#idk idk i feel like im back to looking at the world and passersby through frosted glass again.

[mypersonmyg]

cherry blossom | jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff

rating: pg15

wc: 2k (yes it is a drabble shut up)

warnings: swearing

summary: spring is blooming and so are you OR he loves the beanie you knitted for his round ass head

a/n: hello, hi, hey...is this good? idk, but i wrote it because im trying to do that again; this is based on the tebori tapioca couple because i really like them a lot...ALSO i said i would write about beanie boy and here he is :D

tebori tapioca

masterlist

Petals dipped in white are decorated in the jagged pink crawling from the root of thin strengthened stems fluttering like wisps from trees freshly bloomed to kiss at your cheeks, tilted upward toward a sky painted in streaks of voluminous clouds. You lift one hand to trace the expanse of day, finger a brush concentrated on the perfect mural, eyes zeroed to see the work of the blue plained aerial. You grasp a stray petal mid-air, charting the exposure of edges fragile and torn from the efflorescent cherry blossom, its trunk the perfect home for the boy whose head appears anywhere but the moment. 

You bring the petal to trace his cheeks seeking the protrusion of his nose, effectively startling the stupor that held him captive. His eyes dance the length of your arm up to your collar, landing on your own gaze in wonder, always amazed by  feelings that engulf him like licking flames. He tilts his head until the warmth of his cheek rests in the palm of your hand, cradling perfection and its questioning peep. 

“Sorry,” You murmur, thumb soothing circles into pliable skin, eyes doubled in apology despite the fondness stretching the muscles of his face, tugging at the edges of his lids. 

“Don’t be,” He hushes plucking the petal, blowing it into the subtle breeze that kicks at the skin of your ankles, traveling the length of your leg, ignorant to the tingle that already resides from the steady grip of a tattooed hand tracing the skin exposed from the ride up of your hoodie. “We came here to be together and I’m zoning out.”

You crook your arm into the grass, still damp from the press of morning dew, petals sticking to your palm as you push forward, Jeongguk cautiously tightening at your waist. The hand that still rests against his cheek sneakily climbs to tendrils peeking from beneath the beanie dressing his head, black knitted and all consuming, wrapping the strands of curls between nimble fingers and urging him to press his lips to your own. 

“I don’t mind, I’d rather sit with you in complete silence than listen to Jimin complain about whatever it is he was complaining about today.” You speak after the first heady press, foreheads gathered in collective rest, lashes just missing with each flutter. You can barely recall the words tumbling forward, but you can count on the attentive nature of your chosen lover to keep you on track, his eyes never missing the beat of your quivering lips. 

“Hmm, but i wanna give you all of my attention.” He pulls you so you’re falling, forcing you onto his lap of denim, your arms finding rest around his broad shoulders. He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, bringing light to the fabric engulfing his head of curls. 

It’s a recent niche, the adornment of the extra layer, a gift from you meant to reside on the side of winter wardrobe. It dresses him well, mirror selfies and dates spent walking the string lit streets of your cozy strip not without the attention of head-on-a-swivel passersby. You don’t mind the look or the attention that you believe present without the added statement, but you often miss the ease of a hand through thick curls and the added volume on humid occasions. 

“Now who’s zoning?” Jeongguk teases, nudging the underside of your chin, fingers retreating to avoid your gentle nip. 

“I was just thinking about you,” Your words are spoken with lips folding inward to rest between the set of your teeth, hands tugging at the top of his hat, almost pulling it free before he swats at your offending limb tugging it back into place. 

“Oh yeah?” You arch into him when a sudden gust of wind wraps around your bodies, biting at your arms left exposed by your insistence of warmth from the saturation of rays that swallow you whole, only missing direct contact by Jeongguk’s insistence that you seek refuge in the crowding branches of the beautiful earthy growth of the ascending blossom. 

“Yeah, you and your beanie. Why won’t you let me see your cute ass head, you nerd?” 

“Excuse me? I like the beanie, it was a gift you know.” 

He’s proud of his counter, head resting against the trunk of the tree before he’s suddenly guiding you from his lap to join in the jump to his feet. You’re like jello, too long spent lounging in the thick of your bubbled comfort, nearly knocking into him out of the habit of proximity and lack of control over your physical being. 

“Not only was it a gift,” He continues, clasping your hands, swinging it between you as you once more find the path riddled with abandoned flowers and the remnants of blades from grass freshly mowed, the smell still lingering with each foot forward. He brings your connected palms to press to his lips, holding them in place for a momentary hum before your nerves are tingling under the sensation and you're trying your hardest to pull away amidst  squealish giggling. “It was handmade.” 

You stutter, feet catching at the tip, threatening to eat concrete were it not for the quick reflexes and unbridled strength of Jeongguk’s arms. He drags you from the center of the path, the resounding tinkering of a child’s bike bell screaming to make way for the train of tasseled training wheels that are suddenly on your trail. It gives you time to recompose, Jeongguk far too busy waving in kind at each passing darling regarding him with various poked tongues and toothy grins. 

“Babe, you good?” He finally returns his attention, the rough pad of his thumb coming to swipe at the hairs that fall from the folded lip of the beanie, tickling at the plains of his forehead that hold just enough sheen from the day's heat to allow the dense fibers to stick to his skin. You fight the temptation to replace his hand with your own, always happy to feel him beneath you, feening for the closeness of closed doors and your head tucked beneath his chin, fingers tracing the ever defining muscles that tease through his t-shirt. 

“I’m fine...I just didn’t realize you noticed.” You shield yourself in the thick of his hoodie, tugging the sleeve to hide your eyes from his prying gaze and infectious grin. You question your own sanity when the remembrance of his attentive nature and the dreamy sigh he’d emitted upon the first snug of the thick fabric to his skull, only compliments spewing thereafter. 

“That I noticed...?” You’re dim witted to the point of ignorance, though his bait works as your face slowly unsticks from the dark material eating his chest, replacing your face with the wrap of your knuckles and the avoidance of eye contact in favor of tracking a peculiar worm inching toward fresh dirt. 

“Koo…” You whine, the nickname and high pitched yearning a new habit Jeongguk has taken in kind. His adoration for you only grows more with each day, your habits taking hold of him like the magnet that you are, an attraction unyielding and all consuming. Some would say that it’s a sickness, but the rapid pump of his love organ and the coos that ooz from him with the precision of a clock at your every utterance feels wholesome.

You’re home, a refuge after long days of piping tea and pounds of tapioca, waist deep in the give and take of the service industry. The only being that makes him feel like giving his all is no effort wasted, always looking for more ways to please even with your assurance that just  halfway makes your heart soar into a galaxy of his own making. 

So he grips you tight and reels you in, inhaling the scent of the light shampoo that laces your scalp and pretends that your whines are only an amusement, a reason for the further push of his pestering. His hands trace the peak of your shoulder blades, easing them of the tension from your bout of shyness. 

“Love, why wouldn’t I notice? Why do you think I love to wear it so much?” 

“Because you’re perfect,” You melt, shuffling on the balls of your feet, hands shoved into his pockets to hold steady in a world constantly rotating around you, dressed in whites and pinks, the songs of birds humming in the trees that arch above you. “But seriously, how did you know? I didn’t say anything because I don’t think it’s very good and I almost didn’t even give it to you because—”

“It’s perfect.” He cuts your words with his own followed by a kiss, much longer than the one previous, your face heating under the awareness that you’re no longer shielded by bud kissed branches in your own corner of the world. The same corner that started it all just months prior. 

Your palms rest against his chest, a gentle pat urging him to part from you despite your own inward cries of the opposite. He obliges, a smile of coyness splayed along his cheeks, pushing at the scar that kisses the apples of his skin. 

“What?” 

“I did notice an attempt at the stitching of initials under the lip...still need some practice I see—”

“Love, that’s so mean!” Your pats previously gentle now offer as much force as  you can muster, easily sending him staggering on his feet, too consumed by his own childish laughter at your rather rugged stitchwork, a poor attempt at further customization. “Ugh, I didn’t think you would notice.” 

He pulls the beanie from his head, hair falling in a mess of dark curl that traces the frame of his cheeks, somehow rounder today than the chiseled jaw that you often find ingrained in your memory. You ache to take him between your palms, a smattering of kisses stored for later use when you aren’t teetering the precipice of embarrassment. A feeling of routine self indulgence that is altogether useless under the watchful eyes of the dream before you.

He delicately dips his finger into the folded hem of the hat, lengthening the elastic trim that suctions around him to keep it secure around his head. He traces the thread that just barely makes out the letters initialling his name, imagining the formation of your lips as you repeat the two syllables with the puncture and withdraw of every stitch. 

It’s clear as the blue dyed sky, the vivid poke of your lips when you realize the curve of the ‘J’ is more of a divot than a definition but push on to the ‘K’. You only add the extra inches when your mind begins to overthink when in truth he’ll love anything from your hands, from your mind and the blood pumping through your veins. 

It wasn’t the accidental revelation of the stitching when he pulled it from the first wash that clued him in. The fabric unfurled from its position of origin, the letters staring back, accented with the perfect attempt at a heart stitched in white. 

No, he finds solace in the patch of thread missing from the edge of the shape meant to mimic the geometry of the organ itself.

It speaks true to the way he feels when he’s not with you, like his heart couldn’t possibly be whole when he’s not taking in the breathlessness of your laugh or the way you pout his name without warning. 

It was the tremor in your hands as you delivered the gift wrapped in faux gold, edges of the paper curled from the lack of a package and a mind too jumbled to think of a bag. Your delivery paired with the fumble of words hushed in rushed breath was clue enough of your attempt at discretion.

It’s in these moments, hat in hand and your eyes scrutinizing the thing when you’d told him how handsome it made him look just weeks prior. He gently pinches the scrunch of your nose, forcing your eyes to his own, hat pulled back over his head. 

He doesn’t miss the quirk of your lips, the hat no longer an object of disdain when it's a part of him. The day you met was the day that you made your place within him and it's in moments like these that he feels whole. 

“I can’t believe you thought for a second that I wouldn’t.”

#jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jjk x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

take me out (of this world)

Rating: G | Word Count: 2,100 Tags: Aliens, Fake Dating, Convention AU, Chat Logs, Pining, Tags to be added Chapters: 1 / ?

Oikawa Tooru just wants to eat something that isn’t Go-gurt, and maybe meet some of his online friends at the upcoming science fiction convention in town. If only life for a college student out on his own wasn’t so expensive. 

Or maybe if he had an underclassman who needed his help and might be willing to buy his dinner just long enough to save up for a weekend pass. Win/win, right? 

Blue skies sit far on the horizon. The sun  is strong this evening, breaking through even the thick rain clouds set overhead the gymnasium, it's vibrant beam giving the world an eery, orange glow. It's the first sign of daylight Oikawa's glimpsed after practice since the long, dark nights of winter had seemed to never want to leave.

Rain droplets slip down the length of Kageyama's bangs. He says nothing but, "Please!" again and again. "You're a persistent little prick," Oikawa sneers. He hears some of their teammates jittering about behind him, their footsteps damp and sloshing on the pavement. He hasn't bothered to learn all of their names just yet. Most of them will quit before the first semester ends. They're more preoccupied planning where to eat than to spare the two of them a glance, but Oikawa feels his cheeks heat regardless. "I need you to help me," Kageyama insists. Oikawa hears it, the distinct lack of the full request. It surprises him that Kageyama might have the ability to feel shame, even after chasing Oikawa out of the locker room and pinning him just outside the gymnasium. "Ask one of your friends." Kageyama looks upwards then. Rain slips down the chisel of his jaw, hesitates on the point of his chin before it falls indistinctly with the rest of the downpour. His lips pull back tightly, his face so pinched that Oikawa almost asks if he's constipated. "Oh my god," Oikawa exclaims under an excited breath. "You don't have any friends." "I do!" Kageyama shouts.

It feels like the world pauses for him to consider. "I do! I have—Hinata! And..." his voice lowers, this time his gaze fluttering back to the footpath. "Others," he finishes cryptically.

Oikawa laughs glibly. “I can't believe it!” Oikawa shifts, his shoes so damp from being stationary that they squish uncomfortably. He winces, but continues, “You don't have any friends, fuck!”

“Neither do you,” Iwaizumi says, tapping his shoulder on his way by. Kageyama stiffens up at the spine as Iwaizumi gives him a polite wave on his way past.

“I do, too, Iwachan!” Oikawa shouts at his back. “At least I have Kuroo!” he sticks out his tongue, even if Iwaizumi can't see him. Regardless, Iwaizumi just holds up his arm in a wave of dismissal.

“Sure do,” Kuroo slides up beside him. “Ready?” he asks, hiking his bag further up his shoulder.

“So you see,” Oikawa says, tilting his head back and to the side to stare Kageyama down from his nose, smiling as smugly as he can, “we must be on our way.” Water tickles down his neck, the drizzle never lightening around them. He pulls Kuroo along, pointedly keeping his eyes on the horizon. It's still bright and blue. “Bye, bye Tobio~!”

But before they pass, his wrist is grasped. Tight and warm is the hand around his skin, and Oikawa looks back.

“Please,” Kageyama pleads. His eyes are as brilliant as the far off sky and something clenches in Oikawa's chest. “Consider what I asked, Oikawa.” There's a fierceness to his voice, steadfastness in his gaze and it roots Oikawa to the pavement even as Kageyama scampers back towards the gym. At the door he seems to remember something and turns back, bowing at Oikawa and Kuroo before reentering.

“What was that about?” Kuroo asks.

He swallows. “Don't worry about it.“

The ring of Oikawa’s skin where Kageyama had held him remains warm the whole way home.

*****

“What's for dinner tonight?” Oikawa asks his fridge, already pulling open the door to the freezer. It takes some rummaging before Oikawa gets his prize: the very last of the Strawberry Splash Go-gurt he'd hidden behind the ice maker. He makes sure to shove it immediately into the pocket of his hoodie as soon as it breaches past the door, checking to make sure his roommate hadn't materialized in the room while his attention had been elsewhere. Kuroo would be cross if he knew.

Once he's tucked safely in his own room, door locked, Oikawa savors his meal. The bed's mattress sinks under his weight when he kneels on it, the springs long since dead. It's been that way since he and Kuroo fished it from the apartment complex’s trash, but if visitors assume it’s from his own exploits, well, Oikawa’s not in the business of correcting them. 

He sits up on his haunches to reach the window's latch, rolling the glass open to let some air into the room. Petrichor seeps in through the mesh screen. Oikawa stays by the window, breathes it in deeply. It’s pleasant. The cold season had left his room smelling stale, even when it felt like winter had been invited in through porous drafts.

Oikawa leans until the wires rest against his forehead, pushing only enough to feel as if there were nothing even there, but not enough to dislodge the screen.

Outside is still vibrant and hazy, the drizzle having followed him home, lazily pelting the sidewalk and passersby. Oikawa watches a lady across the way stop to let her dog sniff, a reddish, stout breed Oikawa doesn't know the name of. His eyes droop over the mundanity, fat droplets plopping at his sill almost enough of a lullaby that it begs him to take an early evening nap with the light chill of sun showers as his blanket. He rolls the very ends of the Go-gurt tube up inch by inch, until the wad of it rolls up under his nose.

By his feet on his bed, his laptop chimes.

Then again.

Oikawa stares at the screensaver, leaning back on one hand, the empty Go-gurt tube clutched between his teeth. It rings again with several messages before he decides against his nap and slides off his back legs, pulling the laptop onto his thighs. Oikawa shoulders himself back into a nest of pillows at the headboard of his bed, the pull dislodging his charger from the docking port. He drops the remnants of dinner into the nearby trash can, burying it under an old magazine already tossed away. Just in case.

He closes the full screen of the movie he'd fallen asleep to last night. Behind it, the group chat explodes with new messages, zipping down the box faster than Oikawa can read.

defenderoftheoatmeal: I heard they got that dude who directed the last Godzilla movie for a panel this year.

pacificrimjob: !!!!!!

pacificrimjob: i have to buy my badge still…….

SuperWhoLock420: prices go up next week

BigFootBigHeart: Better do it soon

BigFootBigHeart: ^^

defenderoftheoatmeal: lol

Spacegrl: we should find time to meet up

defenderoftheoatmeal: Oooooh

Spacegrl: we can discuss when the schedule is finalized

Spacegrl: but maybe that saturday?

It takes some shuffling back through his tabs before Oikawa finds the official con’s site. He frowns. The badge prices already make him feel woozy. It's about seven boxes of lunch and dinner-- if he doesn't split the price with Kuroo.

A message pops up in the top right of the screen, another chime from his laptop speakers accompanying it. Oikawa glances at the screen name and breathes a laugh through his nose. Clicking it brings him to another chat room.

m1lkyway: have you gotten your pass yet

Oikawa taps at the keys pensively.

cryptidfckr: no

cryptidfckr: im debating if the con is more important than eating

m1lkyway: oh

m1lkyway: idk

M1lkyway: sorry.

He huffs another laugh. His stomach gurgles, perhaps chiming in on their conversation with it's own protest, but Oikawa ignores it.

cryptidfckr:too bad im not a girl

cryptidfckr: itd be easier to find an idiot willing to date me

cryptidfckr: just for someone like me i mean

cryptidfckr: and then id never worry about food again

cryptidfckr: lol

He taps back over to the main group chat. The conversation has since picked up, the rest of his online friends filtering in from work or university. Little side chats start diverting throughout the group, some talking about upcoming films they're excited about, others discussing the latest recommendation.

Oikawa settles in deeper to his pillow bundle, grabbing deftly for the blanket around his ankles. It is still far too early when the sun dips below the horizon. The next time Oikawa looks up from his laptop, the world is dark save for the lights dotting every few windows of the building across the street. The rain has picked up, boisterous sounding now that he can no longer see it.

His laptop dings and Oikawa looks back.

m1lkyway: they would be lucky to date you

Oikawa's toes curl.

cryptidfckr: lmao  

cryptidfckr: too kind

m1lkyway: im sure you get asked out all the time

He stiffens. The memory of Kageyama, bright blue eyes gleaming through a hazy, sun-filled smog, makes his chest feel tight. He'd been so brazen, unyielding. Not entirely an undesirable trait. Oikawa frowns. He had asked him out-- in some, deluded sort of way.

Oikawa runs his tongue along the bottom of his lip.

cryptidfckr: not much since high school

cryptidfckr: the type of girls who would date me aren’t into monster flicks and scifi

cryptidfckr: not too many guys want to deal with me

cryptidfckr: always ends up they feel like they're competing with me

cryptidfckr: or against girls

cryptidfckr: And not actually dating me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

m1lkyway: ah

Kageyama would probably be a bad boyfriend. Worse than himself, Oikawa thinks. He tightens his fist above the keyboard. Gruff and stubborn. Single minded and adorably simple. He'd be the worst and so Oikawa can see, can understand why Kageyama had been so adamant.

He relaxes his fingers, tugs back on each of them until the knuckles crack satisfyingly. His earlier fatigue has eased into a crackle of energy. It'll be a long night.

m1lkyway: would you like to watch another movie with me tonight?

Oikawa breathes in. He releases the breath through puckered lips.

cryptidfckr: i heard santa claus conquers the martians is awful

cryptidfckr: so itll be great

m1lkyway: cant wait

m1lkyway: *link*

Oikawa resettles himself on his side while the link loads up in his browser. He makes to replug his charger back in before propping himself up enough to type.

cryptidfckr: okay

cryptidfckr: 3…

cryptidfckr: 2…

cryptidfckr: 1….

In the morning, rain has given way to a cloudless sky. Oikawa rises to his screensaver playing; old faces from high school smiling back at him.

The groupchat is still open when he clicks past last night's third movie, his last few goodbyes still at the bottom. But there's an unread message on the side in his private chat that Oikawa doesn't remember seeing before his eyes had felt too heavy to keep open.

m1lkyway: just read theyll be playing house (1977) at x-con

m1lkyway: it would be great if we could see it together

And so Oikawa makes a decision.

But not about breakfast. He glowers at the last few packages of the Berry Blast Go-gurt still left in the box in their freezer. When he turns around, Kuroo grins at him, mouth pressed around a very distinctly red trimmed tube of Strawberry Splash.

“I have my secrets, too,” he says.

“Asshole.”

*****

He finds Kageyama by the locker room door, tying up his shoe laces. Oikawa wonders if they're too new to just slip on the way he does his own. He tries his best to tower over the other, the arch of his neck straining. Oikawa rests a volleyball on the swell of his hip, pinning it there with only the weight of his wrist, slurping up the tailend of his breakfast. "Okay," he says. Kageyama looks up at him, any sense of recognition infuriatingly missing in his stare.  "If I said you had a goldfish memory," Oikawa tuts, "it'd be an insult to the fish." Kageyama scowls up at him. The jut of his bottom lip is prominent and Oikawa swallows the word Neanderthal back down his throat. "Your request," Oikawa pushes, rolling the ball up his waist and then letting it slip back down to pin against his hip. "I'm agreeing to it." There it is, Oikawa thinks when the spark of excitement flashes in Kageyama’s eyes, the other jumping to his feet as if gravity didn’t apply to him. Oikawa holds a finger up before he can be interrupted. Kageyama goes adorably crosseyed to stare it down. "I have one condition~" he lilts, reaching for his cellphone trapped under his waistband. He flips the top open, then snaps it back shut, shooting Kageyama his most devilish smile. Kageyama looks up at him. "First, I need you to ask me again," he smiles. Kageyama looks baffled and he adds, "but you to have to do it exactly like yesterday."

#Oikage #Kageoi #Oikageoi #oikageyear #haikyuu #oikawa tooru #kaegayama tobio #I'll add this to ao3 when I have more energy to give a once over and go through all the adding stuff ahaha #sparkle garbage #I'm posting a thing in time for once wooo!!!!!!