his latest plan involved trying to unite the two branches of their school, the Main Course and the Reserve Course, coming together for some sort of mysterious club. Chiaki was all for it, apparently, and Nagito had wanted to say a lot of things. He’d wanted to say it sounded like reassuring the puddle that ships could drown in it after all, and coral reefs were sure to grow. It felt false, and wrong. But a lot of things Kokichi Oma said felt “false and wrong,” and Nagito wanted to be Chiaki’s real, worthy friend so badly. He agreed to help, however he could.

“It’s so generous of the Ultimates to share their Talents with everybody!” Nagito said. That was a fair enough rationalization, wasn’t it? “You really are a commendable person, Ultimate Supreme Leader. Even if practically everything you say is a shameless lie!”

And, “Hey now, most of my nefarious criminal organization members wouldn’t be called ‘Ultimate,’ and they’ve got more talents to share around than this whole stuck-up school,” Kokichi answered, voice light and airy, like he wasn’t actually invested in the conversation… though his eyes said he really was, unless that expression was just another lie from him? Lies upon lies upon lies. People told Nagito he was confusing to talk to, but surely he couldn’t have anything on Kokichi Oma. Was that okay for him to think? “A lot of these titles we got assigned feel pretty arbitrary, if you ask me. And it’s ridiculous we’ve never actually met so many of our classmates!”

Nagito raised his eyebrows. “Classmates?”

Kokichi stared him down, smile practically painted on. “Classmates. Yeah. Just think of how many possible recruits for my organization might be waiting in the Reserve Course… ya think any of ‘em are interested in a life of evil?”

“Most of the people who made the games we play aren’t Ultimates, either,” Chiaki murmured, at Kokichi’s side. She was muted and dusky pink, with a tender, hesitant smile — Kokichi was so glaringly bright and loud next to her. They made a strange team, but of course no stranger than Nagito and anyone in the world. “Please, Nagito. The School Unity Club is going to try and form real friendships… I think it’s a chance for us to do something good, and to learn what it’s like to be in the Reserve Course.“

As if Nagito wanted to understand something like that! Haha! Oh, Chiaki. No.

But that’s what led Nagito here, to the first official School Unity Club meeting. He filled out the Getting to Know Everybody Questionnaire Kokichi and Chiaki passed out, and he hung around in the back of the room, hands folded in his pockets, face perfectly neutral, until a spiky haired Reserve Course guy came storming up to him. What could have possibly gotten this uppity loser so mad? Chiaki had decorated this classroom herself, specifically for trash like the both of them. They should be so grateful. There were streamers and everything.

“Are you Nagito Komaeda?” Mr. Pointy-Hair spat.

“I am. Nice to meet —”

“So you’re the one who wrote that people who joined the Reserve Course have ‘no good reason to be here’ on the questionnaire. Knowing we’d all read it — knowing how much we want to attend Hope’s Peak Academy —”

Nagito nodded, letting himself smile. Ah, okay. This was making a little sense now. “Excuse me, I think you misunderstand something,” he tried to clarify. “I don’t believe I have a good reason to be here, either… really, we’re almost the same, you and me. I probably have more to say to someone like you than my whole class!” Nagito paused. Glanced over at the Ultimate Gamer. “Except for Chiaki. Maybe. If she still thinks so.”

Mr. Pointy-Hair didn’t look reassured by Nagito’s explanation. If anything, his cheeks were flushed red, the fury creeping up to the tips of his ears, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He was a little shorter than Nagito, but he was standing as tall as he possibly could. “Someone like me?” he asked. It was a question, somehow, but what exactly did he expect Nagito to say? Mr. Pointy-Hair’s teeth were ground together, but there was something honest and wholesome about his mossy green eyes. Nagito might have wanted to ask his name, if he didn’t feel sure he was about to get yelled at. Why weren’t they understanding each other, exactly, here?

“You’re not an Ultimate,” Nagito said, explaining something painfully simple. “This is a school for extraordinary people, and you and I are both unworthy of it. You see? But that shouldn’t be news to you…”

Mr. Pointy-Hair was spitting mad. Was he going to punch Nagito, next? Or simply tell him how awful he was? Nagito was bracing himself either way, but he shouldn’t have bothered. That was when Kokichi Oma’s spotlight found them, after all. That was when the Ultimate Supreme Leader — sauntering around on a stage made of pushed-together desks and using a super-chipper ringmaster voice — declared, “Oh! And what’s this? Mr. Komaeda and Mr. Hinata are already picking a fight! I think we just found some volunteers for a club project, guys!”

There was a scattering of polite, confused applause, and this Mr. Pointy-Hair Hinata spun around on his heel and threw himself out of the room. The door slammed, and his footsteps thudded away down the hall.

Nagito took a stumbling half-step after him. He didn’t mean to. This was the sort of pretender who thought he deserved to be an Ultimate without earning it, after all. There was no reason to wonder what their club project would be together, or if he’d ever learn Hinata’s first name. There was no reason to ask what the Ultimate Supreme Leader had in store for them to work on — there was probably no reason to assume he and Hinata would ever see each other again, or get another chance to try and have an actual conversation.

Nagito asked Kokichi what their assignment was, anyway.

1½. Talking to You’s Like Trying to Paint in the Rain

Hajime Hinata figured if he just never attended a School Unity Club meeting again, he could simmer for a while and then amble on like this never happened. Like he’d never met Nagito Komaeda, with his hazy dark eyes and drifting, shaky-yet-infuriatingly-resolute voice. If he never joined up with the club again, then he couldn’t be assigned any weird-ass “club projects,” could he? And since Nagito was part of the Main Course… an Ultimate, even if he’d tried to convince Hajime they were “the same,” or whatever… their paths wouldn’t necessarily cross, otherwise. They even had passing periods at different times, and if Hajime saw Nagito’s fluffy, flyaway white hair from across the hallway he just stopped in his tracks and stalked away.

But, I mean… that isn’t the end of the story, obviously. Hajime underestimated the Ultimate Supreme Leader, and also how ridiculous things could get at Hope’s Peak Academy. Sometimes, the place barely even felt real.

Hajime received the instructions for his and Nagito Komaeda’s club project midway through math class. The guy in front of him — who he’d known the whole year, mind you, and was definitely just some guy who liked comic books and was often a little late to class — turned around in his seat and stage-whispered, “Hey, Hinata, you wouldn’t happen to know the answer to question thirteen, would you?”

“There is no question thirteen,” Hajime answered. “The worksheet only goes to ten —” and then he actually looked up, to raise his eyebrows at his classmate and/or see if they had different worksheets for some reason. And well. Hm. Wouldn’t you know it, this wasn’t his classmate at all. This was very obviously Kokichi Oma from the Main Course in a wig. The Ultimate Supreme Leader was wearing a Reserve Course uniform with the tie knotted all sloppily, and he grinned like the damn Cheshire Cat as he handed over a big envelope with the words “This is not your School Unity Club project assignment!” scribbled on it.

“Oh! Nice eye,” Kokichi grinned. “Aren’t you a smart one.”

“I don’t want to work with Nagito Komaeda,” Hajime hissed. “And Kokichi, this isn’t your class.”

“Are you sure I’m not enrolled in the Reserve Course, too?”

“Ugh. Yes? And you’re two years behind me.”

Kokichi scratched at his forehead. Hajime thought maybe he was taunting him, intentionally fiddling with his wig so that a little of his flippy purple hair snuck out. “Nagito’s stubborn, isn’t he? Kind of like you.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Hajime said, but even as he spat those words he knew they weren’t completely true. Honestly, Hajime felt sick with guilt for getting his family to pay this ridiculous Hope’s Peak Reserve Course tuition — he’d tried to change his own mind, convincing himself it didn’t matter whether the world called him Special. The Ultimate Students were just people, he told himself. So what if nobody thought he was good enough to be one of them? He could still live a happy, normal life… he could still pour attention into the hobbies he loved, and spend time with the people he cared about, and maybe it was kind of a pain to have your face on convenience store magazines anyway.

Hajime told himself stuff like that over and over again, but it wasn’t like it stuck, you know? It didn’t change the tide of his thoughts. It felt like the minute he painted a nice, encouraging picture of an alternative to Hope’s Peak Academy for himself, it got washed away. Staring into Nagito’s serene, self-righteously knowing eyes had felt a little like that, too. Hajime got the feeling that he could talk to him and talk to him, but it was almost impossible to change this guy’s mind until he changed it himself.

It was infuriating, wasn’t it, talking to people like that?

“If you want to prove you’re really different than Nagito — you’re really not super-stubborn and impossible to reach — you can always just do the project,” the Ultimate Supreme Leader grinned. “Up to you. I told him to meet you by those big fountains after school, and I think he’s actually gonna do it. He asked what your first name was, too… I told him it was ‘Daisuke.’”

“But it isn’t.”

“Oops, my bad. So tell him yourself.”

Hajime read the crayon-drawing assignment sheets waiting for him in that envelope during a break, sitting slumped over at a table with a bunch of students he didn’t really know. Apparently, Kokichi and the Ultimate Gamer wanted Hajime and Nagito to make a short documentary film showing everybody what life was like in the Hope’s Peak Reserve Course. They were supposed to interview students and get some funny stories; they were supposed to go over some of the things people were studying, and rate whether the desks were comfy. Just… get a portrait of the Reserve Course as people, basically, the instructions said. And be sure to let the Ultimate Supreme Leader know if anyone seemed open to helping with this prank he had in the works. Get them to sign a short, totally-harmless liability form. It’ll be fun.

Hajime crumpled the envelope and all its assignment sheets up, one by one, preparing to toss them away with the rest of his trash. But then he unfolded them, running a hand through his sticky-uppy hair.

You know what?

Why not.

Maybe it would do Nagito Komaeda some good, to get to know the people he was insulting. To see the school from a different point of view. Maybe it would be satisfying to see him feel like a jerk, fumbling around, trying oh-so-messily to explain himself to anybody a little less forgiving than Hajime. Anyway, it was sort of annoying the guy thought his name was something random Kokichi Oma had pulled out of a hat, too.

So Hajime went to meet Nagito by the fountains. For a moment, before they actually started working on the project, it had felt sort of right. Nagito had stood up from where he’d been bent over some homework; he’d smoothed down his vest, and smiled awkwardly, self-consciously. Hopefully. It had looked like maybe he would apologize. Maybe he’d thought over what he said, and Hajime didn’t need to spend any time convincing him he was an asshole. In that case, maybe Nagito was the kind of willowy handsome that Hajime liked in drama actors, if you got past the funny way he held himself. In that case, maybe his voice was sort of soft and lyrical, and if they were talking about something else… almost anything else… Hajime wouldn’t really mind listening to him.

But then, uh. Hajime got close enough for Nagito to wave, and call, “Do you understand what I meant, now, then? It’s nice to meet you properly, Daisuke!” And it only went downhill from there.

It didn’t help that the minute Hajime handed Nagito the school-owned camera Kokichi had finagled for them to use, it got carried out of his hands by an actual hawk. What the hell? “Ultimate Luck,” Nagito clarified, but what did that even mean? So then they were gonna record the thing on Hajime’s phone, except that they couldn’t decide where to start. Who to talk to. They got into a half-shouting match in front of a few of Hajime’s friendlier classmates, who excused themselves as quickly as possible. They tried to film the gymnasium, but it was closed for emergency fumigation and they ended up gagging, hunched over outside the doors for about five minutes. They tried to film in the dorms, but Hajime’s entrance pass cracked in two when they attempted to use it. Those were expensive! Augh! Why was Nagito laughing?!

Whatever Hajime tried to do, it felt like Nagito came sliding over to step on his toes. They were getting nowhere. This project was getting nowhere. They had to delete the one decent interview they managed to get because Hajime himself accidentally had his thumb over the camera. He had literally no idea how he could’ve missed something like that.

“Ultimate Luck,” Nagito said, again, for about the millionth time that evening. “See? It’s really not always much of a talent!”

That was the last straw. Hajime was done. Nagito was still obsessed with this concept of “talent”; Nagito was the last person who should be making a video trying to show what life was really like for Reserve Course students. The Ultimate Supreme Leader was probably just messing with them, just being a little shit like people said he tended to be. School Unity? What could Nagito Komaeda do to work towards School Unity? He was probably the sort of person who would want to trap a lizard that thought it was a dragon, just to show the poor little guy how small he really was. Hajime didn’t have time for this.

And so he told Nagito as much, and he gathered up his things. He deleted all the footage they’d recorded for their project, and went back home. That could’ve been the end of it. If Kokichi turned up in any of his classes again, Hajime would just tune him out. If the Ultimate Gamer asked him why he didn’t come around anymore, yeah, okay, he’d apologize, but that was it.

Hajime didn’t hear anything from the School Unity Club for about a month. “Good riddance,” he thought. He imagined himself slamming a book closed. And then possibly kicking said book under the bed, or something.

When he got a text from Kokichi Oma — wait, how had the Ultimate Supreme Leader gotten his phone number?! — Hajime almost didn’t open it. But morbid curiosity won out in the end, as it so often did. Morbid curiosity, and that claustrophobic, helplessly-stricken pull to the Ultimate Students Hajime still felt, even now. He had wanted to be valuable, to be seen; he had wanted to be a revelation. Every breath he took on this earth could have been game-changing, if only he’d been born someone else.

“Nice work on your video,” Kokichi said. “Turned out really insightful. I think it’ll help the Reserve Course students feel seen, too.”

Alright. Hold on.

What?

***

2. The Light

When Nagito Komaeda asked the Ultimate Supreme Leader whether it had been difficult, convincing Hajime to come watch his documentary about the Hope’s Peak Academy Reserve Course together, Kokichi said, “You just better not mess this up, kid,” with a big, sloppy wink. Nevermind that he really hadn’t answered the question, actually, when Nagito thought back on it – nevermind that Kokichi was… again… younger than him. Maybe it meant Hajime had struggled against the idea of ever actually talking to Nagito again, and Kokichi’d had to bribe him with glittery promises like, “If you give the video a chance, I’ll delete your phone number from my contacts list!” Or maybe it meant Nagito should feel lucky – lucky in a good way, mind you – because Hajime hadn’t needed a lot of nagging at all. Maybe Mr. Pointy-Hair was genuinely curious. Maybe he’d be willing to forgive how badly things had gone, and try, Nagito didn’t know, “hanging out” again, sometime.

“Why did you lie about Hajime’s name, to me?” Nagito asked. “I looked… inconsiderate.”

“Who knows?” Kokichi said. “I do stuff like that, you know.”

It would’ve been way too easy, if Kokichi Oma had been willing to answer a simple question for once. But all the same, Nagito ended up sitting alone in a dark, lonely classroom after club activities were over for the night; all the same, Nagito had finished up the Reserve Course documentary film on his own. He’d purchased four separate video cameras, and lost them all to his ruthless luck. He’d interviewed people from Hajime’s classes, asking the questions Hajime had scrawled out on the back of Kokichi’s crumpled-up assignment envelope that time they tried working together. “What brought you to the Reserve Course?” “What’s your most precious goal, and how do you hope the Reserve Course will help you get there?” “Do you like going to school here?” “What do you think Hope’s Peak could do differently, to show that it values all its students?” Some of the answers he’d gotten were genuinely shocking – one of them made him cry, actually, and try to shake the girl’s hand afterwards. (She took his hand, yes, but then asked why there was so much mud on it. Oh, crap. Nagito’d forgotten that happened… he’d been swallowed up by a surprise swamp on the way across campus that day.) All of the answers were… human? Maybe sometimes it was easy to get so wrapped up in this business of hope and despair, talent and luck, that Nagito forgot how learning a person’s abilities just barely scraped the surface of what it would be like getting to know them. He didn’t talk much at all, giving his interviews – aside from asking questions, of course. He laughed at jokes, sometimes, but he tried to laugh quietly, without wobbling the camera too much.

Nagito had expected the interviews would enrage him – would make him think these people were ungrateful, were building themselves homemade trophies to take away from the Ultimate Talents the Main Course actually earned. And sometimes, yeah, sometimes he did want to argue back. Put them in their places, back in the dirt with him; click off the flashlight that thought it was the sun. But he listened, for a while, anyway. Maybe it was because Hajime would’ve wanted him to, at first – maybe it was because Hajime might have said he couldn’t do it. But in the end, Nagito found himself with a lot of footage of people telling him their truths, and so many of those stories tasted familiar. That longing, that hurt, that want, that hunger. It had been written all over Hajime’s face when they first met, but Nagito’d never asked his story, had he?

Ah, well. Nagito had tried making the documentary into something Hajime wouldn’t hate, you know? He’d gone to one of the Reserve Course’s basketball games and recorded the crowds cheering, recorded the players’ teamwork and struggle. None of the players were the Ultimate Basketball Star or anything, but it still mattered when they won, didn’t it? Maybe not as much, existentially, or for the hope of the world as Nagito understood it, but – but it could still be emotional watching them come together and ruffle each other’s hair, afterwards, reminiscing about the game. Nagito had attempted to go to a Reserve Course swimming team competition too, but of course the pool flooded the second he stepped in the building… and like, really flooded, in that most of the bleachers were still underwater and they hadn’t been able to drain the dressing rooms, yet. Some sort of weird, constant flow in from ocean?! Nagito wasn’t sure on the specifics. Point being, he’d stopped attending sports events for a while, but he had asked Chiaki to record the Reserve Course’s musical production of Les Misérables so he could splice some of it into the documentary.

Nagito didn’t ask specific questions about Hajime Hinata while conducting his interviews, but he’d heard some stuff about him all the same. He was a good classmate, people said – a hard worker, soft-spoken, but he didn’t just sit back and take kindly to bullies. He was smart, but his handwriting was terrible, and he and Nagito seemed to like the same type of video games. Hajime’s classmates mentioned him in passing, see, discussing him among themselves… or they said, “Oh, no, Nagito’s probably okay. He was with Hajime a couple days ago, remember? Hey, Nagito, are you two friends?”

Um.

In that moment, Nagito had wanted very badly to say yes, yes they were friends. He would’ve been proud to have Hajime like him, as a person, the way Chiaki seemed to. But he just sort of smiled and shook his head. “We were working on a project together,” he offered. “School Unity Club.” It was probably fair to leave it at that, right?

But now the documentary was finished, and Hajime had been persuaded… somehow… to come to some empty classroom after School Unity Club let out and watch it at Nagito’s side. Nagito hadn’t really felt like he should be going to School Unity Club meetings lately: it was surreal to be back here again, inviting Hajime into the ruins of a game tournament. There was a scribbly, multi-color scoreboard, and bits of the floor were duct-taped off into what looked like a beanbag chair/slime vat obstacle course. The janitors at Hope’s Peak must have hated Kokichi Oma. Or who knows, really? Maybe he was planning to slink back in and clean all this up himself, after Nagito and Hajime finished with their video. Nagito showed Hajime over to some chairs he’d set up in front of his cracked-apart personal laptop. He pulled out Hajime’s chair a little bit, like they were someplace fancy, and Hajime scoffed. He sat down, though. And then he gestured to Nagito’s chair, like, “Well?”

They watched the documentary in silence. Sometimes Hajime shifted, or scratched at his neck. Sometimes he gasped, or shot Nagito careful, considering eyes. Nagito… for his part… tried his best to keep his expression neutral, the same as he’d done at that first School Unity Club meeting. The last interview was with himself, after all, and he thought he’d made his own points pretty clear. He didn’t understand what the Reserve Course meant, in connection to the Main Course here at Hope’s Peak Academy… on one hand he still thought it defied the point of the whole place, but on the other it was a class full of creativity and excitement and hope for the future, too. He’d learned a lot from the Reserve Course students, and it had been fun spending time with them. The interview questions had been written by Hajime Hinata, but they’d honestly become Nagito’s questions too, by the end. He thanked the viewer for watching, and the interviewees for talking to him, and the swimming team for their forgiveness when he tried to explain that it was his weird luck that ruined their tournament.

It wasn’t perfect. Nagito stumbled over his words, sometimes, and he contradicted himself, and he went on a short monologue about how it was possible hope came in innumerable different forms. He hinted at one of his most embarrassing thoughts, too – that maybe… just maybe, possibly, against all odds… it might’ve been more merciful to have a world without the worship of talent, a world where all people could just live as themselves and know that was enough. He had almost edited that part out. In another life, he probably wouldn’t have wanted anyone in the world to hear it. It flew in the face of everything he was supposed to honor, after all. It was skeptical of the very concept of the Ultimate Talents themselves.

Nagito might not have been able to explain exactly why he kept that part of his own interview in the documentary. Maybe he wanted Hajime to get him, if they ever spoke again. Maybe so many strangers had been utterly, vulnerably honest with him, he felt like it was sort of his turn. Either way, he winced, taking in the frustrated surrender on his own recorded face. He kept his arms folded over his chest and gritted his teeth. Hajime was watching him imagine a world where all that mattered was the light, whether it came from a flashlight or the sun. For all Nagito knew, he sounded ridiculous.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be,” Hajime said, slowly, after the credits rolled – Chiaki was thanked for most things Nagito hadn’t attributed to either himself or the conspicuously-absent Hajime Hinata. “Thanks, Nagito. You… are you going to the next club meeting?”

“What? Am I…?”

“I mean the School Unity Club. If you go to the next meeting, I’ll come too.”

Nagito swallowed, fidgeting. He brushed a little messy white hair behind his ear. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.” He decided to push his luck, just a little, then, seeing Hajime smile: he decided to try and make this raw, beautiful person that hated him laugh. “Maybe Kokichi’ll stop pestering me if I finally participate.”

Hajime snorted. He relaxed, just the littlest bit, and Nagito felt his insides twist. That was an unfamiliar feeling.

“Probably not,” Hajime said.

“No… probably not.”

That couldn’t have been part of the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s secret conniving plan, though, right? To get them to bond over mutual frustration… to pester them both until they started commiserating about it…

Right?

But then, maybe Nagito shouldn’t put it past him. Kokichi’d earned his Ultimate Student-status somehow. Maybe he and Chiaki hadn’t been completely wrong about a School Unity Club, either.

Well, now… they’d just played right into the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s hands, hadn’t they?

That didn’t matter too much, somehow, when Hajime was taking Nagito out to arcades with his other friends, and on hikes in the forest, and to read quietly on a bench in the park. Sun on their skin, wind in their hair, ruffling the pages of their books just the littlest bit… or else grabbing Nagito’s book away and hurtling it out horrifyingly fast into oncoming traffic. Or maybe it was the first book Hajime got him as a gift that would get stolen by a randomly-appearing hawk, this time? At least now Hajime knew Nagito usually laughed that desperate, rattling sort of cackle when he was upset. Nervous. Panicking. At least now Hajime would rub his back, a little, and tell him they were fine. Hey, hey. Nagito, look at me. Your luck isn’t your fault. Just breathe.

Breathe.

No, falling for the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s machinations barely mattered at all, this time.

2 ½. So Glad I was Wrong About You

The first time Hajime Hinata kissed Nagito Komaeda, he hadn’t been expecting to do it, himself, if you’d asked him just five minutes before. They were doing homework together, and the year was almost over – Nagito had asked Hajime to come to the Main Course Graduation Ball with him, as friends, of course, and high school was winding down to an end for both of them. Hajime had just worked weekend shifts at a thrift store to buy himself a set of four-leaf clover cufflinks to wear with his suit, small and gold and hopefully not the sort of thing Nagito would think was tacky. They were… Hajime hadn’t known what they were, exactly, until he found himself watching the way Nagito talked with his hands, staring off into the distance, swept away in what they were discussing. He remembered something their mutual friend Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer, had said a few weeks before:

“I don’t think Nagito’s gonna ask you to go to the ball as his date-date. But if he does, be nice.”

Hajime hadn’t pressed Chiaki on that, for some reason. He’d been a little distracted by how she was completely annihilating him in the game they were playing. Why hadn’t he… dammit, why hadn’t he really heard her, then? If Nagito asked him out, like… as a boyfriend… Hajime was supposed to treat him gently. Maybe Chiaki thought Hajime would’ve wanted to say no, to an invitation like that? It was hard to say. Her expression had been all dusty lavender, vague and soft, watching her character defeat Hajime’s so, so mercilessly. The game had been reflected in her eyes, neon and flickering and fast.

But maybe… maybe what Chiaki said had meant more than just some run-of-the-mill politeness advice. It could have meant Nagito’d told Chiaki he was interested in taking Hajime as his date-date, but had backed away squirming from the idea because he was still getting over the concept that he was somehow fundamentally broken. Maybe he didn’t realize Hajime had bought those four-leaf clover cufflinks like a promise, because he didn’t want this Graduation Ball to be the last chance he got to wear them. To be fair, Hajime had only just realized that, himself. Who else was he gonna wear four-leaf clovers for, if not the Ultimate Lucky Student? He’d gotten to know Nagito’s luck extremely well, over the last year together; he knew which scars he tended to keep hidden, because he hated explaining their backstories, and he had watched Nagito’s closing monologue from that Reserve Course documentary over and over in the dead of night. Trying to understand it. Trying to understand this impossible, contrary guy who had just helped him edit his last Japanese Literature essay of the semester.

Hajime had kept telling himself he was done with Nagito Komaeda – for weeks, he’d told himself that. It felt like such a waste, now. They were both growing beyond Hope’s Peak Academy, in their ways, even though obviously there had been a time when Hajime would’ve told you that was impossible. He hadn’t thought he could imagine himself a meaningful future without some link to Ultimate Talent, without this school, whatever exactly it was, but the possibilities had started painting themselves to life without him really noticing it. The change crept in so sweetly, somewhere between the Ultimate Supreme Leader dragging the whole School Unity Club into participating in the next academy-wide musical and that time they’d all gotten lost in the mountains and Hajime found himself spreading his coat out over Nagito while he slept. Living had changed things, brought meaning where none had been assigned by fancy academy board members. When Hajime learned about the Izuru Kamukura Project – a study that had apparently endowed some random Reserve Course student with all the Ultimate Talents under the sun – he was jealous, yeah, but not the way he felt he should have been.

Hajime leaned across the desk and took Nagito’s face in his hands; he kissed him fast and hard, before he could change his mind. Kissed him like he’d yelled his actual first name in his face. Kissed him like truth, and the revelation he’d always thought maybe he could be, if only, if only, if only. He felt Nagito tense and then soften; he felt Nagito try to speak, and then close his eyes, pale lashes brushing against his skin. Hajime ran his hand down Nagito’s neck, and tangled it just a little in his unbrushed hair. Nagito made a wondering, helpless sound, and Hajime held him closer. Pulled back. Kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Nagito said. Hajime didn’t think he knew what for. Maybe he was still sorry for saying he didn’t think Hajime had any reason to come to this school and that whole tangled-up, confusing introduction they’d had; maybe he was just worried he’d turned out to be a disappointing kisser. Somewhere out in the hallway, Kokichi Oma was laughing, calling, “You’ll never take me alive!” to someone chasing him with a mysteriously bedazzled mop. Somewhere out in the hallway, Izuru Kamukura – Reserve Course student-turned living god – was staring out at the world and realizing it was all immeasurably, heartbreakingly boring, when all the talent possible was limp in his hands.

“Why?” Hajime asked.

“Um,” Nagito said. There were so many words churning inside him, but he was holding Hajime’s hand really tightly, now. He cleared his throat. “I mean, we can try that again, if you want. If I did it wrong.”

Hajime and Nagito were both strong believers in second chances, by that point. They went to the Main Course Graduation Ball with Nagito holding Hajime’s hand just as tight, and no, that absolutely wasn’t the last chance Hajime had to wear those four-leaf clover cufflinks.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years

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richboy!seonghwa (part 2)

word count: 3k

angst, fluff

(part 1) (series masterlist)

you knew that being the new girl at a school of this caliber was gonna be difficult, an obvious culture difference between you and your peers; but just by 3rd period, you see how severely you underestimated rich kids and their entitled, territorial ways.

after nearly passing out from being pressed up against seonghwa, the name you all but begged to have whispered in your ear, you walked into first period two minutes late where you were met with snickers and glares.

“who are you?” the teacher in the front of the classroom asked and you faintly hear seonghwa’s voice rigging in your head from earlier that morning.

“i’m-uh..i’m ___” you say and you can even hear how awkward and shaky your voice sounds, “it’s my first day, i’m sorry.”

the stern woman just nods her head, a “hm” leaving her mouth as she looks you up and down. you try not to feel intimidated when her eyes land on your tattered shoes, her burberry dress and jimmy choos an indication she’s just as well off as her students.

she tells you to take the only empty seat in the back and you nod, making your way down the aisles and plopping down in the comfortable chair.

you feel eyes burning into you for the entire 40 minutes, the boy in front of you even blatantly turning around to stare at you. he looks down at your backpack and you see him visibly sneer before facing back to the front.

the other girl next to you is side-eyeing you and when you send her a smile, she sends a small, almost sarcastic one back before rolling her eyes away from you.

you slide down low in chair, the lowest you can go without falling off and let out a sigh. you had been kind of excited to start, excited for the opportunity to study at this school and excited to make new friends who were different from you.

but right now, you just wanna disappear and you’ve barely been here a day. it didn’t help that your next two classes went similarly, sneers and muffled laughter and eye rolls, even from the teachers.

you were half tempted to fake an illness and admit defeat for the day until the bell rang for 4th period.

"we have 4th period together, get a seat in the back left corner if you're there before me,” you hear his voice ring in your head and you suddenly feel your heart lighten.

because the whole time you’ve been getting ridiculed and scorned, you’ve been thinking of him.

thinking about how he’s the only person who’s actually talked to you today, how he stared down at you with this avid curiosity and how his breath lingered on your skin. how his hand left your hair and he mumbled a “see you later” with a smirk so pretty, you legs wouldn’t allow you to move off the locker.

you cautiously make your way through the hallways, peeking at the white numbers on the doors and sighing in relief when the classroom comes into view. it’s fairly empty, only three students on their phones and you quickly make your way to the back left corner.

you put down your white notebook and pen onto the desk, rustling through your backpack crumpled with the schedule you’ve been trying to memorize and syllabuses that you’re gonna have to read when you get home.

the chatter of more students enter the classroom and you feel yourself grow nervous, ready for a repeat of scornful laughter and cold eyes darting right your way.

you hear the distinct sound of high heels start cackling toward you and you hope this isn’t a teacher ready to ask if you’re sure you aren’t here to sweep the floors.

you see a shiny, black shoe right next to your bag and you take a deep breath before looking up. a pretty, dark-haired girl is staring down at you, plump lips and cat-like eyes full of disdain.

you smile softly and your hand comes up to awkwardly wave.

“hi,” you say and the girl’s expression hardens even more, her eyes squinting at you and her mouth staying in a firm line.

she’s now just staring for an uncomfortably long time, her shoe starting to tap on the floor and you look down before meeting her gaze again,

“nice shoes,” you say, a sweet honesty in your tone masking the ulterior bitchy and sarcastic motives within you.

her perfectly waxed eyebrow arches and she scoffs, “wish i could say the same,” her voice finally spats and your eyes widen at the abrasiveness it already holds. “now aren’t you gonna get up?”

your face drops for a split second, looking around at the seats filling up and you’re hoping you don’t start to flush red.

“oh, i’m sorry, i-i didn’t know there were assigned seats. i’m new today and-” you begin to explain before she puts her french-manicured finger in your face.

“ah, so you’re the poor girl everyone’s been talking about,” she says, a bright, fake smile on her face and the sweetness her voice holds is scarily misleading. “must be here on a scholarship, yeah?”

you look into your lap as your cheeks flush, in disbelief that someone could actually be this rude to another person and embarrassed that she’s saying it like it’s a bad thing.

you meet the girl’s gaze again, her head turned and eyes questioning. your mouth opens and closes, unsure of how to respond when she hums out, “hm, maybe not since you can’t seem to form a sentence.”

“no-i, uh, yeah, a scholarship,” you say, voice quiet before a small smile makes it’s way on your face, “guess my shoes have been giving it away.”

the girl’s eyebrows fly up as if to say ‘no shit’ and another scoff leaves her mouth, “guess so” she quips sarcastically, toeing your backpack with the tip of her shoe like she’s inspecting something dirty and disgusting. “now move.”

her icy cold voice commands it so demandingly that you find yourself scrambling, grabbing your notebook causing your pen to fall off your desk and you hate how weak and frazzled you are right now.

a huff leaves her mouth as her eyes roll, the tapping of her shoe back and you apologize quietly as you bend down to pick up your pen.

you throw it in the backpack and you’ve just stood up when you see a familiar face coming your way, eyes dark with some sort of fiery intensity.

“don’t move,” he says, his voice deep and commanding and it makes you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“seonghwa,” the girl’s voice says, airy and breathy and sweet now, “what are you doi-

“you.” he says firmly, craning his neck to repeat the girl’s own words back to her, “move.”

a few seconds of silence pass before she asks “what?” in disbelief.

you want the ground to swallow you whole, unable to move or breathe as you watch the two teens stand off as you wait behind them like a mute child.

“are you deaf?” he asks sarcastically, “i said move.”

“and you’re talking to me? like you’re actually talking to me when that charity case is right there?”

not wanting to hear any more of her berating you, you try to squeeze past seonghwa’s tall frame.

but he feels you move behind him and turns his body to block you from the rest of the walkway. you look up at him pleadingly, not wanting to be in this situation anymore.

“it’s okay, it’s fine, i’m just gonna sit over there,” you tell him, pointing up to an empty seat near the front.

“you’re not,” he says quietly, eyes roaming your face and he can see the anxiety in your eyes. can see you wanna bolt because of her harsh words and demands and overall tense atmosphere, “go sit back down.”

you huff in annoyance, getting tired of being bossed around for the past two minutes. you’re about to object when he moves a tad bit closer to you, eyes turning soft as he looks down at you.

“y/n.”

he utters it like the sweetest warning and you huff again before turning around without saying another word.

you don’t see seonghwa’s smirk behind your back nor do you see the way his eyes darken in anger when he turns back to look at the pouting, pissed off girl.

“why are you still here?” he asks, voice and words harsh and her eyes widen.

“why the hell are you sticking up for her?” the girl asks, voice squeaking the more angry she gets, “is she your live-in maid or something? is that why?” she asks, loud enough for the whole class to hear and you turn to face the wall, wanting to bang your head against it.

“or does she-“

he advances toward the girl and the words die in her throat. he smirks, leering down as if he’s daring her to finish her sentence.

“that’s what i thought,” he says quietly, seeing the wary look in her eyes, “now i’m not gonna say it again. move.”

you’re still hiding your face so you can’t see the girl shoot you a dirty look nor can you see her fumble down the aisle into the empty seat near the board.

you hear a small chuckle leave seonghwa as he takes the seat in front of you, turning around as you lift your head up.

“hi,” you say, voice strained from nervousness and the calm, cool and collected smirk is back on his face. as if his eyes weren’t just burning holes into the back of this room two seconds ago.

“hi __.”

he says your name again and something inside you twists because you shouldn’t like how much it sounds coming from his lips. shouldn’t already be so intrigued by him when you’ve heard less than 20 words leave his mouth.

“i’m sorry, i-i didn’t wanna create any problems, i didn’t know there were assigned seats,” you tell him quietly, “but you told me to sit back here and i…”

the boy watches you ramble and stutter until the words die in your throat and he knows he shouldn’t like how much he enjoys watching you.

he’s known you for all of four hours and yet there’s something inside of him that’s overwhelmed by you.

overwhelmed by his body’s reaction to you, his need to help you, the way you stare up at him as if you’re both terrified and fascinated by him.

“listened?” his deep voice offers and if you weren’t looking at the smirk on his face, you could certainly hear it.

“i guess,” you laugh out, “but then again, shouldn’t the maid listen to their employer?”

his smirk forms into a full smile, a small laugh bubbling out of him and he shakes his head. “she’s ridiculous,” he says, tone bitter and annoyed, “has everyone been giving you a hard time?”

something tells him yes. because he knows these people and knows this school and even knows you’re lying when you shake your head.

“not really, just people noticing a new student i guess. though no one seems to like my shoes,” you mumble under your breath and his eyes squint at your statement.

“your shoes?” he asks, looking down at the black flats covering your feet and you’re a little embarrassed that he caught that.

you shrug, a small laugh leaving your mouth, “i’m kidding, i don’t know. i think i’m just intimidated and seeing things.”

you know you’re not and he knows you’re not so he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a small reassuring smile and fights the urge to tell everyone to just leave you the hell alone.

“maybe,” he says, “but in any event-“

the teacher’s booming voice comes barreling through the door and he rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the front of the room.

as suspected, your fourth period class was the best one of the day. you liked the subject, liked the teacher and liked that, apart from the incident in the beginning of class, not one person gave you any sneers or snickers.

you liked that seonghwa not only seemed like a good person but a good student, listening to the teacher as he took notes and shared his textbook with you when it was time to go over chapter review questions.

but you especially liked that when the bell rang and it was time to leave, he waited for you.

waited until you stood up before he joined you and gave you a reassuring smile. he asked where you were going next and told you that room was downstairs near the cafeteria.

and then just as you were gonna walk past him, he gently grabbed you by the elbow and bent down to whisper, “by the way, i like your shoes. they’re cute.”

the compliment shouldn’t make you a giggling, blushing mess but it does; because they’ve been giving you such grief until now.

you know he only said it due to your comment before but it still makes you feel warm, still makes you feel like you have at least one person at this school who isn’t completely horrified by you and is attempting to make you feel good about this new environment.

and as your day goes on, nobody else talks to you. nobody is so brazenly rude like the girl from your 4th period class but glares of all kinds, non-malicious curious stares to judgmental sneers, are aimed at you for the rest of the day.

you were relieved when you were able to find a section in the library where food was allowed, with only one other student, large circular glasses on his face as he listens to music through his headphones, and you have a feeling this is probably where you’ll find yourself eating lunch nowadays.

when the final bell rings, you don’t think you’ve ever been more grateful to be dismissed from school. you head to your locker quickly, throwing in and taking out books to put into your backpack before making your way outside.

your bike is still chained to the rack and you’re thinking it’s probably a little silly to have it chained up at all, highly doubting your peers are going to steal it when they have their fancy little cars.

you unlatch the bike and stick the lock in your jacket pocket, steering it out of the poles and almost hitting someone with the back tire.

you cringe, bowing your head in apology and the boy can only scoff.

“watch it,” he spits.

and you were hoping that was it until he peers down at your appearance and, shocker, his eyes land your feet. it’s a sign that he knows you’re not well-off like him, knows you obviously don’t have a car and yet he still decides to say:

“are you 12 years old? who rides a bike to school?”

you exhale sharply because here it is, your second berating of the day leaving you feeling drained and sensitive. because it’s been such a long day; your encounter with seonghwa in his backyard feels like it was two days ago.

“someone who doesn’t have a car,” you tell him wisely, “but it does the same job. gets me from school to home and anywhere else i need to go, so-“

“yeah, i’m well aware that a bike is a form of transportation,” he says with an eye roll, “but, don’t you feel a little pathetic though?”

he must see the expression that crosses your face as one of hurt opposed to one of shock that, again, someone could be so cruel and nasty to your face because he attempts to backtrack.

“not tryna to be a dick,” he says, “i’m just genuinely curious…and it’s pretty old too. maybe getting a new one would be-“

“i think it’s nice,” another deep voice interrupts and it’s one you don’t recognize.

your eyes move to observe the boy and you immediately remember his large round glasses from the library; but he hadn’t said a word to you nor did you notice him giving you any looks, for which you were grateful.

“oh?” the guy says to him, “and who asked you?”

“who asked you about your opinion on her bike?” the boy counters and the other can only scoff, mumbling “whatever losers” before walking off to his bmw.

you give the boy a tired smile, thanking him quietly. “it is a pretty old bike,” you tell him with a shrug, “but it really does get me everywhere.”

he smiles softly, nodding his head at you. “i’m sure,” he says quietly, shortly, but his voice is kind.

you maneuver your bike around and you watch as he stands there, body tall and lanky as he awkwardly tugs at the end of his jacket.

“you were in the library, right?” you hesitantly ask. you don’t want him thinking you’re a weirdo but you’re 100% sure it’s him. and he’s also the one just standing there.

“yeah,” he nods, “i like to eat in there, it’s quieter.” he says and after a few seconds of silence, adds, “are you new?”

you nod your head, stepping over your bike but waiting to sit down. “yeah, so i’ll probably be eating in there with you. hopefully, you don’t mind,” you tell him shyly.

he smiles back at you, shaking his head. “‘course not,” he says, “maybe it’ll be nice having company. no one is usually in there.”

you smile because that sounds like the closest thing you’ll get to a friendly offer in this school and you wave at the boy.

“well i’m y/n,” you tell him as you extend your hand before drawing it back and nervously laugh. “wait, do people shake hands here? i don’t know.”

a little giggle leaves his mouth and it tugs at something in your chest because this boy seems to be such a quiet giant but he’s also so cute.

“i think so but, if not, we do” he says, extending his hand to shake yours as well. “nice to meet you, y/n. i’m mingi.”

you can feel how big his hand is in yours and you draw your hand back before it starts to sweat and he decides he no longer wants to sit next to clammy library girl.

“well… i’ll see you tomorrow, then?” you say and you hope your voice doesn’t sound as hopeful as it does to your own ears; but you’ll consider this day a success if you made one friend.

well another friend apart from…

“tomorrow,” he says, ripping you from your random thought and he lifts his hand up to wave goodbye.

you sit down on your bike and ride it off campus, coming to a halt at the cross-walk when you see a black car in your peripheral vision.

the mercedes stops in front of you and you look up to wave your hand in thanks when you see seonghwa through the windshield, one hand resting on the top of the steering wheel as his gaze pierces you.

you smile at him gratefully, giving a small wave before biking across the street quickly. he watches you ride down the street, hair blowing in the wind with your backpack resting on you until the car behind him beeps.

he gaze goes from you to his rearview mirror, giving the person behind him a dirty look before he takes off down the street.

(part 3)

#moodboard #timestamp #seonghwa #seonghwa fluff #ateez #ateez fluff

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